The Geranium Hotel Poems

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...

I've not yet found my paradise Not yet found burning Rome I've confused my age with wisdom My bedroom for my home I smell the flavours of Kenya The ghosts of India and Rimbaud We could be the Heart, the Crane Caught beneath the tow I've not yet smelt the Iris Nor the blossoms from the Pear I see myself in unbuilt cities Creases at my eyes, silver in my hair I am tangled in some mandala Buried in this flaming sun I am beneath the naked mountain Counting the cogs one by one Let me stroke the thighs of man Let me kiss their tender lips Let me lay myself at the feet of beauty As the sky slowly and solitarily rips I've not yet heard the final song Never once seen the Huma bird I've embraced the boy with the golden hair That memory is needed (however blurred) A friend said to me 'Your adorable and beautiful with your cigarettes and aftershave But your lovers and your words Make you someone we can't save' I said 'I know that Ro...