Poem: The Last Days of John Keats

I used to breathe so much

Easier before I fell in love;

Now my chest is a tourniquet,

Constricting around me, fighting

For every breath – so every inspiration

And expiration, is my Atlantean load to

Bear

 

II.

Ah, Keats, how I have lived and

Died alongside you! Sailing abroad,

In grief, knowing, your love, you would

Ne’er again meet – near choking on the

Blood of your own ruptured lungs – reading

Of it, I, too, could feel your blood, swelling

In my throat – and, all gone! – Never to

Write another poem – a cancelled stanza – no

Swansong – no parting cadenza – fits and starts

Charmed from a calm, lucid, mind; volcanizing

Passions to nerves unkind – Brother John –

I love you! Your veins are the veins that pump

This bloody man into the future – you feared

For your posterity – but your heart is found

Immortal in me. Those last days in Italy; your

Tubercular madness – catastrophic sadness –

Blood phlebotomized from a body, already

Bleeding – but on the milk of

Eternal life, you would soon be

Feeding

 

III.

You begged Severn to kill

You – to give you a bottle of

Laudanum, so your suffering –

Your irreversible suffering –

Would not be prolonged; but

As a friend, and Christian, he

Refused to allow you this deed

To do – so, from suicide – the luxury

Of the impatient – you were denied –

But why keep alive a posthumous man,

Who has already prophesied the end of

His span?

 

IV.

But, you were made of better

Stuff, John; you strode calmly into

That blistering light of pain, so that

Future generations and artists, would

Have your bravery to inspire us – and

You have inspired me, John – like

You, I can already feel the daisies

Growing upon me – and I write out

My heart’s transcript in poetry – striving

To mine from this vessel’s adamantine

Core – that imperishable truth hid in

Mercurial ore – so that future generations,

And the ones of my own, might read the

Hieroglyphs inscribed on my bones; that

Call out “For Love! Everybody to redeem!

A helping hand! A friend in need!”

 

V.

And John, I do want to be as

Great as you; as immortal as

You – but can I at least live a little

Longer than you? – Be a little luckier

In love than you? I know you had your

Fanny Brawne – with jealous rage, so oft,

She left you adorned – but was it not only

When your death warrant was written, that

Your vomited blood repainted this flirt as

Love-sick and smitten? Always writing you

A note to keep under your head, as you snuggled,

Moribund, in your sick patient bed – oh, isn’t it

Easier to commit, when you know, punctual death,

Has imposed a time limit, to the extent

Of our affection, to those that live, who

Would be happy to milk all the love we

E’er can give?

 

VI.

And, in my most morbid moments,

I ask myself – would I be willing to

Forsake my health, if just a few moments

With you were granted; to finally utter the words

With which I’ve so long been enchanted? To tell

You ‘I love you,’ and hear you say the same; though

My body were in death throes, I would feel

No pain – to be loved by you, would I sacrifice

Aught else – my blood, my heartbeat, my breath,

My health? Were it not unkind to have you

Watch me die – so from this feeble sparrow,

An eagle could fly . . .

 

VII.

But, if you will love me,

You must love me on your

Own, whilst there is breath in

My lungs, and flesh on my

Bones

 VIII.

So, I love you, my brother –

My brother, John Keats –

And one day, in heaven, our

Two souls will meet – and we

Will both know, at last, how

Our hearts to utter, without,

Inexorably, having

To Suffer

 

Poem: The Poet’s Danger

I have always been of the character

That expects too much, too soon

This mercurial wit

Can change himself in an hour

So why shouldn’t you?

Aye, I know nothing of constancy

I was built on falling leaves

And ocean-clashing rocks –

Not on established things

I sit brooding by the river

To reflect on my biographer’s migraines;

How a man can chisel himself

Out of nothing

And be both a gift and a curse

To all he that meets

Just to sit beside you is electric

To see how poetry tortures your face

And how the rainbow desuetude of autumn

Can move you to fragile tears

Still, I expect too much, too soon,

Hoping that a few words of mine

Will carry you aloft

Into the swirling cataclysm

Of lover’s fears, and lover’s woes,

Ah, there she goes!

I find it almost impossible to wish for anything

Without equally wishing against it

My prayers seldom get posted

Before I seize them at the garden gate

But I have no garden gate;

Only a maelstrom of identities

That thrash, and writhe, and flail about,

Like particles in an atomic collider:

One says ‘stay’ –

The other says ‘go’ –

One says ‘to’ –

The other says ‘fro’ –

So, forgive me if I try and leap

In all directions at once

But I can only get so close to you

Before something else calls me away

And this is forever the poet’s danger:

Fearing he may have revealed too much

Too soon, when events foresaid,

Are still resounding in your head,

But there is no use fearing such things;

I’d tear open my very skeleton

If I thought it would do you any good

But please – just indulge me a little

Allow me to sing for you, one last time,

So that the guilty cries of my swan song

Will drown out the soundtrack

Of incriminating evidence

That is certain to appear

My only apology is for:

Loving too easily, too infrequently,

Too quietly, and too haphazardly –

Yet it is also for this

That I apologize the least

Ah, a man can wean himself from all things

After writing poetry such as this

But still I stare into your stained-glass eyes

And long for another kiss

 

Poem: Male Tilda Swinton

Here I am

The male Tilda Swinton

Gentle and serene

I sit on a table

By the Symonds Yat shore

As the sun sets

Uncrossing and crossing

My lithe legs

With elegant infuriation

I am a criminal –

What have I to offer you?

A tasteless sense of humour

A bank-vault of fetid rags

And a wealth of wisdom

I can’t always promise

But always strive

To put into practice

So, I’ll uncross my legs

Again

And torture the little mouse

Like the demented cat I am

A won’t always be a harbinger

Of such placid worry

Toss me in the lake

And my pale skin

Will be the moon

That intercepts

The Earth

Poem: Tumbled Wounds

Come here, my love

Let me lick the wounds

With which I afflicted you

And you can take me off the spike

On which you had me impaled

Let wounds be wounds

And scars be scars

Let wounds be a paradise

And scars be the stars

On a mutilated tomorrow

We’ll ascend to the depths

With hand nailed to hand

We’ll tumble down the steps

Gods and Dogs Dawning

The gods are in the sky

I admire their activities

As I walk my three dogs

A canine Trimurti

Pulling off my arms

Many-armed Krishna

Assembles the vast web of the world

With his lotus eyes

And lotus feet

Towering forms of purple energy

Fold inwards

To touch the ground

Trees glow with jewel auras

Heavenly beings

Raining down from the sky

Not a single prayer

Is left unanswered

Everyone’s gone to rapture

Can’t you see this rapturous state

Smoothing out

My missing face?

POEM: Broken Moon

What will I eat tomorrow?

Will it be the coconut I’ve drained of milk

But whose flesh I have yet to touch?

Will it be unripened plums?

An unaccompanied jar of tahini?

We could do it all –

Me and I –

Eating just one thing a day

Trimming down

Back to the alien

Back to the aborigine

I’ve done it all before, you know

So many lifetimes spent

Living alone in the mountains

But I’ve come back this time

To show you the Way

I’m sorry if I’m grouchy

This feverish dragon

Still explodes with thunder

You won’t catch me

Firing a blunderbuss

But if you look between

The gaps in my teeth

You might still the see the scraps

Of orbital flesh

Where I tore the moon

Asunder

POEM: Shaman’s Journey

I feel so much of you in me

Walking around

I feel your body

Superimposed over my own

I need to be

More emotionally open with myself

That is the main thing

I need to work at

I’m here to help

But I do need to help myself

And be helped myself

Love is everywhere

I just need to make myself

More receptive to it

And not to fear it

Isis was my consort

My guide, my lover

My age-old friend

The one who has adored me

Through it all

I just need to recall

That she is always there

The Mysterious Female

The Divine Feminine

I am effortlessly attracted

To all her emanations

And embodiments

I need to embrace my womanhood

The mother within

And not be so hard on myself

It was lovely being

In the adoration of the temple

Those supernal beings

That miasma of colour

This home where I belong

Not this atrocious earth

I’ve always felt

So much fear here

So much essential distrust

Lost in the grace of the void

How can you feel distrust

When everything is formless

Everything is unified?

This is where I am happy

In this spiritual sphere of sincerity

To go and never come back

Would be a dream uncrowned

But I still have so much

To do here

People to help

People to inspire

People to show the Way

To be a radiant drop

Of heavenly wisdom

For those seeking out

The Light

In an ocean of ignorance

So much foolishness and stupidity

In this world

Of unceasing suffering and greed

More lightness is needed

To melt this matter away

Poem: Poppies and Scrolls

Do you remember when you and I

Used to build the sky?

We were not star-crossed lovers;

We were the stars themselves

OM TARE TUTURE TURE SVAHA!

I love you

Although I don’t know why

You should be singled out

As the object of my attention

What hidden history

Is it I see

In the frozen genesis of your eyes?

What ancestral force is it

That makes me see you as my child?

I love you, and yet I don’t know why;

But I do know that

We both built the sky

And we both filled the sky

Masters of the Universe

Great creators of gossamer gentleness

Can you see it?

Can you see it?

Can you see that I am your brother?

Just hold me

And put your mouth to mine

It does not matter

Who you are now

Because what we are together

Is eternal

II.

I hold no images of you

For images repulse me

Holding onto them

Sunders you from truth

But there is something in your eyes

The sacred geometry of your face

That resonates beyond mere form

III.

What was your body like

Before you had a body?

Are you an emanation of Tara

Now disguised as a human

Hatched in the Nirmanakaya?

A craving to be close to you

Occupies my heart

Almost as intensely as the Buddha

I do not feel it keeps me

From The Way

But allows me to behold

Parts of it I have not yet fathomed

Or begun to explore

Did you watch me die?

Did you see me filled with tubes?

Or on the grass of a forgotten field?

I was just out for a walk

Out for a reflection

And you found me lying there

In my scholar’s robes

My corpse buried under

Poppies and scrolls

 I was a Master Calligrapher

Adept in ancient Chinese

So it’s no wonder that my use of English

Handwriting makes no sense!

I don’t know what become of you

After that

As your tears watered my body

Fertilizing its future existence

And I’m back in the swamp again

Besotted with the notion of

Universal Fatherhood

Allowing all beings

To become interlocked

In the labyrinthine tendrils

Of my hoary beard

All beings embraced

In my all-embracing robe

Don’t you know I’ve always been here

Holding every single one of you?

I cannot tell you how much

I want to thank you

For the way you have opened my heart

Without even intending it

It has given me a glimpse

Into the godhead

Into the remembering

Of my fully-realized being

I am not becoming a Buddha

Because I already am a Buddha

Safely carrying all of you

In my cosmic rucksack

My satchel of poetry and dreams

Pacing the void

I span the universe

Literally taking eternity in my stride

There’s so many things

I want to tell you;

So many things that I want to teach you,

Instruct you

I want to reawaken your eternal being

So please become my disciple!

We’ll live together in a pine forest

Hidden from civilized concerns

I will teach you The Way

All the while

Kowtowing to you

And holding you as my superior

Bowing to you in deference

Scarcely able to look at you

But never wanting to look at anything else

Ah, to be a madman in a world

That has forgotten their usefulness!

Come live and love with me

And I will show you:

How the ivy grows

How the river bleaches bones

How nature butters her scones

The atrocities eternity condones

Love is not gentle

It is vicious and ferocious

Eating me alive

Chewing up my guts

And doing unfathomable things

With my secret heart

Things I have never felt before

Which we feel so very familiar

And so very certain

I want to howl, cry, laugh, weep,

Walk slowly through the morning fields

And lap up the sunlight

That you always exude

I can’t believe this

 I feel like fucking

Walt Whitman

As though I’m rewriting

Leaves of Grass

Without knowing why

Who am I really?

Who am I really?

Who is this marvellous imposter

Deceiving the world

With his gentle and exaggerated face?

Still, the poetry hurtles out of me

As I cannot stem the tide

Though half-starved and sleep-deprived

Caught up in a different tide altogether

Exultation above exultation!

You are the goddess Tara

I know you are

I know it in my cells

And other places

Where the truth of everything is hidden

This pen is going beyond me

This mind is hurtling away from me

But love keeps on attacking me

Assailing me from every direction

A mutant, I am

So it must tear me apart

It seems quite absurd

If looked at quite plainly

As a corporeal being

You just are as your are

Meaning no less to me

Than the rest

But beyond that symbol you’re wearing

I feel something deeper

I feel something ten trillion poems

Could not begin to relate

Though there is nothing that is not poetry

As none of us will negate

IV.

So, now my unknowing lover

What do we do

Now we’re at this crossroads?

But I just talk foolishness

There is no crossing;

We are just beginning to converge

I don’t want to scare you away anymore

But this hermit crab

Must destroy his shell

And hide his secrets in the cave

Where the pearl of honesty grows

Where the pearl of integrity grows

Poem: Secrets Lost, Secrets Found

Marble statues

Gored from the Earth

These secrets have not been lost

Only transformed

To the Doctors of Gnosis

They can still see it all

Carnivals and masquerades

Hearkening back

To the rituals of Dreamtime

Jesus Christ

Crucified on an ankh

Decorated with alchemical symbols

Known only to the initiate

Everywhere we look

This symbolic language runs deep

Unrecognized by those

Dyslexic to the experience of life

Transcendence

Transcendence

All the secrets may be lost

But mystery still murmurs,

Murmurs,

Murmurs a truth

We must die to comprehend

It just all depends

Whether you like your wisdom

Served hot

Or cold

Poem: The Violence of Waiting

I come into my room

Where the scent of piss

Wafts across the chaise lounge

Nailed up cupids

Disdaining to swear

Lavish the carpet

With their broken teeth

Uniting dentists in yearning

Who can put that brush

Between the gravid teeth

Of my ambition?

Music catastrophizing through my veins

And longing to be sung

I’d feed you my skin

If you could make it all happen

But let’s not turn corrupt

 Through The Violence of Waiting

Mouthed words of violence

Seduce me from my golden tomb

And you’ll find me

In The Palace of Nimrud

Lying in a pile of coats

Until the party’s over