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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No more looking back

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Looking back

we were fleeing for our lives

but slowly, like a caravan of refugees

reluctant to leave home,

lugging loaded carts

eyes and hands preoccupied with

balancing the burdens,

fingers fumbling, feet stumbling

.

Looking back

we realised how far we’d come

almost without meaning to

drifting to the edges of community

isolating, turning in upon ourselves

nursing hurts that could not help but cut us off

becoming displaced persons

at the margins of the land

.

Like a retreating army on a beach

nowhere to go but put to sea

scanning the horizon for a ship

the desperate waiting for the tide to rise

the fear of what’s behind and what’s to come

the in-between of not belonging anywhere

.

We have to walk the plank,

impossible to carry anything

apart from all we cannot leave behind

Farewell familiar places, well-known faces

all we took for granted for so long

it comes to this, the final wrench

the fateful step upon the moving boards

as unknown forces take control

.

All hands on deck!

transition is an all-consuming task

our future now entrusted to the waves

The wind is strong

we have to find our balance

as we cling on to whatever comes to hand

when stinging eyes are often filled with tears

when expectations drown in salty sorrow

when extra cargo’s thrown into the sea

.

Looking back

we watch the home we left

recede and shrink, a disappearing friend

our story sketched across those hills

Inside us gratitude and mourning go to war

we had no choice, we had to leave

abandoning the past, in hope

that life may somehow be renewed

beyond the storms at journey’s end

.

High up in the crow’s nest

I turn to face the rising sun

No more looking back

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Selfish

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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

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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

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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

Intimately

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

 

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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

Ginger

 

1-Ginger Jesus

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

 

Chorus:

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.

Amen.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUDBzk6F8Dc


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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

Naked

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

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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