Monday, December 18, 2017

Everything will be okay

we humans
can’t help but crave
romantic endings
throwing ourselves
forward into fantasy
futures of religious
or scientific
heavens of happiness
where the dead
don’t die
and evil is refused
entry at the gate

of course…

there is always
a price to pay
for all that
suicidal optimism


© Harry Rout 2017

Thursday, December 14, 2017

Genesis

Look over there
All the butterflies
Have lost their colour
While perishing
Beneath our sins

Poisoned souls
Intoxicating
The purity
Of things

While
In the garden
Adam and Eve
Stand in line
For a ticket
With everyone else


© Harry Rout 2017

Monday, December 11, 2017

Hope and horror


tragedy?

oh there's
tragedy
alright

all those
putrid
fairy-tales
we
stuff into
the minds
of little children
are disasters
waiting
to implode
in the kitchens
of
the future

too
many happy
bloody endings
give a false
impression
of life

Snow White's
prince was a
chauvinistic prick

&
let's not
mention
those fuckin’
dwarfs


© Harry Rout 2017






Thursday, December 7, 2017

Neon dreams and miracles

between the concrete
and dead carcasses
moonlit shadows
trapped in neon
city madness

with insignificance scrambling
thru shopping malls
of paradoxical pleasure
a fine scribbled line
of melancholia

as screaming faces
linger in boredom
waiting for miracles
while existence slowly fades
in billboard advertisements

just another sign
of slavery
and suffering

while in the end...
more moments of emptiness


© Harry Rout 2017

Sunday, December 3, 2017

After the battle

“When fighting with monsters take
care not to become a monster yourself.”
Nietzsche


when all
is said
and done

when the war
is fought
and won

the hardest
thing to do
is show kindness
to the enemy

Sunday, November 26, 2017

There's no ark this time

here I stand
defeated by the hate
beaten
by the fear

bones broken
by the beast
crumpled
&
crushed

here I stand
waiting patiently
for the flood
like all the other
sacred sinners

look…
there’s Jesus

…slipping
beneath the waves


© Harry Rout 2017

Thursday, November 16, 2017

Our heart of darkness


in the name
of progress
we march
into the future
on the backs
of unknown slaves
while we shut
our eyes
so as not
to disturb this
fragile economy

but we know
the truth…

we see them
clinging desperately
to the walls
of our hungry
shopping malls
while we buy
and sell
the products
of their labour


© Harry Rout 2017

Monday, November 13, 2017

What’s happened to all the children? (For the kids of Yemen)


beneath
the soul of God
a million unknown
decomposing bones
lay hidden
by the weight
of time

little boys
and
little girls
dead and damned

their fragile hearts
had no hope
in this world
of man

while
in heaven
no one hears
them cry


© Harry Rout 2017

Wednesday, November 1, 2017

You know you’re write (Artists are the antennae of the species – Ezra Pound)

refusing to hear
the poet
they threatened him
with crucifixion
and even worse

a subtle
lack of interest

they tore out
his twisted tongue
and took away
his angry pen

leaving him
with only silence

they laughed
loudly at the poet
as he stood
naked and wordless

they held
their hammer high
as he raised
his middle finger
and smiled defiantly

while the first nail
pierced his skin


© Harry Rout 2017

Sunday, October 29, 2017

Kind of blue (for Carol)

In the middle of Miles Davis
and a cool Jack ‘n’ dry
I thought about you
your image blurred by a sudden
pull towards loneliness
but as you and I both know
I refuse to suffer loneliness

As the picture cleared
between the Miles and Jack
I recalled that first night
that silky red robe you wore
your breasts stroking my fingertips
as we sat in your bath

Miles is done blowing his horn
and my empty glass
wants a little more whiskey
and my lonely heart
wants a little more of you


© Harry Rout 2017

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Playing peek-a-boo with baby Jesus

The other night
I was feeding baby Jesus
his evening bottle
cause Mary’s nipples
have a severe case of cracking
due to the boy’s
ferocious feeding habits.

I told her to try rubbing
some rose-hip oil
or some good old Vaseline
on them twice a day
while keeping him
on the rubber tit
till hers have healed.

She was happy for the help
and all the medical advice
as Joe was working nights
at the Bethlehem Casino
dealing cards
at the blackjack table.

Things are a bit rough
between the two of them
at the moment
as Mary doesn’t want
the lad circumcised
but dad’s adamant
the foreskin’s got to go.

So I’ll keep doing
what I can to help out

and besides…..

Mary’s got a body
to fuckin’ die for.


© Harry Rout 2017

Monday, October 23, 2017

Try a little tenderness

there’s always
that constant struggle
to keep
the tenderness alive
after listening
to the radio news
over a bowl
of cornflakes
and
that first cup
of extra-strong coffee

rapes
murders
crazy motherfuckers
killing for their stupid
GOD

tender
is the tenderness
that rests within the soul
so fragile
is the heart when so often
left alone

and now…

well now with broken
back
one pours
another cup of coffee
while contemplating
jerking-off
to images
of a better world
…a world
where beauty is real

but my hand is
limp
and
the coffee is cold

and
so it goes…

© Harry Rout 2017


Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Bohemian bum-hole

it was one
of those Sunday
mornings
when
you really want
is to sit down
with the gods
&
discuss
all the bullshit
that's going
down

so
I grabbed
the darkness
and
tore a tiny
fucking
hole in it
so
I could squeeze
my head thru

well there I was
staring
out of my
own ass-hole
with
my ball-bag
dangling there
like
some grotesque
growth waiting
for the surgeon's
knife

it was then
that
I realized
that it was all
just
one giant joke
&
as I laughed
&
farted
at the same time
my
sphincter muscle
tightened
and
almost choked
the
living shit
out of me


© Harry Rout 2017

Monday, October 16, 2017

Enlightenment

when one discovers
the chaos
lurking between
reason
and
meaning

one finds
only dystopian ideas
festering
just below
the human soul
like a cancer
devouring
all the hopeful
innocence

one hears
all the fears
&
tears
as they sink
beneath
the surface


© Harry Rout 2017

Me and a little Jim Beam

I have two brothers
and a sister who’s gay,
of course that’s either
neither here nor there.

My brother Bob, who was
a year and a bit
younger than me,
jumped out of this
thing called life
with a long rope
secured to his neck
some years back now.

Like many other gentle souls
it all became too fuckin’ hard,
he just couldn’t keep
swallowing all the crap.

As for me, I’ve just turned 61,
I still have all my hair
though it’s all grey now.
I can still piss in a straight line
and once in a while I wake up
in the morning
with a raging hard on.

Go figure.


© Harry Rout 2017

Thursday, October 5, 2017

There's no help coming

today
the abyss
appears deeper
than usual
with
countless souls
clinging
to the edge
pleading
to their silly
gods
for redemption
&
mercy

standing back
I offer no
assistance…

you see…

I know what’s
fucking
down there


© Harry Rout 2017



Tuesday, October 3, 2017

What the world needs is more guns! (For the 58 plus)

Screaming images
of unborn children
with
automatic rifles
in their hands
fall from my
eyelids
as I sip
sadly on a
Bloody Mary
&
ponder
the artistic
genius of Kalashnikov
&
good old
Mr. Winchester

Somewhere
some mother mourns
in the arms
of her dead
daughter
while politicians
preach promises
of better
times to come
&
silly fuckin’ poets
write silly fuckin’
poems just
like
this one


© Harry Rout 2017

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Gregory Corso's drank all the poetry

angels with bloodied
wings
are dancing
on the graves
of broken women
&
moonlight madness
is mixing
with
hormone heroes
while Athena silently
battles
with her own
masculinity

all alone on Olympus
Zeus
insists it’s the size
of one’s cock
that counts
&
old Hera
giggles madly
as her cunt castrates
cherubs
two by two

meanwhile
Paris jerks off
amid
the burning ruins
of Troy
while
sniffing Helen’s dirty
knickers

&
behind the bar
Dionysus
is mixing margaritas
while
joking
with all the dirty
little poets


© Harry Rout 2017


Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Toilet poem #23

I was showing
this blind bloke
some porn-photos
and he began
caressing
each shot
with his fingertips
until he screamed
God's name
within his darkness

I think he got it

I think he
and
God appreciated
the favour

the whole thing
certainly made
Jesus giggle
and
get a hard on

oh father...
why has thou
forsaken me?

© Harry Rout 2017

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Toilet poem #7

paradox
&
unbending light
filling dark
holes
of motionless
time
with a million
collapsing images
pretending
to know answers
constructed
on false
foundations
of morality

...so
who said
God is dead


© Harry Rout 2017