4.5.09

Cry into the red river tributary (31.12.06)

Cry into the red river tributary


How much blood is enough

Before you are declared ‘tough’

How much before it ends

To what ends will you defend

That which routines your office

Your day, your mode of being

How many pits and coffins

How many refugees now fleeing?


I see a man in a white suit

White from head to toe

Blazer suit, shirt, ties and belt

Trousers, socks and shoes

Head to toe.


As he walks towards me he continues

And I turn to follow his gaze

All I see as his back becomes clear

Is the fruit of violence, of fear.


On the plush white surface

His soul is bare

Maybe from the marrow of limbs

As they are torn, torn to tare,


Shrapnel, rounds and shells

Split and soaked and I stare

Crimson through to his skin

As the wounds exposes, infected, in-

volve the revolvers of man

He is dying as he passes – lose or win?


I stand close enough to see

But at a distance prevents a touch

As if I were watching TV 

And on stand-by I could flick,

Just too much.


But no sport follows his steps

No weather reports distract as he falls

To his knees and face down in the dirt

Slowly loses to blood his white shirt.


And as I call it is all too late

Tome’s hands cover my mouth, I break

For suddenly the scene it expands

Ten more million before me, face down


I question my role, my position

As aware I ignored this condition

The plight of the innocent, the guilty,

Defined by life’s detail, guillotine,

Beheading the children asleep

As awake, fake, we keep

On driving the trawlers of death

The seabed raped and left bled

At the wheel I jump back, my hands red

Jump to see?

To see what I’ve murdered?


Too responsbile not too admit

To admit and change and do good

Implied, shown wanting and tried

In the gallows, we struggle to hide

Our crimes against humanity not so severe

That we would ever have the soapbox kicked clear

For the kicking is a right reserved

For those who have stepped up to serve

The governments of humans and rights

Frankly just wars, and frankly, just fights

That define our economic worth

Our purpose from conception to birth

And from here conditioned to breathe

Toxins, and never to conceive

That our direction could be corrupt, evil,

The bow to the devils tuned fiddle

And his tune we all play, disillusioned,

The notes to self, self alone, the confusion,

Is that my luxury costs beyond price tags,

Costs lives, and here is the fusion

The dichotomy burdening generations

Broken man, woman, all relations

And our ambivalent approach to quest

To answers support time’s test

Sees peace beaten and broken

White suited and crest fallen

The loves of loves joins the pile, another

All lost, losing, sister and brother,

When behind me I glimpse another

Billion gazing in union

And I turn, they know, they see

Our ryrs look to ground and in communion

Cry into the red river tributary

And all be it gradually

We move to those face down

And marry

Conscience to its creator

Taste and see for once and forever

Transubstantiation embodies us all

Broken we reform the mould

Vessels willing and floating

Through the mire, screaming and coping

In the thick of a place so thin


So far, so close, almost in,

Out of the plight, the destruction,

Now compassion the only instruction

As the unsewn we heal, repair

On and through, thread bare,

Enough, I’m not sure it can be

I guess you must say the same, the plea,

But exposure will one day come knocking,

The redeemed, dove clad and shocking

The military man into submission,


No gun, purely good’s-earth shattering

                 Confession

          A blessing

          Confession.

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