Born to Die, born to die, born to die. Say it three times as you turn anti-clockwise and await the results. It'll blow your mind. My da tried this once in Bella Cohen's night town brothel after taking a lemon scented chunk from a spiked potato. It was good to see me da enjoying himself but given that I'd been dead 11 years I was well miffed. To the howling sounds of Hank Williams I appeared to him in the height of his hallucination. Rolling around on the floor he kept banging on about a red red rose for his last dutchess. She, my ma, was in bed with a blazer of a bloke and me da needed help. Putting a ghostly hand on his shoulder I reassured him that a second Telegonian son would be born to him, in fact the seed had already been planted. One of Bella's girls would carry the soul of my reincarnation to full term and the child would be called Rebel Birmingham. In the 1st trimester I wrote and published a Maynoothian collection of poems called 'Strange Habits'. Only 12 copies exist to this day. In the second trimester I wrote and published a Deiseian stream of conciousness piece called 'Cursed With A Brain' on the subject of sons and their fathers. This piece wasn't well recieved and all 3 copies were subsequently burned. In my final trimester I concieved of a circian methodology based on the idea that time is spherical and not linear. I was due to call this 'Never Born' and it was to be based on my experiences in the womb. Life intervened however and my mother went into labour. Named after a mongrel collie I was raised on the northside of Dublin. Then in the early 90s I had to go into exile after a white witch told me I would kill my father. 'The father must die for the son to live' were her actual words. I know it's a big leap from one thought to another but that's why we were given an imagination. RB
() Baby had a dream Where we get out alive Alive and living The dream was unclear The vision perfect Everything would burn All of it Blown dusty Across a reviving aspect Burn because it had grown ugly Burn because fire is the only Baptism of rebirth Concievable Civilisations rise and fall People grow and fail Dreams live forever () I'm gonna do A like poem And think about My two most pressing Weights of concern War and suicide As if they were Persistent polar oppisites In the dichotomy Of hell on earth One a frenzied communal effort Bricks bombs and ballasts The other single silent solitary With both adherants With both survivors People to retell the tale Over and over () The earth moans craters Of molten expectation And from it's bowels In opposition to gravity Another force Ambles into existence Not ex nilhio now Or any of that Simply a measure Of spectrum That had hither to Failed to sparkle For the right deal of appreciation In wonder The microscope calls For a finer lens And a closer look
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
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