Trilogy

It’s not about
the mechanism, it’s
all in the balance,

it’s not on any c.v. or
profile – style,

it’s the graceful in
the prize, not
the g-force in the rise –
but the way it flies,

it’s the timing – the
feel, a sublime
touch,

it’s the rhyming and
the rhythm – but
not too much,

it’s not how incisive but
how the thing glides –

the shuffle – the ballet –
the ebb and flow tides,

it’s not about
the winning or
the loudest
bird to sing,

it’s the cadence – not
the power, it’s the way –
it’s not the thing.

The boss packed up and hit the road –
he duly broke tradition,
so burdened by the heavy load
of monetary ambition,

inclined to feel that life is short –
his elder years drew near,
his love for paintings landscapes
made him launch a new career,

he took his paintings to the street
and put them up for sale,
but he didn’t make enough to eat –
the enterprise went stale,

she lost her once prince charming
as he painted rolling hills,
her future could mean starving
if he couldn’t pay the bills,

she said “you’re no provider –
now we have to get divorced”,
the courts would then advise her
she could take it all of course,

the end of contract meant
he couldn’t keep the company car,
he lost his flat – the wife got fat
on steak and caviar,

he slept beneath the underpass –
the homeless shelter closed,
he painted through the icy blast –
the frostbite took his toes,

this company director
he would die of pure rejection,
the day before the art collector
bought his whole collection.

Shall I knock the door
to heaven if utopia exists,
by invitation, application
form – the waiting list?,

So I knocked
the door to heaven but
the doorman took exception,
to all my sins – I knew no hymns –
no spiritual connection,

I knocked the door
to heaven but
the dress code
was too strict,
he said “you’re banned” –
the door was slammed
and it caught my
trouser zip,

I knocked the door
to heaven but
I had to
be a member,
compassion he did
ration – it expired
in November,

I knocked the door
to heaven but
the rules were
too demanding,
they wouldn’t pass
my pagan ass – my
member fee’s outstanding,

I knocked the door
to heaven but
the queue was
two miles long,
no wine had flowed –
the bars were closed –
the gods were
in Hong Kong,

I knocked the door
to heaven – it was
private party only,
they took the dead –
refused instead
the living testimony,

I knocked the door
to heaven but
I knocked
the wrong address,
the devil said
“I’m still in bed – but
come in – be my guest”,

I knocked the door
to heaven but
the angels high on crack,
yelled out “you pest –
just give it a rest –
F. off and don’t come back!”.

The Seattle Star