The devil you don´t know

Nothing needs protecting, put away your shields.
Every wound is necessary, you´ll learn as they heal.
Open up your ears and put away your words.
Stop all mouth sounds and learn to hear first.
Nothing needs protecting from a man of lofty ideals.
Padlock pride bulletproof ego aren´t safe in a bombshell world.
Nothing needs protecting on the out or on the inside.
Freedom needs no protection by alterior motives.
Freedom needs no armour from a charmer deciding what your vote is.
Civilization needs no protection by a board of 1st world governments.
They took us to an age environmental risk and ignorance to thirdworld sweatshop existance.
An age of ignoring africa.
Civilization needs no wall streets to validate wealth. When money is not spread, profit worship becomes a doctrine to end us. Yet we protect them. Loving the cause of crisis and protesting against it, like a lazy child who wont sit back from the fire and cries tears to cool his burns.
Dictation needs no protection by it´s country´s military.
The devil you know should be overthrown, the devil you don´t depends on scared drones.

darkness of space

I see trouble

Troublevolution.

Torches with no batteries.

Night...
Rolling down a dilapidated side street, broken down car, my partner exhausted running next to the car.
Houses and stores disappear now only trees in the moon shadow and fields as empty as the vain heart is.
The car stopped, lights off, now running into the darkness across a paddock of confusion. Danger approaching, haste, panic run for the track! Three torches in the long grass two with low batteries but one still shining bright, who left them lying here?
Down the bank through the trees now everyones lost. A motorbike comes humming up through the trees it´s midnight and it rides right over me.
Abandoned in the bush, I threw them in without a light. Ghastly insects crawl closer...
My beloved became more part of me than my limbs, seperated by darkness. Dawn will render us mere whispers in the canopy.

Placard under boot

Surrounding us

Soft slow gaze.
Life aware of itself.
Moments pass, simple meeting.
Children run by, adults stand around, not more than a murmur, daylight catches our playfulness.
Handfuls of satisfaction, you should know the value as you stroll past your old street.
Daylight holds your smile.
Your errands and jobs, your chores and hobbys,
take a look at the faces around you,
see life through a tinted car window or fresh to your eyes.
Each sound in your surroundings.
The come and the go of people, animals and even machines.
Soft slow gaze such subtle vibrations.
Buildings change their paint, walls go up and down.
As often as traffic lights change, so do faces from smiles to frowns and kindly vice versa.
Life surrounds us, immerse yourself. Before you vanish.

No insult

I´m not an animal or senseless beast roaming to aid the food chain no.
Walking around the city lost.
I found the centre closed down locked up all shut, at the end of a deadend street.
She let me in though as if she knew i was coming. Beurocratic lady.
Checking my aura checking my visa getting the stamps and stones.
I´m not an animal.
Her sisters arrived outraged faces speaking of an insult.
She ran the office with the fire fom her tongue.
I´m not an animal but each word was like the bar of a cage.
I´m not an animal and denied their accusations.
Too late and all misconstrued, "you didn´t go there," what´s the matter with you?
A car ride with criminals, a life of discrimination, their comments were sever the way they insinuate and simultaneously jeer.
She ran the buisiness with people´s indifference, four judgemental sisters, desperation and a lack of alternatives.
In the car now huddled between criminals, pariah heat, disdain painted eyes.
By the sea we drove for hours I was some kind of animal, beast... fiend. Some kind of curse.
The paper lady sent me away, to never see the light of day again.

Placards under boot.

Protests scatter met by bullets. Shells explode in peaceful crowds. Countries pull out their ambassadors, but do little to stop the criminal in power. Thousands try to cross the borders, tanks rise up from the south and get ready to fill the cemeteries. Rockets fly from RPG´s, mother´s hysterically crying on their knees.
Ruling old persia like a devil Tsar, between aeroplane ears Bashar al assad and his plots for control by massacre. Protestors disperse as soldiers open fire. Tyrants learn the fine arts of being professional liers. Only the outside world can free the country from his grip. His systematic oppression, shrapnel dictatorship.

Room to exist

I can see gates, I see trouble unfold.
Reach for joy like a story your grandfather told. Familiar laughter.
What a blurr, what a stirr it is to have eyes.
I see shadows and deserts and random life forming.
I see trouble unfold.
I see wonder, I feel it, i jump off holding it. I see gates.
The front door silence, the tense chewing.
Windowsills of hope, I see an empty driveway.
Wind blows through neighbourhoods, like visitors unannounced.
No longer the clean warm river, no longer the caressing ferns.
My cradle couldn´t contain me, just like my island.
Secrets, mysteries and rumours circulate complicating such a round world.
I settle down by the lake, just as distracted by my reflection as I was before I spoke.

Peninsula

On the peninsula, a cliff one hundred metres the sea below. Waiting for a sign.
Pale blue morning, fishing, anticipating.
An invasion is coming. Translate this letter, yes in less than a month the island will be overrun.
I was woken up as if sleep was a sin, full of life again. back to guide me like her life depended on it, back with vitality.
Times a test, it´s a super cage for superheroes. A hot attraction and all that´s left to talk about when your almost dead.
Morning hovers, between reeds a fisherman picks up a message, it´s inevitable one kingdom spreads itself, whilst the others shrink and lose their beaches. Cushions, warm places to slip into deep uninterrupted sleep. Alas a superteam and their rocket are declaring takeoff on the peninsula.
Dawn will bring a sign, give me the pale morning, without even opening my eyes.

The glutton

The food you waste...
Your lack of interest in politics.

Your delicious apathy, ahhhh.
Don´t think about those things that can bring you down.
It´s just a small bribe just to get the process done.
They sit at the top like reptiles in the sun, faceless victims wither far from their mansions. You don´t care though, ha ha ha ha. Take it easy... doesn´t matter does it? Watch the sports! And show your moves off on the dance floor.
Just don´t watch the news, just don´t wake up to the truth of misery.
Little envy games and elaborate schemes of dishonesty would you like to play?
Rob the poor, for a richman´s birthday is everyday and he wants gifts for each one as if he earned them, as a farmer working 70 hours a week watches his sons perish, while the corrupt mayor of his city buys a wig worth $ 50,000.  Overindulge yourself pay the bribe and help the machine. Honesty is for idiots in a place where you can rob your country when you´re already rich, and send a pregnant woman to jail for fending for her kids. Swap your encyclopedia for a bible, a pastor for scientist, a church for a library and accept a bribe. Zero honesty and a whole lotta talk about god.
More sympathy for street dogs. Envy for your neighbours. And make jokes about people who care.

gregori´s third eye

Screaming in shock in the church foyer. Struck by second sight, caught between saints swords and demons knives.

Proud father, cold eyes.

Screaming at the church minister... No response!
Painful headaches burning the edges of his mind... panic and confusion.
Freak visions shaking his perception, omens of destruction and new orders.
Patterns scattered behind his eyes. nowhere to share his pain.
Months walking, long distance, a little meditation in each step, awakenings.

Not his mother nor his father, NOT A TSAR SUCCESSION stain glass zero.
Gregori, imposed on the east, a clairvoyant opening an empire to a fickle western world between wars.
Desperate echos in a hollow cathedral, empty.
In the church foyer screaming, what he said he saw came to pass.
Cold disbelieving ears.
Proud royal dynasty shattered.
His visions like bullets through a gun.
Bearded, spiritual, hanging from a thread to his sanity.
A line between two worlds, change in the east, visions his third eye burned into his mind.
Disbelief and borders that moved like serpents between eastern europes fragile expanse.

False me, the video.

Latest works through the poets eye. FALSE ME. Don´t let pretending become a way of life.

Your day

Your day

The day, the month, the reminder of the day you came into this world.

This time to see how cruel or kind life has been.

We try to figuire it out like some puzzle, some invisible observer laughs at our efforts.

Glorious times, this date, look back and pine or grab your passions from your inklings.

Glorious times, many tears, adolescent years. Steering toward fatherhood or motherhood. Show your sons the world.

Minutes fall, hesitation calms us, feel and ponder let the hours drain away today.

Somewhere warm and comfortable, a place for you.

Conquer decades, look back and forward. Upsets, satisfaction, some value in every sensation.

Out of doubts let new hopes hatch, life wears us through it´s contrasts, it´s reality and it´s illusions.

It´s hardness and softness. The way it begs us to feel.

Why is time at the center of our universe?

Skateboarders are cool

SKATEBOARDERS ARE COOL.
Way you ride down the street.
Way too cool to smile.
Smirk on the ramp, grin when you spin.
Roll down the hill no expression on your face.
Stomach out hair in the wind, screaming to the world "Noone understands me."
Children´s envy builds your ego, rebel maneuvers.
Abhorrence and a lack of awareness.
Sharing nothing but teenage angst, falling off your board and breaking your wrists.
Pleasing your peers obsession with appearance, the image says you don´t care, blasé!
A platform to build popularity. Indulging in the drink and smoke escaping from clarity.
Two swigs before you vomit, loud drunken hilarity.
Desperately looking to the ranks of cool to sustain your reason to be.
Turn around and curse as you skate down the hill and an old person shouts "Weee" just to urge you on.
Little piece of convention, a hundred brandnames across your clothes, your board, your life.
Glued to fashion as a sport, obeying the trends and craze´s with loyal obedience and pretending to be different. "Weeeeeee, there you go"

apoetseye willow/ lost friend

Blue willow/salgueiro azul, salix

Near the creek, near the complacent hill.
Your branches will droop, too late to reach the waters edge.
Across plush paddocks long fat grass brushes our knees and covers the base of the blue willow.
Yearning can be switched off in your simple tree mind, why can´t mine be.
Insted of growing toward the clouds and the sun like any ambitious shoot, prostrate habit.
Adoring the river as much as the sun.
Too late to reach the stream the waters gone, there´s just enough to keep you green.
Some new invention on the other side of the hill took away the attention, now you have reason to weep.
And among your tortured bark hides a painkiller, a relief in the very sap that feeds your leaves.
Near the creek where the crowds would gather, and the summer bathers would linger under you like an umbrella.
Alone, shedding leaves in bitter winter winds, growing them back with tinges of blue on their tips, next to a dried creek bed once glistening and rich. Now a stony piece of land a scar, a stain, a ditch. Your roots in love with moisture, now they will know the dry.
A young child would climb you, looking for birds nests on summer nights. Or simply to hide.
And to their hands and feet your braches were never shy.
so whisper to me pale blue willow before you die,
You naturally look so sad, how will anyone see you cry?

Long lost friend

I see you through the glass, playing the piano and singing in tones of lament.
Plan your emotions like some bittersweet soap opera, through the house we can feel your presense.
Long lost friend, stranded at the airport with a million exaggerated stories to tell.
How beautiful was your garden before you abandoned it?
How sarcastic was your existance?
Pools empty and warm, though noone swims there.
Our very own corridor spider torn apart by airport staff, send a piece to the museum.
Long lost friend, loving only your blue piano, and making sorrowful music for pathetic soap operas.
I see you through the glass behind the main characters and their passing dramas.
I hear your notes when my climb is steep and disoriented.
Dehydrated, when is your next flight?
The pools await like an empty paradise, time steals joy, long lost friend.
Will we meet again awkwardly?
Searching in our tired minds for things to talk about, attempting to relate our lives as if we had something in common. Send a piece to the museum.
Indeed. We´ll savour accounts of airport adventures. Riding your voice as it rises and falls, the details are as useless as yesterday. And beauty forgets the past until it fades.
So play your music and we´ll listen, to all those hearts too heavy to board- a moments mercy.
Leave soap operas for the old, when your pain is real and felt in younger flesh.