The Death of Poets
Neither Fame nor Failure
troubles Poets when they’re dead.
Their debts do not depress them
nor the doubtful economic prospects
provided for their illegitimate children.
They do not hear
the smug and snide remarks
of former school-mates
grown fat and sleek
licking the gravy
from their whiskers and paws.
Poverty now knots not their brow
with stress, nor do their Mothers’ lectures
on careers or how to dress
intrude upon their rest.
Unheeded parking tickets flutter
like proud pennants flapping
in the Stadium of the Sun.
The wild birds that they fed
stand waiting on the window sill,
with dark and questioning eyes.
The nagging ghosts of Lovers
Live or Dead
no longer scree their ‘plaints,
their voices fall off one by one.
It is Silent now.
No Landlord hammers at the door,
No man from Porlock calls.
Fame likewise does not disturb their rest,
She tiptoes quietly out the Hall
on silver sandaled feet to carry
the glad tidings to the World,
which carries on, exactly as before,
there are no ringing bells.
Hope dies in the hearts of those
that loved them,
and goes to join Baudelaire and Byron
drinking Laudanum in Hell.
And for those in the vicinity of Byron Bay this Sunday, you can see the Reverend Hellfire live at the Rails Hotel, starting sometime after 2pm. Also on the bill is the legendary Gong-Maester, Daevid Allen. With two such notorious rabble-rousers as these sharing the stage, it is sure to be an historic occasion not to be missed.
Check out page 23 of Local Publication, The Byron Echo for details at;
The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,
President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity
And an ordained Minister of the Church of Spritual Humanism
AND the Church of the Universe.
Wouldn’t change a Thing, baby.