Paul D.E. Mitchell Poetry

Jetsam

The jetsam of the jet-set
shock-troop goose-step
strike a light finding
kiosks full of corpses
full of dead supermen
the sky so full of clerks...

Above the sky-light's breaking
glass rains down on flotsam
far off sky-lines shaking
shock-wave goose-bump
sonic boom and finding
the hourglass buried
in the sand...
he sets the genie free.

Above him breathless jetsam
champagne fluting
chasing twilight
all around the world...
and through the windows in the clouds
the sunshine lingers -
just for them.

Flotsam shakes a fist
at their vapour trails
he empties all the kiosks...
finds the phones are broken
anger gathers new disciples
he speaks their thoughts unspoken
he thinks their thoughts uncensored
and deprived of all their heroes...
they take out the towers.

Kristallnacht.

I woke last night
to the rattle of cattle trucks
I heard children singing
in the land of the silver birch
I saw this fat man bow his head
but his eyes were Judas-dry
I tried to sleep
but in my mind's eye
the dons dusted down
their skulls and bones
and they filled the darkness
with sleepless crystal.

Reaper Stealing

I gaze into her mirror
on the razor edge of darkness
my face illumated from below
by the glittering of her tears
faces shadowed, features flow
from theatres of the absurd
so I wave my hand magician
back and forth
across my tragi-comic masks
happy, sad
happy...
sad...

Before she slept detached
with cold good reason
she said she loved me like a brother
but then she tried to mother me
and smother me with incest kisses
made of the brightest candle flame
burning on her lips.

And in these mirrored coma-depths
I hear her breathe her sleeping airs
music from the valleys of the unborn
echoes from the ridges of the dead
life sighing lost in exhalation.

Before she slept I played my tune testoterone
I ran my fingers along the instrument of her body until...

carried away by our carrion harmonies
argon-arcing, we welded crescendos
our backs cadence-arching
we found our perfect melody
we deserved our standing ovation.

And now, beneath my silent mime
above my sheets of sleepless fire
my love does not awake
but breathes on serenely
the Reaper stealing a little death.

All poems and lyrics
(c) 2009 Paul D.E. Mitchell

Religion

Time is standing frozen
by the ever-open door
it squeezes through the cracks
it cascades down to the floor
black robes are flowing
the black flags of faith
the wind is no redeemer
and heaven no escape.

Collection coins are rolling
like tank-tracks through the night
stained-glass Jesus-windows
only crucify the light
chaplains blessing sabres
the unknown soldier's grave
white feathers line the coffins
the cradles to the brave.

See mullahs blessing martyrs
ploughboys from the farms
who are beaten into heroes
sent to die in Allah's arms
blood pigments the icons
and illuminates the Word
with palettes made of napalm
the artists shall be heard.

The bankers' sons are spitting
down at press-gangs in the street
the multi-medalled generals
taste the opium defeat
harvesting the poppies
with Saint Elmo's holy fire
they sacrifice on altars
all the things that men desire.

Fists crash down on bibles
hiding reason with the noise
the jackboots in the bedroom
sees your innocence destroyed
priests blockade your hallway
and bless the hangman's rope
like lawyers in their black robes
they're prosecuting
hope....