quinta-feira, 1 de outubro de 2026

Johnny Eggs and the matchbox gift

 Johnny eggs was up for retirement he was a landfill worker.

Mostly operated the bulldozer and a tractor the only one who could do maintenance on either.
That day he had invited a poor family who lived near the entrance to the landfill in.

“So have you got something for us today Mr Eggs?” Little Patty whales asked.
“Well come down and have a look.” Johnny said.
Little Patty whales and Sarah followed Johnny to an area of the landfill where things that were unbroken or still intact lay.
There was a red tricycle, a mannequin and a really cute looking Teddy bear albeit with a few scars.

Next to it all was a deep box. Johnny crouched over as Mother Jones arrived on the excuse that she didn’t want her children bothering old Johnny Eggs.
But she never trusted any man with her children. That was Mother Jones for you.
Johnny’s nimble fingers opened the box lid exposing hundreds of in their packet hot wheels toy cars.
Patty couldn’t contain himself. “Can we open one please? Please?”
“You can open as many as you like” Johnny said grinning with no space between his wrinkled face.
Patty started dancing around holding the small box in his clammy hand, motioning it as if it were an aeroplane. Mother Jones tapped Sarah, Sarah looked up at her. Mother Jones motioned while Johnny’s back was turned. Putting on a smile and waving her hands.

Sarah whispered. “Oh you want me to act excited.”
Then Sarah too picked out a car and started dancing as her step brother was.
Johnny looked at Mother Jones, “These moments are precious Mrs Jones. They won’t be as happy as this everyday.

Patty whales just about ripped the little box open so he could get his hands on the little red car inside. His mother said “Patty let me open it for you when we get home.”

Patty looked at her. Then his glance slowly descended as if he had just been disappointed.
Sarah continued imitating what Patrick had been doing.
Trying to keep her giggle back as she was three years older than Patrick and her cynical nature made Patrick’s behaviour seem absolutely ridiculous.

“Do I owe you anything for this Johnny?”
“No, Just let me come apple picking in your yard there come next month.” Johnny said.
“Well, they are already putting on fruit. Come this weekend me and the kids will be out, but you can make it over the back fence real easy.” Mother Jones said cheerily. Johnny nodded his head with that same full grin that beamed. He was pretty much happy all year.
It took him a week to adjust to the first snow, but after that he was just as glad to be alive as he was in summer.
Mother Jones had Sarah carry the box home, partially from seeing her little act as a dig to Patty whale’s free spirit.
They got in the door, and Mother Jones did some calculating in here head.
Patty sat in the wooden chair observing his mother.
“I’m not gonna get one am I.”
Mother Jone’s knew the routine and quickly grabbed the box with his sticky handprint on.
Ripped it open slowly and smiled down at Patty. “Sure you are my boy. This one is for you.

She called Sarah over to use her phone calculator.
“We might get up to four fifty for this lot.” Mother Jones said gleefully.
“I guess we better be grateful to Old Johnny.” Sarah said sarcastically.
“I guess we better.” Mother Jones said, also being sarcastic, as she balanced on gout bitten ankles and took a bottle of Johnny walker out from the kitchen shelf.

Strings attached so puppets move

 I see strings attached
through the vision of the sweating dream
Through the view of the veiny eye
The effort exerted
Pairs turn up and rehearse 
their sacred unions out for all to see

Strings are attached
Weird pulleys move the puppets
Pulling the heart strings
Pretending we are not human
No emotions
just safety

I see strings right through the perfection
I see friendly faces
They have their own interests
their own doubts
Their own strings attached
But their limbs are more easily manipulated

Relief from passion

 Readjusting
An empty heart is a relief
Passion is a devil
it overturns everything

Pushes us into the middle of the road
Into the stretch of the forest snake infested
An empty heart is a blessing
Rearranged to meet the open days

Beaches calling for a sea
Sandy miles no sign of the water
Blessed salt water
Passion leaves us bone dry



Da cry carp

 Humphrey monster and the hotdog team
Dawdle boy and the outward steps 
Black freckles and a defensiveness
Thorny spineless devil lips 
Edge we are, are we?
 Joked and the downpour came

They had figured it out
Lunchtime bristling
Back of the bus
Only the cool ones
Light hazing

Into the hills and swerves everyday
They retold their father's exaggerated stories
came in from the farms
filthy and rugged
Hotdog breath

Toward the Akatarawa
False pines 
And light winter snow


Avoiding the truth

 The one I could have helped falls by the wayside
I sypmathize with the God some pretend to love
Most just blame for the world in its state
The one I wanted to protect  struggling, emaciated in the highway ditch

Ragdoll human abandoned by every which one allocated to love him
In the high grass crawling weak dehydrated, underfed, unloved
The traffic passes uncaring I keep climbing the stairs of life
The one I was supposed to care for smiles even in their state

Pretending to be happy so that I would stop and check
As if knowing that a frown or grimace would force all to avoid
Swallowing his pain he bears his teeth and appeals
But none notice and he returns to the ditch

where the remains of some family picnic await him
The basket weave so very ornate
Like a society obsessed with the appearances of results
avoiding the truth of them at all costs 

The insanity of the commute

 We turn away from train station
Commuters now we are pedestrians
Looking up at the walk light
waiting for it turn green

Turning to one another impatiently
A million moments have come to this
The zebra is flat there across to other side
There is no mercy

You check your watch
Traffic still needs to pass by
The light is delayed
So you stand there on leg to the other

Shifting weight like you want to pee
Green light urges you forward imbalance
I Follow your steps as each bar of the piano plays
hearing your doubts pop

You made it to the other side
The red figure inside the light
Is blinking
It is bleeding, it is bleeding

quarta-feira, 30 de setembro de 2026

Tunnel Trauma

 Crawling down the tunnel,
with mickey ears.
Never a fun time.
I was four years old and claustrophic/

I made my way in and the other toddlers too
Until there was no way out all exits were blocked
So I screamed just about as loud as any creature could have screamed
And the kids poured out just as traumatized as they had left me

That gave me a great deal of satisfaction
And when they pulled me out 
The adults comforted me
And the terrible game was over