Poetry Displaced Poem by DM W

I'd like to proselytise passionately
About violent oppression on a grand scale,
But I end up merely regurgitating myths
And reporting on the absurd routines of
Ragged circuses: run by dark dream operators.
I cannot crack conspiracies of silence!
I'd like to wax lyrical about the blood
Of flowers & creation's profuse green age
But I cannot get past the scent of paltry petals
& the fluffy clouds of misty sentiment!

I want to glorify the fabled Godhead
But I can't catch a falling star from heaven
And put it in my proverbial pocket!
No flames of transcendence burn in my blue veins.
Instead, I'm bewitched by a crucifix on the wall
With a leaden Christ that stares blankly back at me!
I want to echo the lush lamentations
Of angels, like the raging prophets of yore;
I'd like to write about the joy of living;
Instead, I'm left searching like a wretched beggar for
Signs of a pulse to check if I'm still breathing!

It would nice to testify, like a mystic
Or a scribe, to the teeming, holy progress
Of the endless, oceanic universe
With such imagery to make the gods weep.
I'd like to describe the mysterious realm
Of inner beauty with its' vibrant melodies
& its' warm, intricate honeycomb centre;
But I end up pontificating about
The preposterous allure of plastic idols!

I cling tightly to the golden horns of truth
But I cannot capture its potent essence.
I try to resurrect radical consciousness
But I end up blessing the bones of a carcass.
I'd like to study & record in detail,
The redeeming power of romantic love;
& the blossoming of exotic colours;
But I'm end up revealing repression & hunger!


I want to write of softly burning insights;
Of wisdom traditions that span the ages.
Not plumb the depths of my perennial woes.
Regrettably, I represent my scars
In tainted symbols of scribbled graffiti;
Rather than plant profound seeds of poesy
And embrace the enchanted order of art.


It would be great to create hymns of Oneness.
But I cannot leave the stifling, tribal grounds:
Where I am condemned like a rat in a cage
To perennially play the part of Hamlet:
King of endless space bounded in a nutshell
Heckled by the same old superficial creeps:
The archetypal Rosencrantz's and Guildenstern's
Of this soulless, vaguely human world.