The heavy hand

Ten thousand pounds of...
Squash power.
Creating and with the same flesh destroying.
The many shapes that Jacob fantasized about.
Each part a tool, a part of creation.
A perfect formula.
The heavy hand comes down close enough to a mountain for comparison.
Under clouds it´s size it moves across the plains raising the rye.
And we put them together and we put our hearts on our sleeves.
Touch would be nothing without them.
Those that read the future in them feel the weight.
Used in the ritual of love and in the closure of hate.

Salty trigger

I´m the salty trigger.
And the guns this life.
As I tangle with esoteric webs and signs.
Breaking your reactions, Colliding with your spine.
With your good judgement.
Grinding on the floppy ventricles of you heart.
Digging down into your organs,  like the very bullet you provoked by pulling me.
The steel twig shining in the daylight, smirking in the moon light.
I´m the narrow connection between this life and the next.
Stained with sweat, calling the chambers.
Getting cocky off the sweet scent of fate.

Wing wrapped

Down dives the majestic bird.
It´s dragon ancestors steal it´s timidness.
Flushhh... Between great trees following the contours of cliffs down precipices.
One wing up the other down as it turns and turns with full precision.
Floating across the suburbs and soaring through the sky scrapers of cities.
It sees all and wings it´s way half way around the world wrapping it´s eyes around forests, field and prey.

What I need to know.

You tell me what you want me to know.
Hope, where can I get what I need to know.
Some vendor selling news, some guru dressed up to be you, be real with me.
You don´t tell me what i need to know, I end up doing exactly the opposite of what serves me well.
I end up buying the news from where the conartists sell.
Why can´t you just give the minimum consideration.
Instead of leaving me high and dry, wisdom´s dehydration.

Raise me dry.

Raise me up for I feel the velocity of my fall.
Like a toddler nothing more than a toy in his hand dropping...
A drink bottle in his mind as he takes a tumble.
Raise me up for my legs have betrayed me once again.
Raise my awareness, raise my salary.
Just raise my eyebrows, give me a little sparkle when I raise my head early.
Raise my aura waving.
Raise me to happiness, give me a halo swirling.

Men come and go

Many men have come and many have gone sharing their trophies, their claims to fame, their songs.
Their persuasive line of reasoning leaning us into their wild stories so long.
Many men boast and bother people with it.
Exaggerating the size of the fish and the way they live.
And many men do just humble fine.
They talk less and do more, knowing we all have a short time.
Too busy thanking god to address all of his regrets gone
Their simple existance, they were true signs on this road to death and beyond.

Hot flinch

Hot flinch, the very glimpse of you makes me itch.
Some species of irresistable bitch.
How you´ve cooked and peeled these pieces of yearning.
Images of your flesh partly covered by ferns.
You must have smiled as you took them out to thaw, and drenched them in honey.
I´d like to see you bathe on verander inviting and sunny.
Shameless and purposeful i´d have found you.
You´d gaze sweetly as I´d drown.
You´d gaze sweetly fresh as fucking spring.
To you it wouldn´t mean a thing.
And you turn the fantasy like a wheel in our heads, those tubes in our hearts expand and contract.
Turning our insides into kitchens with negligent chefs.
Planning the passion, the promise and the moment to leave us bereft.
As wicked and wild eyed as a tiger cub learning to kill.
Teasing the shit out of us from a window sill.
Hot flinch the very glimpse of you makes me itch.
If it wasn´t such a treat for my eyes, if it wasn´t such an urge that struggles beneath the surface.
Yet you seem cold, dry and only satisfied when i´m nervous.

Care for trouble?

Yes I just take the easy road seems like I don´t care for trouble.
No stress and much less another risk of me tumbling.
Judge me, such smooth skin and your voice so sweet.
Maybe you´ll get a taste of what i´ve had to eat.
Beauty smiles and provocative body language.
Now you might get a bite of my sandwich.
Yes I just take the easy road seems like I don´t care for trouble.
But atleast I don´t live in a make-up smudged bubble.

It belongs in your heart...

The game was astounding.
Nailbiting, you won and shoved it in their face.
They spread out after the police intervened, but came back with maces.
Now they want to take it all out on you.
So stick together and chant, scream in your group.
Torn t´shirts for teams that win or lose for profit making suits.
Dead fans up on the gutter, bloodstained conctrete, no to you politics doesn´t matter, too busy making ends meat(meet).
Yet you flock to see the glass shatter and see your rivals get beat.
That pride and hate that lives in your heart.
Violent gurgle gargle strangle!

Hedgecutters secret

Cut and let fall.
Leaf branch and empty dry twig.
Hedgecutting snipping and snapping to even it all snug.
Far reaching cuts to get those flopping up shoots down.
Clap clap clap, a haircut on a hedge, a shape that suits.
The foliage peels off and falls like drops of water.
Now this smooth and rounded finish, the topiary sort.
All the leaves and the branches go into the ground as compost.
Turning it all back into soil nothing´s lost.

Pizza

Mozzarela cheese stretches divinely and the blobs of creamcheese wobble before a mouth full.
Seared ham, pepperoni and bacon sweating and browning like a swimsuit supermodel sunbathing in the carribean.
Under it all a tangy tomatoe sauce a centimetre thick with a basil flow and strong hints of oregano.
And the crust semicruchy half between a pancake and half between a tortilla yet thicker than the two.
The way to create a pizza lover, is to cook these beauties in a smokey log fire oven.(not quite poetry but an ode to pizza)

Gut Slim

Bright rigamortis, help me wretch me help wretch from a viking ship.
Blood rich hype and reason bleeding blades are steeling.
Felt not quite right breathing after battle I´d like to get compost acquainted.
Thick grinning shepards snakes, a peasants trap, this shack shall be burnt.
Throw the smiling serpents into the lake.(never knowing if they would drown not caring enough to wait and see)
Strict and striking gutslim viking´s blows like lightening.
Against monsters mighty talons and mighty seeth.
Throwing the froth trolls into the dark humid chasm.
Their battle, their freindship, their thirst for blood hard to fathom.
Dropping and throwing axes hitting heads and legs and torsos to a gutslim rhythm.

Sharks would hope.

The shark would hope for a piece of me or you.
Clinging to the side of a boat half of us underwater waiting for that leisurely crunch.
Rows of teeth like blades, pity circle of life and all that! Coming round and chompin teeth.
Yes drifting on half a raft aimlessly at sea. Then up underneath and bang blood and limbs left hanging similiar to the neglect that landed you here on the surface of a monsters platter. Sharks would hope.
Just swimming out an extra hundred metres could end up being expensive.
Just one bite one small rip and the damages extensive.
The surfboard´s with holes and teethmarks, amputees.
Off reefs where swells gather and so do sharks for tea.
Shark´s would hope, don´t buy the seal story.
They know it´s us and try to make it slow and gory.

pepilnotgo

Where did pepilnotgo go?
Isn´t he a strange fellow.
The way he stalls progress and bellows.
Why did Glumdustbite return?
The no nonsense neighbour brave enough to save us is he?
Pepilnotgo where four five six?
How you used to write in stretched letters and crow like a mickaboss bird.
Why did glumdustbite ring the door to death last thursday, giving old retired couples such a fright. He couldn´t have copped it at a worse moment.
T´was Pepilnotgo throwing his hammer and hurting Glumdustbite in an ugly manner, the two never hit it off, like you´re not understanding it(at all baby what´s this about).
Glum was unstable like this poem´s making you(unstable not glum kay?). The police orbited getting those fingers in ink and prospects to sink. Now he´s dead that man Glumdustbite.
Pepilnotgo was approached the police and cut a piece of the peach so their pie was much sweeter.
The medics doubted Glumdustbite´s death, like I´ve doubted the death of this unrhyming nonsensical poem, so he was whooshed to the hospital like a mickaboss bird with a flame on it´s tail feather.
And between predictable institutions, whining geriatrics and predictable lines, you´ll never hear more about pepilnotgo and glumdustbite or any other characters from that part of my mind.

The end of the flu

Slack is my neck as I deep sleep.
Knackered is my back as I nap.
Lack is what I feel.
Waking with a swollen tongue, I need to cool my head it´s baking.
Trashed is the way my skin feels. The stranger in my spirit lifts my head to take a gulp of medicine.
Cramped are my legs and blank is my mind, deaf are my ear to the way my heart begs.
I feel lack on waking and my head´s still baking.
Cramped are my legs and I ignore the way my heart begs.
There´s such an excess of yoke in my life´s lil´egg.

The beginning of the flu

"Clang" my head´s thumping on both sides.
"Clutch" my throat´s aching enough to dry reach.
"Ring" my ears seem to be on hooks, the telephones ringing.
"Greeeel" the pale cloud was put out today just because i´m sick.
"Twinge" not just the one in my back but they´ve set up shop in my shoulders too.
"d*mn" I wont be able to enjoy cool relaxation this weekend.
Now this flu leaves a dent in my aching throat and a bomb in my clanging head.

Beat suspect

On and off on and off.
Unique rhythm.
Round and steady it repeats.
Becoming infectious in the crescendo etc.
In your boots you worship it, saturday night´s sips.
Now the scene is set for you to give yourself to the beat.
It comes down like a hundred falling barrel.
Before the riffs let loose the beat plays to your heart in your vein narrows.

Taniwha stole my cake

The t.v was broken, it had tribal lettering carved into it with a spear.
Children played on the floor telling stories of spirit monsters.
The frightening whistle blew and the trees outside shook their leaves.
The children played with a strange looking puzzle, each piece scarred by a symbol.
The symbols seemed to darken and curve when joined, and when they all joined a terrible cracking sound emitted from it.
The children didn´t even flinch, somehow they knew they were safe.
Alas I was cut in half and for me there would never be anymore birthday cake.

The two hornets

Two fat bellied hornets fought together in the poorly lit bathroom.
T´was like a world war two dog fight, their buzzing resembled distant machine gun fire.
As they dove like kamikazes toward a sea vessel with purpose and angst.
One stung the other inches from hitting the floor.
"Ping" the paralysed hornet hit the ground.
Whilst the other hornet curved up in a triumphant arc toward the light.
He ran a few victory laps around the light again and again until his wing tore and he also died.

Feast of frenzy

The preachers husky cry echoes to the rafters through the large church hall.
Peoples emotions enraged, astounded and appalled.
Reverberating through the ears of all present.
Like a dell full of crowing squeeling pheasants.
Sending them all into a trrance induced frenzy.
Can´t put a price on that.

Our delusion

How much can the common man give himself to delusion?
Outside their beliefs is a sinister species of confusion.
A patriots obvious answers.
The vacant look on the face of a beautiful dancer.
Subtle forms of scorn break through like fists.
Sometimes eloquent othertimes ugly and blatantly twisted.
We are all blessed by creation.
Alas each person in the world believes his is god´s own nation.
Assuming the other countries are not as worthy in relation.
And when we go to seek them and kill them in so many ways.
God´s own hands are far way.
And we judge them as if we have something to say.
But god´s own voice remains at bay.
How much can the common man give himself to delusion?
Banalize the spiritual with self righteousness.

Sweet seal in the wop

Churning running brimming like honey.
My heart.
Heaps of sugar that´s the feeling, switched onto bright morning colour, lay me out like fresh washing.
It throws rays and opens the day it runs all over me, like you made me the wick of a candle lit.
How did I get to be surrounded by so many seedless smiles, whole crunchy and alive.
Slow motion side walk breeze, if I only had a second left it would be sent giving thanks.
Hop and also happy to hope in the wop of life, in the real definition of confusion, I still grin at and hug those near who are true and willing.
Not an ounce of anger as I hear my destiny banging, many moons will see me shrivel, though I will love each one.

The woman begger

He said don´t pay her from his new car.
As the begger approached.
"What she done to earn it?"
As she approached with her missing teeth and dirty clothes.
Survival on the street is all she knows.
As the motorist shook his finger even though it was in her face she was hurting.
The woman humbly apoligized for the disturbance and exited with her children dressed in old curtains.
The driver laughed and added, "There´s not enough teets on society´s cow."
I managed to pretend to laugh somehow.
Bragging is rewarded, honesty is unknown.
A demon issued tickets to where your conscience has flown.
Waves of ignorance drain our compassion and pump our hate full of stimulants. the old and wealthy decrepid and impotent.
Ambition and the constructs of competitve arenas. Blind consumption and the way it bleeds us.
The woman begger and her life to you are vague distractions. No money, no dreams, few belongings and no attractions.
Middle aged emptiness and denial, when half the world just aims for survival. Mediocre entertainment and how the masses sit back and marvel.
Social advancement and human life first, high ideals- when we´re not dying of hunger or thirst.
How you love to condemn the woman begger!

Across town

Bouncing around in the back, those containers of water.
Little spills here and there, quenching the cars carpet on this hot journey-in-autumn.
Speed rumm... and rush around corners down slopes nad d*mn...
Caught at another redlight, held up for minutes,still warm switch the aircon/fan.
Changing lanes and the slow dreamer in front tempts my hand to the horn and beeeee-eep, that´ll wake him!
The weather´s fine the possibility for accidents is looking nice and slim.
Under a bridge and round the hardbend whoops looks like the containers are going to take a tumble, wow I just rolled into the correction seconds before a possible drenching of my cars interior.
Dodging potholes in the roads through the more neglected areas.
Up I come again ot an intersection, cursing at leaving so late, behind another line of lazy driver´s at a red light.
The haste is stressful, because the time limits tight.
I got the cool air running through, cause outside it´s burning.
Huh, delivering stuff ACROSS the city can be a real rough journey.

The dog society

Never retreating country club sweet thing.(immer-reich).
I´m trying not to blink as I observe you and you security guards observe me not so stealthily.(wach-hund blöt)
Your beach house that I pass, smelling the unaffordable cheese of the wealthy.(käse kopf)
Dictating style, what´s hip and what´s vile, doing fashion shows on cruise ships on the nile.(Tiefer wasser aber nicht in dein fluss...)
Etiquette the quirky party game, say and gesture much the same, the keep the poor at bay they´re chaos and bile.(Ärme leute sind empfindlich)
Exaggerated laughing and dancing, taunting, flaunting and provoking.(kein hertz, keine sorgen)

Sense you

I can´t join your club.
Be one of your lost loves,
but i read your body language like I wrote it myself.
I can´t help it.
Picking up on the hesitations.
Your subtle tolerances and your lacks of patience.
The useless repitition or brave change of tone.
Your urge to feel the crowd and your urge to be alone.
I read your body language as if I wrote it myself.
Yet I remain like a neglected book on some high up shelf.
I see you near the water, you always float my boat.
Even when you hate and gossip even when you gloat.
I see your vibrant colour as if I had mixed it all myself.
But I warn you now sweetness, one day soon it will melt.

Duped!

You´ve molded my confusion, and extended my delusion.
Spun me along on a half truth on an ugly wriggling ruse.
I thought I had the power to choose, the fact i´m powerless is breaking news.
Wrapped up in your well constructed illusion.
None of it´s true.
I´m stationary cause your trap has got me stuck like glue.
I´ve been strung along and outmaneuvered too.
By your cunning stinging and arranging of subtle subterfuge!

Lost the crush

My candle blew out now you don´t grow on me.
Nod and smile now you make my life boring.
Strike your pose know we are watching.
Are your clothes? In are they mode? Are they matching?
Admiration´s dying, poor thing used to jump like a horse.
I guess those lil´ feelings ahve gently run their course.
Now disappointment matures and catches waves off what you say.
Meddle with heart thrive and jealousy.
Fight for that centimetre of hot prestige.
Lost the crush, had enough of how you love to be flattered and blush.

Moustache man

He´s a bit of maintenance keeping the leaks from dripping.
Painting and paving the living room.
Talking your head off making you dizzy.
Laughing and clowning turning the screws.
Applying the plaster plunging the loo.
What a strange moustache fuzzy like his workmanship.
He hit´s it with beer froth before he takes his afternoon kip.
He´s down stairs now job´s finished he´s bragging.
He´s boasting and joking and driving you madhouse.
Let´s hope his little job keeps the taps intact.
For his last ones could only be described as lacking.

Irritation

Oh the worst cold afternoon.
Fleas unwind and how they itch and scratch.
Leave a patch infected oohhhh.
It runs along the head and claws down the neck causing a rash.
Etching, sketching it´s biting point.
The food you ate for lunch was rich,
And your friends tone annoyed you just a touch.
Your minds brought back to the ditch you drove your brother´s car into.
In the morning getting the stitch climbing the last hill to your home.
Now fleabitten on the sofa the t.v´s on the glitch again.
Go outside take a swig of beer wow it´s too cold, you b*tch about it.
Go back in scratching your bumpy arms in a bad state your face twitches.
Too lazy to take a bath, too uncomfortable to sit, how divine your scream now so high pitch!

Eaten

Some sides of our society are ruled by pretense.
Taken over by a convenient fiction, that profits only one family.
At the country´s expense.
Shamelessly dipping into people´s pockets to furnish their lives a little more.
Some parts of our communities have been eaten up by corruption while the guilty point at whores.
Tied and marinated by the unscrupulous and their kind.
Hidden in deep down where not even the IRS can find.
Little cycles of all ice, greed and denial.
Their silencing of the honest folk is cold and b*st**l.
Some people give you little choice but to accept a bribe and before long...
You´re playing in their cool band, to their tune.
One day you´ll fall when favours affect people you care about as they´re eaten by this frost.
You´ll be jetted back to your infancy when you played musical chairs and you realized everybody lost.

In his ear...

Behind the elm at the foot of the garden.
There´s an invisible elf both earnest and ardent.
Many a man tilted his head by that tree, to get it´s wisdom.
Yet it was the serious elf whispering in the branches hidden.
It happened one day as the woodcutter lay and pondered on felling the majestic elm.
Above the leaves appeared the elf from a strange foreign realm.
He did not speak, though when he opened his mouth came a torrent of ideas.
Each one went into the woodcutters mind as if he could really hear.
That well dressed elf camoflaged until autumn.
Helping the simpleton nearby when confusion had caught him.
Blowing out troubles and unrealistic fears.
By a sublte whisper noiselessly in his ear.

Loving nature

I rever green glowing leaves reaching toward each seasons sky.
The flight of the aphid eating ladybird, the noble worker bee, the graceful butterfly.
I agree with natures expression of enlightenment attained in flowering cycles.
The conifer evergreen, the changing leaves of deciduous trees. I adore this more than I like it.
Variegated hedges multicoloured appeal.
paddocks riddled with wild flowers, that solstice` time feel.
Palm fronds curve and dangle, fanning interlaced hands, a tropical stigma.
Growth and abundance transforming the mundane, colour is it´s enigma.
The endings and new beginnings as cold months shrug and hot ones nod.
Beauty frequently delivered, proves the existance of an incredible god.

Where the lantern hangs.

Not many here speak our language.
Or eat the familiar conveyer belt made ham sandwich
The young get lost in the aisles.
Clothes and hair fare their own styles.
Like zoo animals recently escaped.
Pickled sweetness of plums and dates.
You can ask a dozen times the misunderstanding doesn´t become any clearer.
When you ask why that special sauce is always getting dearer.
Hanging lanterns, promises, a better life, new paint!
To cover the old, and mask the graffiti list of complaints.
Surface distraction it´s heart still owned by the blood that runs through it.
Like the red lamposts and their quaint boxes lamplit.
The expensive wooden awnings and trim.
The noodle man and his toothfilled grin.
Your little tourist adventure through a china town.
A place where péople who are found...
Are called wing and wang.
A place where gods have many limbs and fangs.
A place where the oriental lantern hangs.

Robbing dusk.

The daylight disappeared with the curfew.
Twilight and the odd lonely cricket.
The lunchbar closed because evening meals weren´t served there.
So organised and still glowing from the afternoon customers.
I could still hear the cricket outside when the bankrobbers entered cocking their pistols on entry.
Gunshots went into the counter and shouting flew up the walls and shivered down our backs.
Searching for the money to give these criminals.
Not a cent in the register.
It got so dark so quick I didn´t hear or see the bullet that flew between my eyes.
 It made it´s resting place somewhere where my spine and brain connect.
My spirit left my body as the suns last hue faded.

She was furniture

She is nothing but a road sign.
An arrow for my eye.
Allbeit easing the friction of my grind.
Loosening the tightness of the knot life ties.
It was a dry night party she was a long sofa for sports people.
The alternative crowd and I layed low as periphery beetles.
Beer was scarce so I went up stairs and there she was a queen size bed.
So I lay on her and before long she was picking pieces from my head.
For so long i´d been rolling courage just to meet her.
My cold heart edges forward toward this woman three bar heater.

We seldom speak of...

We seldom speak of heaven.
A distant goodness fate does cry.
Could it be layers of ascension.
No simple kingdom in the sky.
We seldom speak of heaven.
Or the colours it inspires.
This bark I shed like so much shame,
like so many blatant lies.
So when I leave this big round test.
Throw water on this fire.
I wont question my existance,
or even inquire why.
 

Incendiary

A wicked wild smile.
get´s the flame inside alitltle higher.
"Never going to get it smile", crawling everwider.
Such a provokative girl throwing her lips and teeth around,
as loose as a summer blouse.
Like a teenager high on her own hormones.
Contacting the world of men through her smile.
A wicked grin that burns a hole within.
A species of want piquant and appealing.
Yet we break out in allergic reactions that never heal.
Call it wild fire attraction or a fever of feelings.

Consideration.

Wake up and life´s okay.
Cars breakdown buildings decay.
Clothes get ripped and torn, glasses break.
True human progress?
The refined conscience or self awareness?
Do these physical forms and mediums,
really represent our obtained freedom.
Many never even cherish what they have in their hand.
Spending their mouth muscles on complaints and demands.
Do you understand the authentic value of what you´ve earned.
Do you see everything worth only in money terms.
Does your tongue lose it´s tastebuds and your nose it´s sense to smell.
What a dreary life we´re in for when in ungratefulness we dwell.

Cream serpent

That bolt of Cream lightening.
The cloudy soup flanking the city with fronts of rains and hard claps.
Baton down the hatches.
The tumbling boulders that are the thunder.
Prompting worry or mild wonder.
Rain strengthens thickening and developing into an intense deluge.
The storm is hitting and they say it´s huge.
Lightening flicking on and off like a childs finger on the light switch.
Pedestrian petrified kneedeep hiding in a ditch.
I saw one of those bolts falling toward the earth like an electric serpent illuminated.
Perhaps for some of nature´s laws, no doubt carelessly violated.

Honeymoon tank.

Skies are blue.
Between the trees you´ve organised your party.
Happiness has descended and now it´s covering you.
All the people at your wedding were women some of whom are still in love with you.
You little rebel you raise you rifle true.
Up on the tank like Gaddafi´s lynchmob.
Ammunition and the sky is blue.
Up on the tank declaring your love.
For the bride beside and her uncanny beauty.
A crossfire of emotions like an ambush shooting.
In your heart there´s just a teaspoon of horror.
You should have got married alone with the mirror.

Tool.

A land with such a scarred surface.
Goldrush slaves are ruled by the perverse.
Excavation, an abomination white sterile earth.
You open up the ground and whole new curse.
A thousand brainless miners died with not a gram of gold.
Their arms and mediocre minds for peanuts sold.
But your life will be a gem for wanting, and how you want!
A piece for you a new toy for you to flaunt.
Envy tracks down like what the tyres leave in the mud.
Terminal wilting point, a fine collection of illusions.
He comes out of the hole with blindness and bruises.
Priceless as they take your life in a man made cave where the canary died so long ago.
And on go your mindless collegues as they tirelessly burrow.
Where did your purpose go just trying to feed your family and how you hated to question, you tool mmmmm. They´ve used you.
You love their tough talk their hard lines too.
Their mansions will never burn as your family loses it´s father.
Sometimes you´ll win it through grindstone pain. How proud!
These steel hearts obsessed with gain and exclusion win it through plain deceit. You worship them with teaparty ferver.
The sick joke is you´d back up the elite scum that´d see your face pushed into the ground.

Sunken

Your favourite place with pungent familiarity.
A mediocre cafe, a little noddy diner the same smiles and fat.
The gospel roadshow gives you your yearly overdose of culture.
Your neon signed restaurant with decorated food and not a drop of flavour.
Mind numbing archaic jargon yet not an ounce of spirituality to savour.
You´ve your haughty rules but not a grain of honesty.
Your favourite place you associate with luxury.
The overpriced coffee makes you feel worth it, follow them in.

Seeth

I am the evening here, it has become me. The evening mist the twittering sparrows the coolness.
Though this mass of glass, iron and concrete has risen up from the shoreline.
The force of my hand dropping the time on this town!
I am a humid incubator, part of me a meagre bed, where the elderly rest their fears and cramp and doubts.
Not caring how long it takes, holy cloud kingdoms or firey lakes.
I´ll be here for eternity, this world wont wash it´s hands of me.
I´m only gone to what the satellite sees.
I´m never gone from these metropole memories.
I´m not gone and my verse still breathes in this polluted city which never ceases to seeth.

The power you lust for.

Sweet speeches structured, a franchise formula.
Loud and invoking, the power you want is wrong.
Power to convince, to persuade, to control so you may exalt yourself.
A license to encourage subtle brainwash.
Teaching people to be medievil, to shun reality.
This masterpiece we call daily life is transforming, don´t turn it into a monster.
The humility you ditched in the last month of your ascent.
The microphone rattles with a "do as I say and not as I do" rattle.
As if you could lead by example.
Telling, selling and dwelling on people´s prejudice, not a premise to live.
No fancy bigotry will get you closer to the power you lust for.

Streetman no change

Duck legs on you, what a wet day!
Hands in your pockets marsupial brave.
Badger eyes, scanning the damp street.
Lean back on the wall folding into your own dark shadow.
Shrug your shoulders noone´s parking and p*ss off.
Continue up the road as it rains down and look for shelter, penniless.

Treachery in blue.

Lightening blue enters the room when you do. Giving the impression something´s broken, you´re an incident. Hanging on to an idea, on the outside sweet and confident. Elevate your voice the crowd craves the punchline. Are you in the mood to laugh too. In the group there´s someone who sees when the light turns blue, he´s like me when you laugh and we both see through. Your fading ego, flying boars hitting clouds of your insincerity. To impress, to ignore though the crowd comes before. Satisfy your sympathy and in the blue light cry.
\Give the girl an excuse to hold her interest in you high.
\Of those flattering words ingenuine. you can share a few with me.

Garden of guns

Hap Happening lapsided holster.
That hoe and fork gives the trigger finger blisters.
In his lap a shotgun as he stroked the flowers with his fat fingers.
The scent of sage and gunsmoke lingers.
When the lightening falls and thunder cracks simultaneously.
You´re hit like the bullet your enemy gave flight too shamelessly.
The thudding of some tenacious assault rifle in the fields.
Our lust for arms like a noxious ivy that never yields.
The pistols pollenated and cocked.
Your kids trying to pick your gun case lock.
Life seems so precious why are we growing this garden of guns.
I guess we need the fertilizer and gunpowder for so many tonnes of pretty bombs.
But when they blossom on our loved ones, we´ll be planting new ones before too long.

Distraught

In the fire.
Surrounded and betraying survival.
Tie the knot in the noose.
Mortality taking a bite.
In the fire.
Visiting a whole life
departing in fragments of what once was.
Forfeiting existance.
In the fire.
Futile struggling.
Frying in a complex mind.
Trying any exit you find.
The battle for living is fought.
Winning enemy emotion DISTRAUGHT!

The lie.

I had the truth in a vice,
I bent it almost broke it.
Now its in the shape of a lie.
I had my word,
I spent and choked it.
Breaking genuine,
my authenticity died.

Gold

Brilliant shine of which i pine.
Plight of mine, never shrinks.
Goodwill fine, forgotten.
Life in champagne, spoilt, spilt.
More than a dime.
My golden veins coursing.
My brain ignores those moral polished signs.
Coin in hand for it is i whom will buy nine
lives.
Buy jewelry on line with my overdeveloped
financial.
Oh my gold, oh my rich. My extravagant more
than enough saying hello to my optimistic half
full heart.
My car, you are my all shining, bold, all
glowing product of my gold.
Wines, special wines 200 dollars the glass through.
What luxuries, moreover fantasies are yet to come true.(this is a sarcastic poem)

Clown of ruin.

Frown downward sown.
Sympathy your ears crave.
Where's the soul . . .
Your soul so taunted?
Infatuation's slave.
Upon the Earth ruled by jealousy.
Upon birth, a clown of ruin.
Tragic course of an empty vessel
That no port will let through or in.

A load of me.

When the chandalier shatters,
and over spills the platter-
full of delicacies.
When the annoying voices chatter,
for their tone and lack of matter.
Being bitten by the unreachable flea.
When your house is full of clatter,
when you feel a tight full bladder,
yet no toilet free to pee.
When the world is hard to fathom,
Your mind flirts with the madhatter.
Wait till you get a load of me.

Disturbed.

Hogeyed next to the computer.
Lazy legs dangle, my mouths on mute.
The haze of the screen has me hypnotised.
Crashing rain passes back to drizzel outside.
I´m glued to this machine like one of it´s wires.
My hands are busy clicking and typing tirelessly.
This window into technologies rumble, into a busy little world that´ll disappear in an earthquake or a storm.
The keys touch me and the mouse holds my hand.
Am I part of it? Or is it part of me?
Will I soon bleed electricity?

Squawky

She get´s squawky.
The many that comment.
The way they mention passively.
Something not on the agenda, she gives it to them aggressively.
Something not on the menu, she´s blunt and it works so effectively.
Her hard words hit them like the beat of the very music they detest.
Her tone rebounds in a bomb-aiming shuttle, it´s unexpected sharp and attracts very little rebuttle.
She kills it like a pheasant five foot off the ground.
She puts the issue under, until it´s submerged and then finally drowned.
They think she deserves a gag, but i think she should get a crown.

The shepherd.

Not joyful for the rains have claimed many spring lambs.
Some those his own reddened hands helped birth.
His trembling legs hold him up over the craggy grassy mound.
He wishes to be melted into the sun, a divine departure warm and illuminating.
His breath is divided by his grief and his hopes, this humble sheep herder.
God pats his head and pins and needles touch his skull like sweet ants comforting him.
To the river he goes and from it he drinks and fills his canteen with this water that is truly silence.
Across the paddocks his hopeful eyes scan at the animals that sustain his life and his love of all things living.
God pats his head and whispers subtle like " This earth shall claim your hardened limbs, then you shall truly dance."
A distant hill caught the light of clouds opening. And contentment settled on him like a season.

A town built for invitation.

It´s mostly dark and neighbours gather on lamplit veranders.
Warm breezes move through like outsiders passing by.
From the sidewalk you can see what people are watching on their t.v´s.
If you press your ear against the walls you can hear what they are thinking.
Big three story triangular houses each one begging me to visit.
Friendly chatter reaches out and invites you to join afterdinner coffee or a latenight lager session.
Each illuminated porch beckoning.
Like an endless summer night open and warm.
Revealing hospitality´s nocturnal form.

Want this blade(fucking possesed)

I´ve been hiding it. Knock up and down anger in my chest.
I´ve been holding it though I´m planning to give it back in double.
Fraudulent games spend my life away, if I don´t burn them they´re going to blind my path to certain harmony.
It´s come to my attention and stand before me bear all, bear all.
Insistance has never been me, so you force it curiously looking at my blade.
And as I present it the worry washes your face so clean of that dirty smirk my man.
Foresee the lashing out of every little piece of anger that´s been crowding me.
You want this blade in you, i´d give it with love, like a repugnant don juan sir.
You want to give up on the world with your apathy and tell me how I should to, suck this blade please fellow.
Prepare to bleed chap, it´s been a long time coming.
Old fashioned nothing buy this diamond buy this shine buy your beliefs for a sunday morning dime.
I´m here with the conscience clear, premeditating.
We can dig the hole before you sting like a last living camel in the desert sort of thing.
I´ll even lick the first drop ritualistic, lil´nostalgias to keep your adrenaline up before you lose your life.
I´ll put the demon that has become you out of it´s misery.

Let me vent(a republican vote means disease)

Let me vent.
The man who claims to know what´s Right for the world.
His dagger´s at my back for confronting him.
Conservative fool.
False freedom, lack of compassion.
The axe shines and my heart implodes.
Should I turn the other cheek, when you´d see me burn.
I think the man you should thank is your greatest scapegoat.
Deny woman their rights, deny history are you getting closer to noble?
Your scorn bothers me and the handle seems to edge closer to my hand like a jedi sword.
Disdain for culture, refrain from healthy debate.
A sick form of draconian rhetoric.
This man rid us of the new milleniums symbol of terror.
You´ll vote for a miserable old fashioned bigot with his hand on his purse or his mind up in kolob.
There´ll be no mercy for you.
The grinding stone is the only movement that gives me comfort as you lie about the only man who cared about your country.
A man who had to accept insult, a man who sculpted an acceptable future from the blackened boulders of a redneck who opened Iraq to every extremist in the middle east.
You´ll vote for the nobles full of words and platitudes who´d send your sons to war and their´s to university.
You´ll vote for the illusion of perfection, rightwing pig pens.
Let me vent ungrateful clowns, with your hate of knowledge and intellect.
Lard and pills and predictable hate speech.
Here´s my rage and it´s aimed at your ignorance.
For when you start becoming a weight on the world...
Maybe we´ll send you to guantanamo...
Right is right. And you´re not.

Firey mouth

Coughing sparks, your face a barbeque.
Igniting the room with little pieces of burning you.
Laughing embers out, your tongue aflame.
You play scorching humour like a pyromaniac´s game.
Those little veins on your soft neck pumping gas into your throat and out through your airways.
Your voice incinerates our ears and parches our hair.
Those everburning logs you call teeth, white heat.
With each ball of fire you use to greet us.
Little explosions pass out of your furnace lips.
Tell me is it also that hot between your gracious hips.

Prince of peace

The price of peace was taken out of the...
Prince of peace, in the wartorn middle east.
Callouses sprang from his fingers and goat´s milk stained his beard.
The true vine grew.
By foot and by hand.
Over rocks and neutral sand.
With a watering can in one hand and an axe in the other.
The word of reason, where truth accumulated so did souls of virtue.
Where he stopped the via of malice.
And cut out the root of fallacy.
Sitting under the cloudless sky sharing but one moment to see the noble flame so well hidden in each of we.
A grin opens like our hearts when we let go.
As the river sustains us everflowing, yielding even when we pollute it.
Even when we limit it to a meagre trickle.
Like our awareness.
Forgiveness breaks the damns that resentment blocked and floods the towns where hate colonized.
The true vine. The light and the prince of peace.
I´m not preaching, when i´m speaking of Jesus.
It´s more than a belief.

Face in question

Sit back and tell yourself it can´t be true.
The image I conjured in your mind so foreign, that hint of disgust sparks sarcasm when we discuss it.
Sit back and bathe in the standards that conditioned your existance.
If not for a small stain in your mind "brainwashed".
Question this little insight I had the gall to share.
That breached conventions sentiment and reached your fears.
Early assumptions of good and bad that molded your conscience before you could even walk.
Meet my eyes again with contempt, deride my notions of compassion.
Some rule with no exceptions escapes your lips to justify everything you can´t explain.
Some hard fact that would break under truths weight.
And delight radiates between my lobes just to see your face in question.
Maybe you´ll wake.
 

Empty vessels drift.

Emptiness consumes the thirsty heart.
When every idea has it´s absurdity, it´s nonsensical part.
A predictable set of beliefs so very excrutiating.
A concrete floor full of cracks, watch your step.
And beauty how she inconveniently beckons.
When ugliness dulls our ambitions, some peace is reached from...
Our destructive expectations.
Simple intoxicants calm our embered temples and restless urges and egos.
It´s inevitable that you lose yourself divinely only to find yourself obsessed with dogmas and romantic theories.
Every idea has it´s absurdity, it´s mysterious appeal.
Emptiness longs to be filled.
Ignorance traded for ignorance, distancing mundane wisdom from our fantastic theories and opiates that get us closer to the heavens in our fickle minds.

Posture of treason.

The way my neck betrays me.
Shoulders and morals.
Stand up straight, the blood flows quicker.
Your knees are as your will, easily bent.
And your hips can´t turn much...
you´re afraid to dance.
See it by the way you sit.
Your many angles, crossed legs or supporting elbows.
You´re body is such a puzzle, kind of like this life so many sell formulas for.
Your posture neither prostrate nor vertical.
As stable as your moods are.
kick it out, though the cramps stick when you´re stuck.
Life has to make sense about as much as poetry has to rhyme.
Beautiful rules give the superficial people platitudes to cushion their fragile spines.

Fruitful

The day I sowed you.
Springtime´s clock hand pointing to lush.
Seeds and excited cotyledons.
When you germinated, I was contented.
The sun invited you and the wind vented.
The growth of your leaves and stems saw my merriment arrive.
The sweet soil I´d prepared for you dark and alive.
Branches gave way to shoots.
Tiny flowers were replaced by to fruits.
God in nature is abundant and marvellous,
as summer´s clock hand pointed to harvest.

Clandestine quirk

I lift up my life.
I find so many great ways of helping others.
You can delay may flight!
You can slander my work.
I don´t mind you can´t hurt my feelings or breach my rights.
I´ll light you up clandestine quirk.
Satisfaction is mine.
So lift up your life and desist to hate in wrything knots of hypocrisy.
Claims are noble, but behind your actions there´s something missing.
Obsession with being right, class and trials.
You say you´re next to god, I´d say you are miles.
The baggage you carry, the fear in your heart.
Love is about being together, you´d like to see us all apart.
You can be a priest preaching purity and peace.
Though corruption hides behind the cloth, the desk and even the police.
So lift up your life and put your money where your mouth is.
Accept others and find where the truth lives.

Summer legs.

Incredible legs.
Tones of brown that knock me around.
Tans that smack my face to attention.
Hammer my eyes to down there.
Summer legs and quite often sunshine smiles.
As they cross the road, they shock my world.
I get hit across the stomach by a lust oar.
lose my attention at the wheel.
Short skirts and shorts so short you´d think I had them custom made.
Though how´d those cheeky girls know that from the hem to the...
Sandals and flip flops and my wonder grows.

Daydream class.

Instructions and information, little tricks to get you interested.
The curriculum a set of rules and facts to be memorized and listed.
The teacher stood with his back against the desk and his fist holding up his chin. Waiting for you to answer... Waiting.
Then he tosses your latest essay swish shot into the bin.
You were more interested in the distractions of life.
Each time you woke clenching your well bitten pencil you sharpened with a knife.
No relief from the threat of bad grades.
And all the acne and emotions of the teenage phase.
The teachers there telling you about last century and your minds in a game.
Your work was always late and your excuses were lame.