THE HEAD HUNTERS

WITH A RUSH THAT MADE MY HOT TEMPLES THROB
THERE CAME VIVIDLY TO MY MIND
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE HEAD-HUNTERS-
THOSE GRIM,FLINTY,RELENTLESS LITTLE MEN EVER SEEN,
BUT CHILLING THE WARMEST NOONDAY
BY THE SUBTLE TERROR OF THEIR CONCEALED PRESENCE….
FROM TIME TO TIME,AS VANITY OR LOVE
OR JEALOUSY OR AMBITION MAY MOVE HIM,
ONE CREEPS FORTH WITH HIS TOMAHAWK
AND TAKES UP THE SILENT TRAIL….
BACK HE COMES, TRIUMPHANT,
BEARING THE SEVERED GORY HEAD OF HIS VICTIM….
HIS PARTICULAR WHITE OR BROWN MAID LINGERS,
WITH FLUTTERING BOSOM,
CASTING SOFT TIGER’S EYES AT THE EVIDENCE OF HIS LOVE FOR HER.

SIGNED- ALAN “GADZOOK” PANGBORN

ROADS

ROADS OF DESTINY
I GO TO SEEK MANY ROADS
WHAT IS TO BE TRUE. TRUE HEART & STRONG,
WITH LOVE TO LIGHT-
WILL THEY NOT BEAR ME IN THE FIGHT
TO ORDER, SHUN OR WIELD OR MOULD
MY DESTINY?
THREE LEAGUES THEN, THE ROAD RAN,
AND TURNED INTO A PUZZLE.
IT JOINED WITH ANOTHER & A LARGER ROAD
AT RIGHT ANGLES.
I STOOD, UNCERTAIN FOR WHILE ,
WHETHER TO TAKE THE ROAD TO LEFT
OR WHETHER TO TAKE THE ROAD TO RIGHT
AND THEN SAT MYSELF TO REST UPON MY SIDE.

SIGNED - ALAN “GADZOOK” PANGBORN

CITYSCAPES

THE CITY HIDES IT’S SECRETS

BUT ONE WHOSE VOCATIONS ARE IN SURPLUS

HAS SO MANY MORE THAT

IS MORE SECRET THAN ANY OTHER

ELSEWHERE BY THE DYNAMICS OF PARADOX

THE SECRET LIVE IN THE TELLING

THEY MURMUR LIFE INTO MONOTONY

STREETCORNERS AND BLEAK ALLEYWAYS

INTO THE GARBAGE PEPPERED REARS

OF WINDOWLESS LODGINGS

AND THE NEAR-BLACKENED FLOORS

OF GREASE-BATHED WORKSHOPS

BUT HITHER, WHERE ALL LAW

NATURAL & MORTAL , IS HELD

IN WHIMSICAL SUSPENSION THAT WHICH

IS SHROUDED, HAS NO NEED OF WORDS

TO PROVIDE IT LIFE; LIKE ANY CREATURE

THAT LIVES IN A NEFARIOUS ASPECT

IT MUTATES TO UNEARTH SUBSISTENCE

PRECISELY WHERE IT SEEMS TO BE MOST

GROSSLY RESTRAINED, IN THIS OCCASION

IN SILENCE.

SIGNED-ALAN “GADZOOK” PANGBORN

MY BOOKCASE

A few old nailed together planks of wood
Which had somehow clung toegether,
through all the years of neglect .
These shelves which housed
all my most beloved books.
The very bookcase which haunts
A corner of my living room
Like some patient ; dusty ghost waiting
waiting for who knew what
Disaster I guess ;
or an enshrined counter-life
or may be just a more responsible owner.
SIGNED-ALAN 'GADZOOK' PANGBORN

Mojave Desert

Welcome to the country of lost borders
The border country we all reside
A battleground of intense conflicts
Of desire and possibility
As we try to sustain an illusion of timelessness
Between unsatified impulses and heartbreaking losses
As they creep up from the horizon of consciousness
I find passion seeking its living fulfilment
And trace and mourn its defeat
Until a path is broken in the psyche
Registering the everlasting truth
signed-ALAN"gadzook"PANGBORN

GOING TO SCHOOL

I COULD SEE MYSELF BEING WATCHED
STIFF AND STARCHED IN MY SCHOOL UNIFORM
AND HALF-WET UNKEMPT HAIR
HURRYING OUT OF THE HOUSE
'MAA AMI ASCHI';OUT IN THE STREETS
OF A TRAFFIC CONGESTED KOLKATA
RUNNING BREATHLESSLY THROUGH WINDING LANES
BRUSHING PAST TURBULENT HUMAN EMOTIONS
REASON,PASSION AND DEATH
LISTENING TO MY GREY UN-IRONED TERYLENE TROUSERS
SWISHING BRISKLY ALTHOUGH WET WITH SWEAT
I TRY TO KEEP UP WITH THE FRENETIC PACE AROUND ME
WONDERING WHY WE THOUGHT OF FINISHING
AND NEVER TALKING IN SANCHEAN PHRASE OF BEGINNING
JUST AS EVERYONE I NEVER FINISHED MYSELF.

SIGNED -ALAN 'GADZOOK' PANGBORN

"THIS NAMELESS WAY OF NAMING THE UNNAMEABLE IS RATHER GOOD"

Grey sour days
Make me aware
that the queue of hope
stretches long past infinity.
That I have been racy
and sometimes careless
and somehow feel more
the prickings of my
painfully ravaged virginal flesh.
And then I realise that
every consummated death
is a new beginning.

THE WAIT

The larva slowly turns to pupa
It will metamorphose.Awaiting its final transformation
Ugly ;lifeless, it spins its dreams
Awaiting the miracle
He too lingers in the valley of lepers
Praying for the one who will wash him clean
Give him a new life
A difficult birth ; he knows
Of infinite pain
He is prepared for a lifelong gestation
To finally sail to the island of lost dreams
At the moment when the pupa
B-R-E-A-K-S
Into all its colours.

Come...

You remain blue like a blindfly
The River has returned to its
Untraced womb
A face, pale, beholding angst to its
forehead, he's sky
As is not water or shadow of an
anonymous tomb
Suspicion as the reverse side of
one same coin
A coin as a proposed pact, But fact
that is true as sand
The light far from riverside and an
empty hand
Poetry is its name
I call it by its name, I do
Call it again, waving my hand
Come light up loads of work;
Unfinished
Blind fly, and its return back home
Unleash your blues to achieve
An exile, a forest, conceived in pain
Come, light up this earth, unrest
Come, light up this womb, again.