A LANGUAGE WARNING TO READERS: M rated poetry- some adult content to follow
Holy Joy for Allen Ginsberg
Running to holy joy with my ears pinned
back and hurricane love in my heart
Joy of kicks against vicious anal darkness
Joy of tweaking the nose of federal
conspiracy of cabalistic capitalism
Joy of dacking Tony Abt and laughing at
his microscopic cock
Joy of reverberating with hilarious
companions and feeling love-struck and passionate blessed awe
Joy of being overwhelmed with enthusiasm
for all fruits of fertile earth, full of budding glory and full of glorious
buds
The air is holy, space and time are holy,
the chora of coincidence is double-choc holy
Every tree and creature is a Bible
portraying a loving Buddha-God incarnate
O sacred Ginsberg
Great bearded bodhisattva who berates the
military industrial mind-fuck come-down conspiracy
Calling them out on their death-lust and
murderous urgings from ultra-zen East Village New York side-walks
Dancing down water-colour rainbow roads
with harmonium and gnostic humour
Spinning words like yo-yos with
Whitmanesque wonder and universal compassion
I hear your voice great sage and
prophet-poet who blasts the bomb by saying Om
And calls forth forgotten America with
lascivious dactylic lines of passionate poesy
I hear your voice master teacher, gentle
prophet and blessed fool for love in all your sanctified inscriptions
You beat down the CIA with hobo love and
succulent sound-bites
You pumped out magic texts against the
rapist mind of Moloch
You took off your clothes to say that
America had your entire soul revealed for health and healing
You ignited the children of flowers with
Buddhist Jedi mind gimmicks and dancing sunshine Manhattan madness
As you heard Blake I long to hear your
stratagems, stoned and impeccable with my beard well stroked by forbidden books
and day-dreams
Pre-rejection jitter-bug blues
Because you’re gorgeous
And I’m decrepit and fat
Because you’re a wonderful woman
And I’m a corrupt middle-aged man
Because you’re an indelible arrow in my
heart
And I’m a drug-ravaged mop-haired cliché
Because you know all the cool new bands
And I’m stuck in the nineties
Because you’re nubile and radiant
And I’m corpulent and a bit of downer
Because you’re a heavenly angel
And I’m a horrible toad
And I’m not sure if I’ll turn into a
prince
Even if you kiss me
Because you’re rapidly transmogrifying
into a goddess from my unconscious mind
A sacred projection of my deepest anima
So high above and so lovely
But this is not healthy
You want a man, not a worshipper
So I postpone and procrastinate
About telling you
How much you mean to me
And just try to be friends
But not in a passive-aggressive ‘Nice-Guy’
way
Because I know the answer to the song of
my heart
Will be no
Dick
After work drinks while I was working as a
shipping clerk
Whole office in a pub in Northbridge
Five beers
Improved social skills
Feel relaxed and engaged talking to
beautiful women
Ten beers
Not so many social skills
Starting to be a bit of a dick
Starting to repeat myself
Fifteen beers
No social skills
Slurred speech
Load of toads squirming and whirling in my
brain
Pissed as Bukowski, I stagger off from the
pub, collapse in an alleyway on James Street and fall asleep
Wake up early in the morning surrounded by
graffiti covered walls on cold bitumen
There is a weedy little guy with a beard
and a shit-eating grin on his face staring at me
When he can see that I am awake he says:
‘I sucked your dick while you were asleep’
I am struck dumb and numb by shock
Not a good feeling- paranoia ensues
I get up and walk briskly away towards the
train
At least he didn’t fuck my ass
Wife
I wonder what it would be like to have a
wife
I wonder this a lot until the meme eats
into my brain and repeats continuously
What would it be like
What would it be like
To have someone to listen to my bullshit
And tell me that everything will be okay
when I'm depressed
Someone to tell me that she loves me when
it seems like rabid wookies are at the door
When the schizophrenics gibber and the
bipolars polarize
When the autistics discuss their interests
and the learning disabled drool
She would be there for me
When the dominant males preen and the
poets dream
When the vicious harridans howl and the
posers pontificate
She would be there for me
Every person needs a companion
Say the cold fingers of genetic fate
around my throat
My soul screams for unity in togetherness
My soul howls for love
If I had a wife
I would insert the words 'my wife' into
myriad sentences
Like women always insert the words 'my
boyfriend' or 'my husband' when they're talking to me
Just so I think they're taken whether
they're single or not and I don't have a chance in hell
I'd say things like:
My wife has a stomach ache and
My wife loves to eat peaches or
My wife is a divine angel of pure light
and her breasts smell like strawberries or
My wife gave me a most excellent blow-job
this morning and now the whole universe sparkles with possibilities
Somewhere between divine and human
Loved forever no matter how much this
crazy world longs for the abyss
She will be my soul mate and my partner in
crime
My dearest confidante and my gorgeous
honey-darling
My antithesis and my synthesis
I wonder if she's out there now
Locked up in some kafkaesque insane asylum
tied down on a stretcher, overdosing on anti-psychotics
I might channel Sean Connery's James Bond
and go and rescue her
If only I knew where she was
Or if she even exists
I in my Image for Dylan Thomas
I in my image who never sought scandal
Fried in a vision of celluloid mist
Bearded and beaded and broken like
egg-shells
Newspaper lifelines that twist around
friends
I in my image of speech bubble sentiment
Mired in the marrow and marred in the bone
Cracked and corrupted like a corpse’s
maggot
Craving an instant of vegetable sleep
I in my image of gossip hewn character
Sliced to a stereotypical density
Daily confused by bent backed insanity
Near to a candle-shine movement of light
I in my image so soaking in solace
With cellophane junctures of alien anxiety
Woman soaked consciousness restrained by
indifference
Never becoming yet destined to die
I in my image Hawaiian shirt swollen
Bent bud-brain reeling by gleaning the
green
Poison attempts to fit into the in crowd
Caustic of consequence that mutters an end
BIO: Tim Parkin is a hairy and cuddly mammal
from Carlisle in Perth. He started writing poetry in his teens but then stopped
and wrote only song lyrics for 20 years. During this time he completed an
honours degree in Linguistics, several stays in psychiatric hospitals and
played about sixty gigs around Perth with his band Berbermerkin. He has also
recently completed a diploma in divinity at Vose Seminary but is not very
divine. At the start of 2014 he started writing poetry again and has not
stopped since, and has regularly attended Perth Poetry Club. He works as a
research assistant at Curtin University and has been published in Creatrix,
Uneven Floor, Writ Poetry Review, Wide Load Zines, The Bitchin’ Kitsch and
Naked Press Tank.
Berbermerkin’s Album (can listen)
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