I’LL WRITE YOU A PRESCRIPTION, I’LL WRITE IT WITH HONEY AND BLOOD

PRESCRIPTION

 

I’ll write you a prescription;

I’ll write it with honey and blood;

With scraps of newspapers, spring                       waters

Evergreen berries and mud.

With stars that shine so brightly

On the brilliant axel tree,

Tree on which the world turns,

Leaving you and me to stare

Across the waters by the moon.

*

 To wonder about the promises

We made, or why the time came

So late or so soon.

And wonder where the

Many-coloured river of lights leads us,

Day to day. And why it didn’t turn out

Another way.

*

We are here now with the lights flashing

And the silence of the sea, ships’                           passing.

Go ahead, laugh! the wild gull of                          freedom

Waits, and screams his half-mad

Wisdom scream.

*

And what do I have but words

To reach you across the distances?

I have my kiss,

I have a flood of freshwater tears.

All the stories have been told.

I will not tell you a story.

*

I will mix you a melody, with a

Thousand ingredients. A melody

Is where it is, it never leads somewhere.

It is either enough or it is nothing.

A melody, it is the stuff of paradise

And dreams; it is the stuff of an empty,

Filthy alley, with cyanide queens

And the growl of hyenas.

*

The glowing panther eyes become

The flowing semen of the mainstream.

With its eternal ways and means,

Mainstreet. The monkeys laugh!

The impotent bones crack.

All that was proud pounds between

The sidewalk cracks. The wind hits

Like a hammer, the last of winter

Blows.

I wait now now while the spring melts

Into the morningglow.

*

And I write you this prescription

From my heart and soul. God knows

It might be all I can give to you that

Grows.

*

I wait here in the wildwind and the

Alleyfilth, while the rats bloat,

While the whirlwind turns a

Galaxy of worlds. While the gull

Flies through a new dawn,

And I discard my old clothes.

I wait while the old winter dies

And spring blows.

* * * * * * *

(C)1979-2018 W.G.Milne

Advertisements

I WAS ASLEEP. NOW I AM AWAKE.

           It would be easy to go to sleep again. The world is so very peaceful.

But this is not my purpose.

           We have seen some very fine teachers. But they all are dead or in prison. I was in prison for a considerable time…but prison was very

kind to me. I spent ninety days naked in the dark in a cell. And this rescued me.

           What are you going to do?  You can only play with your body parts so many times. You have one choice – die or meditate.

           I’m told people in Tibet would pay to be locked up in a cave, a wall was built behind them. One meal is delivered each day. There are no distractions whatsoever.

          Well, I was locked up for free. But there was no T.V. No music. Not even a pencil. I learned how to draw on the walls, using an ashtray. Though there were no cigarettes and there was no way they were going to give me matches.

          No, we are living in the so-called normal world and distractions are everywhere. Satisfaction is rare, but there are all kinds of things to occupy

our minds. So very little Mind work is done. There are so many more pleasant things to do.

          Though if you pursue the superficial, you are lost at that level.

We are lost at that level though we have a treasure-house within us. We have the ability to become luminous beings, but we ignore our deeper abilities.

         I like to put it this way:  space is not the final frontier, nor is the ocean. Our human Mind is the final frontier, and let’s never forget this. There are vast regions within that we have yet to discover.

          We don’t even have a map of this magnificent country within us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(C)2018 by W.G. Milne

NORTHERN TOWN STARRY NIGHT- SATUDAY NIGHT

A PAINTING I did of Mainstreet of this Northern Town, North Bay… but also Timmins & also, other northern towns.

On Saturday nights under the stars with 7 draft rooms open, Paradise is not too far away.

Hail to the north! And northern inspiration. The stars are there, too, if you look for them.

 

C 2007-2018  By W.G. Milne

UNDER THE HIGHWAY BRIDGE

Autumn’s yearly brilliance goes

As our loves go so our dreams,

As this river by this beach,

River weeping as it flows

*

As our dreams, so our loves go

Flows the river past this peak

Water’s silent violent speech

So goes our ancient sorrow

*

As our loves go so our dreams

Below the bridge to pass downstream

Must I still remember then

When love has gone and I remain?

*

If love is gone but life remains

And I am left still standing here

And you are now so out of reach

And now I share the river’s tears

*

I cannot stay, I cannot, no!

I cannot keep this love alone!

I see your eyes in the mystery

Coursing slowly past this beach

*

Love runs away like water flows

How swift love flows, how slow life goes

I see your face just one instant, brief!

Your face in waters beyond reach;

*

It’s some mystery I don’t know

As our loves go so our dreams,

You blow a secret kiss to me

Mona Lisa of the stream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To Appollinaire

(C)2000-2018 by W.G. Milne

 

 

FACING THE VIRGIN PAGE – THE DEFINITION OF A POET

THE DEFINITION OF A POET………………………………………………FACING THE VIRGIN PAGE………..

      
       Editor 666 has arrived. This bush pilot knows where the poet lives. His cabin is
hard to forget, as it is the only free standing structure in several hundred square miles.
      Wait-A-Bit is about 200 miles away,
but there are no free standing structures
in Wait-A-Bit – except Matilda`s double caravan
with dug-out room below… Her former friend drove a smaller trailer into a larger one, pushed insulation between the two walls, doubled up with the screening, cut a hole in the floor to accomodate the foxhole – and voila – the perfect Artic dwelling.. with steel walls…
reinforced with angle iron…
        
     

        My first wife she used to try
to piss me off – clever bitch! I loved her – still do. She figured the only way she could get me to tell the truth was when I was angry. Otherwise… I lied.
      “True enough,”  Astrid insists: “Normally
you`re a sneaky, duplicitous bastard!” So she`d try to annoy me        “Truth is best before breakfast,” she`d say…. See?  That`s pretty annoying.

        

      Today   EDITOR 666 meets the THE MAD TRAPPED POET OF RAT RIVER.
     I can relate to EDITOR666 because you must get ugly with
yourself, with your sentences – with everything in your
life. 
    I love the street and I love street talk.  I love country
talk. I love being in the country. I love to have a cold beer
sitting on a stump.
      I LOVE THE `ECONOMY OF PHRASE` SLANG
 ENABLES US TO USE!
      But do not be deceived. I spent four fucking years
at the University learning how to use this language.
And I`ve spent another ten years learning how
 to use street-slang…. I didn`t know that`s what I was doing

at the time – I had joined crack culture, “country of the Now”
      But to write well and tell the truth I almost
have to “get my dander up”… this is a phrase the old
folks used….. Get up to face the Virgin Page.
      I`m getting older now – a ripe middle age. And I`m
not as patient as I used to be – in fact I`m turning
into a real monster.   I don`t let people visit me.
Most people don`t want to, anyway.  And that`s just
fine.Works out well.
      You see I have to GET IT UP every morning (and
for once I`m not talking about sex). And you know, that
old prick Hemingway (he`s already had more than enough

attention) – but he was right about a lot of things… I like
him best when he talked about writing.
      I used to think he was always a bit pretentious about the

boxing matches, the bullfights  etc. But I don`t think that way
 any more.
      Boxing to me is just a metaphor for the fight to face
the page, and derive some truth, squeeze some juice out
of the psyche.
      Every morning it`s like climbing a mountain…to mix
metaphors.
       I`ve climbed plenty of mountains and, if you`re determined,

 the one thing you cannot do is stop

***************************

EDITING


Editor 666 – picks a lame line out of a half-assed poem
and sticks it up on the blackboard.
 
“SOME WEIRD BEAK AT BEAT IMPLORING”
       
“Ha! Ha! Ha!    What the fuck do you mean by that???

Mad Trap Poet:   If I could see the text, I could discuss it.
Ed:     You don`t need the text, fruitcake… I`ll put the text      

in big letters up above  TO EMBARRASS YOU!

MAD POET OF RAT RIVER:  He produces a 14 inch
butcher knife which looks more like a Roman short sword
than a knife….He waves the blade in the light from
the Coleman Lamp, so Ed666 can see its razor sharp edge.
“Call me `fruitcake` one more time and I`ll cut your head
         off. Right here, right now.  I`LL EDIT YOU!

EDITOR666:  Ah,  you don`t have the balls to cut anybody`s head off.   Not you, you`re a “literary type.”

PO:  What are you—- you`re a LITTLE editor.  (He lisps
        as he says this)    

 EDITOR666:  All my life, I`ve worked like a man. You don`t  
          have the strength to cut off my head —  see these       ..        neck muscles? They`re too tough for you…. You
          do not know how hard it is…head cutting.

PO:    Oh, but I do.  I know exactly how hard it is…. I`ve
         done it before AND I LIKE IT….It`s not hard;
         it`s easy…. the prick was trying to kill me and
         it cheered me right the fuck up lifting his
         surly head into the air – by the hair… Hard, nah.
         Easy. I liked  I felt like a better man after it was
         done….. All the women in the club cheered and  
          and begged to suck my dong…. Did I let   them?         

What do you think?

(THIS IS CALLED A PISSING CONTEST… AND YES, IT DOES  HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH EDITING…)

Editor666:  No way.. I scan the news for mental oddities
                elements of the insane… I`d have seen  the
                news report…. Did you do it in secret, pansy,
                in your own secret closet?

PO: No it was in the news for days….almost 2
      years back… Remember a story about…..a head being
      chopped off in a public…WHAT ARE YOU, A COP?  I`m     not  not    telling you any details….

EDITOR666:   “I`m no cop! Your mayor hired me to give you
                      a hand with your narrative poems and free free             

verse…. I hear you`re good but you need help
                         bad !
              PO:      What mayor? There`s no town….if you hadn`t           noticed…. We`re on Great Bear Lake,  asshole!
        The only town within 500 miles is PORT RADIUM…
        and it`s been a ghost town for twenty years.
        That`s what they tell me.

ED6: You never bothered to go.?

PO:  Where you from?

ED6: Toronto, New York City, London.

PO:  You drop in to Rochester often? You bother to
        go there?

ED:  Never have, nope.

PO:  Well, at least there`s fuckin people in in Rochester.
       Port Radium, there no one.  And it glows in the dark!
       And It`s about the same distance…   

ED666: What do you mean, same distance. It`s just
           across the lake. I saw it on the map…

RAT:    A map?  You saw a map did ya? Ha! Ha! Ha!
           Yeah, just across the Lake, a paddle of
            about 400 miles…

ED666:  You`re not kidding are you? No, God help me!
            What`s so funny about a map?

PO:  No one`s seen a map up here for years…
        The map`s not really the problem… even WITH
       a map, we don`t know exactly where we are.
        We`d better have a drink and Il try and
       explain things for you…

Editor666:  That first pilot dropped me off
                 right in the middle of a huge parking lot…

Mad Poet:   You mean Wait-A-Bit!

Editor: __________?No. It was just utter
          devastation. Not even a blade of grass. It was
          a huge stone crusher had passed through just
          that morning…

Poet:   So you didn`t see the mayor.

Ed:     I didn`t see anybody. Wait, there was this one
      crazy asshole who seemed to be sweeping
      the place up… He was wearing this  hat like I`ve
      never seen before, and I have been to New
      Guinea… And they come up with some pretty
       wild-assed combinations over there… But
      nothing like this fool! There he was looking
      among the stones… With all these screens
       hanging over his face…..!

Mad-trap: That was the mayor.

Ed666:  Oh, no!  You`re mistaken. This guy looks like
          the moron janitor no one hired, working in this great
           latrine under the sky, scrubbing at the rocky
           coast of nowhere!

Mad Poet ( writes it down)   
       “The moron janitor no one hired,
        Working in this great latrine under the sky,
         Scrubbing at the rocky coast of nowhere “
         

 MADPO:        ” Sweeping under the open sky”…not bad!…. Maybe   you`re a poet,also

Editor666:  “I WAS a poet… It`s just that my character
                is not quite aberrant enough; my temper,
                though it is extreme, is not sufficiently
loathsome; and my genitals, though larger and much more
weighty than average, are not quite huge. And though
I enjoy beating innocent animals and persons smaller than I am, whipping them into apologetic and begging submission – I am not quite the sadist that I ought to be… to be worthy the name,”POET”.  
          Though I am deceitful and enjoy lying, 
especially to trusting souls: I find duplicity is not the air
I breathe.
        Though I do try to be an cold emotion-manipulating
beast, I am not quite up to par: I do not have that icy grasp
to squeeze each drop of soul out of each person in a situation;
       No I am not quite cold enough to deserve the title,POET.

Mad poet:  “WHAT? did you just say? Are you mocking me? Did you just insult me??`  You`re drunk, aren`t you…?
                You`d better be!”

Editor 666:  “Oh, no! Drunk?  Never!  Alcohol gives me the
                  great clarity.  The more alcohol I consume, the
                  more intelligent I seem to be…

                   I do not know entirely  how the 
                 Cosmos works, but the more I drink, the less                   

intelligent  other people  grow to be, other
                  people in the room with me, the dumber they                   become….                          
                 
             quite likeable folks turn out to be fools and
                 morons – the alcohol gives me the power
                 to discern their retardation easily…

MadPo        Man,  you`re hammered! Look, it`s
                  OK to talk to me this way…for a moment…But if you start spouting off this way in Wait-A-Bit…. 
someone`ll put a bullet thru your brain… and laugh about it… It won`t take  very long, either!

Edito666:   WAIT-A-BIT does not exist!

MadPo:    Ha! Ha! That`d be a good start.  They`re sensitive
          over there about their town stature         

ED666:  Statue…?.

MadPo:  That, too! It was melted down in seconds!

EDITOR666:  “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING, MAN?”


               

               

Mad Po: I had sex with his wife.  He found out.. Broke into my house… I woke up he had a knife in his teeth and
            his hands in my pants….
   
Ed666:  So you cut his head off…. and then you ate his
            brain…

Mad Po:  Quite right. I felt I had to … to prove
              the ability that he was trying to remove
              from me.
              I caught him and I ate his brain.            
              I felt like a real success that day!

Ed666:    They found you covered in blood
              a man`s brain in your mouth….

Mad Po:  Yes.

Editor:     You did all that and got away!  You`re a sick
              prick aren`t you? Brains, guts, mental illness and
              a gory past – you have exactly the traits I hope
              to find in a poet… Yes, you are mad -but that can
              be a good thing for similes, images and symbols.

Mad Poet:  So you`ll work with me?

Editor 666: Yes, I will. You`ve got all the qualities.

Poet:   In honour of our deal, I will present you with
          this!         The  Poet from Rat River
          holds up the huge knife…

Editot 666:  I was hoping for something else”, he
               whispers in the poet`s ear.

Mad Poet:  That?  You want “that?”

The editor nods his head, “Yes”


Poet: Poet nods his head.  “That can be arranged.”

            They shake on it.


  EDITOR 666 – DEFINITION OF A POET:  Intelligence of an  eccentric kind, passion with a BENT twist —a different   way of thinking and seeing the world, 
 necessarily strange associations. A mean, assaultive   character   prone to grandiose thoughts.  Alcoholics are often best – alcoholics who yearn for 
childhood before the age of 5 (Like- Dylan Thomas.) A puerile intellect that makes manipulation
of children and naive under-confident women a simple matter.
     A capable individual,  a person who devises a plan and can then carry the plan out –  no matter how outrageous, violent and sordid the plan may be.  A person with massive manic interludes…. an attractive, handsome sociopath (who can really screw the ladies over).
        
MADPO:   “What?” WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY….??? Let me read that! I`VE NEVER HEARD SUCH A STRING OF INSULTS, degenerate thinking in one place
!
EDITOR 666: Ho! Ho! You know I speak the truth!

PO:   You`re going to pay for that little joke!

Editor 666:  Who`s joking? 

         Both men are loaded now. The overproof has found
a major place in them both.
        Running down towards the river. Mad Trapper Poet
 of Rat River asks:  “Do you think I`m poet material? Do you think I can make the grade?

EDITOR 666 “A person of your experience, proclivities and background, you will shine!” 

SINGING & WRITING: “IT’S SO SERIOUS!”

        I was recording my song: “IT’S SO SERIOUS!” In a 24 Track Recording Studio just north of Toronto. I’d had invited about 20 jazz musicians including the 5 of us in JOHNNY ROCK AND THE THE MAINSTREET BAND

           There were 20 or so musicians drinking strong rum in the manager’s office. I had hired a woman producer who was more of a ballbuster  than I had expected. Half the band was black and they don’t like getting ordered around by this white gal. I realized they were plotting to kidnap her and put her in the trunk of someone’s car.

         I took over her chair right away, but that didn’t help much. They all could see her through the soundproof glass. They knew where she was…

       I was getting worried about her safety. So I took all my clothes of and started singing this next song in my underwear —- I was aiming for some comic effect… when I started barking like a dog, baying like a hound – this got plenty of laughs…

 

I wanted to bring a pit bull into the studio and have him howl under the microphone, but the manager nixed this idea. The mike cost about 10 Gs and he thought the dog might eat the mike…

         So I had to take over. That’s when I wrote this song.

 

        “IT’S SO SERIOUS!”

 

And I’m glad I did.

 

(C)1980-2018 by W.G. Milne  All rights reserved.

 

 

******

The Critical Edition of Q
A Synopsis including the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Mark and Thomas with English, German and French Translations of Q and Thomas

Series:

Editors:  Robinson J.M., Hoffmann P., Kloppenborg J.S.

Year: 2000
ISBN: 978-90-429-0926-7
Pages: CVII-561 p.
Price: 70 EURO
Summary:
The Critical Edition of Q: Synopsis including the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Mark and Thomas with English, German, and French Translations of Q and Thomas, edited by James M. Robinson, Paul Hoffmann and John S. Kloppenborg, culminates almost twenty years of teamwork by the International Q Project, which includes more than 40 scholars from North America and Europe. The outcome of this massive undertaking is an 8-column synopsis on facing pages, which presents the critical text of Q itself in column four, flanked by the Matthean and Lukan texts from which it has been reconstructed, and then, in the other columns, Matthean and Lukan doublets, and parallels from Mark, Thomas, John and the LXX. With all these materials laid out in parallel lines, the study of the Q sayings is greatly facilitated. Toward the bottom of each page the resultant Q text is presented in non-formatted and hence more readable form in Greek, English, German and French. A history of Q Research opens the volume, and a Greek Concordance of the critical text of Q closes the volume. Thus the Critical Edition of Q serves as the standard tool for all Q research of the future.