The Great Artists
The great artists pass through this life
Like
stars of different seasons
Like
comets of different centuries
Like
broken Messiahs bloodied by doubt
Like
flowers barely surviving in snow
They
have the deepest need
To
shower us with their gifts
As
they patiently carve out
The
marble and stone of their dreams
But
they are rarely understood
Or
regarded till long after their deaths
In
a world content to live in shadows
Gaza
2014
A trickle of pellucid light
In
the smoking ruins of truth
An
illuminated word freed
From
the tyranny of language
A
splinter of memory
In
a perpetual present
The
grey spectre of the real
In
the graveyard of illusion
The
Thieves of Holiness
The thieves of holiness hoist their flags
With
no genuine authority
They
only rule over the chaos
They
have cynically created
Their
marching songs are discordant shrieks
As
they wage their war against Mercy
On
the streets the mercenaries
Are
a mirror of the general malaise
Barking
out crude monosyllables
Fuelled
by hatred and hysteria
Their
covenant is broken and dishonoured
They
have turned justice into wormwood
Their
crowns of beauty into ashes
Unlike
Jacob they do not wrestle with their angels
In
time they will decompose behind their masks
Their
flimsy deceits and third rate uniforms
They
want generations of ‘ lesser’ beings
To
pay for their exodus in the wilderness
Their
paranoia strikes at the heart of love
They
present a picture to the waiting world
Of
a glorious and noble nation
Poisoned
by the ‘illegitimate’ other
The
truth is lost in translation
And
mired in mythologies
Waiting
for a New World
I shiver at night in an indifferent world
Where
elites violate the poets’ harvest
Where
newspapers continue with their careless stories
Targeting
the dispossessed and the voiceless
I’d
like to tear this Age into intricate shreds
And
put it back together again with rich patterns
I’m
obsessed with objects that are dipped in light
That
counteract the darkness of these times
My
poems are for the unseen & unborn
I
await a new world that will receive me
Light
enters when we are wounded
My words are weeping twilight and sunset
As
I pick at fragments of my ruin
Days
and nights speed by so fast it’s surreal
I
can’t seem to get a firm hold on Time
I
think that the glittering veil of Mammon
Hides
the bleakest of truths from our eyes
And
only when we are burnt by
The
black sun of despair, can we be reborn
My
heroes are the biblical prophets
Who
knew the dryness of bones in the desert
Who
knew that holiness had to be earned
From
bitter trials by fire, locusts and flood
What
I’ve learnt from them is crystal clear
What
is torn or broken lets in the light
Why
silence is golden
Some say that it’s rain not thunder
That
causes great flowers to grow
If
that is so I’ll raise the power
Of
my poetry not my voice
There’s
so much in the world
To
raise a clenched fist against
But
I will learn to unclench
My
heart and all its sorrows
A
hymn in praise of silence
Is
better than a war of words
In
silence truth and beauty
Find
their proper place
For
silence is the language of God
Anything
else is muddled translation
The
Varied Fortunes of Poets
One stood among the sunflowers
Listening
to birdsong
One
was struck by moonlight
In
the febrile realms of night
One
was lost in despair
For
a dry, ungodly season
And
then the thunder & lightning
Arrived
and he was reborn
Blessed
by silvery shards of rain
Another
was plagued by madness
And
is now sectioned; he is just
Another
number in a white, sanitised ward
It
turned out that words were no help
It
was just like pissing in the wind
I
stand upon the precipice
Bursting
with dreams & visions
With
one hand on my horoscope
One
hand on the edge
Poetry
can’t change the world
I stand in liquid light by the water’s edge
Wondering
what’s happened to my childhood dreams
So
far I’ve built my life on poetry
It
seems as though I’ve raised a house of sand
I
thought that I could heal with shining words
Our
contaminated consciousness
But
I have been foolish I didn’t reckon
On
people’s desire to dwell in shadows
Some
say that art is the proper task of life
That
might be the case – but to do it right
You
have to adapt to the conditions
Imposed
by rampant modernity
Or
live in a state of permanent exile
While
others shut their eyes to truth and prosper
Think
for yourself
Don’t depend on the’ mercy’ of the state
Demand
your right to exist
For
Truth is being straight jacketed
While
we remain distracted
Lost
in a hyper real haze
Politics
is so much window dressing
Democracy
is just another modern church
With
its secular hymns and slogans
With
its hierarchy unchallenged
With
its liturgy so meticulously prescribed
To
Pinochet
You created the iron cage
To
imprison the singing bird
You
devised rigid systems
To
‘cure’ the subversives
You
trampled the radiant dreams
Of
the weary children of the dust
You
masterminded the machinery
That
broke the bones of paradise
I
believe
I believe in the belittled and the benumbed
Gazing
like dumb beasts in the wounded night
I
believe in chaos that gives birth to stars
I
believe that God resides in the mad
And
that the pious are way off the mark
I
don’t believe in the sermons of the rich
And
the wretched rhetoric of elites
I
believe that Love abides in a diaspora of dust
I’m
set free
His vast realms of silvery Mercy
Rain
down on me in the house of decay
This
time I will extricate my soul
From
the great tentacles of Moloch
And
the twisted wires of machinery
At
the heart of consumer dreaming
I
need to escape the faceless crowds
Of
the rampant marketplace
Where
the fake, plastic flowers
&
the billionaires bloom
I
could live with rocks and silence
I
could live in awe not comfort
Praised be
Praised be – the rebellious gestures of Jesus echoing through time
Praised be
Praised be – the rebellious gestures of Jesus echoing through time
&
the dialogues of dreamers in the potent bliss of Spring
Praised
be – The ripening of stars in the fertile night
&
the diaphanous words that glide with the birds on the wind
Praised
be – The peace activists railing against the vast, intractable
machinery of war
&
the so called mad who’ve broken out of capitalism’s metal ways
Praised
be – The wounded children of the dust who lie weeping
In
the graveyard of frozen vision; may this abundant age address their
suffering
Praised
be – The unknown saints so humble in their utter ordinariness
&
the most fragile of flowers barely surviving amongst neon &
concrete
Praised
be The angelic artists scratching at the heart of life; searching for
a pulse behind the plastic
&
the wilder ones with wandering, fevered minds who cannot rest
Praised
be – Those who sip the liquid light from the vital sun of longing
&
those who proselytise in plagued streets at midnight
Praised
be – Those who find a dwelling place in the soft embrace of
imagination
&
who oppose its strangulation in the crucible of calculated education
Praised
be – The non conformists refusing to follow regimented consumption
&
the debunkers of myth & fairytale in the caustic kingdom of
advertising
Praised
be – the poetry - a flash of light in the midst of a dark,
discordant universe
&
the revolutionaries buttressing the burning question marks of these
times
Praised
be – The flesh and the fire of genius thought which reinvigorates
leaden lexicons
&
the mellifluous music that heightens critical consciousness
Praised
be – The saviours of wanton humanity who sacrifice themselves so
that we may live
&
the mystics and the monks who repeat their mantras to end all pain
Praised
be –The holy ocean of infinite wisdom in an age of tainted
information
&
the immensity of joy that refuses to be crushed by fearful Pharisees
Praised
be – The fruits of eternity sweetening in the gilded gardens of
existence
&
the secular prophets who proclaim the Word but who deny its gleaming
reality
Praised
be – The redeeming rain pouring through the cracks in our elaborate
designs
&
the healing days when limitless Love soars over the abyss
Praised
be – The rebirth of wonder in deadening democracies
&
the Spirit that remains as fleeting illusions fade away
Biography
I
am a poet from Teesside with a strong interest in
literature, philosophy, comparative religions, politics and
psychology. I have a 2.1 B.A Honours degree in philosophy and a
Masters degree in Cultural Studies. I have taught many subjects at
G.C.S.E and A level and am currently working as a freelance tutor.
In
2009/10 I created and performed an audio visual spoken word project
entitled ‘Artificial Eden’ which is a critique of consumer
society fused with a deeply human search for an underlying
spirituality behind the world of appearances. In addition to this, I
have had several poetry books published by Trevor Teasdel of Glass
Orange productions.
