LUCKY JACKSON: MAI POET LAUREATE

On cold lonely nights and chilly windy days,
when darkness blows hard and long,
when the ice of fear and loathing catch breath
upon the finger-tips of despair,
the street urchin lays waiting.

The wintry sounds of despair and death,
in the catacombs of heart-wrenching city streets,
parks and smelly alleyways and hostels.
In silent torment and unknown depths of hell
the street urchin is alone.

I, in my infinite uncertainty and tears
and in the realms of my unsightly dress,
and pungent odour of what's left of my world,
I am the time and the outcast,
and the street urchin nobody sees.

COPYRIGHT 1994
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

Sometimes I see the child in men,
like rebellion and rage.
They all think they're James Dean!
What are they rebelling against?
Could it be the unworthy
death of clear skies or
the illuminatingly proud
acid like cloud
of polluted crimes.

Track on down the highways
and the byways of tomorrow
where the oz follows
the white line of America's past.

Sometimes in my world
of inspired cruelty upon the word,
I see myself
as an ancient worrier
crippled with a love for the living
and moaning approval to the eternal sleep.

I see myself
as a dying hippy hippocrit
walking the Rundle pavers
loaded to the eye-balls in plastic wealth,
saving for the fifty foot boat,
and the snot green porsche
with the blood red leather interior.
Bad taste! - But lavish!

COPYRIGHT 1995
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

I threw away my winged horse,
which my bath and I did play.
Stranded among dreams and goals
yet the anger didn’t stay.

Snow white, stood my winged horse
in prepared flight to the sun,
expanded torso feathers in the air
that would not be undone.

I remember the winged horse
with the splendour and grace of art.
Pristine in it’s past glory
of the mythical origin’s star.

So death plagues the winged horse,
I’ll never forget the day,
I took to my anger, my Pegasus
and threw my toy away.

COPYRIGHT 1990
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

Waiting;
standing in line.
Waiting;
for love that isn't mine.
Waiting;
so that I may soon be served.
Waiting;
for the car that's nearly swerved.
Waiting;
in the room that's out the back.
Waiting;
to hit the sack.
Waiting;
for the interview from hell.
Waiting;
for something I can sell.
Waiting;
to be paid.
Waiting;
for a raid.
Waiting;
for my good looking date.
Waiting;
because she's three hours late.
Waiting;
for sadness of life to mend.
Waiting;
for all the waiting to end.

COPYRIGHT 1994
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

The dead maggot of youth is present.
My beautiful friend comb's my flesh,
in absent morning.
Blow wild and free and hard
through every time.
Age has seen the afterlife!
The crazy green rocket of phallic wonder
opens the doors of symbolic content.
Mask the crimes of society
like conformity and gluttony of wealth.
Commercialise profanity.
Freak out and employ
the scum populace of the streets
and old prostitutes.
Sing the melody of death
in the witchcraft dark night,
and while the scene plays
the light bleeds the power of satan.
Crackdown to silence!
Sail the waves of mediocrity
until my words mean no more,
or misunderstanding grows with insight,
fights dark solemn joy,
for the bloody pain of nothingness.

COPYRIGHT 1993
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

I
Goodnight marine, say goodnight.
Have you the time?
Spend forever on the tulips
and never play beyond the moon.

II
Grasp each living day by the thumb
and to each his own a song,
I speak like no other gossip,
yet, no other gossip is me.

III
Goodnight marine, say goodnight.
Pick up your gun,
and stay away from violent fruit
and let the marine be at peace.

IV
Say goodnight ‘til the morning,
bellow the sounds of grieving
and never toil again in dreamland
of never never hills
and violent nightmare mountain.

COPYRIGHT 1992
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

The ghastly night vision taunted me,
in ruthless black dreams.
Blood rose red eye balls haunted me
in relentless death filled screams.
“O, nightmare.”, in pleading gaze
of morbid torrid omnipotent tear,
“I sense amid this lascivious maze
an ogre to which I fear.”

COPYRIGHT 1991
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

Remember the ageless willow,
I met upon the sleep.
Remember what I spoke of it
when darkness touched my feet.

Remember in the night-time silence,
when she sang to me good-night.
Remember dew drop mornings,
when sunshine stirred the light.

Remember forehead kisses,
drawing out the pain.
Remember the words of wisdom,
that sheltered me from the rain.

Remember when she held me tight,
with a touch, a hug and a smile.
Remember the time of winter,
loving me all the while.

Remember the sadness and growing,
in the world of teenage tears.
Remember the way she whispered,
the wisdom that love steers.

Remember when silent winters,
chilled like ice-cold tea.
Remember the ageless willows,
and the womb that gave you me.

COPYRIGHT 1994
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

Shocking movement
Hurries
Of impotent
Cocks and
Knitting jumpers of
Internal
Nothingness creeping silently
Gone.

To silent
Abnormal horrors
Being not human
Luminating
Energies
Sucking on life.

Omnipotence seeks
Filth.

Rapping thighs
Engaging
Married orgies of
Orgasms
Racing ancient
Smiles of sinning
Endlessly.

COPYRIGHT 1992
BARTHOLOMEW BARTON

The rebellious rogues of time,
save Dean smiles as I.D.
salute with shy victim eyes
and "You're tearing me apart"
upon their lips.

Feel like a chicky run?
Friendless time changes old men,
and youth is timeless.
Legend seeks acceptance,
yet dies unheard.

The spark of Eden
reverberates the fire of passion
hidden in it's screams.
Time has not made better plans
of youthful lust.

The rebellious rogues of time
seek to merely belong,
with cries of heavy burden
and "You're tearing me apart"
upon their lips.

COPYRIGHT 1992 BARTHOLOMEW BARTON