Poetry from Blue Fred Press

Monday, December 18, 2006


My friend the gimp told me,
We were camping up
In a lightning storm,
“This place is haunted.”

Woods he’d played in
As a boy,dense and dark,
Deer flitting between trees
Lit up every few minutes
By lightning throwing its
Fiery spears into the earth.

“You’re an idiot,” I said
And struck him with
My pistol on the shoulder.

That night,underneath my
Blanket,I kept my pistol
Cocked.The spirits of the dead
Moved about me.When
I saw the Paddy bastard
I emptied six chambers
Right into his spectral form.

Sleeping in the woods is fine
If you can go into a town
And clean up - sometimes.

I get sweaty in this thick coat
Black jacket and woollen shirt beneath.
The best is when I’m bare-arse
Naked jumping into a mountain river

Especially from a moving train!

I didn’t lose my home,
I never had a home to lose:
Brat girls in white smocks,
Boys with no shoes on
Batting balls with sticks,
Dirty shack with a tin roof
That blew off in the wind
And let in rain continually.

Always freezing,the same old
Shit to eat every day.

My old man,what a bastard.
Spent his money on whisky.
His gums were always bleeding.

The times I saw him beaten up
Begging the young lord
Not to kick him anymore.

And my mother’s martyrdom,always
Staring into the stew pot bubbling
On the stove for the reflection
Of her suffering.She didn’t have
A thing except her piety.

The canals called me to them
And I went as soon as I could
Steal a few pence for my passage,
Bunked down on deck in all weathers
Freezing underneath a blanket that
Smelled distinctly of the captain’s dog.

Sliding over water in autumn mist
I knew Creation as a thing of wonder,
God immanent in the whole works:
It must have been the opium I took!

Song of the River Pirate

I am a river pirate.
My name you’ll one day know.
I kill the men so quickly
And I fuck the women slow.

My fists are hard as shovels.
They will pound your head to dust.
My cock has iron in the shaft.
I split ‘em when I thrust.

Go tell the parson’s daughter
To get her bloomers down.
I am a river pirate
Of fan-testicle renown!

Killed some Paddy bastard in an ale house.
Got scooted out of there by the gimp
Before the locals strung me up.

Threw up when I thought about him dying
And cursed my weakness underneath a tree,
A million stars lighting up the wood.

Drunk,I give my horse a slap
And wonder what will happen
When I’m old and toothless
And can’t rob or steal for bread.

As if I will live that long.
Hang me in the town square
Gawped at by hags and by traders
Keeping their diseases secret.

Give me your opprobrium,O good
Citizens of England,as I kick
And squirm against the hangman’s rope.
I’ll spit on anyone who gets close enough
And see all of you in Hell!

1 comment:

All This Trouble... said...

I can't get enough of 7.