All or nothing man

How do you split an all or nothing man,
into hundreds of broken pieces?
All smudged with confusion the colour that grease is.
And you pick each piece up just to try to see your reflection.
Suddenly something hits your eye from broken me direction.

Shocked at what you see,
You throw a piece of me,
to the other end of your play pen of little treasures.
And watch how it shatters again on the wall which holds my picture.

Their design

Don´t tell me what´s right or what´s wrong!
For I think I can distinguish just fine.
Even through the deception well developed and so long.
I´d say these frustrations these illusions are all just mine.
The little piece of you, you play like an instrument, your song.
kidding yourself a plain piece of this man´s simple design.
A piece of his play that you now belong.
 So I´ll watch your dance as the sun sets and your fantasies dine.
Treating them like kings, you seemed so fond.
They were feeders of your sweet wine.
Out of their Kingdom I couldn´t drag you.
You´ve lied to yourself, you´ve shielded me and shielded the truth.

Won´t comment, hence.

I touched your nerve, feel your anger,
It grows from blue to red at the turn of a head.
Pulsating with the charm of your irony!
Deep hate you went their last night in your abhorrence of me.
Me dying slowly in your glorious of dreams.
Yet here I am again front of you the phantom of all crucial phantoms.
Here to wake you up to the torture of the hours.
Sink down into it like I had commanded it.
The inversion is complete and i´m now your master hence.
I´ve got you spinning in the wilderness of your curiosity lost beyond sanity´s quaint fence.

Through concealed emotion.

Must I use force to break the lie that you shield yourself with.
The funny pretences that cover you like fern leaves before the feast, ha.
How will I penetrate this facade that you put up before I reach you.
Steal that piece of your heart that you so appropriately associate with the stars.
I was behind you an invisible knight.
I was the hunter that spared your little game tasting life.
I speared through the concealed emotion.
Aiming to hold you for a second.
Yet you´d wiggle off any lance.

Señor Javier.

The dry plains of this land.
Parched, but not a blemish on your family.
The base of the olive tree wrinkles.
It´s as old as the moor muscle of the towns folk.
Older than any rioja vine or the blood of the bull.
Señor Javier the insignia and the expression of your passion.
This warm land still shares winter with the north.
The temperate mountains still collect a fine layer of ice.
The sadness about your children´s joblessness.
Hold spain, the blizzard of greed will all be invain!

Enin

Enin, not known.
Never met me.
Without gender up or down.
Walking on the outside of town.
Born outcast smiling always.
A rucksack for a kitchen and a rain hat as a roof.
A passing greeting, further more aloof.
Mystery and fear enters the witness to Enin´s presence.
Enin´s freedom to roam and power to see is it´s essence.

The mudskippers crude form.

Have you ever seen a mudskipper,
Content in the darks estuary slime.
He bounces happily upon damp algae rotten sand.
His fraternizing with filth should surely be deemed a crime.
The hypocrites mouth opens wide to condemn the weird fish.
As he steps on a washed up second world war mine.
And becomes jelly,
better yet a new jelled sludge for brave mudskippers to slither in.

A place of learning.

Front of the class.
Pleasant students answer my questions.
Easy to teach, almost each one a fan...
Of this brilliant life, that´s often quite hard to understand.
You can see their hands go up, new constructions.
They really want to get the answers.
Even the tallest obsessed with sport and chance,
Also the prettiest fast becoming dancers.
I see the slow thinker trying, I pray for his turning
For his mind to date velocity, in this place of learning.

Winding down/ curiosity so vital.

Wow big chat.
Lot´s resolved onto the road of glory.
Got our clients ansy like a neglected female pony.
Wow ace vibes, let´s cook and brag with a beer in our hand.
Let´s seel the deal and make a profit, keep it real.
Cashing titles, out of sight still.
Like an emperor, a kaiser, a pharaoh.
Whose bent on self destruction and will wind it down to zero.

 Say "whatever," "I don´t care".
I don´t know how that got there.
I accept things the way they are.
I don´t ponder how far the stars.
I turn the news to the soap opera.
Assimilate with the status quo what´s stopping ya?
Why do you not question your surroundings?
Why don´t you  look behind the things you´ve found.
Forgetting your queries and forgetting your doubts.
Become dead mass, only advertising comes out.
Offended by knowledge, angered by philosophy.
Deny your children the vital, curiosity.

Doesn´t like me.

Meddling with the rosters.
A complaining monster.
With a face contorted and grey.
Painted with anger and strong tones of disdain.
Not willing to help.
I´d wish she let her bad intentions melt.
When I approach the tenseness elevates.
Whatever I do I seem to aggravate.
Attempt saying hello...
A quick cold "Hi"!
Is it just me or does this woman wish I´d die?
Nothing is satisfactory,
something is always wrong.
I guess if she really wants me out-
it won´t take long.

No arms

Stumps on his shoulders.
Only the trunk of his body.
No handling, no touching.
Unbalanced upperhalf.
Tiny shed of a home.
Muddy backyard where half his crops-
struggle in the sloppy soil.
He raises the wheelbarrow with ropes tied around his broken shoulders,
so he might toil.

Winds strength.

It´s a whooshing and pushing my new crops over.
Beating the tree´s with mean easterlies,
atleast that´s the point that it favours.
Flying through the garden, a chaotic bombardment.
Holding the atmosphere´s fervor.
Sweeping the ground and whistling through windows.
Forming mini tornados when it curves.
Howling like hounds between the gaps between houses,
and beating on rooves when it rises from the south.
Only god knows what damage and the extent...
Will be caused by the wind and it´s boundless strength.

Man alone.

Almost a year since I connected.
Here a scare-crow.
A piece of me feels dissected.
My best friend is my shadow.
Vital organs are as stone.
Hide the pain a man-alone.
Every expression is repressed.
From neon beginnings to grey empty endings.
Same solititude, pretend it doesn´t pester me.
"There´s someone out there for you." Get bent.
NO providence, no destiny no angel heaven sent.
Enjoy memories on your own,
pathetic throne.
Ignore the stories the seeds of love have been sown.
For they are only sweet lies for a man-alone.

Move on.

The forecast is empty dim, tomorrow will be a dismal frenzy.
And the weekend holiday will be as grey as boring can be.
Yes the colour of boring color of lonely the eyes of the poor.
The notion of hope now´s a fish hook that you seem to get your mouth caught on from time to time.

Give it up like I´ll give up on the illusion of meaning in my rhyme.
The eyes say "come ask me out tonight" both are lying like an arsonist without a light.
Give it over. Stop thinking about what might.
It´s all about her feeling worth it, and "oh my god the creep had the courage to ask me!"

Move on,
It's my balls not your pockets that are bulging.
And my car is not yours...
Care free style trying to hide the way I feel poor.
There's not that romance I would completely adore.
So thank god for the little, and for god´s sake just move on.

Bitterness.

The right you have to sulk.
Turn your head there´s rage.
It seems your outside skin,
is simply a crude cage.
Brood on those thoughts of unfairness.
Naked grievance exposes all it´s bareness.
Not a single hug or kiss.
Fire to my insides, holding this bitterness.
As they speak of sparks and falling stars.
I´m lost in the dark wondering where they are.
Back to a severly bitter memory, there´s no love.
I´m hearing laughter from every corner, I´ve had enough.

Trouble to forgive

Holding onto it like a three year old´s teddy bear.
This grudge so dear, this stubborn fear.
The story is a satelite, outside your mind the earth,
It rotates around venting, transmitting all the worst.
It´s that cyborg zombie that you´ve buried almost a hundred times.
It digs it´s way out, to eat out your compassion and make you feed a lie.
Forgiving is an armour,
god has furnished here in us.
First we must decide to drop,
the grievance and the fuss.
See often we wrong others,
and seldom second guess...
That they have hate for us,
stored in outraged chests.

Slide on.

Hard to win, with a dozen others throwing your stuff in the bin.
Breakthrough walls made of resistance and grins.
Trying to build your own will, when it seems so thin.
I just take the rough with smooth.
The bonus with the loss and slide on through.
The good and the bad, the fine and the poo.
When lifes watery like a soup or chunky like a stew...
I get my imaginary skates on and just slide on through.

My rhymes sting.

I realize mine is sometimes a sting inside a rhyme.
A fight for freedom. A piece of simon.
When dependance is a word that´s bent and curved by every politician.
What is freedom but liberation.
The sting of my rhyme filled with inspiration.
The great injustices, humanity´s expectations.
The sting of my rhyme, effective as the wings of my words as I fly.
Not willing to preach, if I can simply reach you.
Showing you the walls of my heart and mind even when they´re dry.
And the ugly obstacle when there´s no way through.
The sting of my rhyme. poisonous to the fraudulent.
I want to show mercy, but not a drip to those who flaunt.
The sting of my rhyme, some feel sickly.
Words to signify the times, polar extremes passing by quickly.

As dangerous as priviledge.

Born rich in your wealthy neighbourhood.
Your well to do little part of the world so good.
Where daddy showers you in gifts.
Only the best schools, society lifts you.
And you cry bloody murder when you hear Africa is poor!
Saying "why don´t they get a job?" "Go door to door!"
"Why don´t they do something honest?"
Yes you in the golden cot, upper class infest.
No shame. Your the best, silver spoon mediocre, it´s all a game.
Psuedo charities.
Dollar signs glaring at me.
Alas in another world without protection.
Exploitation and war rage without detection.
When the breast is infected.
The land is barren.
Inequality is all aparent.
Blood and starvation is the image.
Your whole village is illiterate, it´s almost as dangerous as priviledge.

Reikeorangi

Heaven.
Between grand pine wooded hills.
The gorge toward the mountain that grass and tree have filled.
Following where the river cut through.
Soft valleys and fields therein every shade of green in proof.
Farmhouses and an old church on a road crossed by ducks.
Cattle and sheep litter the sloping paddocks...
Toward the mountain that almost touches the heavens.

Mercy light.

Mercy light on earth, gone these drizzle days,
Once again clouds part, and departs rain.
Illumination from above,
The lonely sun still full of love.
Full of generosity to an earth it sustains.
Should we somehow be the same.
Never looking for a perfect union,
or for fate to blame.
But shining to far off wonders,
like the sun does to the moon.
Showing mercy as we burn.
Knowing relief won´t be there soon.
Obliviously the other planets turn.
Not knowing the unrequited love, the galactic yearn.

Work till death.

You´ve reached impatience.
It´s raw frustration
and abrasive headaches.
Boss has got you on overtime.
Got you on the clock,
over the desk, on the deadline.
Fingers to their stumps,
forget the bones.
Coming home in the early hours,
sleepless and alone.
Now it´s twelve months since you left old beth.
Or did she leave you swearing never to regret.
The house of slavery invites you in as a guest.
Sitting at the head of the table is our man death.

Little man

Little man just big enough to climb onto the barstool.
Telling tales like some hobbit to the local fools.
As the night draws on so does the beer.
His size won´t help him in a barfight but he doesn´t care.
So there always comes the comment from some publican not refined.
The little man loses his cool, screaming "leave him, this one´s mine!"
When the fightings over and the littleman threw all his punches.
He stands on stubby legs bragging with his fists in bunches.
The locals pretend it´s all for real, for what would their drinking hole be like without the little man.

Shade will have you.

The store wont have you.
Neither will the bar.
Nexdoor wont have you,
people deny you near and far.
The shade will have you,
in it´s competition with the sun.
As you sit solitary in it´s cool expanse.
It has really won.

A dog´s work.

The dog´s barking, I wonder what he think´s he´s saying?
The gate rattles there the neighbour´s kid playing.
The dog turns, his expression says to me maybe they haven´t heard me.
Someone yells at the bottom of the drive, everyones too lazy to go see.
Now off the dog goes again barking and jumping to see over the gate.
A humm roars into the sound of a car rolling up for someone who waits.
The dog turns to me again with that look while on his guard-"So you think your job´s hard?"

Already there.

We´ve been wishing here, in this boring chair.
We can´t go for much longer.
So tell me with you run with it.
Tell me will you approach this wonder.
If you grin I swear i´ll pick you up.
Lift you closer to the light to get a better look hmm.
Are you already there, the clouds aren´t broken,
neither has my resolve but...
Will you be there when I spill it?
Will you be there for me or split?
 Will you already be there in spirit?
Are you willing?
Are you already there?

This heart has no voice.

How to express it.
The flurry of blows and emotions.
Though the surface appears neutral.
We´re not alone...
I´m not good at guessing.
It´s another one of those frightening choices.
This heart has no voice.
Cutting the lust from the love like...
The fat off the prime meat.
And how it builds my appetite.
Much left lacking.
Feelings are deserters who once served my soul like an army.
This heart has no voice.
Robbed of faith and compassion.
Someone warm must restore it.
Seems like I´m powerless.

Burning building

Wearing labels,
people recognise.
Popular stereotypes.
Automatic judgement.
Eyes see, ears hear.
Insinuation of type!
Extremely offended.
Obvious genres.]
Subtle moods expressions and quasi-auras.
A capacity to pidgeon hole.
Attracting attention in a different way.
Sum them up and critisize them.
Signs of insecurity and inauthenticity...
Mounted on a burning building.
(The burning building is our society, the rest you´ll have to figuire out by yourself)

The past´s glue, future´s to choose.

Most of us confused by the past.
Paralyzed or stunned.
Delayed or in the web of it´s stories spun.
Dare to look ahead,
Aim toward something sound and sweet.
Peel away the glue of the past.
keeping us stuck fastened.
Dispose of everything contaminated by yesterday.
Except fine memory the very glaze of our old ways.
Find some happy thoughts to nurture.
Thus one day you´ll choose a future.

Checkout

The supermarket is bustling today.
Each aisle has people moving like ants in a colony.
Looking- wanting- hoping for a price under the expected.
Past the deli´s where the lines are delirious and the mouth´s are watering.
Up the side where the long bright diary fridge calls the yoghurt addicts.
There, suddenly infront of the checkout chockerblock.

Morning coffee

Morning milk coffee.
Warm cup I draw toward my lips.
Sweet and almost smooth if not for the hint of bitter.
The first sip relaxes my gums and heats the inner sides of my cheeks.
Confessing it´s mild flavour to my tongue.
Milk coffee.
Usually I take it black, today it´s white and wet.
Like the sunday morning sky.

Mysteries of life

How´d you heal so fast.
Get so big, strong and tolerant.
kept most of your creative genius and innocence.
How´d you maintain the magic, share this secret.
How did you find slice of contentment...
That you indulge in so often yet it never is consumed.
An inner peace that never seems to leave you, and young.
I pray it sticks to you even when the mysteries of life begin to bother you.

Arms length

Times you were close.
Within range.
Open my eyes.
Indeed open my heart.
Always at arms length.
Only eyecontact.
Thoughts poke half way out of my skull,
When I pass you, almost friction.
Always at arms length.
A million excuses to hug.
Not one is popped.
So in silence we stay at arms length.

A resposta é mentir.

A resposta é mentir.
Ninguém pode se proteger contra a verdade na aquela hora inevitável.
E quando chega, parece que o peso é suficiente para esmagar todas as juntas do corpo.
Endurecer, endurecer. Entre auto deploração e um ego tão cheio que esta no ponto de estorar.
Dizem que o lance é auto ajuda!
O lance é ser honesto consigo mesmo.
Entretanto não é assim, pare!
A resposta é mentir.
A resposta é negação, pois ninguém conta a verdade.
Mas quando chega, o impacto será esmagadora!
Fantasias bem cuidadas, seu mundo totalmente enfeitado pelo seus desejos.
Desviando a sua atenção do mundo real e cruel.

The answer is to lie.
Noone can protect themselves from the truth in that inevitable hour.
And when it hits, it will feel like the weight of it will be heavy enough to crush your joints.
Harden up, harden up. Between self hate and an ego so full it´s ready to burst.
They say the thing is self help.
The thing is to be honest with yourself.
However it´s not like that, STOP!
The answer is to lie.
The answer is denial, because nobody tells the truth.
But when it hits, the impact will be crushing.
Fantasies well tended, your world well decorated by your desires.
Taking your attention away from the real and cruel world.

Broken wager

I´m a man now, betting each step in a field full of mines.
Keep this little truth from taking a dive.
Not letting dishonesty take it for a ride.
A man now can you believe it?
Gambling my life away with bad decisions,
Losing feeling, winning visions.
Shaky my resolve dwindles and surges a dog like plant, senseless.
There´s much I´ve wanted to reclaim for ages, putting pieces of the broken wager back together.
The apostle of fine casinos who stacks the odds against us.
My face into the wind, I bet this time the house will lose.

Telepathy

All across my dream.
Warning bells rung.
From across the city I felt you breathe.
It felt so reciprocal I could almost smell you.
Morning light a thief,
as I woke confused.
Through the traumland fantasy, I swear it was telepathy.

Under the stairs

Saw you in the sorting room.
Complaining about a guy harrassing you.
Said you were going to sue him.
That you would go to the Bank.
Now you´ve become a lesbian and slipped down the rail.
Counselling needed, I waited in my cell.
You came in all transformed and tried to convince me...
shock me and dissuade me.
Alas you began to shake that little body much to fragile for lies so great.
Lies that graffiti had dispelled, on the walls of your little life.

Accent will burn ya.

Shotgun in the grip of both my hands.
The way I blast and they way they still try to stand.
The end of the season and lucks an empty can.
The way I tell you what´s wrong can´t even convey.
And your face wouldn´t even switch to a touch of more dismayed.
My accent clouds your ear. And even the concerned don´t care.
One day my fire will burn you before you´re one little bit aware.
I think that´s just about fair as our paradise should be almost decent.
Take pills, take a bus, but don´t take the p*ss out my f*ck*n accent.

Last warm night.

Say goodbye to those cricket chirping nights.
Say goodbye to the moist warmth, stew tomorrow in drizzle.
What a boring feeling.
Like a whole winter ahead.
Like the cold mixed with a stabbing sensation of lonliness and cold at the same température.
This my girl is the last warm night. and cursed is the weeks and months till the solstice shows us mercy show me love...
Though you dare not!
For what must I do to earn it?
Our last warm night and the most you can do is remind me of the morrows toil?
Our last warm night. Now must I also dream of summer as if it were your perfect body?

Flimsy.

And the more I try the stupider it is.
The more I dream the bigger the confusion.
And the love that I deemed sacred and true is just a joke.
To all of you.
The stupider it is to think...
That maybe some combine?
Wish you would accept this humble.
Humble something I´ve cooked in my warm heart.
But no It´s not worthy and i´ve no moves to let you know.
I´ve no special technique to conquer you flimsy girl.
Flimsy girl You´d be my canoe.
And maybe i´d even make you happy too as you held it all afloat.

Ill of me.

little me.
The world so sharp.
The ghosts at night and the dishonesty in your smile.
The big bright nothing attracting the crowds with light and music.
They would think i was hot on my first few.
They would think such great things of me.
Then before you know it I´m down like some trapped animal and they...
Think Ill of me and with the rifle they want to end me.
Well fair enough and keep that fore finger on the trigger.
See you soon as you...
think ill of me.

Twice as kind.

Wishing friendship,
Happy birthday.
Wishing peace,
Abandon the grudge.
Having much and having little.
Being moderately late stuck in the middle.
Friendship´s price to pay is...
Is twice as dear as a present for a birthday.
Peace´s price is way too high...
So lose the grudge and be twice as kind.

Send your ships

Send your ships falling man, falling tolerance, trembling hands.
Send them off to attack with screaming captains and scurvy crews.
Load them with cannons, give them the rarest muskets known to man.
Sail to my ports and open fire on my coasts come and land on my beaches.
Between the palms and banana groves desperate men wait to exact their revenge.
March in lines, to colonize- we have your guns your swords and knives.
And we´ll be hungry for to arrive.

Wide eyed prey.

How you hold yourself woman.
Your eyes so wide apart, be you my prey?
Must I stalk you and trap you?
That smile should mean you feel quite safe.
You lil mouse, can i roll play snake?
My teeth chatter at the sight of your skin and woman...
In the moment you dawdle around my lair i might just forget myself and grab you by the hair and eat you.

Turn venom.

My life is hard...
My mind is empty.
24 girls all pretending to be befriend me.
Heart is hard, my hand´s empty.
Flirting around redundantly.
Another night te resent being.
Romance has pain since I turned twenty, and if you get any.
Illusions that crush you easily and at first so gently.
Doubt´s your friend, distrust and the devils laughter have sent me.
Sparkling girls, mirages in an agonising desert that´ll end me.
My thought hard and cynical my scepticism totally dentfree.
Where did those twenty seconds of useless courage get me?
This world is a trap, don´t mind if I become venom so when they catch me they´ll choke on my flesh so deadly.
My sting still wiggling!

The angels fly(give me some)

Yes I wish the lord would give me wings insted of serve me on a platter.
Throw my guilt out with my dead matter.
Great god choose an angel for me.
Some trusty beautiful entity.
For this solitude has put blades in my aorta.
Brimstone in my imagination and reality distorted.
Just throw my guilt out with the dead matter.
Show me some small vestige of hope that wont soon shatter.
Or hit me with a bus and give me better training before you send me out again in this big false game.

During this lesson.

Corner of the eye.
Just trying to teach here...
Sparkle, hop onto the floor and give me a piece of you.
Show me a spectacle, make it great enough.
happy to be here, watching you trying to be sassy.
Now ya pensative, relaxed and rubbing your mind for skills.
the kind of sweetness in your voice...
OOhh my thirsty ears. (during this lesson)

Beauty lives somewhere else.

Walk up the sunnyside of the street.
Expressionless face.
You caught the neighbours peep.
The hammers can be heard from a nearby construction.
The cars pass you by nonfiction suction.
Rubbish rushes by, by means of the wind, bringing it up the gutter.
Bye bye reminds me of the lack of beauty in you as you watch apathetically as the litter flutters.

resignation fever.

Oh well, I felt love in my heart what a surprise it was a kettle boiling.
Now the water´s lukewarm and daily life´s foiling me.
So much belief in love my blood wouldn´t rest.
Alas now my days are concrete, my heart´s an empty feverish nest.
I used to rebel against the notion of resignation.
Now it´s the only thing that repels frustration.
Giving up on love, avoiding lust, my mere emotion needs a vacation.

Wotan(wut).

The hunter a deadly wonder in the undergrowth.
The wolf all alert hungry to hurt the lost stray deer in his wooded trap upon the earth.
The raven somewhat blood thirsty descends with the wind of dusk, clawing and grasping an unsuspecting rodent swiftly, ghastly.
Wotan´s spear flies through the forest toward a great bear´s head.
"Twack" the beast was reached even before the sense of safety fled.
The predatory scent in the forest the distant stir and rattle of death.
Here only the brave reside.
As the wood has it´s surveillance from one enchanted eye.
The magic of the hunter, the stroke and the surprise...
In the claws of the raven, in the teeth of the whole pride!

Sell yourself

No originality? No creativity, love the repugnant repetitive puns?
Trade your own name for a label.
Be a sign that talks, enjoy the obvious.
Flatter the rich.
Copy and paste, a marketing itch.
Sell yourself out there, endorse the popular.
Not much of a personality, like dirty water goes with the flow and makes everyother waterway muddy and impure!

Wormy leisure.

The worm is sluggish.
Drunk from the fermented ground.
It´s compost home cheesy and fruity and warm.
It slithers through layers of rotten fruit and potatoes in bliss.
Underground heaven amongst the leaves and the dirt.
Humus paradise a warm moist adventure, wormy leisure.
The smooth and soft earth must tickle the subtle rings of your skin.

What to do?

What can you see, your worlds been decorated.
What can you say more than you don´t want to pay.
Now they take it by force.
What can you do when your suburb view is a trash site.
See you laughed at the protestors.
The world´s decorated for you.
Speechless after refusing to give money for your country.
Did nothing as the criminals and lowlives entered littering your town.

The drink, old man.

Old man.
Your hair sticks to your forehead, your eyebrows are half burnt off from when you light your cigarrete carelessly.
Today your jovial and humourous. last week you were an angry grimace and a mess.
Now you fall down about once a week leaving blood stains all about the floor.
The doctor´s requests for you to stop drinking have all been diligently ignored.
When you´re lost and begging for change you lie to them about what´s for.
Then you go home to your sisters drunk and dawnsmacked screaming at the top of your lungs.
Soon your cries for help will drown out your merry drinking songs.
The chorus repeats and haunts like your constant hangover.

Early eyes.

The corner of my eyes sting,
Dawn scarred my vision.
My mind is still warming up too sleepy to even think.
I feel a slight murmur in my heart.
Before the day has begun, I must stop my hope from sinking.
Everything I see has been shaded by the early morning...
And the confusion of troubled dreams.
My eyes hurt. The suns just strong enough to blind them.

Like a smile I´m after...

I´m searching for an answer to my question.
It´s about meaning, I´m trying to get some help with my hot neglect.
How´d I leave myself, my heart starved like a powerline crow, with it´s foot stuck staring at the food below.
You were there helping like a person worth having, and when I turned to face you, you didn´t leave.
And I´m just about to lose most of what I really believe in.
You´re not a mirage, once I bathed in your laughter.
You´re there fantastic like a smile I´m after.

Home for an alien.

Chasing you with the aim of taking something out of your brain not through conversation.
Beauty on the earth the sleek Alien falls in love with the harbour´s women.
As docks and jetty´s fall into the water and boat houses are manned by crazed UFO hunters.
It seems there´s no safe area to hide and even the warmth of the day is no comfort, there´s no home for an alien.
No dry land or moist shore will ever give the security a foreign heart so willfully searches.

Writing hand.

How´s the hand you write with.
And how full´s your inkpot.
Want to get your thoughts and your style a little looser.
If you were after some brute bird, then write about the rooster.
How´s your writing hand, is your feather full?
Your pencil´s lead almost worn down.
Like the morning c*ck wake us with your word´s.
Like the proverbial rooster, dawns little apprentice.

Speed of war.

Hello bomb, hollow my house out.
Hollow my body, holocaust.
The flight of a bullet is so delicious.
How it navigates to find the flesh.
How it rips write through the children.
Celebrate the pride of our ancestors by ripping some unfortunates worlds apart.
How they accumulate ammunition and they´re planning to infiltrate the humble remains of third world metropoles.
It exercerbates and rank and file ordered as incendiary ordenance.
Say good bye to the south of your country with a strike so heavy the bumpy moundy terrain will be reduced to flat regions, poisonous for years.
Hooray and worship.

Felt, broke and shared.

Felt, Broke and shared, saw you in the movie just in underwear.
Have a joke that reminds you that life´s not serious you carry it with you like I carry my handgun or my rifle to hunt.
Like I carry my mistrust and my readiness to confront.
If you´d see these rhymes as evil i´d grab your wrists and feel, feel deep within the pumps of blood to see how easy you are to predict.
Cause I felt so many wrists like yours. Who´d judge a man so broke.
And your secrets say that my lack of money isn´t as shameless as your trapdoor honey.
Hear your planning to expand how blessed, i wish you´d give you mouth a rest.
And your ears from hearing the word yes, cause yes you´ve shared your trophies.
So I feel like I need a doctor who´d charge no fees.
After helping you polish your gold and putting above your bed.
The wealth you´ve got means nothing and the bragging that you´ve shared.

Hey Tiger, the night time.

Hey tiger, thought it was your turn for firewood, scram.
Hey Tiger is night your keeper?
Pass the night your clothes?
Is this cricket chirping theatre supposed to impress me?
Hey tiger, how´d you trick her? A cunning ambush you applied.
Rounding up the stars, how´d you kidnap them?
How did you kick the frost and steal the dawn?
Hey tiger the night´s lying down you stunned her.
Aren´t you going to wake her so she may go and warn the sun?
Hey tiger don´t play with nightime. Just to catch a few more deer.
Let the warm hours pass and restore her to the living shadow that she is.

Down to the last cent.

Misery, some sweet teacher, going to school you when you find yourself reaching for credit thats not there.
After you lose your job, people say you don´t have a life what´s to lose but fear.
The species of coincidence you found in the men´s bathroom was a horrid one.
Bar drinking along the binge cause your desperate organ needed fun.
Down to the last cent you leave the bar and the door closes with a sound of no turning back.
The last thing to your name is soggy and takes up most of the space in the rucksack.
Dim eyes see out, hangover showers and bleak bleak winters begin.
Your withdrawls hug you like a leper.
Down to your last cent and those friendly neighbours are praying for you to move away.

The curious echo(a perversion)

The hall that begged sunlight.
The fine dust that collected on balarinas feet.
The strips of tape along the wooden floor.
The stage where town plays would kick off and entertain the twohundred semicultured smalltown frowners.
The curious echo that would go a fair distance.
My concentration camp nightmares, the empty gymnasiam.
The way the music played and those sweet girl´s legs swayed.
I can almost see the present day in it.
From the shady carpark perverts unpack.
The curious echo in their voices had freedom as they left excited lips.
The curious echo that called the passerby to come closer.
That big hall where the young learn their hobbies and the old exalt themselves with the smirk that tells you "I´ll show ya"!

Not a gram/the very tribe of her.

Not a gram of pity.
ToDay I went to market without a gram of pity,
To say I sympathise with those legless people hands to the sun...
A lie, not a penny in my entry. Not a moment to sing their lament.
Not a line between our eyes, as my troubles told me they were bigger.

(the very tribe of her)
 I read the thread.
I read the read(past).
I´m taken by her motion.
Her emotion fled.
I´m butchered by the very tribe of her.

On the deck.

I´m back on the deck and my furry mops wet from a bucket of my own sweat.
I´m broad across the sea, Tall on land, slowly I forget all they took from me.
Slowly my head raises to witness the sunrise.
This new morning on the small lipped waves that pretend they weren´t here for me.
keeping me far from the rocks keeping the boat steady as I mop it down.
These old wooden boards remind me of your face on a day without menace.
They remind me how such support can also give you splinters.
I´ll be washing them, like I was washing an old invalid who can´t raise his own arms, weeks from his deathbed.
The soap gets in my eyes and slowly I shrink as my sweat disappears.
Me on the Deck, will Gavin forgive me? Will Peter have let it all go...
Oh, the islands in sight and the floors almost scrubbed...
Alas I am but a puddle flowing toward the edge and dripping off into a brave sea.

Darkness brings

It runs off the sides of my fear like some gremlin sinking it´s teeth into the back of my neck.
Know how it is, the clothes basket shapes and your saviour takes a break outside while inside the demons take all their sh*t out on you.
The Darkness brings alot of fine horror to your corner of the world, to your little landing pad.
The demons reckless, and the ghosts so shameless altogether surround and distract your painful sleep.
Creeping up your spine and down your shadow mad shallow breaths echo even with carpet on your floor how you feel you´ll fall like an omen of your descent into the devils nest his infested net.
His lap his hole your home.
Darkness with it´s investment in you, rattles in your room.
Reminding you deaths not far and soon after doom.
It hides in you and how you isolate yourself, it´s there with you in your mind your broken loom.
It crawls in you like some broken limbed zombie each inch it squirms and screams it´s only sigh of comfort is when it finally reaches...
You!

Infront/inferno God.

Okay God meet me infront of the house of heaven where the flowers grow high and wild...
You smile but...
Where´s the love I wanted to give like the only piece of me that mattered.
Where´s the hunter in me that you distilled like some meaningless experiment.
Why is the very cherry of my desires not granted like some great inevitable celebration cake.
That young girl i´d make for spice and sound more truthful was this love than any candle in early autumn, than any heavy handed flaunting gauntlet.
Get your thighs out. Give me sunshine and stop lying.
Get me out front God and end me with an axe, for heaven was her, and nought else.
Disappear me with a holy wish topshot, cause it´s all gone with those green eyes that made me shiver strong in any season.
I´ll disintegrate if it pleases. Unattainable boycott freakout.
Let me in peace but obviously deep painful blues that only show up in the circles of dante´s inferno river, where i´ll melt.
She´ll laugh, oh yes, and that will be the last piece of mercy I hear, before an unjust world and afterlife claims my soul and ears.

Loose pants. Heartless?

Watch you switch.
Watch you ditch me.
Loose trousers.
Still care?
Still be there if he´d left you?
You knew, though you sift thinking maybe you missed something in a land small and rich.
And a man made of mystery well you never tested the kiss theory.
And a whole lot of protocol rots the true inch of my heart that still cares and holds a nice view of hope.
Well guess you´d rather watch the ravens pick it and see my distress when they do.
Yes your curls, but that´s not the heavens stitch.
Move your shoulders move me and beg me to scratch your itch.
If he´s got it for you let me loose like your pants.
Let me loose like the bullets firing out the back of a fourwheel drive like my voice full of anger.
Like the little nothing jetty I´m ready to dive off, was i wrong? Are you truly heartless?

Virtue et niks

Everything that is right is wrong.
Everything you think is wrong,
Everything you judge is wrong...
And there is a great thing and I am here for a great thing.
I´m not there for the rats but i´m there for the philosophy,
Perfect? Nobody is there, everything is there for you to love just don´t judge.
Everybody wants to be a doctor. You know the hunger for prestige.
These men are not great men, they want fame and money not humanity.
It´s not their sons or daughters dying in a badly built hospital.

A mercedes and his name.

Didn´t know his name.
But they talked nonstop about him all the same.
Not even his hair colour.
Or that he was a good natured fella.
But Mr Everton was a great driver with an awesome car.
And that´s all that matters in your lunchbox your a star.
They knew he lived in New Haven, They knew he had a mercedes.
He works 50 hours and that´s what made him.
All they talked about was the hundred thousand dollars that put him behind the wheel.
People care about cars the size of bras and plastic and things unreal.

Your ropes.

How they tie and how they deny.
But appeal has bound them tight.
Strands of you wrapped around my mind, I want my arms wrapped around you and to give up trying.
Your ropes are all in knots and they can´t be easily untied.
Made of hemp or made of horse hair, or the steel trail of lonely tears cried.
Your ropes will one day be in my hands and each manouvre will see you tickled and lifted up high.
Until that bond is met, I want the constrictive desperation to subside.

Compress and copy your best.(fuel)

Give me a tonne of your ideas.
I´ll create a masterpiece that phantoms will deliver before samhain.
I´ll take your best and nail it plaigerising, rising off the rhymes I thought were nice.
Compact them in my copy brain, my impact mind- a vice.
Produce some fine coated fece floating in the midst of these lost ideas we call poems.
Floating and sinking with the rest of some heart´s spark or shadow.
Then being picked up sometime in the future and used to power some alien vehicle.

General Yellow´s death.

My friend the general yellow was scheduled to executed on tuesday.
He had no choice.
It was inevitable and everyone was cheering for it to happen, their angry voices.
He had been unfairly sentenced and the judges turn of phrase was...
"You were in the wrong place at the right time without an alibi, prison wont fit your libido and habit of singing lullabys".
So the general yellow has been commanded to swim one lap in the pool before being shot.
He´ll be shot by a top team of sniper come divers who will ridiculously joke about the yellow turning to red with no clot.
And make reference to the janitor who´ll spend three days draining and cleaning the pool with no bonus for his caprichous overtime efforts.

When Jesus cleans.

Sometimes when Jesus cleans our hearts bits of dirt can get lodged in our eyes and mind.
Sometimes when we invite him in and it´s such a mess, expect to have your whole outlook messed around with again.
That smooth freedom we read from his quotes, coasts when we´ve learned to leave the dust and mud on the road well travelled.
My blindness and anguish are all part of the unpaid bill, so I will do these dishes from whence I ate in this life´s Kitchen.
For the room in his house for me would be spotless, so i must meet this world with a brush and polish.

The tight one

He remains the tight one, hasty and twisted he hides fear.
I wonder if it´s not just his baldness...
Is he about to shake his outraged fist in the air?
I can tell he´s badfolk, by his grin and his flat smile.
I can tell he´s sickly, even the way he talks is vile.
As he approaches reeking disappointment from every oriface.
What is his problem, when everyday he has a look of distaste.
He remains the tight one but one day i´ll bet he breaks,
not under my subtle thumb, but on the millionth frown he will inevitably make.

Traitor

He betrayed his country and took up arms against his own.
Survival was his fortune a prize best won alone.
When he crossed enemy lines with a rifle in his hands.
treachery pumped like poison blood through every corrupted gland.
And when he shot his countrymen, short of the bog they fell.
Little did he know that bog would swallow him whole for hell.
For your wet tongue and full stomach, your conscience will hunger and thirst.
If you are caught by the enemy remember there´s one thing worse.
To sell your soul to the oppressor, accept betrayal as your curse.

Fine young one.

I´m not too aware of the yearn or the crush.
I´m told they lose it in an instant like the toilet flush.
Not aware of the admiration some fine young one might have.
Every little flirt or smile, don´t quite know to grab.
Faced with some fine young girl, I know not how to act.
I´m searching for my charm, yet all I access is lack.
Yes I´m not too aware of the yearn or the crush.
How to tell a girl is ansy or if it´s anger or just a blush.

Merciless dawn.

Dawn shakes it´s head turns with a feather full of ink.
Is this my present new day?
Dawn looks up at my exhausted face.
Before the sun has made the land a realm of light.
Dawn pulls out the sleep, the sighs the yawns, it sends us scattering into what is now a clearskied day.
Merciless Dawn...
Writing every task and target and trivial concern over our waking minds.

Sweeper

Little man with your red hat and broom humming a country song.
Sweeping so hard those little arms and legs send the broom flying along.
Proudly your elbows swing pushing the dust leaves and trash toward the end of the path.
Such determination in his beedy eyes under his red cap a smile that moved like he was about to laugh.
This job was made for you with your broom, rake and fork, on this saturday morning´s shaded residential sidewalk.

Sleeplessness drift

Through the wild entry into sleep.
Through wrestless tides of my own body rolling.
Through the wee hours, this quiet time almost holy.
Trying to shut my eyes, give away my consciousness.
Trying to exit my heavy stone of a trunk into the ether.
Behold not a wink do I recieve, dawns scrambling like rabid dogs oooh.
All the great ideas knock around in my head fog, not one will be remembered tomorrow.
So I let the sleeplessness drift take me down stream, as I continue my wakeful night dream.

The zombie in my father.

Half of him is in the lounge dossile and unquestioning of his mindless self.
The other half is in the kitchen sick and foaming at the mouth.
Rushing from one end of the house to the other with an axe in his hand.
Shaking and shouting and making demands.
He forms an arrogant unreasonable molten core.
His weak forehead red and sweating, his eyes have lost their colour.
As we plead for him to waken he descends deeper into his living sleep.
His sanity is escaping from it´s safe and stable keep.
For a short moment he´s gone and the two parts of him are one, oh invain
 his pride deforms him and bit by bit he splits in two again.
His madness tries to live on in me, it´s call to greatness, it´s false inflation. Yet I overcome it knowing I am but a simple man, a humble piece of god´s creation.

Spice of living

I found it under the big basil bushes flowering and atracting bees.
In the roots of the sweet lemon grass, and the pods of hot fine chili´s.
The spice of living can be tasted in a smile shared, a joke and those easy things that are free.
Even in those burning arguments can you reach a better understanding of things, and sample a morsel of wisdom.
With each awkward tray, we display our attributes and walk it to the table trying not to sway and fall on our way to a hopefully graceful presentation.
This spice of living hides in our skin that tickles the tastebuds of our lovers, or feeds the eyes of our secret admirers.
It sweeps away tedious hours and reminds us what´s sweet about the world.

Dry street.

I took them through traffic jams.
With the frontseats full and the backseats crammed.
Waiting anxiously for us to arrive the children murmured.
passing the street vendors, the passing people and the hermits.
Their grandmother breathed so heavily it almost weighed the car down.
Around each burdened corner was a myriad of accumulated cars to be found.
As I pulled up to the curb to let them all out, I opened the door from the outside without a frown or shout.
Thus the hot concrete met with their feet.
The fresh warm air knew how to treat them.
I left them safely in the dry street.

To cry in

He couldn´t get it out.
He was crying inside,everything he felt.
In his own body, letting the grief leak into each organ down to his legs sadness.
Asking his own heart how long do you want to drag this?
It all welled up and the bottle burst, not one teardrop fell from his face, they all slid down his throat.
His castle was his surface he was an inside weeping moat.
He´d covered his head with his pillow his hopelessness clawed, now breathing just enough to live as the dark cloud was absorbed.
You could see it in his face, though he said that thing´s were great, he was down atleast an ugly month for sure, before he hung up on his last mate.

Clown faced

See you´re clown face, have you the guts to pout.
Excess of makeup dear what´s going on.
With your soft voice you´re reaching out.
For guidance searching for an opportunity.
Look at my hands listen to my words, time to see.
Clown faced and arriving late to come to this place that reaks of me.
Hold half a minute of eyecontact not quite true.
Here between mundane walls the sound of me wakes you.
Questions your mind wants to ask, it´s not your skin that needs improving it´s your brain.
Embarrased and quiet you remain, and urge me to play this guessing game.
Clown faces like your own, overdripping with lipstick and crème.
clown faces like these, show up everyday.

Stains

They´re on your knees when you kneel invain.
On your clothes, your cup trembles insane.
Like paint, like ink, for your masterpiece.
Your purpose stolen, life´s an accident, a merciful morsel or an indulgent feast.
Fresh stains huddle to your garments. Bordering on art, but you haven´t the courage to wear them. Cause all the critics and their comments grab you, you fear them.
Naked on your way to the river to clean them, stained are your feet from the grass. The soap calms you, as you tremble moan and fuss.
As you clean yourself in the immaculate water, there´s a spot on your leg that wont rub out. A birth mark as a patch a stain even.
A smile hits your worried lips and you can feel your shame leaving.
Few things of this world return to the dust unstained.

Handshakes

The handshake inserts itself, like it had a life of it´s own.
Thinking this maneuvre is some kind of bright new thing?
Well you touch hands cause we all did it before.
Like the last series that ruined you.
Like your grandfather snoring.
It´s a pretty gesture, with the thumb so far away from his flock.
A bit like when the balls are so far from your ****.
Rubbing the inner hand like a cry for help.
Like a waste,
Well as those hands get alittle closer and even your body language switches mainly in your face...
Is this your friend? Is this your taste?
Icarus got too close to the sun.
Maybe the skin he touched was laced?

Look what they´re sending!

There´s a wall of men with truncheons.
There´s a dock where people are being forced to board on ships.
While the maggot suits eat their expensive luncheons.
Each young man given a helmet and gun before he boards.
Like half dazed, shocked mongolian hoards.
As china´s veins feed the middle eastern clandestine armament.
Exiled terrorists regroup, dogma hate and national interests ferment.
Korea on the left and the backward islamic stans on the right, china eats with her knife and fork each plate will be our fight.
The next fillet will come out of the west.
We should of payed attention to where, have now pay later leaders used to mess.
As we send our kids with guns and bombs to North Africa, the holy city and southern russia, even to Japan.
We never saw it coming but world war three had to happen.
The nukes may fly but first this last stand for resources will see every side freak out and reach.
The leaches will be denied blood, look what they´re sending?

Creep and crow.

I´m an insect, I´m a willow.
I´m walking near the dry river beds.
The ones that meant stone throwing battles with friends when you were young.
The ones that you wallowed in when nowhere else would hold your desperate anguish.
The autumn hideout, where the first frosts wouldn´t reach.
Where the algae stained rocks tranced you through high school regrets.
Where dry leaves would catch and rot into the spaces.
Where you crept and crowed under the influence of some local hallucinogen.
Where the bullies chased you to before you gave them the slip...
And where you plotted a vengence sharp and fit.
You´d creep and crow, the shade of sycamores and willows would hide you, in the sunlight, in the moonlight and when you´d lost your senses altogether and round the bend past midnight.

Cham wants.

Through the difficulty of ease.
Through the *rg*sm of sneeze.
Through the mucus and feces.
Cham wants to, like he never did before.
He fell in love with convenience.
Through valleys of abundance and vagabonds.
And fruitless useless statues of the big screen.
Cham want to, till the end of his days and with the sun above and duty infront.
He´s got about as much chance as you or me or our foul stunts.