Gord's Café

Tales From Café Apollinaire: Variations on Distilled Dreams

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Preface to Tales From Cafe  Apollinaire :Variations On Distilled Dreams

Manifestos

Broken dreams of Manifestoes
written in blood
bodies hung from lamp posts
a season of madness
a season of fantasy-

Manifestoes for the masses
for the mass of racists
for the mass of idiots
for the mass of dumb-fucks-

Manifestoes for the few
for a corrupt elite
for the fatuous
pompous pretentious
facile materialist
and heady hedonist-

Break Break away from the past
but it cannot be done you say
we are done for
we are done before we begin
the past is in our bones
the past flows through
the marrow of our bones -

the myths of the past
run through our veins-

Break Break away
from the desire to be novel-

Write Write a Manifesto
from the heart
unroll yellowed maps and charts-

Note the ancient signposts
along the way-

See them naked and stripped
the veil of mystery has fallen away-

The hundred thousand Manifestos of the past
is each a step along the way
to the last Manifesto
signed by a party of one -

From Tales of Café Apollinaire:
Variations on Distilled Dreams

PART I

- Refugees of Bohemia -

At the end of the night

After leaving Café Apollinaire

poets & artists stroll arm in arm

along the shadowy streets of Paris

in the twinkling yellowish glow of gas-lights

inebriated by heady discussions

& wine & absinthe

Fire-Dragons circle the moon

St.Denise wanders around

holding his severed head in his hands

cynical Gargoyle Stryge

sticks out his tongue from atop Notre-Dame

returning to humble ram-shackled

cold dark garrets in the squalid slums of Bohemia

on dead end streets in rambling

make-shift cheap rat-infested

rent by the week hotels

a crazy maze a virtual rabbit warren
new sections added on willy-nilly

eating one meagre meal a day

lighting candles stuffed in old wine bottles

dripping with hardened wax

struggling through another night

of a thousand hours

hearing a series of single gun shots

the sickening splashes of water

another poet or artist a genius

a third rater a poser



caught up in Romantic delusions

ends a life not worth living-

at the end of all our struggles

we shall be carried out

in a coffin by strangers



abandoned in a common grave

or in a grand funeral procession

a multitude of mourners

led by a New Orleans Jazz Band

through the Gate of St.Denis

to the Cemetery of the Innocents

left to ponder eternity-


TALES FROM Café APOLLINAIRE:
Inside the Jumble Jar With Marauding Mobs Of Lobtsers

Café Apollinaire : Variations On Distilled Dreams

Part II

Tristan Tzara & Hugo Ball mock

all these foolish feeble artistic

psuedo-philosophical aesthetics

become Surreal become Dada

howl moan sigh shout screech

speak words at random

at random words speak

speak letters not words

in telegraphic dots & dashes

in smoke signals

too much ink has been spilled on paper

no need no point in crying over it

misunderstood words slithering into hiding

hissing about to strike

misunderstanding hiding slithering words

leaving us dying from meaning

shapes of sounds

shapes of pictures

shaken around in the Jumble Jar

sifted from your head

love death fear

what colour what shapes are these

the picture a puzzle a muddle

dreams nightmares encryptic symbols

hieroglyphics signposts of inscapes

inner maps of the abandoned mines

objects of outscapes inverted

in the mind's eye searching deep within

where words cannot reach

where visions slumber waiting

for the call-



rambling meandering

interior monologues

dialogues of imagined self & soul

of the deluded Mental Traveller

on the experiences of the senses

forcing meaning

light strikes an eye

turns to color a world of light & shadow

color dripping on objects

a continuously moving film

twisting frames into order

sequences jumbled

in the jumble jar

behind our eyes

visions wondrous unspeakable

plunging beneath the surface

giving birth to new myths

others see in dreams

some never go there

some murder dreams on waking

playing in the fields of Archetypes

of fears & fantasies

a poet being attacked by a potbellied stove

being chased by marauding mobs of lobsters

men in bowler hats raining down

melting clocks searching for friends

proselytizing giant Leopard Slugs

on every street corner

no longer there searching for the room

house or apartment where you say you live

a thousand miles from where you are

detachable penises running wild

vaginas with double rows of teeth

all dislodged spread out shamelessly

on the dinner plates for all to see

two scorpions fighting to the death

a straight razor slices open someone's eye

quest sitting around a table

on toilet bowls politely

moving their bowels at Bunuel's request

a feast to feed our heads

at a Banquet at Café Apollinaire

inside the Jumble Jar-

PART III

This New & Improved version of the poem Café Apollinaire is subtitled VARIATIONS ON DISTILLED DREAMS.

In this section we meet Marcel DuChamp, Andre Breton, Erik Satie & talking baguettes so enjoy !

TALES OF CAFE APOLLINAIRE:
VARIATIONS ON DISTILLED DREAMS
Gordon Coombes


At Café Apollinaire two aspiring writers

writing alternate pages to a novel

have hung each page upon the walls

of their cluttered dimly-lit cockroach

rat infested undersized apartment

hoping somehow out of chance

during the night the story

will piece itself together-


In his hands an innocent poet holds the moon

in his eyes he holds moon beams

undermines sanctioned madness

conjures a garland of flowers

tossed around the moon-


Poets Artists chain-smoking cigarettes

sharing sweet weed magic-mushrooms

Absinthe & Laudanum drifting about

talking of God & art

from Mount Sinai to the sermon on the Mount

from Allah Brahma & Buddha

to Thor Oden Apollo & Zeus

to Isis & Osiris & Ishtar

cannibalizing art & culture

from Impressionism Cubism & Realism

to Expressionism & Surrealism

Dada to deconstructing

another cup of coffee -


Erik Satie's tables & chairs

composed of musical notes

fill our Café where

Dali's melting clocks hang on fleshy walls

dripping spilling onto the floor

outside men in suits & bowler hats

rain down cats & dogs

Pontiff Andre Breton excommunicates

artistic heretics who fail to follow

Surrealistic Manifestoes-


Angry snarling insulting waiters

serve dishes of stewed art & poetry

some insist on it being raw

others want it over-cooked -


Acting very serious very busy indeed

Marcel Duchamp beavering away

says everything is Art

places written labels on everything

" This is a table " "This is a waiter "

"This is a Urinal" then with a flourish signs his name

someone shouts "Dada Lives"

another shouts "Surrealism Lives"

& a fight breaks out-


On Tuesdays the International Socialists

meet at Café Apollinaire

all the heavy weights & light weights are there

sing a medley of tunes

fit for the Barricades

raise the red flag of Bolsheviks

take a vote toss Lenin Stalin & Mao

out into the streets

let us speak of them no more

dreaming of the Paris Commune

of storming the Bastille-


Eight feet long Baguettes begin to speak

baguettes with arms legs eyes

order coffee & brandy

the library around the corner

has called the police the book shelves

stuffed with big rude cynical Baguettes

the Deli next door complains

they have no Baguettes just stacks

of half- baked books

all done in the twinkling of an eye-

of half-baked books

all done in the twinkling of an eye-

The band plays songs from

the Tibetan Book of the Dead

the Book of Psalms & the Vedic Liturgy

the patrons of the Cafe rush about shoving their way

to the dance floor to do the Can-Can -


exotic erotic desert flowers

of Georgia O'Keefe

are tended by the staff & regulars

of Café Apollinaire -


Nietzsche in inch-thick eye-glasses

out of breath & pale

arrives with Zarathustra

singing songs of the Nibelung

stands on a table preaching proclaiming

the death of God the will to power

time for the Over-man the new improved man

being taunted by a surly dwarf

Richard Strauss applauds

Wagner storms in with his entourage

of Tristan & Isolde Siegfried & Brunnhilde

the Valkyries come swooping down

carrying bags of Gold stolen

from the Rhine Maidens

all waiting & praying for the Götterdämmerung

Twilight of the Gods to cleanse the Earth

longing for the fiery storm

of the all consuming Rajnarok-


Rainer Maria Rilke waxes poetic

about invisible Angels

hovering all about us

cries out for Love Eternal-


day in day out night after night

so much time so much energy wasted

poets & artists argue over everything

the vivi-sectionists of art & poetry

cut slice dice hack away

reducing works of the imagination

to lumps of lifeless flesh

on a cold shiny sterile metal autopsy table

discounting this & that as arbitrary

inane banal purely decorative

not fitting the proper form-


Neo-Classicists Romantics Realists

Imagists Symbolists Futurists

Fauves & Fascists

Expressionists Impressionists

post-impressionists Folk Artists

Poets of the streets Mad Surrealists

Dadaists Confused Cubists & Sentimental Socialists

Anarchists & Revolutionaries fill the air

with thundering uproarious Rhetoric

throwing words & food at one another

an improvised comic opera

a burlesque of buffoonery

throwing chairs overturning tables

beating with their fists the air

& faces of their enemies

wits dim-wits half-wits

drawing swords hand-guns rifles

dueling to the death

with eight-foot-long baguettes

over aesthetics metaphysics

& who is to pay the bill

for the evening's Banquet-


Elijah gets up from his appointed seat

shakes his head in disgust realizing

the time for his return has not yet come-

PART IV
TALES FROM Café APOLLINAIRE:

VARIATIONS ON DISTILLED DREAMS - Elijah's Judgement

...wherein we meet Georgia O'Keefe , Nietzsche , Wagner , Strauss etc.
by Gordon Coombes

exotic erotic desert flowers

of Georgia O'Keefe

are tended by the staff & regulars

of Café Apollinaire -



Nietzsche in inch-thick eye-glasses

out of breath & pale

arrives with Zarathustra

singing songs of the Nibelung

stands on a table preaching proclaiming

the death of God the will to power

time for the Over-man the new improved man

being taunted by a surly dwarf

Richard Strauss applauds

Wagner storms in with his entourage

of Tristan & Isolde Siegfried & Brunnhilde

the Valkyries come swooping down

carrying bags of Gold stolen

from the Rhine Maidens

all waiting & praying for the Götterdämmerung

Twilight of the Gods to cleanse the Earth

longing for the fiery storm

of the all consuming Rajnarok-



Rainer Maria Rilke waxes poetic

about invisible Angels

hovering all about us

cries out for Love Eternal-



day in day out night after night

so much time so much energy wasted

poets & artists argue over everything

the vivi-sectionists of art & poetry

cut slice dice hack away

reducing works of the imagination

to lumps of lifeless flesh

on a cold shiny sterile metal autopsy table

discounting this & that as arbitrary

inane banal purely decorative

not fitting the proper form-



Neo-Classicists Romantics Realists

Imagists Symbolists Futurists

Fauves & Fascists

Expressionists Impressionists

post-impressionists Folk Artists

Poets of the streets Mad Surrealists

Dadaists Confused Cubists & Sentimental Socialists

Anarchists & Revolutionaries fill the air

with thundering uproarious Rhetoric

throwing words & food at one another

an improvised comic opera

a burlesque of buffoonery

throwing chairs overturning tables

beating with their fists the air

& faces of their enemies

wits dim-wits half-wits

drawing swords hand-guns rifles

dueling to the death

with eight-foot-long baguettes

over aesthetics metaphysics

& who is to pay the bill

for the evening's Banquet-



Elijah gets up from his appointed seat

shakes his head in disgust realizing

the time for his return has not yet come-

TALES FROM Café APOLLINAIRE:
VARIATIONS ON DISTILLED DREAMS -


PART V

Tower of Babel


wherein we meet Wordsworth, Blake, Lewis Caroll,
Rimbaud and ,Necrophyliacs etc.


At Café Apollinaire

wordy wooden wordsmithy Wordsworth

tirelessly works with anvil & hammer

on wrought hot iron

erecting a wretched tower of Babel

in a field of golden daffodils

trailing clouds of glory

the visionary Blake bastes

& bakes his brain

in visions of Angels & demons

of Heaven & Hell

of Innocence & Experience

of gentle lambs & ferocious tigers

of weepy chimney sweeps

blasting the Satanic Mills

of the age of reason

crying out of the wilderness

in a hair-shirt & ashes

on a roof-top gnashing his teeth-


The romantic poet

wearing a green absinthe stained shirt

recites for the one for whom he lays his heart bare

wrapped in her cloak of cool blue shadow

of smouldering cinders

of passionate mysterious eyes

presents a bouquet of purple perfumed flowers

whose lips speak in satiny mauve tones

brings her the head of Medusa

he holds in his hands

dripping blood into a basket of pomegranates

& golden apples of the sun

fiery stallions neigh & snort loudly

dreaming of pulling the sun

stamped with delicate butterflies

all to no avail

she averts her eyes

gets up from the table

in search of someone & something else



A seminary student

with patience & compassion

talks to the Mad Reclusive Monk

to cheer him up

to get him out of his shell

fears the wounds go too deep-


Lewis Carroll sits sipping sips of tea

before returning to the hunt

of the sly slippery Snark

quotes Zen koans

of caterpillars slugs & bats-



Under the cover of night

Gabrielle Rossetti claws through graveyard soil

in desperation

to steal his manuscript of verses back

placed by his lover's coffin

in a moment of manic posing

of romantic mindless madness-


Classicist & Neo-Classicist

paint pious Biblical scenes

scenes of ancient Greece & Rome

sad melancholic scenes

scenes of jubilation

all in exacting details

painting the rich & kings

Queens Dukes & Earls

into these scenes

Nobles & the Medici

standing round about

in a stable in Bethlehem

weeping outside the tomb of the Nazarene

on Golgotha kneeling at the cross

writing thousand page long novels

of pseudo-realism

parceled out in chapters

at a dollar a line

in a popular newspaper

the longer the better

giving the public what they want

paying heed to their supportive

& complaining letters

for poor sweet little Nell

little Doritt or Oliver Twist

of pity & too easily spilt tears

of the superficial sentimentalist -

Tales From Café Apollinaire:
Variations On Distilled Dreams


PART VI :
Boisterous Walt Whitman And The Death Of The Muse


Boisterous Walt Whitman celebrates

the Body Electric plays prophet

peddles his book of Blades of Grass

pestering patrons -



Merlin the Poser sets up shop

dressed in a black cape

uses a wooden walking stick

covered with carvings of snakes & runic signs

removes the Death card

& the Hanged Man from the Tarot Deck

to ensure brisk business-


Yeats pulls up a chair begins his commentary

on the ancient mystical Druids

talks of an armed revolution

out of which a terrible beauty is born

introduces himself to an invisible elf

refuses to leave the Café all day

fearing the slouching beast outside

dreams of the Isle of Innisfree

'til someone reminds him

there are no Cafés there -



Virginia Wolfe tells tales

of picnics at the lighthouse

her hearing impaired waves thundering

crashing all about her

she leaves stopping here & there

filling her pockets with stones

preparing for her journey

beneath the rhythmic grey Atlantic waves-


There is a poet here

who echoes the despair of Baudelaire

making his own funeral arrangements

desiring to be cremated his ashes ground up

into flour for making Baguettes

his blood purified & blessed

distilled fermented made into wine

left for a year then drank

by his mourners some perform a Mass

here is his blood here is his flesh

others wearing prayer-shawls & yamakas

recite the Kaddish -


At night Surrealist-saboteurs

agent-provocateurs anarchists

of all types & brands

paint trees orange & purple

use pressurized paint-guns at random

redecorate the sky

hang paintings from sky-hooks

laying rich lush green carpeting

on the streets hang bouquets

of baguettes from lampposts

cover rocky-cliffs & mountains

in rainbow coloured satin sheets

hang bags of coal from the ceiling

of Café Apollinaire setting loose

Giant Leopard Slugs & snails

to crawl over tables & chairs

outside Vampire Bats & Vultures

circling as we eat our meal

provided by the Ancient Mariner-


The romantic poet wearing a green

absinthe-stained-shirt recites

for the one for whom he lays his heart bare

wrapped in her cloak of cool blue shadow

of smoldering cinders

of passionate mysterious eyes

whose lips speak in mauve tones

presents a bouquet of purple perfumed flowers

brings her the head of Medusa

dripping blood into a basket of pomegranates

& golden apples of the sun

fiery stallions neigh & snort loudly

dreaming of pulling the sun

stamped with delicate butterflies

all to no avail

she averts her eyes

gets up from the table

leaves without a word -

Someone announces poetry & art are dead

the Muse standing amongst us

collapses on the floor

we can hear her death rattle

she shows no signs of life-

TALES FROM Café APOLLINAIRE
VARIATIONS ON DISTILLED DREAMS:

PART VII
A SEASON IN HELL


Every night at Café Apollinaire

is a season in Hell for some

Rimbaud knew all too well -



The Marquis DeSade tells his tale

of a quarter century in jail

his deeds exaggerated

confusing his fevered imaginings

of sordid collected tales

of mad orgies of flesh eating

of drinking & bathing in human blood-


Classicist & Neo-Classicist

paint pious Biblical scenes

scenes of ancient Greece & Rome

painting the rich & kings

Nobles & the Medici

in a stable in Bethlehem

weeping outside the tomb of the Nazarene

on Golgotha kneeling at the cross-


Bertholt Brecht is busy

organizing the waiters

for a protest for a strike

what the staff here endures

is cruel & unusual punishment

threatening to shoot themselves

in the foot & in the head

" Oh a stage show " someone cries out

" No it's performance art " cries another

everyone cries

into their beer & coffee-


Someone wearing a tall pointed hat

reads a poetic drama

with numerous characters

all with speaking parts

so he gives instructions

" When I raise my left hand thus

for this character

I raise the right hand for this one "

& his right & left leg

for others nodding his head three times

for another & on & on

the dramatist reads twenty more pages

raising arms legs nodding his head

belching coughing farting a few times

who knows what characters these are

no one can keep track anyway

finally finished all tired out done in

taken off the stage on a stretcher

to an ambulance waiting outside

there's always one on call

at The Cafe Apollinaire -


the posing poet pens more lines

stolen from all who come & go

indifferent to their quality

a born thief & a rogue

all of life a preposterous piece of poetry

waiting to be written down -


Camille Claudel sculpts stone into flesh

reveals sensuous flesh in blocks of granite

obsesses over her love for Rodin

reveals scenes of her private life

locks herself away with a hundred cats

going mad imagining enemies everywhere

smashing her statues into pieces -


We hear rumours of a sly misanthropic

fearful would be Jesuit who watches scenes

gruesome & cruel of tortures brutal & ingenious

bodies left to rot in deserted woods

in empty apartments til the stench is overwhelming

shooting beating to death survivors

of a ship wreck watches with delight

a rogue shark tearing apart flesh & limbs

of swimmers having a taste for blood

he sits in the Public Gardens

on sunny sunday afternoons

with a revolver shooting pigeons

watching them wrything as they die-


The xenophobic Apothecary

Thomas Dequincey finding his calling

sets up shop selling raw opium

shares his paranoid racist hallucinations

of the decline of the west

being swamped over-run

infested by the yellow plague

of the teeming masses of immoral

demon worshiping Asians

running amok viewing life as cheap

he fears the lower classes of London

in their impertinence rising up

going beyond their station

destroying the God ordained social order

everyone lines up for their daily supply

buying their Absinthe from Doctor Ordinaire

to add a different tone to their visions

taking cocaine peyote LSD heroin

to blow open the doors of perception-


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
NOTE: THIS POEM WAS PROCESSED THROUGH THE REMARKABLE PERPETUAL POETRY GENERATOR

copyright held by MANAGER & PROPRIETOR OF Café APOLLINAIRE!!!!!



Anyway here is a poem which I first composed about a dozen years ago & has gone through several transformations to to the present version found here.

From : Tales Of Café Apollinaire: VARIATIONS ON DISTILLED DREAMS-

  -- PART VIII--

-The Surrealist Poet of the 
Café Apollinaire as Art Exhibit-


At Café Apollinaire the Surrealist Poet
after he & the Café had become well known
asked a sculptor to make a statue
to take the poet's place at the café
at intervals of each day
to give him some respite
a life-size mannikin with moving parts
like mechanical oversized dolls
of ancient Persia
to sit at the corner table
by the window overlooking the street
in the Café Apollinaire
with all the paraphernalia
associated with the Surrealist Poet
resembling the poet in every detail
fooling many newcomers to the café
sitting there with a cup of coffee
a cigarette which one hand lowers
to an ashtray then raises to its lips
takes a puff the head moves looking
out the window turns again
with a pen in the other hand
moving hovering above
the open note book waiting
to be written upon
surrounded by stacks of books
borrowed from the Public Library
just around the corner
of artistic movements
all those 'Isms' born
in such a brief span of time
from Impressionism to Expressionism
to Pointillism Vortexism
to the wild Fauves to Dada
to Surrealism to Cubism
to Futurists & Realists
to Photo-Realists Pop art & Folk Art
all at war with one another
all claiming to be the true voice of Modern Art
each a genius of one sort or another
all these works of Art & Music & Poetry
biographies & autobiographies
passing the time giving some solace
to the Surrealist Poet soon wears thin
no end to naive idealistic romantic poets
& artists soaring above mundane concerns
dipping pens & brushes
in the same well of inspiration-

til history intrudes upon the pastoral dreams
& fantasies of the romantic surrealist poet
opening those all too real books
opening Pandora’s Box unleashing the Furies
of the tragedy of humanity’s pride & folly
of the triumph of Tyrants & despots
Emperors & Kings & Queens
destroying in the name of God & Power & Greed
enslaving millions to perpetual poverty
as the High & Mighty rule the world
with an iron fist & the boot to the throat
of social histories & aesthetics
& the admixture of politics & history
& centuries dripping blood
& all those idealists & romantics dying for some cause
& failed revolutions & the horrors of war
& religion & science run amok
our dreams turned into a world of ashes
under ten thousand mushroom clouds
while thousands are tortured murdered
beheaded blown to pieces
strapped to the mouth of cannons
in the name of this country or that
in the name of one God or another
while the Angels look down & weep
as all these lost souls strike the drums
sound their trumpets of war
leading the Big Parade of millions
into the slaughter houses
& other persistent visions of madness
til poets & sages take refuge in the wilderness-

Now the Surrealist Poet is able to roam
about the City's streets
no longer chained to that Chair
& that Table holding court
pestered by would be poets
taken in by his self-manufactured mystique
forced to dredge the sea floor
reliving his life for their distraction
edification & inspiration fulfilling his role
of poet laureate of the oh so cool crowd
at Café Apollinaire-


Tales From Café Apollinaire: Variations On Distilled Dreams

PART IX: EPILOGUE

Tales from Café Apollinaire is

a work in progress

a work in process

a poem a vision of a poem

trapped in language

a painting of an ethereal vision

a series of paintings a collage

a montage of a thousand stories

of a thousand characters

all of it cut & dry

all of it bleeding from each part

into another filled

with false endings

we become Brahma in eternal sleep

becoming Vishnu spinning dreams

becoming the creator of myths

becoming Shiva destroyer of worlds


becoming destroyers of our selves

becoming the creator of worlds

becoming a slave to reality

becoming a slave to imagination

becoming the master manipulator of words

becoming wedded to words

becoming divorced from words

becoming prisoners of words

becoming prisoners of Café Apollinaire

becoming liberated at Café Apollinaire

we reconstruct ourselves at Café Apollinaire

we deconstruct ourselves at Café Apollinaire

we dissolve into points of light & colour

as we become part of a Surrealist painting-

We are in a Global Village plugged in

riding the cathode tube waves

of silver screens

riding binary codes

from silicon chips

on fiber-optic mercurial wings

Technicolor frescoes bombarded

by points of light

on moving mirages of montages

transcending virtual reality

transactional quasi-truncated interactive

multi-media megabytes

giga-bytes of satellites

in the dense sea shine of silicon chips

on information highways & byways

breaking down illusions of distance & time

as simultaneity becomes our overarching

myth making reality

in a magical surreal stream

of flowing images

in a single crystal moment -

Sending messages

beaming them off of Satellites

in space & back again-

Between sender & receiver

the message is garbled

twisted mishapened

sounds intelligible

the clockwork wheels inside your head

grind away at the words

finding your own meaning

to swear allegiance to

to take offense to

words a poor substitute

for the pictures & visions inside of us

for the emotions inside of us


ideas swirling about

at first a tidy painter's palette

paints becoming mixed

colours & shades changing

each new set of eyes

perceives differently

beautiful mundane grotesque-

the grotesque as fascinating

as the beautiful each touches

some ancient primordial part

deep inside of each of us -

Mythical Prismatic Paris

shimmering yellow glow of gas light

a beacon in the dark fog draped world-


The Eiffel tower a lighthouse

a guide to wandering artists & outcasts

to erect the New Jerusalem

of wandering minstrels

prophets & visionaries

for the future struggles-


Beaming mixed messages

from the Eiffel Tower

to the tower of Pisa

to the Statue of Liberty

to the Empire State building

to the exploding twin towers
to the opera House in Sydney Australia

to the Bushmen of the Outback

voyagers in the Dream-Time

to Red Square to the Kremlin & Lenin's tomb


to the SOS signal from the dying

in Tennehmen square

to the Great Wall of China

to the crumbling Berlin Wall

to the ancient temples of Ceylon

Tibet Thailand & Laos

to Tokyo Hiroshima & Nagasaki

awakening even the burned dead shadows

to the Townships of South Africa

to the African grasslands


to Kilimanjaro mount Everest

to rumbling & growling mount Fuji to the Swiss Alps

to the Rocky mountains to Mount Blaine

to God's Golden Tablets signalling Joseph Smith

Conning or Enlightening a multitude of followers

wandering in the wilderness to find a home

to the Andes to Devil's Rock

to the Hanging Rock

from Parnassus to Olympus

to the indifferent and callous Gods

to the Colosseum

to Socrates pestering his fellow citizens

to the Delphi Oracle

to Virgil leading Dante

into the unforgiving Inferno

to the stoney rock face of Toledo

to sun-drenched Madrid

to the Moors & Jews in Andalusia

exiled or tortured and burned

by their malicious Christian neighbours

blood atonement & sacrifice for their God

to the killing fields of the Balkans to the Black Forest

to the killing fields of Cambodia

to the killing Fields of Rwanda

to the killing fields of Iraq

to the blood soaked Temple of Baal in Babylon

to the Sahara to the Badlands of Alberta

from St.Denis Gate to St. Denis Cemetery

to St. Denis Mountain on the Bras d’or Lakes

to Kelly's mountain & Cape Smokey

which is in plain view of my front door

from Robert Burns' statue proclaiming to the world

'A Man's A man For A' That'

on Spring Garden Road

in the fog encased Port of Halifax
to his statue in Red Square

And all Shall Brothers Be

but the world takes no heed

to Karl Marx's statue in Hyde Park

to the Taj Mahal to the Wailing Wall

where devout Muslims and Jews pray

& then spew their hate & mistrust

to Vatican City where truth & humanity

are left to rot to mount Sinai where Moses

bowed & cowered before his God

to Mount Ararat where sits the Mythic Ark

to the Martello Towers abandoned

in New Scotland & on Sandy Cove

to James Joyce that fearful Jesuit

to Leopold Bloom cooking kidneys for breakfast

to Molly Bloom lounging in bed

in a pure stream of consciousness

to Allen Ginsberg waving a Holy Sunflower

early morning hang-over

beside the railway tracks

behind the odorous slaughter house

in San Francisco where the Beats take refuge

to sex obsessed whore-mongering Henry Miller

drinking his morning Café au lait

and a cheap bottle of wine

to Charles Bukowski searching for food

to feed his machine

preparing for another bar-room fight

he is certain to lose

to a thousand poets painters novelists

all prowling the streets of our urban nightmare

all left in desperation

broken by a godless universe

left Howling and braying at the moon -

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