Ray & Redhead

Poetry please

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Welcome to our poetry blog

Here is an uncivil partnership made in heaven, a platform for mutual provocation, a public exploration. We’re using the language of the heart alongside the harsh syllables of anger and discontent, stretchingFootprints meanings and metaphors to their limit and pulling words out of shape – respectfully, of course. Our subject is life, in all its shades of red, blue and grey.

Read on, explore the buffet – find some dishes to your taste, perhaps reminding you of a meal you ate once and enjoyed. We don’t promise all the flavours will be good for you – beware of acid indigestion and remember to add a pinch of salt! But why not go ahead – absorb some tasty morsels turned out of the creative kitchens of two other souls?


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Theres been many a sunset

followed by shitty dawns

Rainbows with no treasure

Oysters without pearls

Pride without falls

Paths never seem to

follow expected routes

You said you’d never leave

You did

You said you lived for me

that you’d love me forever

You didn’t

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Nuda Veritas & The Politics of Wholeness

The emancipatory goal of art is


to transcend the the perceived limits of the senses

and to set them free


It is the synthesis of the present and the past

Of the luxury and degradation of the zeitgeist

Of creation and recreation


I do not belong here but among the Romantics

and their laudable rhetoric of the

exquisite and the dubious


It appears that there is an aristocracy of taste

and I dwell within its charm

In an Orphic underworld of codified mystery

With the blurred golden lines of the sensory and

the erotic vying for my affection


I am not alone

There is a small circle in which I reside

We look at the world and reimagine it’s form

in stone, paint and word

We do not boast or presume to be champions worthy of laurels

We are simply a secession

A bunch of Kunstler

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Pursuing the Purple Haze


The challenge is

How to be on the right

Side of a holy war

That is wholly uncivil

And to keep your soul in the

hushed, still shade of peace and quiet

The challenge is

How to serve

The hurt and the dismissed

To be

In tune with the infinite

In prayer in

A pleasant cooperation and

Strange conceit

That I alone have a hot line to

The Almighty Creator

When it works

Prayer, mantras or positive thinking

Call it what you will

Finds me

Floating as a feather

On the breeze of grace

Fluent in silence

Floating in a purple space

Dancing with the either devils

or gods that I know


Safe in the solitude

Of His presence

Asking nothing

– I do not babble

Expecting nothing

– I am never disappointed

It is an exercise of openness and of being

Neither self nor relationally centred

As I can’t trust myself

And you cannot choose your relations

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Sheep Sheeran



Jesus was a nigger

By any other name

A curly haired, pasty faced

GT Jew Boy

Laughed at

Insulted, abused and mocked

Humiliated, rejected and threatened

By those who should know better

Jesus was a nigger by any other name

And only a ginger can call another ginger



1-Ginger Jesus

Christ Among The Doctors – William Holman Hunt:  New Walk Museum , Leicester



Ginger Jesus, meek and mild,

Look upon a redheaded child;

Pity their gingicity,

Suffer them to come to Thee.


Ranga of God, I look to Thee;

Thou shalt my example be:

Lord of Ginga’s please make them stop

Thou wast once a carrot top.


They make my life a living hell;

When they call me Duracell:

I want to live, I want to dance

Don’t let them call me Fanta Pants


Ginger Jesus, gentle Lamb,

In Thy gracious hands I am;

Make me, happy, what Thou art,

A ginger person with a ginger heart.





Meeting Red (When Words Collide)

1-little Richard


They eventually met at the cross

The resting place of kings

The place where the

Fosse crosses the Soar

A place where nothing was hidden


Scales lifted

All of life’s mysteries laid bare before them

Truths between the lines

Truth within the lines


On Ambion Hill


Looking at the arrows

The destinations were onerous

Choices were not easy;


“The place where hearts are broken and dreams go to die

The place where trust and hope are lost

The place where beats surrender and skip the groove”


Their choice was not to return down those paths

They chose to

Walk on

Walk on

To take a New Walk

Toward new beginnings

To the next cross

Leaving the past for undiscovered futures

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A Kindness


She had often asked that which should not be asked

One final gift, a sweet relief

He had always declined through selfish fear

Until he read a paradox

That loving hurt conquers painful hurt

Until only love remains


He held the pillow to her sleeping face

Until the trembling ceased

All breath expired

Though violent in nature her death was

No more than a lovers pinch

Full of desire and love and dignified peace


The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, which hurts and is desired. – William Shakespeare

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Antony & Cleopatra



Slipping off her glancing kiss, he was seen once more

picking up teeth along with the shards of yet another broken heart

from the dirty pub floor where they had fallen like mirrors


Up to their necks in embarrassment and sickly shame

Ankle deep in guilty regrets and defeat

Their circus of personal nightmares was in town again


Through silent whispering and sardonic asides louder than war

they spent their waking moments connecting and disconnecting

their crossed wires of communication


It had become a tempestuous blood sport

where the rules became blurred and the original infringement

had been lost in an off the ball ruck and melee


If it wasn’t for the dark pain that it caused

you could say that the coupling was perfect

and with a perverse twist it was


No one did hate with such love

No one despite with such considered and calculated venom

They created unease with ease


They performed together alone

regardless of the setting or the gathering

Their dramas almost appeared contrived


Until the fight became too real to be scripted and the volcanoes blew

New bruises, new scars were created with the deft skill of artisans

They showed off their wounds like iconic holy relics


She was not at the funeral but she was seen

standing at the cemetery gates

all billowing veils and running mascara


She reappeared later slumped at his graveside

with a single red rose, it’s thorns piercing her palm

it’s sharp teeth her breast


He had been buried as per his wishes with her last love letter

in the left breast pocket of his blazer and

a lock of her hair in his hand


In death as in life he went in tribute and hope

of a deadly love that could never die

in all its passionate, volatile glory


Thereafter she attended the plot with religious regularity

and genuine repentant grief, weeping and praying

to the modern gods. To Mars for courage and strength


For one more look at his battered face of furious love

For one more round, for one last fight

Then to kiss it all better again



Think you there was, or might be, such a man

As this I dream’d of? – Shakespeare