Tuesday, September 30, 2008

from manchester, u.k., John G. Hall, one of the greatest lyrick poets writing in Am-english on the planet!









OUT NOW COMING TO AMERICA!
FEATURING AMIRI BARAKA
AND A CAST OF THOUSANDS!






Biography

John G.Hall - Manchester Poet & Editor of Citizen32, publications include Orbis, Iota, Rain Dog, The Wolf, Coffee House Poetry, The Ugly Tree, Carillon, Outlaw, Left Curve(usa), Square Lake(usa), Spume, Aesthetica, Brittle Star, Harlequin, Monkey Kettle & Fire.

Performs his poetry throughout the North West , mixing militant politics & biting humour with touching visions of childhood, love and football. The live recordings of his ant-war trilogy 'And Still I Cannot Wake From Their War' were recently bought by Drexel University,Philadelphia,USA.




Wet Cement Poems, is the title of a new Chapbook of a new series of poems by JOHN G. HALL w/ nothing less than a foward by the ula's own FDW








video

Wet Cement Poem N:5


we stake the world on youth and beauty

surely no one would pull a knife across perfect skin

surely no one would pour lies into such fine china ears

surely no one would puncture the bubbles of their dreams

surely no one would drop explosives on such fine bones

surely no one would rape these Pre-Raphaelite faced angels

surely no one would steal the ancient ground from it's people

surely no one would electrify the diamond spider web of a mind

surely no one would blow open the Sistine chapel of the skull

surely no one would dare nail the body of love to a money tree

surely no one would blind fold the blind man or dam the damned

surely no one would pay the rich to be rich and punish the poorsurely no one would leave the torturers to their own devices

surely one day we will show them the instruments of justice

surely no one would object to the hanging of their heads.




jgh© 2008






















Wet Cement Poem No:6


The throne of cash is empty but for a skull with a bullet hole

and a diamond collared dog lapping at a pool of his own vomit,

while in a corner of the Pentagon the Stars and Stripes spontaneously

combust and the ghost of Jimi Hendrix pisses lighter fuel on the flag.



JGH©2008




















Wet Cement Poem No:4


I am the hounded slave; I wince at the bite of dogs,

the sound of the cataracts of cash machines echo

I sit and look out on all the sorrows of the world

and on all oppression and shame, I run with blood

afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road

the human traffic burns through the metal rain

absorbing all to myself and for this song, I drink

bottled beer and lime and text instead of talk,

I have heard what the talkers were talking, and

vowed to write up and down these boulevards,

I will sing the song of companionship, of the

opposition of each heart to the murder of love,

to the maddening of minds, to dreams genocide,

all these I feel or am, all these call out for songs,

I am the hounded slave; I wince, turn, and sing.




JGH©2008-09-20

*Every other line is from Walt Whitman



video




Wet Cement Poem No;3



they reckon birth may hurt babies

they say life is worth every penny


they believe the working class do not exist

they tell this to shop workers and nurses


they take the proof of our silent witness

they stare through the television screen into us

they trace each thought back to its owner


they rig the trail of life with sticky pleasure

they laugh at the poor behind their backs


they pin down the butterfly inside you

they pull the wings from your genius


they find starving people then feed them war

they have decided to counterfeit everything on the face of the earth

they reckon love is a rumour spread by dirty rotten communists.



jgh©2008






Wet Cement Poem No:2


the road pours me into the city machine

the fire damaged man sells me his bad news

the live wires suit themselves in culture café's

the show houses play Les Miserables for laughs

the bar maids cry pints of crocodile tear liquor

the happy skull smiles of the living shine brightly

and the city machine passes me like a hot beer shit.

.

jgh©2008



Wet Cement Poem No:1



from crashing waves deduce your answers

burn holes in paper tigers with ember tongues

be a red angel flying on swept back blue wings

carry a dove spangled banner in the midst of battle

touch a strangers pain at least once a day with your eyes

leave a trail in wet cement where your mind wandered

hide secret things, leave false clues, become unsolvable,

find undiscovered lands, burn their maps, wait to be found.




jgh©2008