Poems A Z

From Poems A-Z (1966-1988)


John S Moore


AGE:- Uniqueness is impossible

It has all been done before

You repeat the age old patterns

And cannot ask for more.

YOUTH:- The words you speak are poison,

Sterility and hate

Nothing is impossible

For man may master fate.

AGE:- Led on by thoughtless vanity

The old Satanic flaw

You drive yourself to madness

Resisting natural law.

YOUTH:- My task is to disprove you

In your sight and in mine

To follow out my destiny

And weave a new design.


The facets of a many sided crystal.

And the flow of a waterfall.

Invisible white crystals

In the white torrential foam.

Rivers carried diamonds

Diamonds shed tears,

And there was no contradiction

For many thousand years.



Drift beyond the many worlds

Of change,

Past faith, past belief,

Past doubt,

Gliding softly in and out of love,

Gliding softly in and out

Of communism,

Of the manifold religions.

Pass the symbols, forms,

And meanings,

Pausing just to register

Momentary understanding.

Pass beyond uncertainty,

Thought, feeling,

Perhaps become intoxicated

With nothing

The stuff of the universe.


A ripple of alternative experience.

‘I don’t want you on my trip,’

Said the Roman Catholic

To the Cathar

‘I will blast your Virgin Marys

From my churches.

I will kill you to preserve

The beauty of my mind.

We will fight

Because we know

We all are right

And there is no



I meet a man of forty

Down in Soho Square

I know him so I greet him

He speaks of his despair.

The way that he is going

What could I do to save?

What future is there for him?

Nothing but the grave.

And then I look at pictures

Through a window pane

Of bare bottomed schoolgirls

Bending for the cane.

And then the notion hits me

One which strangely calms,

That all of my desires

Are like my legs and arms.


‘I should like to get much higher’,

Said the window cleaner,

Everybody says,

At the foot of the ladder.

I have scratches

Scratches of love,

All over my arse

I’ll climb to the top

Of a twenty foot ladder

To polish the glass.

That candelabrum

Of living, writhing,

Golden snakes,

Is so nice

So vital, so personal,

Adorable, exquisite,

Words fail.

But not those of that

Happy windowcleaner who said

‘I should like to get much higher’.


She was the Queen of Heaven

The spouse of the Most High

She came down to Paris

His judgement for to try,

And when she took her clothing off

"My Goddess", Paris cried,

"To see thy breast I am so blest

I surely must have died!"

And then came Aphrodite,

She too completely bare,

He gazed upon her buttocks

Her breasts and pubic hair.

The maid of war and wisdom

Then let him feast his eyes

Upon her holy nakedness,

Upon her virgin thighs.

Then it was explained to him,

It was for him to see,

That nothing was more beautiful

Than one among those three.

The three immortal goddesses

Had come, and all undressed

To ask a mortal man to choose

Which was the loveliest.

But Paris finds it hard to tell,

He twiddles with his thumbs.

"Turn round again please goddesses,

Let me compare your bums".

Now Venus’s was chubby,

Athena’s bum was tight,

But Juno’s arse was quite first class,

A truly splendid sight!

But Paris judged not straightly

For overcome by lust,

He took a bribe from Venus

And so betrayed his trust.


My conscience bites, I regret my ploy,

Punish me if you can and will

My reasons:- I had no sexual joy

And that I am mentally ill.

My superstraight neighbours surrounding

Inspired me with the temptation

Of being a worm and a foul thing

And courting my own damnation.

For though I commit a rebellious act

I must play the policeman as well

And if I earn Heaven I must counteract

With something to plunge me in Hell.

I would ask you to thrash my arse

For I am a contemptible grass.


More willingly than those of whom the wise Catullus speaks

The English girl, requested, spreads her ample nether cheeks.

Take Nancy, who, in sultry summer weeks

Moves southwards, to be buggered by the Greeks.


Watching through the window,
A dancer, not a whore,
He frigged himself in the cubicle
With his foot against the door.

She wore across one shoulder
A black transparent shawl,
Upon one thigh, a butterfly
Tattooed, and that was all.

Exposed to best advantage
Her moist, protuberant quim.
Her firm young breasts and buttocks
Gyrated, just for him.

'The girl's a true professional!
No better in the land!
I want her so, from tip to toe',
He came into his hand.

Then down there fell the shutter
He quickly left the place
With semen on his jacket
And a smile on his face.


In the beginning was the Question,

And the Question was Answered,

And the Answer was Denied,

But the Question was still Answered,

And the Question was Denied,

And being Denied was still Answered.

It was asked,

"How is it that this question may be

Shown to be unanswerable?"

This was answered,

"Only by an answer which is not an answer,

An interminable question which leads to despair".

Answer and Not answer confronted each other,

Not answer prevailed.

For innummerable ages Albion suffered


As defined in the Prophetic Books

Of William Blake.

Since then Answer and Not answer

Have lived in harmony.


The final pieces fit

Into the diabolic jigsaw,

The fag the drink the shit

The ordinary fact,

The woman and the pet

And the concept of the problem

Now everything is set

For a frightful final act.

Music is resolved

Into the one eternal jingle

As reality is freed

From the shackles of belief.

The thinkable is split

Into its logical components

And an absolute confusion

Which proffers no relief.

Fearing what I am

And being what I fear

How can I stop fearing

When my freedom is complete?

A riddle looms which I can’t guess

A conundrum which I confess

Is dragging me in terror

To unthinkable defeat.


I move in a car in a distant land

With a sub-machine gun in my hand

From the crest of a hill the car moves down

To the busy main street of a wealthy town

And I shoot at x and I blow up y,

And I shoot at z and I shoot at the sky

Buildings, people, cars I smash,

And they all disappear with a colourful flash.

Hotels, offices fall to the ground

And as for the officers standing around

All are destroyed by a hand grenade

And the rainbow fire of the fusillade

And I shoot at a girl and I shoot at a boy

And the banks explode to a shout of joy.

Ladies greet with sexual love

Murdering angel from above

And I shoot in the cunt and I shoot in the balls

And the sound is the roar of Niagara falls

I shoot at the wind and I shoot at the sea

At every bird and at every tree.

At the end of the street we drive away

Nothing is left but bleak decay.


The Dhammapada says

That it is best

To live alone.

Love is a vice

Lust is the desire

To smoke a cigarette

In a land of

‘No Smoking’ notices.

Life is a spectator

Sport with no players,

Only people being dragged

Away by the police

For creating a



God is my home

Since ‘God’ means ‘Home’,

I might just as well say ‘Home’.

In Nero, God was incarnate.

Nero as Alexander for instance.


Pan is my home.

God is my Yugoslavian

Cigarette pipe.
An absurd and arbitrary statement.

One must escape the quagmire,

Of the ordinary.


The petrol pump attendant

Is an elongated man

And he turns into a petrol pump

As for some evil plan.

An eight foot John F. Kennedy

Standing by the road

The cobwebs and the pallor

Can only evil bode.

We drive into an archway

Composed of leaning trees.

The archways are of sandstone

As we float on nameless seas.

Huge buildings rise above us

As if they want to fall

As if they want to crush us

And it only can appal.


In a church where Hitler has a place

I worship the God with the Janus face

Where the wounds of Jesus no longer bleed

And Pilate’s question is all we need

And combined in a seven sense symphony

Is the infinite wealth from an infinite sea

Charged with an infinite ecstasy.


What tears of lamentation

Shall be shed about the land?

For the girl who tamed the serpent

Is as dead as Talleyrand

And her flesh shall rot entirely

Leaving nothing but the bone,

The tamer of the serpent

Is as dead as Al Capone

For the taming of the serpent

She has had to pay the price

From now to all eternity

As dead as Jesus Christ

And I wait and I watch, and I rip and I rend

And I mourn that the drama

Has come to its end

And I wait and I watch and I rant and I rave

And lament that the heroine

Is entering her grave.

For the girl who tamed the serpent

Is ready for the tomb

There are worms about her body

Which are eating up her womb

And I wait and I watch and I sing with fear

Of the glorious destruction of the previous year.

But all is paid for, all is done

We have had our rebellion and our time of fun,

The secret of the serpent shall be told no more

And the tears of lamentation shall echo round the shore.


With increase of horror

Hard to be borne

Symmachus and Porphyry

Live through the triumph

Of primitive vulgarity

Low superstition.

Symmachus and Porphyry

The cause is lost!

Reason and argument are no more!

The base and the ugly are dominant

And there is nothing you can do.

Symmachus and Porphyry

How can you speak?

Rage as you might

The ruin is unspeakable.

The crude passionate judgements

Of the low have sway

Over anything that you could say.


Dog beating mutilates demand

That we believe their vulgar trash;

Abandon wine, yazatas, truth and then,

They say, we may be safe and free.

Apostasised, my children or their

Children might acquire

That form of pride, that hope of joy. For me

To live a lie, to serve the druj,

Give up my heart’s desire,

Ahuramazd, and spit on fire,

What happiness could there be?

SRP PUBLICATIONS:- LONDON 1989. ISBN: 1 871446 02 3

2005 edition:- for info contact me

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