Busy buisiness has a sick day.

Sometimes you just have to slowdown and see life for life, if not, you´ll have to take a sick day...

Instances and insistance!
Insistance is what a sure man pushes. Across to save his spending, across to save his goals.
The only thing in which he believes is in what he just successfully sold.

Instances where his coffee pot ran low and his secretary got sick. He was so rushed and stressed locked himself out of his car on some busy motorway.

Insistance that things would be okay. that persistance would persist even in exhaust fume disappointment. . missed calls from investors ran all the way up his spine.
And doubts he would make it to his afternoon conquest of a new vulnerable client.

Instances when he won the crowd and went home wallet bulging, now bald, his secretary malicious.
He seldom attracts attention even shouting in his favourite fastfood pigsty outlet.

Insistance that he could do everything as he screamed into his cellphone to the ear of some shaken taxi clerk slow to compute. To understand where and when and who to send in such a hurried frantic fashion. As the taxi approached the deadline to his meeting chirped like a retarded bird.

Instances where pressure cooked him into sweating and puffing. The best weapon could only be fired at point blank range and that was denial.

Insistance that the taxi had made him late in blatant refusal to pay the fare with glaring outrage all over his face as if it had been sprayed on. Tipsy and tidly on distilled anger.

Instances when he got to this level, mayhem and bugeyes would leap out of his face, as his mouth screamed with tones of scathing indignation. Non acceptance and disgrace.

Insistance on the possibility of the clients rescheduling of the apointment kept his sanity momentarily intact. The hotel staff just shook their heads and laughed and said that ship had sailed. The man demanding an apology for them implying incompetency. The bomb in his head detonated again.

Twenty minutes and two thousand dollars in damages later, the police picked him up.
He wiped the last teardrop from his eye, got on his cellphone and gave his secretary permission for a sick day.

On the way to haunted Pedroso forest.(floresta assombrada do pedroso)

On the way to haunted Pedroso forest.
Outside the city limits and on the outskirts of some slums lay the forest of pedroso.
In it´s main area are playgrounds a concrete walking track and a football field.
The entire driveway is lit up during the day by magnificent flowering trees that keep their charm for months.
The perfume of the undergrowth is just as pleasant.
However there is a broken gondula with it´s line still attached and abandoned buildings at the base and over the hill. Like some bloodstained turtle shell on a fishing line.
There are several muddy lagoons that poor children bathe in during the summer.
On the first entry there are two lagoons and the area looks almost abandoned.
It´s there I went seeking peace one afternoon.
Walking down the hill with my hound out of the city limits, rubbish stuck to the side of the forest line like it was growing there by itself. Cool shades and sudden slopes all the way to the bottom. The cracked footpath leapt up in pieces to allow the roots of some courageous tree inching closer to the road.
The grass freshly cut getting a yellow base. Walking down I came across a rubbish recycler. Usually  an extremely poor man or woman who pick up rubbish like cardboard and bottles to bring to a recycling plant where they are paid a tiny sum for their great labours in cleaning the city. I looked into his eyes like I do to everyone and i saw, he knew I was a foreigner.
I carried on down hill where the shade and the sun met at the side of the road. Into the shade and then, into the sun, if I was travelling at a speed it would have been a natural strobelight.
As I approached the first entry surrounded by welcoming palmtrees; My dog became restless. I crossed a bridge over the first pond that seemed clean and full of fish. My dog took himself a quick bath in the weedy tangled edges of the pond. Then i went around the lake to find somewhere relaxing to sit there was a place next to bolder with full sunshine. I sat and rested and cleared my mind.
As i was in my tranquil state i had not heard the approaching father and son with their three sausage dogs. My hound puppins had though, one second after the first bark i opened my eyes to see my dog with a sausage dog in it mouth. So i ran and fell and tackled my dog freeing the screeching sausage dog. And looking like a moron infront of the man and his child.
I thought this wont do I must go further into the forest, if I don´t every man and his dog will disturb my peace.
So I took off again heading towards the trees past alittle soccer field, picking up a little rubbish along the way. The locals stretching for their game of football glared at me as if i was doing something wrong. Maybe i was. I probably appeared as arrogant, know it all, do-gooder. So cliche so geaky so fussy but so what?
And as i entered the narrow pathway into the forest i knew apart from my dog i was totally alone!
 My dog seemed alittle more cautious now, on both sides of the track branch leaves and grass would touch me. I didn´t mind too much apart from the odd encounter with one of the larger yellow and black brazilian globe spiders. The track narrowed and widened at random. About 100 metres into the track, it became wet and muddy under foot the water seemed like it had been sitting there along time because the thick green algae had taken up most of the puddles. As the track veered to the right and opened up the ground became drier.
Suddenly i came across a big multicoloured fluttering ball of butterflies weaving in and out of each other, it just didn´t look real! White and yellow and black and blue hovering above some moist patch of mud. It was awe inspiring. Or it could have just been mating season.
So the path began to rise. Nevertheless I continued up the path noticing a few nice fruit trees on both sides of it. There were lemon trees and guava trees. A few natural herbs, it felt like paradise. And i had my wish i was completely alone.
As i came to the peak of the path it all opened up as if a great carpark surrounded by brush and trees.
In the middle of the clearing was a fallen concrete phoneline post. My dog was acting anxious and wanted me to turn back, i however was quite happy and tied my dog to a nearby tree. As i lay down on the post i tried to think of nice things and relax myself. Several minutes passed and the wind changed. My dog was wining in low tones now. I woke from my daydreams with a cold shiver, i felt extremely awake.
I noticed there were seven shapes on the stony ground surrounding me, they looked like stains though they could have easily been the shadows of men.
I swore that i didn´t notice them on the way in and i was a little surprised.
There was also no more bird noises. I looked at my dog and lay back down wondering.
I tried to relax again and closed my eyes and put my head in the wind.
It felt good. Then as i opened my eyes the seven shapes were not there anymore and i had a strange sensation in my head.
As I walked back down the path out of the forest I had the most uneasy feeling i was being watched and it didn´t feel like people.
Even though i didn´t feel so sure about that place i will go back one day because a forest is kind of like a sanctuary to me. A church where I go on my own. Instead of some preachers sermon i have wind and the sound the leaves make in it, the birdsong and the various noisy insects.
So most of you won´t even think about going into the forest alone anyway, people love to say they love nature. But few try to form a real bond with their local forests.
Some actually hate the forest, maybe some of the forests hate us too.

                                APOCALYPSE KISS

You can´t smell the end. It treats itself to bible proficies.

Can you stop the rain, seduce nature save us all.

Can you smell the smoke, put out this human fire, put out these toxic obsessions.

Can you bring the rain, seduce nature just for one more decade.

You can´t taste the end that´ll go to all the children.

Temptation wasn´t enough, those burning hearts ached for savage consumption.

Pretending like some infant game that we´d never run out, sustainability a nursery rhyme economic

 suicide.

Can you feel the heat. And our luxury melts our spoilt creme faces.

We are gods indigestion, and if he´s a man we are his impotence.

Imagine the land clear of trees. Our fantasy is a disease, yellow land barren as a robot CEO´s

 bald head.

Imagine the chemical rivers without oxygen, you´ll love the new model..

All we want is more romantic plastic, all we want is more erotic usage, all we want is potent fuel.

Watch the factories, the growing deserts your homes somewhere in between.

You can´t hear the cries for hunger, wasting your food like the monarch of abundance.

You wont hear the cries for thirst, parched throats so you can have a new one.

Western smiles fill the sky, trust lips and teeth will see us fry. Exploit this land until it´s permanent

 wilting point. And wait until the angels come down to replenish it.

See this world get eaten fast, complain of the misery in first class.

Look into the face of the dying child and the guns outside his slum.

Look into your super mediocrity and open some more christmas presents.

Can you see the fires engulfing some neighbouhood nearby. No guilt, no conscience.

The flames marching like red hot fascist phantoms in the interests of the earths demise.

Our sons and daughters be forever after deprived so industry gets to take it for a ozone layer

 destroying testdrive.

Dehydration and dust for the future of us all.

Tremble like you care when there´s no longer fresh food anywhere.

Explosions throughout the city centres, black ash covers our tongues as we speak.

Waves of heat dehydrate the last attempts at agriculture. Sweltering fields of dried leaves.

Reduced to the morals of sinister vultures.

You can´t smell the end, your senses stolen by our institutions of economy:

 Car Advertising, Coca cola, fashion and Religion.

                 PALE PURPLE RIVER

Pale purple like the faded rock, on the shores.

Above the rock circling gulls soar.

 Pale purple like my stomach lining.

Up to my dry throat and down my spine.

The noises of the night raging and declining.

Preventing my slumber.

The raging dawn, barking dogs, car horns.

First light through crimson cloud, the morning warns.

My early thought flows down the purple river.

Fresh and cold my preoccupations shiver.

My old ideas pale and mundane collect on jagged edges.

Of the river that reflects emotion and dreams.

ANTISOCIAL(33 stung in virginia) His eyes surrounded by darkness. Appearing as two angry wasps illuminated by hate´s fusion. His eyes see through the clouded nights. Into a city of confusion. His serpent slithers down and dawn breaks. The echo of traffic bounces off concrete structures. And morning awakes. Human habitants walk pretending to be more or less. He laughs at their fear as each hour it progresses. His angry wasp like eyes aflame, his neck and shoulders expose their veins. Watching unforgivingly society clinging to it´s decadance. He laughs hysterically at their fear. His laughter echos off those concrete structures. He sends his snake that slithers past midday, that slithers into a mind unstable. The puppets hand finds a gun. Peoples panic replace his laughter. The puppets finger finds the trigger, his laughter become their terror.                   HALF PAST CRAZY Half past crazy the psychologist says. The creature inside destroyed the inner child! The hour struck, perception defiled. Beserk has it´s perks at a quarter past wild. Tortured souls, onlookers of madness´s reign! Outside the minds ghost town the lunatic is playing. No logic fits into the mind of the insane. The imagination rips and gives way,  to dimensions of hazardous mystery.                  MALNUTRITION Tied up in a cruel gesture. Dirty hair, clean gun, loose black jacket, sharp fingernails. Yellow dim light in the city at night. Ragged birds follow shadows into long dark alleys. Rancid winds blow around abandoned warehouses. Sparks fly from damaged electric lines. Derelict houses, streets of waste and grime. Broken windows, boarded up doors. Steel structures rusted to the core. In this damp city decay searches for you. Through toxic smoke and mildew gloom.                     MARTIAL LAW Lots of rotting trees, people save a piece for me! Many dead dogs in the street of summer heat. Festering in an artful heap. Excrement covers the screen of vision. Broken hearts on the march. We need to find the goat, it escaped it maybe free. Punishments the solution, the lynchmob does agree. Seek out the victim, but people save a piece for me. Under the order of the shriveled rose prophecy.

Love and lust poems

SEE YOU GO QUIETLY

I´ve seen you so much, and part of the images come to me in my sleep.

Sometimes we seldom speak and all there is, is your eyes.

Sometimes i have something to say to you, though my words would not be worthy.

I felt like a coward in the midst of your beauty and their suspicious faces.

I´ve longed for you, despite knowing there´d be no us.

Trouble breathing near you. Just to see you shining so brightly.

Now I helplessly see you go quietly. Never to see you again.

Those days when you entered the room and gave me reason.

Days when your presense eased my mental pains as electric as the seasons.

Empty handed I´ll see you walk and tragically forget your face.

This ridiculous urgency stirs me like a storm.

I´ll see you go quietly and you´ll never know, never know.

Words went with it

by Simon Bernard Elliott

I had a dozen prepared speeches all so intimate in feel and reach.
I had five thousand fantasies about what would happen.
I drew my best card and realized it wasn´t enough.
I didn´t know where i was in that second. I spoke my mind like i´ve never before, words went with it and i had nothing else to say.
Now words go out of me and pack their inspiration for vacation.
I´ve nothing left to dream about and tomorrow will still be coming.
I had fallen, fallen and my words went with it.
post-confession

by Simon Bernard Elliott

I made my way to humiliations parade, with my bold confession that would be a seperation with some bright blade.
Her hair fell so far and her eyes petrified me. When i told her my feelings searching for relief.
And now i´m a shadow on the wall.
This princess of a girl who must now be apalled.
Some artful golemn that none dare provoke or encourage. I walk the corridor one degree from ignored.
I rest my head but my heart keeps it working.
Struggling to expell these haunting feelings. I´ve forsaken myself to some ultra gorgeous illusion.
My confession still ringing in her head as fresh as autumns first dawns.
My heart so far from balance and peace.
Falling off the world

by Simon Bernard Elliott

I was walking on the slopes of the upperclass neighbourhoods. Breathing in the aromas of expensive foods.
At midnight i lost my balance and without drugs or booze i fell off the world. All those old stories i thought true, i so tightly held.
I was in transition i was in the finest cut of the contrast.
Pressing up against me like policemen, my anxiety my recent past.
Part of me fell away. The world stopped turning.
I wouldn´t be given what i wanted until i learned it off by heart.
Growing, bleeding, recovering and learning to hide the scars.
Look at me now recreated, look me in the eye.

You have destroyed the world.

by Simon Bernard Elliott

YOU HAVE DESTROYED THE WORLD ON YOUR OWN
You looked into a cheaper way to pleasure yourself. The dead owls and eagles are thankfully at rest.
You´ve seen a new thing you want to own but first you must sacrifice a part of yourself. Credit card love to you.
Swim sweet spender between broken glass in this dark pool.
Produced by freedom of illusion factories and "learn to buy" schools.
You´ve betrayed mother nature without knowing how morbid our futures will become.
Good intentions have rotted to the last stage of decomposition. Apocalypse can finally come.
Fantasic devastation and investments your gross income bought! How proud, how proud a child with a gas mask is of his polluting ignorant father. Wastelands for playgrounds, countries to starve, discounts on radioactive everafter!!!
Tree huggers your enemies? Your consumer esteemed practical destroyers of the earth. Bankrolling pesticides and plastic
Self satisfied lazy humans of the afterbirth.
Pour smoke into the skies so that acid may rain onto our crops. Do it for progress! Do it for god.
Do it for toxic six legged frogs.
Torment the future generations with your lack of repect. See climate turn into a consequence of the devil having sex.
And born to love consumption you don´t see the disgrace. As pristine Rivers are polluted, spend and laugh in my face!
Lifes an airport baby

by Simon Bernard Elliott

Time stops sometimes in dreams, in circumstances severe or in loud screams.
Sweet mushrooms and novelties can´t start it back up like some remedy.
friendly groups of unknown strangers come upon you curious as they smoke, sing and advise you about the little they know of your life.
Life is an airport carpark for some, desperation lingers like a hangover.
Beautiful silver doors are opened to you revealing... world class bathrooms and sometimes half rotten vegetable peelings.
Streets that crave and unfamiliar places often play with our ambtion for navigation.
Though my car moves it is an anchor.
They didn´t let me park it at the airport, airport authorities denied me entry.
I´m a voyager in my work, choosing when to deny or when to agree.
Some vacant lot is where some feel free, with tarmacs below and above planes exchanging the cool breeze.
Skeletons out

by Simon Bernard Elliott

He moves behind our city, pacing backwards and forwards. I plea with him to stay far from me.
His pacing and his lack of his skin.
His heartless bones that follow my footsteps and breath down my neck.
His endless hunt in the rivers and lakes where the bones reflect brightly and send terror through the spine.
His joints crack and his sharp jaw mutters as he stalks with one eye to guide him.
Some poor drunk alone on the street curb swimming in trash and humming his life to the rats. Was taken by the pale cage like frame and helplessly dragged away.
The skeletons pacing and searching, delivering terror and decay.
The skeletons out today.
A mile from the target.

by Simon Bernard Elliott

Somebody put their finger on the lense.
One second of attention.
Somebody slapped my ear while i was aiming.
Gave me ten great days of tension.
Work and see, sleep and let be.
But hallucinations and insominia have already agreed.
In every direction there are targets.
And like furious hornets. Provocative scorn skits.
I see you all shooting them having so much fun. Never asking will your day ever come.
Making targets, don´t be so cold that you´d turn into one.
Blink of an eye

by Simon Bernard Elliott

Somewhere in the great belly of the land is indigestion, molten lava, rock and mud.
Deep down where the earths bones meet its blood.
A place only the damned could ever admire.
Under Japan the circle of fire.
Hot indigestion rocks the hell out of this vulnerable surface.
Washing the colour out of cities and out of hope and human purpose.
Opening long jagged cracks as if to age the land. And shaking like a stroke victim with nowhere for his hands.
Tremors...
Under your feet and in the blink of an eye, the earths indigestion and the seas heavy cries.
In congested cities and where power plants fry, there´s nowhere to run, no safety far or high.

About this blog...

This is a blog where you will read poetry. It is designed to give you another way of looking at things.
If you find the poetry pessimistic offensive or extreme remember they are words. You give the words power.

If you love or hate these works you may post your comments. I welcome your inSIGHT!