The Geranium Hotel Poems

Be an accidental poet Not a real genius Be a boy with a pen And later build up an African empire Equip the Ethiopians with guns and ammunition Be an accidental adventurer Never a genius Try to stand straight on a drunken boat While you set fire to the sails Swap the sea for sand Swap the waves for the camel's gait Discover Explore Let your hair turn grey Fall in love with an Ethiopian woman Let those thoughts of Poetry and French Men go Blur your vision through the camera lens that you hold in your skinny white hand Say goodbye You abismal genius

The Moon is the greatest of Transvestites She holds the bruises of school bullies Her makeup is better than any lady you will meet Better than my bullish sister Better than the painted prostitutes of media Better than the young men of music The Moon she gets up on stage once a month Puts on her sequinned show Parading and dancing and showing us the theatre or romance and space And then she will slowly draw her blinds Closes her door Allows herself to rest Sitting on her favourite lounge Wearing her favourite satin gown Watching reruns of an old detective show I love The Moon

Sitting by a fire Sitting on a train Thinking of the sins of Man Thinking of America Watching the moon Watching the black river Crying for my misery Crying for a prayer Gathering my thoughts Gathering my grace Looking for the king Looking for the end Oh sweet love of mine When the door closed behind you I thought about following But the garden needed tending Building a new temple Building a new vision Thinking of my Mother Thinking of her dead Father Listening for the wagon Listening for good luck Fighting off the soldiers Fighting off the rain Shaking with a fever Shaking with the blues Ignoring the folk singer Ignoring the president Oh sweet love of mine When you sat by the fire I never thought you'd catch the train Now you've gone I'm out here tending my garden Whistling with the birds

You are drained So come sit down Tell me about your day Tell me of the friends you love The friends who use you For beer and cigarettes But you keep ‘em around For their talk and their laughs And some of them you love Some of them you would do anything for Even if they say things that make you cringe Things that you would never say You know they are the water That puts out the fire That fuels the hell within And when those friends get too much When the beer and the drugs Become a thorn in your milk white skin Come home to me And tell me what a drag they are With a symphonic voice And Cohen on the stereo I will cook a home made soup While you ride the wave of vexation And i can turn the record over And tell you all about The story behind the songs of Cohen Or Joni, Neil or the Band And how The 60’s wouldn’t have happened Without Canada And I will wait for your look That wonderment That you won’t give to those friends Who use you And sing songs from the ...

The wattle is starting to bloom Spring is on its way The willows have yet to turn So Winter will surely stay Light’s arch it grows higher And the days grow warm The mornings are still dark Night holds onto her dawn The bulbs rise so softly Breaking through the frost The jonquil is the first Looking tender, frightened, lost The wrens perch in the sun Then fly off in a flash Waiting for the wood pigeon To finish in his bath Let leaves of Autumn blow away Let the winter have its fun For if you listen to the earth The song of Spring is softly sung

Your necklace sat Dipping over skin and bone Hidden in hair Rising with your sigh Falling with acceptance

Sunshine on stone Take me to the olive trees On the hill Watch the boats Come one by one Turning the sky inside out Draw a lion in the dust A wolf in the cloud The coolness of the grass The warmth of your stomach The falcon overhead Distant voices The boys swimming Old ladies yelling at lonely girls Hear the song of history calling Shirt hanging over branch Summer sweat The mainland coast Blue and Grey and Green Golden song of ancient instinct Power Strength Breathing in air The scent of pine Sex and sea On a hill high Sunshine on skin The song of history calling

Oh this roaring It can not escape my ears For it began when I was so young And it has become a part of me An essential energy Orbiting my true soul And my hand it rests all the while Nestled on my groin Waiting for the ferocious storm Suited and exhaling Knowing it’s wants Exhibition of instinct before me I await the true gallery I coax the knowledge The untying of the knot For the world to be thrown against the horizon I want the solace of evening The comfort of morning And I know you all watch Waiting for a sign But the world is not yet ending The world it stays the same I look at reflections I look at the triumph of my nest And there is no definitive madness Nothing to define Nothing to overcome But the blue of night The stream of blood and alcohol We all await this new birth The bargain of tomorrow The knot that lies undone

Show me the new constellation The one for which there is no myth And I will name a star for you I will create the epic adventure Golden liquids and summer music Can you smell the blossoms of night? Can you cover us in the blanket of energy and light? They say this world is impossible. I say it is lonely With the unused factories and the lonely fire smoke I do what I can for you But you are searching for your father in Beijing Is he a Taxi driver Is he an artist A soldier or a corpse My feelings are no longer new to me And I’m old enough to understand I will wait until you find yourself in your constellation And I will look for you Late at night Forming a shape that creates a brand new myth A poem for the centuries About being lost at sea, about the kings body guards About a boat and a path leading to the forest I will write it all for you And girls will dance and musicians will cry Poets will be drunk Lovers will make the sweetest of comparisons For you For ...

Fish on the water Scales floating back and forth Grey clouds hanging high White clouds beneath A naked man asleep Drowsy with whiskey Strange sunlight on his calves His chest slowly rising, slowly falling The smell of wild herbs Smoke from the kitchen fire Sex on old blankets Lost on Lake Daff-Dilly Old myths talk of death The women think of birth Some wish they could leave The men pray on boats Trout stumble in their wake Drunk on the water's cold The flies were made by old hands The rod belonged to a dead uncle God I hope there is more whiskey The fire is still going I want you on old blankets Lost on Lake Daff-Dilly

Good Morning A fresh reflection of fog I wouldn't live in the forest forever Only while the Casuarinas sing I thought I knew the drunken friend I thought I knew my childhood self I thought I clung to memory I know I let it go And the voice that comes from the sun Is the same that wished for ice and water The explosions in my ear at night Come from birth, from death I can hear the distorted poetry The law of that which owns me I can claw at these walls I can smoke the energy away Nail the pictures to the wall Step to the rhythm The shy beat of the Romantic Wind Are you living a life you already regret Are you feeding from the tit of muddy water What do you learn from days like today What do you take from the night of the strange dance And you have to try a little harder To feel the cock between my legs And you see me get fatter, you see me fade You see me throw myself on the ground And listen for the penny to follow The line slowly walks past Heads b...

I am the chief of the elements It's a small world I no longer know where I have been What flowers I have smelt along the way I have known love more intense Never a laziness in regard I will sit on this hotel bed Looking out into the universal space Trying hard to hear the birds as they fly by It is rare that I am so alone And I check my phone for messages Check my technology for god Seeing if I still really care If waking up to a room full of people Beats waking up alone The machines all strum together Leaving nothing for me to do I will give up this season, this hemisphere I will give up this faded love And track back to when I was diseased And whispering an intense love When I knew so much in ignorance Now forgotten with education and stagnation I want to swim out to the breakers Swim out to my questions That all got washed to sea I sit here on the hotel bed, thinking of the indigenous What was stolen, returned, given and taken again I think of the p...

This is the poem titled Japan Full of rage towards the city I will never know your streets The heartbreak of your command Naked men bathing with bamboo in the wind Cymbal on the wall Characters of gold and earth I want to find your ancient name Your coloured demand There is laughter with this meal No angry silence full of dreams unfulfilled The trout swim well The rocks do not suffer water And here in this Jungle of earth I look for time unspent Train whistles moving further away A moan in the sleep never mistaken for bliss I wish to bathe your sweet skin Smelling of promise and history I wish to walk further I don't know anything anymore I am colourless, bruised A storm cloud moving over the garden My hair gets longer, the children sing The days get shorter, the old people argue I have nothing to say about these new times Can I be your gun? Can I sit in your holster? Can I answer ask you questions As I lay fruit at your temple Sit below your alter I ...

I can't get over any sort of past So all I do is walk in the garden I no longer write any more words My shelves are already too heavy The city's paint is still wet And the urine is salty I assaulted the stars until the sun came up And I found myself covered in sand Brilliant ocean Your floor is covered in weeds I want to walk in your garden I write no more words Look at all those trees So large and happy to be in this heatwave I will give everything away The heat in my groin The lines on my palm The salt on my lips The light in my eyes I am the drifting club of haiku borders The motherless country of Japan I will walk through the garden I, like Rome, was once so loud Now there are no more words Just Bell-Flowers and forests Churches that mean nothing And walls that decay The past is the new horoscope And I listen for the plants as they try to break free

I am smelling madness's soft bouquet as it pouts across the folds of my mindless brain, as it increases speed over the hills of the country in which I was born. The land of Bradshaw art and golden soup that is left for the dogs of music and art, those old barren bitches that lounge searching for metaphor and hidden doors within word and sentence and oil and pastel and poem and velvet jacket. I have so little time to see the old lady die, so little time to watch as the real zoo burns between pause and neglect. Where will these canoes take us? to the land of the falcon with the silver brooch pinned to its claw, tearing at the chain that is linked to the almond boat that glides a full half mile in front of the sober man that sinks down below his own education. Ah! there is no true arrogance amongst the young homosexual Indian boys, there is no true colour between the advertisements and the brick. Do you have that song bruising your imagination? Still after you have circled this road o...

I will follow you Where sorrow cannot fly Wishing the 1000 wishes Of the 33 year old man I believe it is possible I believe it will change With the explosions of fate Somewhere in December And Magic lives starving Amongst the forgotten birds Deep in the east, perhaps in the Himalayas I fix my skeleton With the kisses of locusts and wool I fix the weather With the armies of dead kings I will follow the froth of seas Heavily into the blue Until my feet are bleeding And the fish have red gills But enough of these spells Brought to you by St Valentine I could not believe it was your fault Until I saw the years leave my youth Until I saw the salt thrown For the luck of the town The luck of the church So we hope that the hair falls out With responsibility With the chill of winter Its not the shyness of politeness It's comfort and it's freedom But the radio is on and I want to be naked Drunk and naked Under a fugitive blanket Beneath a calm storm W...

Casual glee So far out of sight In all those different colours But my bone has marrow Invisible Like halos and breath Here on Triumph Avenue Tongue against tongue Lip against lip Could I feel right In this rain Against white walls of school With hymns and crickets I watch the sky fall If only everything was as magic I listen to birds sing As my beard grows With the Sage goes to seed And all beings begin to shake However vibrations still Loss is given to the writers History becomes the new season Illumination is covered Could I be alone tonight? With eyes shut Here three feet off the ground On Triumph Avenue Needing something Carving my initials into the walls of a tomb Lizards doze While flood waters rage I need more words More symbols of song I can only hear myself I've found I need noone Here beneath the arches of ivory On Triumph Avenue I am probably wrong

It was only a jar of jam it was only a tree hidden by another It was merely a song A brand new language for our tongues It was a new path through some distant forrest A smile unseen, a prayer unspoken It was a lightening bolt striking our planet A silver fork stabbing pink meat This is my ancient time machine Forbidden and closed This is my day, my day, my day And they peel them selves back Revealing new flames that lick yellow wood Willow leaves tickling the cold waters of home Frosts so white or summers so brown Blue skies and clouds used as halos The world spins with electricity Herons fly uneasy, sparrows sit uncaged It is the stare into the night It is the shadow that is mine melting through yours A dance alone, an army of death Snow on the desert Dead poets in the field The old author living with his Ma The old junkie living with his wife-ghost The old butterfly sitting on the iris Books unwritten of hunters and stars Love and triumph Death and a ca...

Who’s afraid of Virgins and Wolves? The smudge became a portrait of Picasso And a glass elevator was lowered into the water An ancient king inside How was he to breathe? In portraits lungs aren’t the only organs How is he to win the accolades? In autumn pictures aren’t the only portraits Do not condescend, I am epileptic, I am sober Do not hold forth the barrier I have cascaded through sturdier doors Through great sheets of glass I have fallen Naked and shaking Braking the bones that mend Tearing skin on diamond glass Do not condescend And the police force, they appealed ‘We are men, why are we not allowed to kiss’ And the catholic schoolgirls appealed ‘The officers are men, let them kiss before us!’ And the pope looked out his frosted window He looked out his frosted window He grabbed his lowered crotch He clasped it in his bejeweled right hand He marveled at the world outside his frosted window He wondered what his brother The...

Could I be immortal Here at the end of the world Like the gardens of the desert Like the cannons and the drum I will laugh forever With this disease of the rich The diseases of the poets The diseases of the pre-christians What will we talk about? Here in this alien town Will we be innocent or break great oaths? I will throw stones at the effigies watch destiny unfurl Like the mythical flower of extinction Can we dance on my axis? Spinning until we eclipse Burning in the shadows This town cannot last forever The water trickles away Beneath its own little landslide And we think of the small Spaniard's mouth Herons fly over swamp and tree There is no place for my disease This demon that digs at my skeleton The angel that twists within my brain Silent death will embrace me, fearless Brutus I will talk with you I will ask of your century and my own I will talk of orchards and wine All the time forgetting Cicero I believe in something, in memory I believ...