THE NARROW DOOR

(NIETZSCHE HAMMER)

 

I am what I write

I can only look in

not out.

 

My hologram flow state

is dead and gone, this is-

my will-my art

 

Pessimistic poet's

Byron, Debussy, Puskin

Pessimistic composers

 

Anthology of woe

The world of will and idea

Will Durant

 

Schopenhauer

Pessimistic optimist

The land was raped

RELIGION AND EDUCATION 

DUMBS YOU DOWN

 

The school was much like religion shoved down your throat

I was a little English boy so I was ignored by teachers.

I formed an education through Green, blue books of poems

And prose and red books of Maths and spelling I learnt

From the alphabet on the walls.

 

Teachers rarely asked me what was in my head. My schooling

Was who I was going to fight at the break, I fought my way through

Grades. Once I learnt that their hardman brogue was just banter

I learned to kick back and the fights got fewer and my accent changed.

 

I hated school primary school was in a dunce class of boys who ate

Your pencil and rubbers and shit in their wellington boots, stank

Poor kids a pack of dirt birds these kids had mental health issues

But who was I knew nothing of Philosophy poets like Schopenhauer

who said two hundred years ago that education was making you dumb.

 

He said religion and education shouldn’t bespoke of until one was sixteen but

no one listened to a pessimist like him, to Alan watts and Nietzsche

were philosophy poets. The education was controlled by the church by crossdressers, 

men in robes.

 

No one rocked the boat, I had my own one way but who was going to listen to a kid

who should be seen and not heard but they would hear by the secondary school?

was dragged behind sandbags beat by the British army asked where was your father?

last night little did they know that I cried myself to sleep knowing my father was out there

In the gun battles.  They turned me into a delinquent, no one engaged my mind James Simmons

was the only one my school was the poets' house, Donegal. I was my mind Jimmy edited it.

my father of literature.

 

I hated school so much that I tried to burn it down and Got twelve on each hand

by the head we called the bat, his cane was razor-thin at the end I was on my knees crying so I broke

all their windows 24 and was expelled. Only for the troubles, I would have Been put in a home 

my mother said that’s where I was heading that way or dead on the streets.