SAINT THOMAS, VERSES 183 - 195
Mark Traill
13 June 2008, 07:50The cycle’s bell is broken
I crashed it on the way
An apparition caught me out
And in my room I’ll stay
The cash has dried up fast
The credit card has met
Its debit maker in the sky
The bank is rich on debt
All I have is this –
A pencil and a lamp
A piece of paper, envelope
And a postage stamp
I’m sending you a poem
My writing is sincere
And on receipt I’ll let you sleep
With me for fifty years:
********,
I don’t understand compulsions, less how I have been able to live with the rancid smell of guilt that follows my every footstep. I am done with running away from you. I have had enough. I will find a way back home to be with you and our little boy. I will seek work, I will marry you, I will perform mundane tasks just so that I can smell your breath in the morning or tell you that no, you actually look beautiful and that you not knowing this makes you even more beautiful still. I am corrupt, but not yet broken, I can be saved, and you are my saviour.
But before my salvation I must face something important. Please do not worry, my resolve is you, my love. The very thought of you; and I become a better person and, if needs, a warrior, ready to assail devils odds so I can be by your sides and provide what I can as a man.
See you soon
Ever Loving
Thomas
(Your Saint) x
Centre of being, let the words come
I’m in love with a girl who’s the mum
Of my boy and his name I’m yet to have learnt
So now I return to minimise the hurt
That I’ve poured on so many up to this point
I’ll give up the booze, I’ll stop smoking joints
I’ll give up the women, I’ll give up porn
I’ll never take smack when I’m mowing the lawn
I’ll write a poem for love each day
Then I will take our son away
To find a park and play a sport
Of his choice; after I’ll report
To mum on what a good boy is
And she will give her son a kiss
And when the good boy’s truly fed
Mum and dad will go to bed
Pack my bags
I have to see
An Englishman
What Embassy?
I’m drafting the air whilst praying to Jesus up there on a lime-washed wall
It’s only a calendar but feeling of praying is better than nothing at all
I pray to my statue of Ganesh in my satchel for removal of bad obstacles
Messiah is weeping from rain that is seeping through walls –
Will god hear my call?
tap, tap, is that the rain?
tapping on my windowpane?
tap, tap drip on floor
tapping tapping (knock on door?)
tap, tap (my ears are wrong)
tap, tap tapping (resolve is strong)
tap, tap, phew, its only rain
tappa tappa tappa its Baba again
He’s dressed like an aspirant
A Rishi with a twist
He looks at me with guru calm
And then he grabs my wrist
He drags me to his Enfield bike
To unknown destinations
The deep throbs of his engine
Only offer contemplation
Sitting on the backseat
With my arms around his waist
His riding is experienced
He doesn’t move with haste
We reach a little beach
Where another bike is parked
He pushes me from off my seat
And makes me walk a path
Chanting fisherman fill the air
With work and verse and sweat
They’re hauling in their daily lives
To help stave off their deaths
We share a cigarette a while
Beneath a wonky palm
And only when we finish this
Do I begin to run
Rushing air and rain in hair
I’m running to the bike
The keys are in ignition so
I might as well as try
But Thomas fell into the sand
His crown now felt most sore
A stone was thrown from Baba’s hand
His aim from far from poor
The fisherman kept working
They didn’t comprehend
That the men upon their beach
Were far from being friends
The tears are salty on my face
The blood is on my hands
“Get up on your feet now Tom
‘Cause when we talk we stand
Like men as soldiers in a war
But then you did forget
What being one is meant to be
And now there’s no time left”
“So kill me then
I don’t care how
Just make it swift
And make it now
You hate my bones
You want my blood
So bury them after
In the mud
Then on your way
To find new souls
Devouring flesh
Then grow old
With the knowledge
Of what you did
Then off to hell
And we are rid
Of one less devil
One less cretin
Cast in flames
Oh I’m forgetting
You won’t see Tom
But he’ll see you
Up on his cloud
With tears of truth”
“All is true of what you said
Apart from alteration
That when I die we will meet up
As comrades in hell’s nation
We’ll drink cups of flames and blood
And toast our brotherhood
Then we’ll sing a national hymn
That states that hell is good”
“…lying, deceiving, obsessing, conceiving, perversion, and theft and you’ve stolen my trip and I have nothing left…”
