anth 74 selected poems
TRANSCRIPT
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Selected poems: of appoximately 470 written more than 30 years ago. Some ofthese have been used and re-used in the anthologized writings and most were
distributed on a CD titled ALL THAT WAS, ALL THAT WILL BE. These are
collected here in alphabetical order by first line, not in order of writing.
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a boywho grew up in a gardenmet a boy whogrew up in a factory
now there is a workshedin the gardenand the factory issurrounded by trees
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a philosopherin a librarywas working on a thesisconcerning life and death
but his workwas interruptedwhen a book fell on his head
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a veiled thoughta hidden depth in the glancethe reassuring smile
*kiss of betrayalkiss of complicity
*kiss of dishonour
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all youfarmers and geographers
do not use the riverto mark the boundaries
of your land
build boatsand let the river carry youinto the deep deep sea
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all your
strategems and plans
cannot give your children
sight
yet the black swan
on the wing
can smell the swamp
across the night
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and suppose
that one old and very wise fishas he floated slowly, suspendedamong the caverns of his lifebreathing oxygen freely givenby the garden of moss and weeds,feeding on the bread that rained
like manna from his fishbowl skybecame aware, in the garden of his mindthat every trembling, every darting fishhowever small,left a ripple on his soul,and the garden that fed him freelyfreely took the food he gave,till suddenly he knew he was onlyone small linkin an everlasting chain
and then
with the glassy eye of agehe saw the handthat dropped the manna from the skies
what could he say tothe suffering and the blind?what could he say tothe dying and the dead?what could he say
to the boisterous school of fish he ruled?
I am old and cannot teach you how to danceI must do my rounds in the confines of the bowlthe dancer dances to a song we barely hear
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and thenarose a mighty struggle
menwith their clocks and watchesdecidedto imprison time
better they had triedto chain a river down
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as I lie on my bed
the chiming of the clock
reminds me
of the hooting of the owl at night
bird of night
take me
to your moonlit dreams
take me
in your glowing eye
to where the pale moon
guard my sleep
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before jerusalemthe crowds had already been waiting for a long timeamong them were leperschildren deformed from birthand some who were inhabited by evil spirits
as jesus and the disciples came nearera centurion knelt downoffering to put his house and servants at their disposalbut said that he was a wealthy mannot worthy of their presence under his roof
the disciples were tiredfor they had not rested or eaten for three days
jesus turned aside and led themto the centurions house
the phariseeswho had watched carefully gathered togetherclaiming that he was a false prophetand began to plot his death
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dont pray loudly
with impatience
as if the lord be deaf
in the mothers womb
the infants bones
grow silently
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even now
the eagles are gathering
and
my friend
there is
a certain austere beauty
in the cruelty
of eagles
you
may not suspect
that in the depths of your soul
you toocan see that beauty
the spell
of a curved beak
the hidden depths of
a jewel eye
can trapeven you
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here is a bird that has travelled
three quarters round the world
each year of its life
it is black
dying on the sea-shore
in a town of tourists
fretted with biscuits by children
ignored by fishermen
it cannot tell
and you might as well not ask
it is dying and that is enough
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I am a sailor
in the eye
of a storm
and in this stillness
I listen
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I am an angelI scream(angels are allowed to scream)I think thatI am pityI am sorrow
I listen(there is silence in screams)
I laugh(angels can laugh too)echoes of laughter
they agreethe definition of despair
is an angel
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I clutchmy bottle of whiskeycloseagainst my chest
I dream of bootleggersI dream of moonshine
I seebottles bubblingin the quiet, moonlight
I build a little stillin a valleyby a river
I sleep
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I tell my dentistthat he is wasting his time
drilling holes in teeth
all he finds is corruption and decay
how much better it would be
to drill neat round holes in peoples heads
lift out the grey matter
from the cranial cavity
and into each one insert
a queen bee and her mates
soon people would be walking around
with beehives in their heads
they would always go
to where the lovely flowers growand all their thoughts would be
sweeter than a honey bees
oh death
where is your sting?
in my head I hold a thousand bees
each with a mightier sting than thee
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I thought I
saw a hawk
caught by the wind
falling with tangled wings
but my wife dreamt that I was
flapping my arms like chook wings
trying to fly
down the drive
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I told my neighbourwho is a doctor
that I had just written
four poems about death
I suggested
that even if they lacked interest for him
from a literary point of view
he may find their subject
of professional interest
he said doctors
were more interested in life
than death
but isnt it true I smiledthat they know much more of death
than lets say the man in the street
for some obscure reason
I then rambled on
about traditional chinese medicine
where while a doctor kept a man healthy
he was paid for his services
but if the man sickened or diedthen he or his relatives
were paid by the doctor
anyway while I was rambling on like this
with my neighbour
the man in the street
was run over by a car
and really did get to know a lot about death
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I wrote six poemsabout death
ranging from the facetious
to the dead serious
for awhile I behaved
as if I was an expert
on death
as if in my arms
I had long carried a dead child
through swamp and desert
forest and valley
till finally
after many yearsfollowing a winding river
and by now tired out with the burden
I reached a village by the sea
or perhaps more accurately
a tourist resort
there I laid the dead child
at his mothers feet
and as I looked at itI realized that it was no longer a child
but had grown into an old old man
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if someone tells youhe knows all about the devils worksit may meanhe has been in thedevils pit
if he has been
inside the pithe will not have left
without a mark
if youlook into an abyssthe abyss will look
back into you
if youbattle with monsters be careful
you yourself dontbecome a monster
and sincethe prince of darknessoften wears a cloak of lightbeware the preacher
who is familiar with demons
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if you can imagine a death
that swoops on you out of a blue sky
like an eagle
and if
in that last and frantic instant
deafened by the beating of wings
blinded
by a rush of blood
you glimpse the perfection
of a curved beak
the clear purity of a jewel eye
so that in the moment of death
you are stillwith the stillness at the core of beauty
then
perhaps you are ready
to dance to the seasons
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Im sitting in a pubby a station in the countrygoing homegoing home
Ive just come back from the outbackwhere a black dog tried to root mein the nighta black black night
Im a lonesome randy black dogbetter be ready with your pants downall night longall night long
Ill root your arse and legs off
Ill root your eyes and ears offcause your my lovecause your my love
the train doesnt leave till 10 to 5and here Im waiting at 10.35
Im hard as a musclebut soft and gentle
just for youjust for you
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in the city
jesus came by two blind men
the blind men heardfrom the noise of the crowdthat the prophet from nazareth was nearand one of them called out
lordyou can give back my sightand immediately he was cured
the other man listened to the crowd marvelat the power and charity of jesusand he said to himself
lordthy will be doneand he remained blind
and so it wasin every city
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in the music
of your wounded hand
I tremble
like a bird
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it has been brought to my noticeby a student of nature
that the portuguese-man-of-war
more commonly known to beachcombers as
the blue stinger
actually consists of five different creatures
which wander free through the oceans
till in response to some secret codenurtured over billions of years
in the inscrutable womb of evolution
come together in symbiotic affection
to find a singleness
of purpose and design
as a plague to all swimmers
and in my conceit
this has led me to consider that i too
may be a subject worthy of
scientific scrutiny
my refrigerator might be my stomach
the factories that process my foods
do the work of the digestive tract
the car is my means of locomotion
the state library is my memory
my conscience is my credit card
my sting
the nuclear bomb
i may look clumsy
but if you have a mind to trifle with
my ecology
beware
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it is my earthmother of the poor
father to the wild
feel it breathe underfoot
tremble with subtle pain
slow heart of stone, dream of ages
forgetting, forgiving, hidden
it is deep
deeper than the sea
it has known everything and forgotten
many times
its tears are rain
its agony the sun
then there will be adead rain
a blind sun
in silence
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it is the whooping
of cranes
and the magpies
fluted call
which attunes your ear
to a pitch of perfection
that on a spring morning
when the birds
gather in ecstatic chorus
you can hear
in the silence between the notes
the song
of the mute swan
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it took a billion years
of drought and flood
earthquake cataclysm and strife
to form the intricate design
of the petrels skull and beak
found along the shore
you wonder if its possible
that so much terror and such brutal joy
should be expended in evolving
this one solitary bird
and yet
for just an instantin the history of his kind
the petrel
soared upon a shaft of air
to hold
entire kingdoms
in his eye
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let me walk alongthe restless shores
the stingingoctopus
gives birth to fragile shipsof gleaming white
where from portugala man-of-war
trails his tentaclesthrough twilit worlds
some are made to dreamothers to explore
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my unclewho lives in a little
almost unknown country
has acquired over fifty years
the best private collection of old manuscripts
in the whole place
when he dies
he would like to be processed if possible
into parchment
we his relatives
would file past sombre faced
and with old fashioned ink plumes in our hands
put our signatures
on his dried out form then one of us
would take that parchment and put it amongthe old scrolls and books in the library
lock the door
and throw away the key
forever
when I die
I want to be burned
so that once more I return
to the ashes from which I was madebut then I also want
those ashes to be put in a hole in the ground
and over them a tree planted
as the tree grows
its roots will draw nourishment
from the cinders
I will see and hear the world
through the eyes and ears of a tree
so it is
some have the peace to seek death
others seek to be reborn
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my wife saidunless you take a good dose of sleeping pills tonight
you will kill yourself through
lack of sleep
I complained
that if I had taken my pills
on the previous night
I would not have written the four poems on death
which I did write
well she said youve got to
work our your priorities
is it so important to write poetry
that you run the risk of
killing yourself
I pointed out pedantically
that such a clear distinction
between poetry and death
could not be made
I said poetry is my life
or perhaps it is my form of dying
I write a lot of poetry about death
and with a note of drama in my voice:
after all
we are all dying in our different ways
I havent decided yet
which way to go
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now Im going to demonstratehow to build a man
the framework is made
from petroleum extractive
light and strong
no tendency to go chalky as is the case with bone
nor is it brittle like fibre glass
and easy to mass- produce with available techniques
it must be assembled carefully
though specialist training is not required,
each part is numbered
a reasonably intelligent person
can put it together by following the code
a code-book is provided
joints are not a problem
as was the case with metal pins
we use flexible swivellersof polyestered wood
there is no corrosion
refinements to the transistor
and research on micro-circuits
has led to a kidney machine
smaller than a cigarette lighter
held to the spine by a powerful electro magnet
the aorta
digestive system
alimentary canal
are made from plastic reinforced with vegetable fibre
the colours
are purely for ease of identification
the wiring is highly sophisticated
with an allowance for error
short-circuits are eliminated by complete insulation
we do have a problem with the heartthough essentially a pump
present engineering has not produced a substance
which can expand and contract for a sustained period
without developing molecular fatigue
this is overcome by using the heart of a pig
an animal of similar weight to man
sexual organs are immeasurably superior
to anything our fathers dreamt of
university research has produced
a highly sensitised elasto-fibre
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on a sheltered island
underneath some plastic palms
the parrots of utopia
dressed in vivid green
dance in groups
like clockwork toys
they nod their heads
and look so wise
that no one dares to criticize
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once there was a wise man
because he had many treasureshe installed all kinds of locksalarms and electronic devicesbut burglars came and stole some of his riches
so the wise man appointedstrong and dutiful servants to guard his treasuresbut when the servants fell asleepa very clever cat thiefcame by night taking many possessions
finally after much thoughtthe wise man metthe cleverest thief he had ever known
and to him he gave all his treasures
now the wise man and the thiefoften sit togetherdiscussing wisdom and folly
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one subject for conjecture
was an ageless man
who regularly passed through our town
against his chest
in a wire cage
suspended by a leather belt from his neck
was a small grey songbird
each time we asked about the caged bird
he would tell us
with a note of polite amusement in his voice
a different story :
that it was a travelling companion
and though it appeared to lack freedom
and he seemed to have it
there was an understanding between them
or that it was in memory
of a beautiful girl
to whom he swore to be true
but she left him
then again it was a treasured possession
of an old widow who took ill
she asked him to look after it
and it remained with him ever since
he said the bird reminded him of usthe cage was life,
however far he travelled
he knew to return
once he told us how in a huge city
he stopped under a bridge where two rivers met
a river of oil shone like the rainbow
the other was red with blood
he was the only one in that city
to wake to the morning song of a bird
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our hearts are stoneour lovesandour dream an opalour spiritair
our search is food
we are rainwe are flowerswe are seed
we stared at the nighttill our skin turned black
we are night
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perhaps life is a
decision
made by the elements of the earth
to dance
for a short season
the inanimate planet clothes itself
in a membrane of green
to provide
a stage for the dancer
the child of the silence of aeons
nurtured in the womb of stillness
assumes a human form
to dancenaked upon its parent earth
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perhaps it is too pedanticto discuss
whether object causes motion
or the motion defines matter
is it the wind that shakes the branch
or has the branch given life to air
is the flower beautiful
or did perfection form the flower
can you see the dancer
or is the dancer hidden in the dance
does the dreamer dream
or has the dream possessed the man
did the flute produce the tune
or has the tune been waiting for the flute
I dont really care about the answers
but the spirits that I talk to
all claim in their conceited way
that it is they that speak to me
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planting flowersmistbleeding hands
too clumsythe flowers dont grow
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remembering that like wood
I am made mainly of carbon
when I die
process me into a piece of foolscap
and on it
write these words
here is a piece of paperwith nothing on it but
some foolish words
and if you multiply the words
by the number of lines
divide by the number of verses
and add one then you will
have a good definition of a fool
and if the cap fits wear it
by the way
the number is460
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the doctorpulled out my wisdom tooth
and told me
Id be none the less wise for it.
furthermore, he said
my children will have no wisdom teeth at all :
the environment of modern man
leaves jaws insufficiently developed for wisdom teeth.nor will they be any less wise for the absence.
but I wonder
how carefully he looked inside my head;
perhaps there was nothing there
as wise as my wisdom tooth.
perhaps thats what he meant.
I am further confused by the suspicion
that without my wisdom tooth
I lack the wisdom to understand the situation.
even the nurse disturbed me
when she told me that the doctor
had his pulled out
long ago.
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the king has dieddeserted in a distant land
inside his rib cagetwo crows dance
one that struts and strops his beak
saysI dance like thisto honour death
the othershuffles his wings and nods his head
I dance for youmy empty friend
to introduce you to the night
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the local alley catone eyed prowler in the nightwas killed this eveningby the headlight of a car
with the silent instinctof generations of his kindhe writhed and cartwheeledinto a neighbours yard
to dieor to enter another oneof his nine lives
perhapsthe curtain of night has
been rentto admit him finally
into the paradiseof prowlers
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the monkeys in the universiteedo not read my poetreelike the crackpot of the cityI am let to wander free
but in the corners of my mindI hatch a furious plot
I will build a giant bombto disintegrate the lot
so perhaps they have their wisdomlet me cackle to my tombthere are many reasonswhy I wither in my room
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THE OLD LIBRARY
perhaps it is right thatthe custodians of this library
which is perfectly roundshould be inefficient
when it is transferredinto the new building
instead of the perfection of circlesthere will be glass rectangles
and the new custodiansof that new library willbe models of efficiency
andour most regular customers
from the derelicts homewho come here because there
is a touch of eternityin this room
will have nowhere to go
**
one reason whythe derelicts will not gointo the new library is
because it will be carpeted
they are used to hardand resonant floors
to them their footfallshave a hollow ring
they have grown used to that
**
another reasonwhy they like
to come to this libraryis because it is old
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they have nocommunity of worship
in this world
but long long agosomewhere in the past
it was different
and so if we do providethem with a service
it is onlythat we rescue
the pastfrom the present
**
in the mirroron the dais at the centre
of the perfect circleof this roomyou can see
that the old man at the tableis no younger than the oldest bookthe boy on the excursion
feels the dust along the shelves
all pasts andall futures are
only reflectionsof the present
**
have you noticed how frailthe old men are
their hands are clumsy like thehands of children
the books that they read
are the books that children readbooks about warkings
and other lands
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**and perhaps
some of these old menhave no future
just as some have hadno past
in this circular tower,a dead architects
imitation of a mystery that hecould only faintly glimpse,
these men guardthe eternal present
all others
must humbly waitoutside
**
buildings are hauntedby the souls of those who have used themthe alcoholic, the destitute & the agitated
come here to sleep
guarded by ghosts from the past
**
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the other dayI metold father time himself
instead of wearing blackhe dressed in shimmering white
Ive always seenthe scythe beforebut never seenthe hour-glass
he tipped itback and forwards
like jewelsin a vase
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the plover calls at night
to tell us that the night is life
and at night the fox comes out
to pluck the sleeping chicken
off its perch
as he trots towards his lair
bloodstained feathers sticking to his fur
he listens to the plovers call
he wont tell you what he knows
youcreatures of the light
listen
and be warned
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the song of god is the
song of the mute swan
his body
is made of loneliness
his limbs
are made from pain
and yet
he has a human form
dressed in the rags of a beggar
he knocks on every door
blind and feeblehe holds out his hand for alms
look closely at that hand
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the soul of a clerk
is made
of filing cabinets and
pigeon holes
one day he found
the cabinets were full
of birds
and they had nestlings
in the holes
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their hot and bothered faces
cooled by
seaside spray
the tethered people
look towards
the distant boundaries of the sea
their tired minds
are filled with clamourous
seagulls
screeching overhead
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there was
a man in the suburbs
who prayed that he be
a sailor
and his mind became
an oceanthe shimmering fishes were
its cells
then he knew that life was
governed
by the surging of the waves
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they sayHitlers scientists discovered a cheap method
of making paper out of jews
on that paper
some good books were written
but they were anti-establishment
so Hitler had them burnt
it was
a-round-about way
of burning jews
however
the ashes were scattered in a fertile valley
and from them grew a great forestwhich Hitler ordered to be chopped down
and made into paper-backs
the paper-backs
consisted of progaganda
so Hitler forced all the german libraries
to keep it on their shelves
the americansbombed the libraries
turning them into heaps
of smoking rubble
and if there is a moral to this story
dont ask me what it is
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they watch the white birds stoop through mist and spray
beautiful as a dream
it makes them think that
they are near the sea
they wait
to soak their withered hands
in salty water
once again
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time waits for no manand no man waits for time
the best thing to do with clocksis to play with them
my local watchmaker says
he is too busy to read my poetrybecause he hasnt got the time
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2mni
Ntrlir - ... 2mni blz; 2mni suevnerz, 2mni pnoekioez; 2mni Via Cavourz, 2mni Przr Garibaldiz, 2mniPorte Romane; 2mni jpsez bgn nchrch stps, 2mni indinz sln sunglrsz, 2mni blak mn sln h&bagz, 2mnitalin mn fingrn fliez. 2mni rnunsiaeshnz, asnshnz, kruesfkshnz, rzrkshnz.But nvr 2mni FONTANE (spshli liek th vecchie fonane nSiena & San Gimignano & th groetsk fontanen Prtsr Annunzirtr nFIRENZE) & nvr 2mni krnlz (but 2mni gondolerz & gondole).
Saluti da Venezia!
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walking down a summer lane
you may not notice
the shadow of
the crow
flying overhead
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what is the storm
which cast the soaring bird
down
to the dying earth
and whose the pain
that raised
the ageing hawk again
on pinioned wings into the air
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when finallythe house hasbeen made clean and tidy
the devilgoes wandering arounddesert places
for forty daysand then he comes backwith seven otherdevils, each more powerfulthan himselfand finding the houseclean, he sayslet us enter here
on that daymake sure thatyou keep the windowof your intellect shutfor it is throughthis windowthat the biggest devil of allattempts to enter
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when he saw that they had turned against himand were practising every kind of perversion
he sent an angel to punish the people
for six days
the angel strode through the land
pestilence in the left hand
a flaming sword in the right
till half the people broke out in boils and soresso that even little children were covered in pus
the other half he smote with the sword
so that the earth was awash with blood
on the seventh day
he saw that his bidding was done
and a voice echoed through the heavens
this is my body
this is my blood
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when I layon my wifeher stomach heavedlike an ocean
and I wason the waves
knowing that lifecame from the sea
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when simple simon met the piemanit was the pieman who was going to the fairsimple simon was on his way homefrom a psychiatric institution
as soon as the story about the incident leaked outthey promptly put him in again
anywaythe pieman made a lot of money at the fairand they both lived happily ever after
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when the lord knocked on my doorI saidsorryI havent got the time
it is exactly twelvehe said
the last hourand I assure youmy watch is right
Im sorry sir I saidno disrespect intendedbut I mean Im busyIm in a hurry
dont worryhe saidit doesnt matterI have all the time in the world
take as much as you need
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when the multitude had eatenhe was asked by one of the discipleswho would look after the peoplewhen he was gone
jesuswho had sought refuge by the lakesaw the crowd in the distanceand said
when I leavebrother will fall out against brotherson will disown fatherbread will become stoneeven the marriage winewill turn into vinegar
and yetif they are to enter the kingdom of my fatherthe restless will not find peaceand the starving will not be fed
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8/14/2019 Anth 74 Selected Poems
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when youre dead and buried
and at last
you think youve
found some peace
now that the
procession has gone home
and your funeral suit
is baggy with a loose
collection of your bones
you grin
at grieving solemn friends
calculating what
youve saved
you may not
think it so funny
when you see the ravenstrutting on your grave
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8/14/2019 Anth 74 Selected Poems
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with the pricemy hairdresser charges
I expect to get
a crewcuta shave
a vasectomyand a frontal lobotomy
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8/14/2019 Anth 74 Selected Poems
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writing an obituary
requires some talent
not everyone
has sufficient rapport with the dead
to be a professional
obituary writer
requires talent indeed
to be really good
you must be practically dead yourself
the only one
who can write an adequate obituary
for a dead obituary writer
is the owner of the funeral parlour
who having previously employedthe writer in a professional capacity
also sold him a life-insurance policy
which though it kept him poor
just covered the cost of his burial
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8/14/2019 Anth 74 Selected Poems
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you are a master of disguisesI slash through themas through so many sheets of tissueand I still dont see you
you have shuffled the deck so well thatking, queen, jack, jokeryou yourself dont know who you are
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8/14/2019 Anth 74 Selected Poems
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you whose lives aregoverned by the clock
remember that the swellingof the tideand the bleeding ofa womans womb
move to the rhythm of the moon
at nightthe farmers dog will howlin the citythe lunatic will dance