Blessed be to God for Darwin

By Cameron Macdonald 

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Born from our successors’ mould:

Pressed like the book flower’s history, distilled.

All around plead hunger and cold,

barely a coded soul, the essence of the transient bourne.

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

‘

Held close with devouring prescient compassion,

an autonomous cipher, dependent, giving eyes so beautifully bold, and

like the parched dalai takes every drop of rain.

The species is assured, alas unknown to love’s lost affection.

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

‘

Beyond the crib, close kin squawk for affection shared.

Stretched self-survival for scarce resource, but in the blink, empathy.

A bond struck! Superego juxtaposed with sibling care,

the seal of shared fate. Bound. Long live the blood race.

Blessed be to God for 

Darwin.

‘

Hollow psyches embrace losing innocence, the mirror reflection.

A beast awakens! The rage of man engulfs the heaving chest.

Like a lake the mind draws its sustenance from threads of silver innocence.

Lonesome travellers, a function of self-esteem ready for the General’s test.

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

‘

Othello’s worship, the life string, cloys the rational with insanity.

Compounds of charged filaments pull pupils wide and thrust passion’s blood

around a pained body that craves reward! Prone to sacrifice for a nano’s ecstasy.

To deliver a race of supermen with assured threads of heavenly code.

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

‘

Passion past, rational, the brood crave wanton id affection.

Shared experience in psychopathic schism, what o’ the future lies?

Friends that bless their union with close distant past attraction,

to secure the chicks’ their implicit great future stride.

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

‘

Now the long-haul of social harmony, to teach the dangers back.

A family is set in the castle footings of strength, and to the death will defend!

The sires take naught in affection, but give as they once took -

with no reward but that programmed pride, that saves us from our end.

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

‘

Millennia of social expected, warm affection bonding to like.

Supporting the ones that could be us, in need, taking at our expense.

The reward, not the life saved! Nor the easement of the fellow’s plight!

But to save ourselves, nay please, of the betterment of men!

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

‘

And Supermen are made of purest blood and selected clans for fighting.

A cohesion dabbed by God’s cow glue of self-righteous DNA.

Carbine driven grey lead over the heads of saluted icons blazing,

to cross our arms in the pine. The sacrifice to the benign cause we make.

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

‘

And to all, these clans look to God, with a love that’s blessed divine.

Lest we forget that golden string of history, has etched this desire.

Since supermen are made of groups that follow their linear line,

evolution is the strength of the Lord, as its survival has proven higher.

Blessed be to God for

Darwin.

________________________

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O’ what’s to become of me? Drifting the banks of the fathomless Alcyonian,

The surrounding undergrowth of thorns and muskmelon orchids pressing, piercing the gloom,

Fish heads breaking the permeable deep; gold pupils swivelling in a guard-down-search.

Polarised views in, shadowed by Nereus, hint treats of power amidst a silent ebony tomb,

While the powders and points of conflict loom, with each punt closer to Melpomene’s perch.

 

Midas dreams lay below the tangled weed, and the spiting lurking Aborigines.

Should I take a fill of stifling air and drown in the dense dark, where light is lost?

Purity of pain’s release, the depths of meditation pre-empts the awe of mad genius!

Apple eaten, the spirit consumed. I am God, and to me they’ll square their past,

But what’s to become of me – A conch shell to be eroded by the shore’s heaving lash?

 

Under the plimsoll, beyond the reflection, the swirling currents captivate me,

While the hands of the damned paw at the hull, circling like sharks without minds.

And the dead eyes of the locker-dwellers rasp the dry bones of the corpses that lay within.

And from the depths of despair the chided child draws knives, willing what I should find.

Yet the other tenants’ whispers covet my mind with dreamscapes that I can only give-in.

 

How can I defy their sweet request, to discover and reap man’s scheme?

With every nip of the Eden fruit, I want more to quench my famine.

Hostage to Darwin’s cow glue, the swamp’s seduction swirls my deepest dreams,

And courts like the whale an alien yawp, inhuman, seductive, beautifully sane,

So that the Hades light reaches my soul, and with breath held I fall in to the lure of its call.

 

In faith I’ve crossed the thin mercurial reflection, naïve of my return.

A tangled egocentric psyche cloys my mind, with ignorant exclusion to all.

Self consumed a myriad of once lost gems explode like magma rain,

And fall to earth in shattering storms of thought, that push me further away.

Immersed with no tide, the imps deride, with hyena laughs, their castaway bastard.

 

Yet safety is assured in that Alice-mindscape of stretching time, and space, and presence.

Contradiction daubs the distant view: light-black, custard-blue. Rotting to the bone.

Demands of ridiculous skull drilling idioms, schisms fill the void with nonsense sense,

And the silverfish bound through the narrow channels, and stuff Id’s worried home.

Who cares anymore!  A cure? Please no Sir. Save it for the poor.

 

From above, the conscious fights the eternal battle that created me human, true, and rational.

But the hyacinth tugs me deeper into the jar, distorting and deriding with senile task;

And the tenderness of the lake’s caress consumes me with the pain of time’s conscious past,

While the million eyes of the school peer at once, naking my alien mask.

I’m alive, I’m revealed, I am Rama! The messiah. The superman at last!

 

This pinnacle is so desperately desolate, like the bloody Somme – there’s no God, no travel,

No peace, no up or down or right nor wrong, they’re gone! I’ve drank the hemlock-Styx!

The mirror shattered. The box wide! I’ve discovered the dredged lunacy of Lerna’s gravel,

And found the spring of ecstatic insanity, and uncovered nothing but the mammal.

How dark it has become. Below the lilies that feed the flies on the light side of the sun.

 

And so I understand in the clearest of mind that I can not return to that place!

Nor stay in this drowning consuming lake with questioners that have no face.

Remorseful ideals that burble through the column now fill my mind with hate,

So, in sane clarity I take these pills and wait for the lake’s Hades escort.

And to the world I say, ‘see you soon’ just in case, as I sink silently toward my maker’s arms.

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I injected someone one day.

And before I did my mind said,

this is wrong.

I said, I’ll make it quick for them,

and shoved the plunger with all my will.

The milky venom drilled in,

and she thrashed,

and eventually she died,

 

 

I electrocuted someone one day.

And before I did my mind said,

this is wrong.

I said, I’ll make it quick for them,

and threw the gear with all my will.

The lights crackled and dimmed,

and her teeth exploded,

and eventually she died.

 

 

I decapitated someone one day.

And before I did my mind said,

this is wrong.

I said, I’ll make it quick for them,

and swished the blade with all my will.

Her head fell with a thud,

and blood leapt a foot,

and eventually she died.

 

 

I stoned someone one day.

And before I did my mind said,

this is wrong.

I said, I’ll make it quick for them,

and hurled the brick with all my will.

The other bricks with mine cracked her head,

and she wailed,

and eventually she died.

 

 

I crucified someone one day.

And before I did my mind said,

this is wrong.

I said, I’ll make it quick for them,

and I smashed the nails with all my will.

She looked down on me,

and she said, forgive them, Lord for they know not what they do,

and eventually she died.

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Flash of chrome,

Hush of rubber

Grabbing the road and letting go.

Purr of the pistons,

Caress of the heavens

By Mozart’s piano concerto…

Smell the tanned leather.

‘

Glint of the eye,

Games in the park

Fills the heart with a jump -

Like the clown’s empty bucket.

Pull on the picket gate,

The seagull is free…

Clack! Gate on the stop.

Scent of the blossom,

‘

Kiss of a breeze

Skimming the soft cheek of the young.

Run on tarmac, cry – joy,

Blinkered eye,

Thoughts of past pleasure…

Scream of a mother.

‘

Arms out-reached, Belladonna eyes,

Please to Heaven as

Mind screech halt! My baby!

Angels take the soul of the innocent,

Guilt and desolation.

Picture of what is to be…

End of the journey for all.

‘

Stink of the peat,

Slice of the spade

Making good ground for the pine.

Cries from the pews,

Like cliff gulls,

As the matchbox casket ushers the way…

Future is sourly bleak.

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How can I grieve any more? My tears are all shed.

My children are Dead! Slain like kittens in a hemp sack.

They say they cried, Mother, with their dying breath.

Leaving me this Lost Sunken Hull.

Nobody left:

‘

All alone, desolate, bereft.

‘

Will I cry for you, Mother, at my time? Will I remember to plead for you

As I fall, fall beyond the trap

To the snapping coil of Death’s thread?

Destiny truncated.  My vessel devoured!

My remains to be consumed by the:

‘

Stained sands of my Mesopotamia.

‘

Infidel, take it. Take my spirit and my body,

You scorched damned!

Ride it to the gates of my dead children

Where this pain can be laid to rest, and

In exchange, all I ask is:

‘

Give me my babies back.

‘

Jew, you’ve taken my heart and

Branded it with History’s pain; the agonies of this soil.

Not content with your belly full, you want more.

Alas, all is given, and my children. I have no more to offer

But my pride. I beg of you:

‘

At least leave me my pride.

‘

Yes, I took to the breach; as did my brave boys.

Mother, forgive me. I shan’t call for you. Death won’t hear your name.

When I sleep, and in the dream that will surely follow -

Over the Euphrates West is where you’ll wait;

With my Sons, your Grandsons, in arms.

‘

Together we’ll love and be loved by our own.

‘

From our peace we will look back together

At this place: At the foreigners that bastardise our ancient history;

At the two scarlet rivers that’ve for too long

Drawn the strength from our beating hearts.

Mother, my Mother:

‘

We’ll drink the blood of the vile horde.

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What have we become!

Talons down in blood, steel, and mud;

All for what? The General’s test?

The fight for our deserved lebensraum?

 

I don’t want it. That bloody room!

My broken land. Red bricks ground,

Each baked stone an epitaph to the unsung fallen

Corpse rotting in the street. Bloated. Broken

 

By the dumb angels that Harris and Churchill gifted

Us, the master race. Yet we the Sons of Wodan march

To our divinity over the crying poppy fields, while the compass

Reels in the wake of our Third Reich blitzen.

 

Stop! This struggle is not in Woden’s name, or the mother

That birthed us. It’s not worth the pure Arian-threads of silver

That fill our satin-scarlet cells. This insanity is beyond the petal

Of the innocent bloody poppy where we lay our dead hope.

 

And yet we crawl on. If you could only value our need

You would forgive us; you would lay down your arms and

Let us feel the pride of our silver-threaded thymos,

As we climb over our dead to our dream!

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