preacher

he's good, people say, but we don't like him 'cause he's preaching
no-one wants to hear that shit, who is he to be teaching?
and reaching for some bullshit ideal form of art
what's whose art? art is dead, throw its corpse on the cart
wheel it out to the fire that we've set in the streets
while we dance around in circles in praise of the beats
we can't hear, we can't feel, 'cause none of this is real
through the crazed hazy daze of the drugs that we deal
these are drugs that replace other drugs that are bad
if we label them so, the government will be glad
to step on our feet, tie our hands behind our backs
thought police busting in, stopping us in our tracks
from figuring our way out of the cage that we've voted
by picking rich liars, who our taxes have toted
as capable men with our interests in mind
but what kind of a man, wise and caring and kind
could stand up and be counted in a nest full of vipers
play political games, while avoiding the snipers?
what we need is a piper, hamelin-style to assist us
he can rid us of the rats, who know only how to twist us
'cause there's no human being who knows just what to do
when the needs of the many outweigh those of the few
the have-nots only fight using words that they've learned
while the haves send them off as sacrifices to be burned
in those far-away lands where everyone's an enemy
so they're not humans beings, not like you or like me
there's a good, and an evil, and our leaders who define them
making up histories and the stories that will bind them
to our right here and now, these ghost stories taking shape
making us so damn scared we need a man in a cape
who will come forth to save us from these monsters we've made
but he's just a myth, he's no more than a shade
of the red, white and blue mind that first tied our hands
and focused our attentions on faraway lands
but the real horror's here, in our heart and our soul
which we've given up for freedoms that are loss of control

the preacher remains silent, seeing his work has been done
now that the rabble's been roused, today's battle's been won
and he turns and walks off towards the setting of the sun
so he can cover more ground and make the most of his run

a cold one

in my crisp, white uniform
and cute little hat
red and gold crosses all around

i stare at my patient
who cannot stare back
his strong, black body
that could easily overpower my tiny frame
even the cold froth seeping over his hard lip
cannot subtract from the boldness of his beautiful visage

i will do my job
i will nurse him
i will consume him
leaving nothing but his memory
in my giddiness

aging

i close my fist
and feel a surge
i open my hand again
first feeling,
then seeing
a shimmering
a tingling
an aura of power
which will fade as i grow older

pristine defence

a fortress
in shallow greys and blonde tresses
a fortress
empty as the surrounding desert

the giant face
of the entrance wall
with eyes, wide, penetrating
barbed lashes at the ready
granite-lipped drawbridge sealed tight

the mouth snaps
creaking shrilly in the wind
a whispering, questioning breeze
blowing ever out, sometimes gently
but sometimes a blasting gale

those mocking eyes brook no entry
that sharp-toothed mouth denies all refuge
that emptiness will not be stained
by the passage of travellers

slow spiral

slow spiral
up
or down
moves me
pushes
pulls me
to dizzy abandon

i hear soft voices
whispering sweetly
to go back, or forward

but none are yours

and none are mine

my own sweet whispers
long ago silenced
by the spiral
moving me
pushing
pulling me

kashi

[written to a tune from the evening ceremony in veranassi that got stuck in my head]

we want your money, we want your cash,
so please give us leave to sell you our trash,
to shave your beard, to tell you you're weird,
we'll give you our food so your mouth will be seared.

can you count our gods, or our people?
there'll always be more once you've had your fill!
we'll keep on pushing and never stop
not caring or worrying if you've blown your top.

don't you want to buy flowers?
it's good for your karma and earns you powers!
we'll take some more money to let you bathe;
the ganga will cleanse you: hey, look! you're saved!

fecal matter is strewn on the floor
enhancing the smell of the wretchedly poor;
our holy men, they all stare vacantly,
surrounded by vermin, and louts, and pee.

how did you know that i'm selling things?
what gave it away? is it all of my rings?
don't worry, no business, just come with me -
to my brother's shop where the items are free!

come to my temple i'll sell you some drugs,
whatever you want, power, wisdom and hugs;
our temple's your temple, just take off your shoes,
here we will sit and discuss all your blues.

don't you say no, it's impolite!
you have to agree if you'd see the light;
we have all the time in the world to spare,
picking your pockets with politeness and care.

come aboard! of course you need a boat!
it's cheap, you can row, or we can just float;
watch out for the goats, they'll eat anything:
the plastic, the paper, your brand new gold ring.

no rickshaw, no rickshaw, no boat, no silk!
please let go of my hands, you are making me ill.
oh, when will these touts and this begging cease?
stop touching my feet! let me stand here in peace!