"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not
change
Courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference" - Feel So Different, Sinead O'Connor
Distilled
I'm distilled
purified by society
pressured by conformity
I'm no more
than a bottle of water
a bottle of clean
refreshing mineral water
I'm distilled
cleansed by religion
reasoned by education
I'm no more
than a bottle of water
a bottle of cold
Alps brand mineral water
I'm distilled
straightened by men
strengthened by sex
All the sediments lost
through the pipes of time
I'm washed crystal clean
for the world to drink.
Man in her manacles
He doesn't know how to flap his wings,
he's an angel in his brilliance,
yet he's not her principality,
he's a man in her manacles.
Waxing the last bit of blood
from the tearing skin,
he shudders to free himself
in her last bid to retrieve him,
retrieve him.
Man in her manacles
man in her manacles,
she's not letting him go,
fire that angel,
confiscate his wings,
she doesn't want him in
her way when the
dark moon's rising,
consuming.
the sinister anima
eviscerating.
Emasculating Father
Our mother
impregnated
the sins
of the father
He throws
up on her
womb, her
children.
Somehow, she
still smiles,
while he dabbles
in a perfect garden.
There's a core
which liberates
and castigates,
there's a spiral dance.
Poison runs it,
and they went,
making prophecy,
tilling soil.
Emasculate him.
He needs to learn,
where he should've
kept his dick.
Hang the Witch!
On the front cover
spreads a smile so
hostile from her
gleaming eyes
when the witch
was escorted through
the lens to another
existence.
Hang the witch!
Hang the witch!
Placards accentuated
your clarion call.
When she dies
she will fly
with the storm
to chase the demon
of such cruelty
An eye for an eye
A fuck for another fuck
Spirit Coins
You are a distant dime
on a rough teak table
from her pot of coins
Your value like others
rise and fall in waves
of speculating faiths
But you choose to stand
distant from the rest
yet on the same table
we are all but in parts
collecting a total sum
in a bank of worthiness
I hate the zionist and I hate you too!
think we can be good friends,
when we've a common enemy?
think again, you racist bastard,
let me recite the truth to you -
we're all the same, humanity
in a froth of hell's lake-fire,
we are all the same in skin,
in tongue, in colour, although -
i don't believe we speak Enochian.
think we can hang out together,
when we've a common enemy?
think again, you war-monger,
allow me one moment to clarify -
we're no different, within us
are sins of our father's father,
drown in every trespasses in the
name of religion, culture, when -
honestly aren't you part of me?
when you seek me for your brotherhood
your cult of anti-semitism. you
think you've found your man, but
let me tell you something you missed
I hate the jews and I hate you too
I hate them for their guts
I hate them for they are smart
I hate them for their attitude
and I hate them just like you
yet I hate you for your apathy
I hate you 'cuz you're the same
I hate you because you're continuing
the same values brought down by them
A Picture of We I
At our painful hour
of seeking answers,
we live by theories
sufficing the chaos
beyond our frailty.
This hope for a
picture at capturing
all magnificence never die
with all great philosophers
yet in their graves/
that another story
we hold enduring qualities
because we have none other
because we are all
that the Fates tempt,
and the windyats torment.
A Picture of We II
on each scale we weigh
the probabilities of encompassing who we are by this number
of mastery - I find the impossible desire
to win such temporal moment of triumph
an aimless dream. Yet, it is like the shadow
who appears each night.
That familiar face you want to love,
yet cannot/ since his face disappears
by the alarm clock.
A Picture of We III
the art has become despicably a capitalist.
the fart is all glory to one soul claiming
that which is part of his ingenuity lies in
no other hand but his, in
the spur of insanity, forges this critical vocabulary
and we are/
they who clap and cheer.
encouraging private property, the self-and-all-one-is
the ladder is... dangerous
C O N T I N E N T S will spilt!
- and when it does, it
becomes a murderous hour,
each
for
himself.
A Picture of We IV
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
G R A N M E R C I E
E I C R E M N A R G
Let us encode. decode.
comprehend. Enflesh.
Your Cain blood,
can build another - tower.
The Raw Industry
How mechanical you appear
piecing in rotation
perfunctorily clicking
your twin gears - like
a cold ferrous metal beat
that never stood for heat
It is your raw industry
never my metallurgy
it did not fashion a bridge
to anchor intimacy
merely desire in a machine
working by the ticking clock
I don't carry a punch-card
recording slavery
in one capitalist affair
only to bite in my lips
that will bleed eventually
and cry for something raw
keep your sickles to yourself
dirty. dirty. dirty. dirty. dirty.
everything is dirty when the
soil we grew rice on is black.
i remember the storm coming
and the monsoon not far ahead,
each period in between is me
recuperating from each hurt
you've blown over my face.
keep your sickles to yourself,
there is no other way to clean
up this mess you've wrought,
i'm but a passerby who will
give a hand to the lady who died.
and you're welcomed to my grave
extended to the living
comforted by grief and rebuilding.
Abolish the Rose
Your endless drone
murdered the flowers
you took my throne
abolished my rose
all clocks stopped for you
the reds advancing to conquer
what power you have left in
your monetary stripes?
which figures rising like Taurus
can hold your office in the air?
Tower crumbles before
my feet while you take
your last breath to
abolish my rose
in the distance they drum
an onslaught in night fire
the plantation is now equal
in the eyes of the star
every rose you smear will
grow in green soil again
Albion
Albion hears the cry of gulls
lapping of waves on jutted rocks
she pleas and prays an honest light
as the light house shines her plight
But when it comes to the shades of her
children
her tears do fall dry in a shattered pattern.
Albion rolls on the grassy knoll
clear from all the chains of time
in her rose dress she blooms the field
lulls the trees and the apples yield
But as the grimly swords and spears rise
Old Tubal by his smithy weeps and sighs
Albion cries to the cold moon
who pulls across a dark night
where lies the courage of old England?
that grows with King Arthur's warband?
But when the stars decline to fall on thee
thou
art lost eternally in the damning sea.
invokation
a little girl once said to me,
" i'm tired and i need rest."
let
down both the sickle and the mell,
let us now rest from strive and sorrow,
let us return to the beginning of love,
and shower the shadow with compassion.
our
struggle is not yet done, nor undone,
while the fight continues, we recuperate.
written by simon soon © 2002
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