Thursday, October 28, 2010

Damm Straight

Thank you for your note to me
(I read it on the lavatory)
my poems are rather weak I fear
they will not make you shed a tear
products of a childish mind
you only praised them to be kind
therefore place them in a bin
never to be read again
I had just finished watching
this documentary about how
the holy crusaders had painted the town red
with the blood of any people
who happened to be Jews
on their way to liberate
the holy land
when the door bell rang
it was two people with bibles
wanting to share
that Jesus is love

The rioteous off all nations
sat round the table
rav kook was there, and the baal shem tov too
St Francis of Assisi, and St Kabir
and I think that was Rumi seated near by you
Jane Goodall was there, a guerrilla near at hand
Raoul Wallenbach and Ramana Maharshi
cut up vegetables in the kitchen
while Zinoviev poured tea from the Samovar
bekavod, said St Francis, you make the blessing
we’d be delighted to hear the holy tongue
he held open the door of the limousine, helped the old man in
made sure his coat tails wouldn’t get caught in the door
Joan of Arc and Hannah Szennesh arm wrestled
while Osho in the swimming pool
laughed quietly to himself
I am at a party
with Ramana, and Osho, and the Baal Shem Tov
and Gangaji and St Francis, Rav Kook and Rav Nachman
Papaji and dod Zvi
and we link hands and dance the hora
one-and-two and three and
one –and-two-and three and
lef-ft righ-ght
faster and faster we spin til
none of our feet are touching the floor
Osho’s beard flies
like a comet on the wind
Rumi is like
a sweet breeze at my side
Nisarghadattha’s hand
is warm on mine
on the other side
of the windows
all the murderers and resenters
of history
the Hitlers and Ahmanijads
gaze wistfully
no one ever told them
joy is free
they wish they could have another chance
and they shall
I come to Australia
to yur beers and fukking rugby
to your anglo celtic bigotry
to your proudly Australian insecurity
fuck this man I’m not gonna play some nigga immigrant role
just cos I been here five minutes
I’m as Australian as you, if not as much as the Garigal
if I wannabe

To want to share is a holy thing
To want to influence is not
How often I confuse the two!


Torture is yoga
imposed from the outside



To eat from hunger, not from boredom
to be with what is here
to thank the G-d for gratitude
to meet desire and fear

In our house
everyone has an illicit supply of clothes pegs next to their beds

These are the generations of woe-man
The uncircumscribable freshness and revelations of youth
the despair of middle age
the surrender into grace of ripe maturity

the Jew in you
is furry and sweet
the Jew in you
dos not eat meat

I think I've earned
my master's degree
in feelings of


A comforting thought: as I get older I move from anonymity to invisibility



M. Lommel said...

Thought you might be interested also in this:

Loved the poem.

. said...

Thank you M. Lommel