So I Swing…



Life can beat you down & leave your spirit battered & bruised. 
My spirit is resilient but I ache,I cry, I languish in the depths of my pain thinking of loves & loved ones lost 
My mind flooded with all the regrets men who have lived a life such as mine have. 
Chances not taken….dice left unthrown
A hand unplayed
Folded because a combination of fear & oppression stared me down 
The poker face of life’s hard knocks
Yet I continue to play
Yet I continue to rise to a bell rang in the arena of life
Ready to dance – Ali…MJ
I shuffle, I bob & I weave …ropa-dope’n
And I take my blows rolling with what punches I can & gritting my teeth on what punches find their mark
My brow sweaty, my body sore but my back unbent
So I swing
I swing for the fences,I throw hailmarys & haymakers
Realising as long as I fight I win & if I stop I loose
So I hear my momma in my ear whispering
Swing little Tookie swing 
Send that bullie running,crying on home


Prophecies of the Present (a poem)


Prophecies of the Present

The world having traversed a third of its heavenly course 

The Platonic year near complete

The gods, infernal and divine stand ready to unleash prophecies long forgotten

Of Dido and Pygmalion

Of Memnon and Andromeda

Amongst the stone & rubble Albion’s children will remember the ways of Eirene to late

Having dwelt in their hubris to long, they ran dancing to their own ruin

The lion, the leopard, the rooster joined by the compass

Look on disconcertedly as the bear, faux naïf cleverly pulls the strings of the arrogant eagle

Gog and Magog snigger as Riphath and Tarshish decedents are duped

The dragon ever wise watches, keeping the goshawk perilously tethered

Arimu in turmoil may cause the blue turban to rise from Ishmael’s seed

All the while from with in the bowels of the behemoth you hear the Kushite’s muffled cries for justice

Of Moors and Mongols (a poem)


When the moon is in Mars & the sun is in Saturn,

Long after the towers of Gemini have fallen & the mood set for the mad trumpeter to play to his ruin.

After Bacon’s dream is pushed to the edge of nightmare and Kings dream has been rendered close to  peril,

400 seasons thus will the false heirs of Romulus & Remus be vexed, the zealots of Hakenkruez flag laying in tatters,

Venus then eclipsed, with aurum et ferro both Moor & Mongol shall meet at the Rhine.

About this poem:

For anyone who has ever read a translation of Michel de Nostredame bka Nostradamus’s prophecies the influence of his quatrains is evident. This is a poem I’ve had running around in my head for years. I didn’t receive this poems subject matter while in a prophetic trance as Nostradamus received his quatrains but I will say I feel it is a prophecy of sorts. The way prophecy plays out can be varied and in many cases is subject to the interpretation of those effected (or not effected) by prophecy. I’m interested in seeing what readers think this “poetic prophecy” is alluding to.