PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Mate, this guy Blake was fucking nuts, seriously

I was in the old book shop and kind of half deliriously

decided that I'd buy 'The Wordsworth book of Blake'

and he's mental! and his poetry rhymes for fucks sake.

He slags off the priesthood and mythology of the Church,

then shites out his own cosmology - and worse!

He says stuff like '...the Wine-press of Los is east of Golgonooza'

and... I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response. Cunt.



He goes something like:

'God and le Deville are both the same person

and canst only manifest inside a gentleman's bosom'

(That's me ripping the bag, it's not word for word

but I don't give a fuck, he's looking slapped and he's absurd).

Then like... something like two forces of reason and energy

and one of them's good and one is the enemy,

or maybe one is the manifestation of the other

and if you repress your desires, it's a shit-load of bother.



Wait! He said (sic):

'Better to kill a child than repress you desire.'

Mongoloid! Infanticide? Set this dick on fire!

But wait... you see this isn't my main contention,

it's just he maintains there's two types of person

and anyone who seeks to reconcile the two

desires mankind's destruction... Hey Blake? Fuck you!

The best thing about God is 'Hey! Let's try and be friends'

and thats what you attack? You're a spoon and you're an end.



I know your head was up your arse, I do feel for you brother

but you really should have known much better, people are killing each other.

If you wanted to start a cult then you should have gone to France;

if you were just looking attention, do what I do - shit your pants.

I can only try and guess what his motivation was

- I guess the search for Truth - but that troubles me because

this guy's name is legend and still resounds through time

for deciding that he'd find his Truth where the sun don't fucking shine.



It's a long and hard road my friend, which the poet walks alone,

it's hard defining guidelines but why not try this one:

don't tell stinking lies for a start! The Truth belongs to all,

if you make up words like 'Oothoon', I'll kick you in the balls.

I love the imagination, it's my home, my street, my hostel

but when I put my finger up my nose, I don't bring out the gospel.

Keyra Augustina... well, that would be my luck, sir!

Point being when my dreaming's done, I don't tell my mates I fucked her.



Truth, big man and Beauty sir, I'm afraid are different things,

if you're happy enough with Beauty then just live in your imaginings.

If not then FUCK UP AND LISTEN! because Truth can be Beautiful too

but it has to come from everything, it can't just come from you.

Truth's not just what you believe, it's what everyone can know,

it's Beauty's in simplicity; it's wine, it's her, it's snow.

Pure Beauty is the great divider, it's subjective and insane

but the Beauty of Truth is unity; all of us are the same.



I was riding home from work today. It was dark but it was morning

when the starkest sudden amber struck the universal awning;

the melody inside me melded sweetly with the sky

and nature's mental picture kissed me gently in the eye.

I wish you could have been there Blake, as I trundled in that carriage

but there's no need as I'm sure we've all seen Truth and Beauty's marriage.

I know that you're half mental with your Deities and stuff

but there was Beauty in that Godless sky, isn't that enough?