171. Tranquil Turmoil


Silent serenity – A peaceful reverie –
Dining in a lodge on the snowy mountainside
Where the window cools the mind and the whiskey warms the head,
Preparing it to dance
To flounce about with flurries –
For the snow flutters round
This peaceful skier’s lodge –
A furnace burns within, while smoke rises without,
Black furls among folds of scarlet and purple,
A horizon darkening,
Though still bright with angels’ dandruff
That weighs down haughty conifers with a deadly icing
That will be cheerier
Witnessed tomorrow on the slopes
Where I rediscover the energy of my youth.
But now the ice in my whiskey is the only cold I know,
And the faces of the tourists as they prepare to fight my mountain –
You see, I make the deadly cliff my friend
when my thoughts are trained on it.
I have an aim, a game, a goal.
But in this lodge I am left
To thoughts of life alone –
The glass threatens to drown me,
The meal threatens to choke me,
And all the while I watch the flames
That comfort but threaten to scorch me.
I’d much rather face death
Than face my own self –

So, I sit here, and order a beer,
To wait for the yolk of the sun
To break free from the shell of the snow,
When I can leave this cocoon filled with dangers unseen
And take on the risks clear below.


149. Respect


No pictures here in Westminster –
I see you there, rascally sir!
There will be no photos taken here
I swear it on my grave.

Oh no, you shan’t, not at St. Paul’s!
We’ve nothing hidden, just the rules –
I don’t care your memory’s short,
We’ll expect you here again.

Turn off the flash? I cannot believe
The way you expect no reprieve
Since I know you’ll use it when I am relieved –
Look! See the decay in the stone
Caused by the flash of your phone.

St. Peter’s Basilica, did you say?
I don’t give a hoot about Italy
Or what in the Louvre your camera sees –
Britain does it best. Oh yes!
You’ll forget what you saw, and come back again –
Can’t we be sure of that?
Oh, yes!
We can be sure of that.


115. An Incontinent Soliloquy


To pee, or not to pee – that is the question.
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind
to suffer a bloated bladder
or humilated loins –
To rise, to dream no more,
Or to trust the dream as
That, but a dream,
and relieve myself.

‘Tis a constipation
Devoutly to be wished. 
To rise, to weep —
To sleep, to dream —
ay, there’s the rub,
for is that sleep less dreamlike, 
lest we shuffle
off mortal coil 
And give way to piss?

The pangs of uncertainty,
the bladder’s delay,
The insolence of subconscience
and the urine –
When he himself might his quietus make
with a bare butkin?
To grunt and sweat upon a toilet seat
in night’s dead still
but from the dread 
of something after dreams
makes us rather bear those soiled sheets
Than exert for a fly to the loo?

Thus cleanliness
does make busibodies of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is yellow, o’er 
the pale cast of sheets,
And enterprise of great piss and moment
With this regard their currents spew forth
And lose the name of a dream. 
Yet, to force wake upon oneself
Is a fashion of the same body 
that fails to keep lowed passion cork.
I feel nothing remiss
And trust in turn to piss.

— Soft you now,
thou unjust Willie! — 
Limp, in thy orifices
Be all thy shame remembered.


94. The Bunny Hunter


I fancy a bit of a hunting
For the creatures of the field;
I shoot them high
I shoot them nigh
For the bounties they will yield.

But every shot played is all a-fowl
A Pheasant upon my plate;
I am in need
Of a different breed
To appease my starving state.

The Birds are all one of a feather
In a tree that strains their squawks;
It is unfair
To lose all my hare
Because I can find naught but their flocks.

I fancied a bit of a hunting
For the creatures of the field;
But not in this place
Will I find latent grace,
Only mad bony Cuckoos revealed.


202. A Pleasureful Plummet


Oh shit
Oh shit
I’m sixty-nine thousand feet up in the air –
And now I just realize it.
I trained so hard for my A license
To jump out on my own
Oh shit
And now I’m falling falling falling
Through clouds past birds down down
And am realizing it
That I trained to learn the thrill
And a thrill I sure am having
But not the one I expected
And not one I’m sure I want
Oh shit
Why didn’t I realize it
When I slipped this flight suit on
Or strapped down all the harnesses
That feeling this pressure
On my chest
And feeling the tug
Between my legs
And being subject to this show
Of gravity and wind upon my body
Would force out this reaction
A secret I didn’t even know I had
So how can I help it –
Oh shit
I’m so freaking aroused and can’t do shit about it
But fall the rest of the way
And pray those falling behind me
Think they’ve burst a raincloud on a crystal-clear day.


91. Threat of Extinction


If there were no humans
The air would be relieved
From strangled choke of smog and smoke
Coughed out by their machines.

If there were no humans
The land would be set free –
With fields and beasts and birds and trees
Not bound by their ill will.

If there were no humans
Would not the seas be blessed
With more marine life, less oil strife,
And glaciers all intact?

If there were no more humans
The world would lose its worth –
For does beauty really exist
With none to witness it?


211. Beach Day


Choppy the waves that crown the sea,
Black the beach our eyes can’t see –
Iron umbrella strapped to my back
With spread to beat back the burn of flack
That sprays like sunrays, or foam at the knees
Tripping up our boys wading in, floating free,
And those primed to hop out the LCVP
To seize spots for basking and advance the attack.
“We’ll start the war from right here!”
Shouts our chief among the debris
Of waterlogged sandals and detainees
So we pump ever faster, to triple our tracks,
Cover that beach with swissed Union sacks,
And so, to make sure fun in the sun the future guarantees,
“We’ll start the war from right here!”


189. Minority


I feel marginalized
Ostracized
Because I am not accommodated
For being a left-handed man;
Everywhere I move,
Everything I touch,
Reminds me of just how handicapped
I am as a left-handed man.
I ought to sue the government!
I ought to have reparations –
For I’ve never known the privilege
Of being a so-called “elite”
Who can use his right hand in anything
And not feel hindered or oppressed
Though he hinders and oppresses me
By being born quite differently!
And yet, because we are unique,
Being a rarer bunch to find,
We find solidarity in our identity
And tell you: Yes! Left-handed men
Can be just as good as Right-handed men
If not better!
But it’s still a pain and you still should pay for my discomfort.


209. The Major’s Prayer


Today we go to the field of battle.
So, boys, gather round me.
We’ve been through the darkness of the bloody nights together,
We’ve fought through cold, under enemy fire,
Through heat, above the corpses of fallen brethren.
Now, today, we go out onto the final field – The last struggle.

Before we brave the horror before us,
That great horror,
I’d like to pray for all of you.
It’s not my own prayer,
But one passed down by the major before me
And the major before him.
So gather around,
And let me pray for my soldiers.


“Oh, God in Heaven,
Have mercy on these piss-ant pussies,
For they know not what they do.
They thought they’d be a soldier,
Come out here and pull a trigger as much as they pull on their dicks,
But now they’ve reached a breaking point.
Now, the climb is starting to look harder
Than bringing down the whole mountain.

Well, big fuckin’ deal!
Only sissy-boys take it in the ass like that!
They bend over,
They’ll wish it was my dick
and not my steel-toed boot!
That’s how we play it,
‘Cause better a foot than a bullet.

These crusty old feet used to be on the front lines,
Stuffed in their same blood-crusted boots
With artillery spraying
Like angels’ piss from a Heaven
Whose gates have busted open
Not unlike my ruptured bowels,
Spitting out excrement.
Still, I fought,
And they have, too.

But we have sinned, Father,
We’ll never get to Heaven
Because we are that excrement!
Or, at least, we are in the eyes of our fellow countryman
Who call us murderers, interventionists,
College drop-outs, and all around
Anti-humanitarians.
They hate our guts!
What are we thinking,
Killing the poor terrorists, the misunderstood ‘other,’
Keeping down the man who shouts ‘Death to infidels,’
The one who literally lives in a state
Belonging to infidels?

I tell your troops what they’re thinking
Because they all have the collective brain density
Of a marshmallow peep
According to the world.
They’re thinking, ‘I’m doing this
Because it’s how the world works
And will always work!’
And they’re smack on the money.
But them back home don’t think so.
They think the world
Is a plain of daisies
And that everyone would be happy if they’d just
Skip on through it.
But that’s just plain pigeon shit,
And they’ll hate us forever for it.

They’ll hate us forever –
Doing what man has done for forever –
Since their so-called ‘progress’
Is just an escape,
A blind eye turned
To questions concerning life and death.
They fire their blustering bullets at us –
But help us remember, all they have are titles,
Identities,
And we are soldiers,
Our identity, brothers
Bred from centuries fighting against titles.

My prayer is that we wake up
And realize that though the world
Might have left us behind,
It went forward because of our desire –
Now it’s time for us to go forward with it,
Or against it,
But always forward.
Let us not do ourselves the disservice of surviving abroad
Only to die in our beloved country,
Else we’re only worth returning to the dirt
We were descended from
And spent our lives protecting.
May we take that dirt
And build a new land for ourselves,
That we might be men again.
In your name,
Against the name of those who see themselves
As gods back home,
Amen.”


A harsh prayer is better to a soldier
Than gentle assurance.
And now, onwards – Into the final battle
My troops
My brothers,
Always onwards.

May you have a safe flight home

And your families welcome you better than the world will.


16. Who Art Thou?


You bigoted hypocrite
Insufferable radicalist
Determined reformist
who art thou?

With flawed logic
Perverted fantasies
Worthless fancies
who art thou?

You depressed slug
Drugged demon
Obsessive destroyer
who art thou?

Blatantly selfish
Absurdly stubborn
Empty of compassion
who art thou?

You fallen slave
Self-proclaimed king
Scourge of Earth and self
who art thou?
thy knew who.
thou art man.