Frightening muse

She turns her head.
I´ve seen the light
that her aura shed.
She makes me feel like I´ve a bomb
in my chest.
How can i fight?
Near her I feel blessed.
She spreads a smile across her face,
a reason to love right.
A thousand dreams chase,
the definition of pining after her.

She turns her head,
such grace feminine and fine.
The rest of her haunts me and
leaves an imaginary sweet taste.
She intrigues and mystifies,
near her my admiration is fear laced.
Afterall noone adores the idea of being
denied a second time.

Make me whole(middle east)

Between deserts I die.
I´ve been a corpse floating on the Nile
the water rolling my body.
The leeches behind my eyes make me seem lively.
The eels under my clothes make you think I´m moving.
Yet I´m splitting at the limbs and I´m bound for Egypt.
I´ll be in pieces by the time I hit the mediterranean.
I´ll call on the middle east to sew me together
like so many ripped apart countries.
I´ll call the brother hood to drop the agenda.
Iran to procure threads of tolerance.
Syria the fabric of peace.
Israel a drop of compassion.
I´ll look back into my lifeless body and find a soul
to make me whole again.

Love your nightmares(laugh at the attempt)

Love your nightmares,
they´ll break the chains on your mind.
They´ll drywash the darker areas
of your grey matter.
Yeah love it, for life is a matter
of minutes or hours away.
The nausea of morning awaits
the pressure and lack.
That build you up to knock you down
thumping infatuation for someone else.
Yeah stay in the bad dream knowing it fiction
like a movie.
And laugh at the subconscious´ attempts to
dismay us more than being awake.
(No rhyme here just prose so if you don´t like it
there´s cheap cucumber sandwiches down at the dirt
and switch station get thrilled and filled like fish on it.)

The game was rough(Jogo sujo inglês)

The game was sticks and stones.
Friends were hard to come by.
Between the abandoned city and the football field
treachery and failure worked like well payed lawyers.

The game was hit ´em hard
my only friend couldn´t help me stuck on his
mothers lap.
Players from the other team threatened me with death.

They were all like hyrogliphic birds beating
their heads together like drums.
Summoning their inner devils for an atrocity.

Yellow fever(english version)

Dense forest looks like there´s no way out.
I´m tired of hunting the gorgeous panther.
My hunger and my thirst are like thunder crashing.
Dragging my heavy ideas to the edge of the swamp.
Where I will drink the murky water
and fish for scarcity.
There humidity and mosquitos worship me,
kissing my shoulders and turning me into a gold statue
without a cure.
I´m dizzy now, afflicted with so much flattery
and inflammed bites.
 

Definition of solitude

When you connect with others
you can feel yourself pretending.
The smile as lacking in meaning as the conversation.

Slowly you end up
inevitably offending.
Awkward silence conquers each situation.

So I write with not much more
than fingers and dictionaries.
Tragically absorbing myself
like a starving stomach, like a sick canary.

Face glued to the screen trying to string words 
together with alittle meaning.
Outcomes my bias, the pidgeon hole and my
political leaning.

Back into myself I go
hours by myself,
I know between me and the world there´s a feud.
No friends and now not even a muse.
I conclude this mediocre rhyme
with a definition of solitude. 

Simple life no appeal

Here we go again writing something
that might get me published.
 Alas my dreams of being a fully fledged
writer look like rubbish.

Simple life and no appeal,
best friends with my casually dressed
routine how do I feel?

I´ll keep writing and when I´m
dead I´ll be read.
I´ll never know how people saw me
or if they cared!

This simple life has no appeal whatsoever
I should forget the mundane and become clever. 

Wannabe rockstar

Counting down his favourite tunes.
Hair grows long as do finger callauses.
The guitar crops and prunes,
some old classic cover every band plays.

Attitude is 90% authenticity is ten.
His balding sporty mogul wannabe manager says.
Get out there and sell the image, imagine.
Studios can make a turd sound good and just may...

Make you the next Bon jo vi blossom legend.
Your fortune five million agent wants what´s best.
His spiels and speeches are only half pretend.
And that´s good apples since rock regressed.

Yes wannabe rockstar posing with your pick in mouth!
The first hundred hairs on your upper chest bare.
You see yourself as a young skynard in the south.
As you attempt to free the bird shaped like pear.

Jogando sujo

O jogo foi duro,
amigos forram dificeis de achar.
Entre a cidade abandonada e o campo de futebol,
traição e fracasso trabalhavam como nunca.

O jogo foi brutal,
meu melhor amigo não podia me ajudar
preso no colo da sua mae feito um bebe.
Jogadores de outro time me ameaçava com a morte.

Eles eram como passaros predatórios
batendo suas cabeças que nem tambores.

Febre Amarela(portuguese)

Floresta densa parece que não tem saida.
Cansei me de caçar a onça bonita.
Minha fome e sede estão como
estrondos de trovão.
Tenho que arrastar minhas ideias pesadas,
para a beira do pantano aonde vou beber a aguá suja,
aonde vou pescar escassez.
La humidade e pernilongos me louvar.
Beijando meus ombros tornano me uma statua de ouro,
sem cura!
Sou tonto agora, aflito com tanto lisonjeio e picadas.

Chasing fantasies

Chasing fantasies down dark streets.
Persuing them past familiar faces.
Before wild jungles where ghosts
and maniacs dwell underneath
the chattering canopy.

Behind two hot walls that signify
each side of my want.
The hills of the crazy jungle beg me to enter, oh I.
I the son who was lost on the family picnic.
Who lived off fern root and grubs until I could hunt.
I kidnapped by the distant ghost that non could see but I.
Machines and bricks have their appeal,
though the jungles heart beats it all.

So into town to claim a few spoils my mind as
warm as my stomach chasing fantasies.
Smooth I choose my prey like the one eyed wotan
on his way.
Nothing but my crazed desires and a long sharp blade.

He will walk again.

Sitting up in his room.
Smoking his stash and trying to forget he´s a cripple.
He spends ample time in the gloom.
Thinking of his dak plants and the neighbours nipples.

His mum comes down to see him off it´s like he´s four again!
Dealing out the orders and medication.
Like a miracle he´ll rise from the wheelchair one day.
And enjoy more than thc and masterb@tion.

He will walk again his face will no longer be a window.
His legs and back will take his weight.
Deep down he too really knows.
It´s just a matter of letting go of hate. 

Before the shops close.

Midnight arrives in a brown inviting wagon.
Moneyless pockets on me as I go up the steps.
The only welcome I recieve is from a disgruntled
Japanese fellow telling me to go back home.
The sushi kitchen wakes the tongue and nose.
Penniless all I can do is watch them cook
and wait for that inevitable dawn hunger.

Weight in self improvement(sonnetwise)

Not a gram of me to share.
Teaching has drained me
I lie the dried apricot.
To say I didn´t give my vital organs would be unfair.
Not a gram of me left, have I got.
 
The body bends and aches, the mind hot
from overcare.
Not a drop more can I give.
It´s gone every ounce that I could spare.
Is this exhaustion a method to live.
 
Surely not another piece of me.
Not another word.
No movement.
Living is never really free,
No lunch unpaid i´m sure you´ve heard.
Just the empty road to self improvement.

The shape of New zealand

The north island is a lost southern sting ray,
atleast the book of maui said so.
Swimming south it´s sting aims to the north.
It´s wings out- Coromandel and new plymouth.
It´s super eye Wellington.
The slippery kapiti coast my home
on the other side of the dry Wairapa.
And between them both a spine composed of
mountains and foothills.
The south island a thousand mouths speaking to Wellington
from the marlborough sounds.
Warm bays from picton to nelson collecting sun
as estuaries fill and empty.
The bushy west falls to antarctica fresh and freezing.
The plains of the east curve in and out from
plesiosaur kaikoura to our scottish sister city-Dunedin!
Round the base with oyster colonies to the cool southern
town of Invercargill.

Between me and heaven

Creation the gull, shrieked like it was on fire.
The bird´s cry was birth and death.
Somewhere between me and heaven,
my fantasies breathed.
 
How would heaven give me every desire
when every desire be so short and banal,
so devoid of longevity the most notable factor
in an eternal paradise.
 
The gull shrieked and birth and germination rang out.
Inspiration grew yet death was not prevented from
filling it´s greedy hand.

Seven bullets to freedom/ Plus haiku

One for the sky in celebration of such power industry stole.
The second to knock the teeth right through the exit hole.
Fill a clip fantasizing about emptying on your worst enemy,
Fear stinks all through the magazine.
 
The third through your own teenage sons heart obscene,
for lead by example and the flying metal is boss.
The bullet itself doesn´t really cost.
The damage it does fills morgues and bad dreams.
 
The fourth for the few honest politicians
who´d convince you of the danger
and not the need for potential civil war.
Your gunclubs and obsession with ammunition
will never settle the score.
 
The fifth for your expectant wife,
tools or toys -
cowboys will be cowboys no matter the strife.
 
Six for on through your father´s head like
popping your pops pimple,
 no more fatherly speeches it´s point blank simple.
 
The seventh is destined to pierce your mother´s aorta!
Stay off the ef´en firing range mom I thought I warned you.
So load them up satan´s milkshake,
your illusion takes on the world
Until you reach hell. Your freedom´s at stake!

HAIKU
 A stray bullet flies,
An innocent person dies-
each day of the week.

Loading bombs

Watch out as we wheel in those storms with fins.
Helmet headed obedience rubbish bins.
Destroy the economic threat uncanny and thorough!
Tonnes of destruction for just a few billion dollars to borrow.
 
Load the machine factory mind.
Watch you don´t trap your fingers,
as you farewell with a middle finger sign
your foreign pests, proud violators.

The creeper´s sleeping patterns

From midnight the forest creepers
are in the bush their pjamas torn.

Busy they are always creeping.
Sleeping at the butt of dawn.

 Yawns and cornflakes
living in the morning.

Brainstorming when they wake
curtains still drawn.

Just a membraine

The soul keeps the inner state more peaceful.
Where´s mine gone?

The soul maintains the shine that pours from our eyes.
Where is my light?

My shadow rips from behind the light,
Peter Pan flightless and disfiguired.
No longer part of the essential darkness that holds
the fabric of my essence together.

Yes floating quite emotionless,
Just a membrain who didn´t even bother to rhyme
like a bad joke.

Ban my instinct.

This civil day and age.
We´re sniffing repression,
The hunter and the lover in me
must stay at bay.

This mind the world teaches
to be normal.
The black and white perceptions
of factual greys.
Must our hearts be formal?

My inappropriate stare
the elegant skin on her neck!
In my heart a constant storm,
Potential love we can not have
though we feel it like heck.

The world triggers yet bans our instincts.
We seldom check!
If the sin is to give in to them,
Or not let them put it to the test.

The carnaval broke

Dusk and dawn didn´t recognise each other
 as they had never met before.
Beer sticky stained pavements and abandoned stalls.

Gripped onto barstools sporting riled hangovers
 were the jolliest of them all.

Even though half eaten hotdogs, crumbs
and stale alcohol littered the place.
Hints of joy still reflected off broken faces.

Trance the demon

Before I begin the rant I want you to know
cowardice is the devil´s closest friend.
Hit you who blows the bell for predators.
Targeted you on the pedistall casting creativity down
calling it weird touching it with your synopse,
P*ss off!
Me With the colour of words irradicating you.
With strangeness I assasinate your hate thats true.
Call me the anti, the fiend´s fiend the dying poison orchids
in your hearts I´ve dug my hole and trapped the Tier.

Me with the drums of the shaman and the winds of
midnight chill wake you from your empty stare,
wake you all to make you quite aware.
There are those who love true freedom
and those in a fearful trance well cast by a demon.

Tickle trouble.

Trouble decreed it would have it´s way with the sweet town,
Who was I to placard it against.
And the scent of my sweat how does that tickle trouble?
Enough to attract it´s attention?
My dry mouth now is moist with thought of one long ruthless girl.
On the way toward gossip and giggles nightmares leapt
away like limping clowns.
I´d made my greeting and my face was as good as written!
How would they ever know that thinking about my way;
Would mean between their braincells there´d be me
and a pleasure well earned.

Grand legacy

The grandfather phantom took my writing and breathed fire on it.
Directing my hand and my mind to pure free verse.
For my structured ordered forms didn´t seem to impress.
Like death he wouldn´t let it take it´s course.
Premeditated rhyme seem to get him vexed.
he said let chaos into your pen,
he was a bit obliterate and a bit norse.

Death the biggest critic.

The cestpool from whence creation leapt.
The swimming pool where the vagabond wept(filling it)
Death the biggest critic of them all.
The biggest corrector in life´s hall.

Through attempts at mortality,
no death can´t even be lost
in the forgetting of age.
It is to fit the bill pay the cost.
To come to your last page.

Proof of god(poets are..)

Are we not brains and bleeding hearts
furnished by the almighty?
Are we not the pages where psychics
read into second sight?
Are we not the journey into the open mind?
As if it were the sea!
The nightmares between top earning human lines.
As if blind ambition could ever see.
Poets are proof of god, omnipotent is rhyme.
We write for hours, with the hands of time.

Religion or spirituality?

As for how god exists,
the bearded man in the cloud?
But life does exist
and some of us have different perceptions of the word god.
The church definition if you choose to use it contains hate
it´s just a tool to have people conform and assimilate.
It is for the uneducated masses to behave,
it is for 10% of your wage,
it is sermon guided group therapy, double standards speak.
and quality time for the sanctimonious control freaks.
Who would crucify jesus again to protect their tithing!
Spirituality on the other hand is the freedom to seek your definition of god, find god in people, in feelings, in animals, in nature and not in scripture.
If we were trained to do that
wars related to religion, wouldn´t happen
and people could be more aware of themselves and wonder of the world around without the codswallop-tax fairytale answers.
GOD=LIFE(christ was a rebel not a conformist)

Peace for the holy land.

Praise Israel, Lebanon, Syria and palestine rid abhorrence.
May your children live without fear.
Forgive eachother and find tolerance.
Forget the agenda for domination, descrimination and hate´s dogma.
For only death do they render.
Lose your appetite to be righteous, see the comedy of your hype.
The purest of heart know how to surrender,
God will turn his back on "eye for eye" aggressors.
Lets see more soul and less religion.

Brazen breast(sable)

Scorn in that shining feathered breast.
Hot semi-arid countryside.
Some of the chickens forrage for grass seed,
In the shade the rest hide.
The farmer spots the trouble hen with ease,
In the sun one that´s provocative breast tests pride.

Mexican stew

The reddened mince.
Beans and chili stain.
The hot cumin.
Invading tortillas and cornchips.
Cilantro mellow flakes.
Some well thrown cheddar-
melted and almost burnt into the surface.
Jalapeños, fat juicy burners.
Heat bulges finely smoked habanero sauce.
Sour cream and grilled bacon bits.
This bed of rice just woke
and gave birth to spice.

Vampire trumpet(No idea)

The box is empty,
leading out to painful eyes.
I have not but one good idea.
In a sorry mind.
I want to write amazing things.
My thoughts are broken lines.
Daytura´s sting.
Morning vertigo half a bottle of whisky gone.
Being a lost poet is a curious thing.
The sun behaved today and woke us as it shone.
Everyday green parakeets alert with the way they sing.
My dozy head attempts to contemplate life as a song.
The white flower´s hidden effect has kissed my synapses.
It won´t be long,
Before cunning rhyme traps me.
Exposed to the union of energetic vampire trumpets.
And the heavy green hand whose white hairs turn brown
and burn down until we are dazed.
Whiskey no longer an animal.
The night accumlates sugar and humidity.
But in the morning the box behind my eyes is empty,
I have no idea.

Asim nehal-Mystic!

Majestic rhyme has a name and it´s Asim.
Our minds are like cars that he takes for a spin.
Along the wide canyon highway´s curves like grins.
Down narrow town alleys our very own sins.
Carrying us high above the world, imagine!
(Asim nehal poet and mystic!)

Writing´s free(Azevedo inspired)

I write it out,
for you to read.
So have some clout,
inspect carefully.
 
With each word typed,
I try to please.
The critic´s knife
may not agree.
 
So bear your skin,
share your life,
let´s blunt it´s blade
for writing´s free!

Idiotic consumer

Trick me cause I like it.
The unspoken law!
It can´t be infringed upon, that secret desire to be cheated the modern day consumer needs so much.
The organizations that register complaints no longer care.
The grand outlets superlawyer´s defend.
Content yourself with flatulence produced so frequently and freshly for the modern button-pushing nobodies.
Stop thinking-just buy.
You are the proxymoment of global companies endorsing what is already popular. 

S.B Elliott(young adult life)

Word to the floating and aspiring angels
who chose from my poetical window sill to whistle.
Oh how 14 darkness once covered any sign of
your true faces, now your features beseech me.
God nudged me and pushed me to it.
the pen at sixteen was half inspired as i chased
a young muse along an overgrown grapevine.
The devil smacked me tried to finish me off a seaside
cliff.
Twenty returning from the frozen south with every definition
of lonely youth well rehearsed.
Twenty two a new move, homeward frustration and through clouds no occassion to settle down, best friend smirks as Germany steals him.
 My colleague tweaks as a young father, The new drug P a methamphetamine consumes friends,
as I leave.
Twenty three Darwin as hotheaded as can be, with a bite, kakadu couldn´t contain.
My prose went to cairns and took young tanned tourist girls captive. Befuddled by a New zealander´s charm.
Twenty four! Germany loomed for me too with the same appetite.
It´s very beauty took place of a muse,I wrote like my pen was on fire!
The historical hammer banged new colours into my mind.
The pure chore of speaking their tongue became delicious.
And their oddly shaped humour put my shoulders to rest.
England begged me to share my flame.
Across the ditch saved from short tempered normans.
Into the eternal night I mushroomed, filling the theatre!
Alleyway me as full and lung devastating as rhyming gas.
Scotland awaited!
To the hills and rivers and strange winding driveways in my Germany dreams,
my very celtic blood fitted to scotland like a black dog to dusk.
In the woods I´d shiver, some ancient spirit hunting me down as if
I´d returned from centuries in hiding.
Running verse through languages and interpretions so rich!
Back through Deutschland one more time and Silvanna stole me
half knowing the consequences.
Prose bounced off early autumn lakes!
For a good few months she was my love and hate.
Her home in Brazil would become my tropical Kingdom
and here the seasons would get drunk and fall on each other
like palm trees in the storm winds.
Lightening would clean me and thunder would feed me.
Until today the verse you´re seeing has been dabbled and mixed up in this
mega sized portuguese colony.

Oil refinery engineer

Stand back and fold your arms surveying, hard hat and stripes.
Through dark glasses peep into reports freshly typed.
Installing great systems of structures and huge pipes.
In his world of measurements and construction sites.
Tool of convention, a polluter never contrite!
(Same syllable count and rhyme sound)

Israel funds Hamas

Israel destroys
palestinian houses,
Who are more extreme?

Israeli extremist´s prayer

 Wrath of your everyday.
You´ve owned this for decades.
  Falafel flavoured fear.
You´ve owned you creatures.
 Say I claim you now toward the western strip.

 Now in the name of death.


Hamas just lowly paid Mossad field agents

There was once a disorganized group called Hamas.
That fired rockets to nowhere creating a fuss.
They may as well be hired as double agent staff.
Excusing troops reducing Palestine to dust!
Illegal settlements, vengence never enough.

George Collett animal poet.(limerick)

Dabble in a bit of monkey buisiness comedy?
Where´s the animals and farm rhyme remedy?
Collett and his rhymes have really fed me.
In the dinsal dansal we all know which door said he...
The funny one with humour pouring out readily.

He´s a funny old chap,
with a racoon as a cap.
 a ferrel cat in his lap
letting it take a snry noisy nap.
Rhyme with critters on the mind what a slap!

Colours of school life.

My party date was too much advice.
Imagine a training room to date where you would have a
potential mate.
Follow the steps try to get her.
The light and music approach her strongly.
Oh if she refuses you´ve failed.
One time after another you fail the musics over and the ball
 was a waste of time for you.

Take that road trip complacent friend.
To just outside the town, where a warehouse
full of fruit and a gym await.
Yes the bathrooms are clearly marked
and old friends fathers train in the gym like dragons.
Oh the game has started.
The Big sports game where complacent friends become hollow spectators.
Their wails and laughter seem to power the game like sermons.
Alas they could all be dead and it wouldn´t matter.

The girl who liked the dark.
Another schoolyard of daily acquaintances.
I opened the theatre doors and walked into the darkness.
The door slid shut but i could make out a shivering figure.
I turned the light out and there she was a sad nobody.
She had painted herself black.
Sitting in the dark alone for an hour, she wasn´t meditaing.
The shock on her face was like that of a guilty criminal.
She must have been enjoying herself here while outside bullies loomed.

 Jumbled classrooms,
False ladders.
Was direction and curriculum sound and steady enough to gear our souls?
Top students connected the model to finish the project.
I couldn´t even find a place to sit.
As I tried to make each piece fit the solar system dragged past my head.
This jumbled project.
Like wannabe engineers they were, I watched and forgot how the world had completely abandoned me.


 On the furry hill behind a low hedge i was found.
Some optimistic cheerleader caught me while I hid like a mountain hermit.
The wind struck the blades of the grass warmly,
 her invitations also warm were empty.
 
Her care and concern were just to save face.
As shade and popularity crept up.
Goodbyes were lightening I turned and ran down the grassy knoll
at the speed of sound.
 
The naiive and gullible at the foot of the hill came to believe
I was the weather.
 

TJ Hatton(Badger poetry)

The badger poet expanding with his words like a forest.
Simple truths in finely laid well rooted 575 haiku´s.
He´s a treeplanting poet with a skill for verse.
He´s an open mind with respect to me and you.
 
So fellow poets if you need your inspiration fattened.
Checkout his rhymes, senryus and prose.
For our noble insightful T.J hatton.
The man´s own unique patterned flow.
 
His work contains so much plain honesty.
He reviews the good the bad and the ugly with fair words.
Since long this man has been a colleague.
 
I always remember his poetry.
Choice of adjectives sound and sturdy.
I am a supporter you better believe it!

Similie king(Den Khaustov)

Eloquently blunt and ever confronting.
looks past lust and fights it off with similies.
Is sometimes punished as I by beauty and wanting.
The Khaustov set stanza can be smooth with sudden drilling.
 
All encompassing spirit of den´s grand verse.
Moulding the rare and out of shape metaphor at will.
Asking questions you implore to the universe,
Angelic keeness emphatic and extreme poetic window sill.
 
Truly spiritual in every sense complex.
The romantic halo in each Khaustov poem-
bursts out to bless the reader.
 
Den the sensitive scribe the cosmos forms as his phrases flex.
The similie style you push is surely becoming well known.
I for one enjoy the significance of the Khaustov rhyme and meter.

Great men(sonnet)

Great men are said to ovecome,
Tragedies, disasters and evil manifestations.
Whether it be through denial so numb
or steel will tempered with titanic patience.
 
Their endurance is hard to break hence-
strong muscles and minds make such men.
Sharp instincts perhaps honed sense,
for the ideals and morals they must defend.
 
Sometimes none of these things make great men.
Sometimes just great quantities of intrigue,
simply cheating eyes and ears with illusion.
 
After they build up a flock of blind fans.
Until they have their own league.
often leading to grand delusion.
(Real great men go unnoticed)
 

Biker(sonnet)

Low Grunts and gasoline greedy grooves.
Handlebars like sworn moustaches and horns.
Base of the neck intimidating old gang tattoos.
The nast ink in triple sixes and evil fauns.
 
Blasts from the revs sound out sudden storms.
From head to foot the rider is leather clad.
Speeding across some road as if airborn.
With every intention of carrying the stigma of bad.
 
Does the air that rips, calm his speed hungry spirit?
Does the noise of the motor, comfort his violent mind?
Or is it all just a subtle need for adventure?
 
Yes the wind ripping apart is his soul´s song less lyrics.
The motor is the closest thing to his heart he can find.
Some men are born to be the road´s mad creatures.
 

Silvana

You comb your hair and let some of the hair fall.
In long sweet brush strokes you comb it all.

Through the strands like therapy,
Is that a smile I see forming?
Yes big boots on pre-breaky preparing.
Motivation in you this morning.

When you lay semisplayed upon the couch.
Watching t.v reading a panflet or a voucher.

It reminds me of the simple beauty you hold,
your enjoyment of small things as strength.
You booting the sunlit pavement pre-midday bold.
Your own heart´s width and length.

Your girlish cackle and apellations eases my grief,
your caress could calm a tree like wind through it´s leaves.

Possum eyes(limerick

In they come focusing on your downside.
Like a fresh hamburger waiting to get fried.
Those marsupial baby blues fly,
shiny yet cold and dry.
Possum eyecontact the expectations are high!

Nursing sick fish in the dojo pool

Teachers in ankle deep luke warm water
in halls that guarantee us food for thought.
We chase minnows in the shallows.
As the teacher claps.
We open the nextdoor´s room where the
water is even murkier.
Will i ever catch that well defined fish
or will i nurse sick ones for eternity.
On the hill cool well dressed conformers jeer.
Why here I am now knee deep with sick fish
in my hands!
Fields surrounded by low concrete walls
the fine grass speaks to me, describing the nature of the
water.
Telling me the story behind these lost fish.
Well dressed conformers shiver as reason green
it's a force with me.
They walk on offended by the grass´ lustre.
I return to certain pools chasing the reflection of fins for eternity.

Buy machine(petrarch)

My wallet is my heart
and my checkbook could sell my mean soul.
Money´s my blood and I´m a golden buy machine.
My brains a chip in a credit card.
 
What´ll I do when I´ve spent everything?
When my existance is in red peril?
I guess I´ll just sell myself afterall.
Because I´m a top of the line buy machine.
 
Life´s purpose has me calmly brainwashed.
My sole reason for living can be summed up in a purchase.
Advertising flickers still in dreams in deep sleep.
 
So I want to know what everything costs.
Line up before the sales entering as the first,
What lonely customers we are inherently cheap.

Unwanted pieces of me.

As the pieces of me come off to provoke the fine daughter.
Our favourite game initiates infront of her blind father.
 
Supermarkets are lonely places where they sell pieces of the world.
As my friend came back from there empty handed I could see they
didn´t have what we were looking for.
 
Beauty stimulates but rips appendages from bodies.
Blind fathers already know the extent.
Pieces of me are offered to a new sunrise.
 
Pieces that were not
sought after by the sun.
 

Mcgyver

You get out there with tricks and trinkets.
Slingshots and bubblegum.
Tooth pics and paper clips.
Save the world with a half rusted chain
and a fine piece of thread.
Position a pvc pipe and a firework.
You were recycling well before us!
You were the mysterious engineer
the saviour
Phoenix foundation´s slave.

Sea of wanting.

Wading through the water
People handed out bullets and flowers.
And sugar glazed promises all the
wonders of our eyes did shimmer
on the surface.
Through it all desperate men and
dumbfounded maidens I noticed
It was but a higher plain...
A sweet warm insanity enclosed upon
us all,
as we waded through the sea of wanting.
Our desires inflammed.

The wrong haircut.

Create this young atmosphere.
innocence is still in you.
Pubity looms but hair and lowtones won´t change you.
 
You haven´t been infected like the woken dream,
has shown you.
No your roars and squeals are as natural as the long grass green.
Your gossip and descriptions full of onomatopeia contains very little meaning...
 
But your joy,
Is fresh hot coffee for those that crave caffeine.

Young fountains.

Create this young atmosphere.
innocence is still in you.
Pubity looms but hair and lowtones won´t change you.
 
You haven´t been infected like the woken dream,
has shown you.
No your roars and squeals are as natural as the long grass green.
Your gossip and descriptions full of onomatopeia contains very little meaning...
 
But your joy,
Is fresh hot coffee for those that crave caffeine.

The bridge grin
 After swelling and stark tension
he let go of his hatred,
Oneness hit him in the mouth like four knuckles.
And the world opened like a kind rose on him.
Love filled the lips of his bridge grin.

Misgivings

Sometimes life squeezes the evil out of you just to prove
you´re not as righteous.
Never bring a conscience to a fist fight.
Sometimes life just forces you to puke at the worst
possible moment,
Teenage binge drinking nights.
There are times when you could have grabbed
an opportunity.
Yet you let it fall like a delicate glass,
stain yourself with self pity.
And those times when you went headfirst
into a hellhole where it didn´t fit.
My misgivings somehow make me whole,
I am erroneous truth be told!
Some of you bluff perfection,
Judging not I say better fake than fold.

Desert dream

A descending cactus arm kisses the sand.
With more spines than a porcupine.
The fat bulge of a goldman´s sack in hand.
And the unholy wrinkle of a spiders grin.
 
Grey dying plants thereby envy so severly,
now empty shells almost root dead.
While the green in the cactus
Is the irony in the desert.
 
Even the rocks are jealous
as the towering thick stems form columns
which all appears as some grand prickly palace.
Cloudless skies congratulate the cactus
for even as rain ignores this part of the world,
life continues in dry slowmotion style.
 
Reptiles congregate the heat hardly warms their blood.
They clean their eyes with their tongues and skuttle by dusk.
Cactuses close their flowers and dream of arid delights.
Like hot spitting hornets and scorpions fussing.

Angela Merckel

Right in the centre of it all.
The balancing stand.
Performing tri-balancing acts,
as the mediterranean demands.
 
As the south east and west crumble
And the woman we all know as humble appears
out of the rubble.
Maybe we can all toast her for that rock hard
unterstutzung!
 
Schroeder burped and merckel cried gezundheit.
Putin leaped forward as if he was late for
malzeit.
 
Yet Angela showed the iron under the apron to break
eastern threats and right wing stoibers.
For central europe she is nothing short of a saviour.
Her determined voice echos to the shores of scandanavia.

Cougar rhyme

Rushing out of the bush brashly.
Following the deer like a fungal rash.
 
Zipping through the long grass leaving a trail.
And picking off the lanker squealing and frail.
 
Consuming her with vigour
and nashers sharp as hornet stingers.
 
We gasp at the deer´s pain.
 Bones and stained grass the remains.
 
Are our noble minds so clean?
Brutal nature an insight bringer.
Human civilization hideously the same thing.
 

Makes you feel lonely.

Turn your head away as I enter the room.
Hot senses are all we are.
I feel like your searching out my desperation.
It´s here deep inside but you haven´t
quite brought it to fruition.
To the surface.
 
As you try to make me feel lonely,
maybe it´s good you know blacksheep like me
are so accustomed.
maybe it´s good you know I´ve a hundred ghosts.
 
So toss your hair and your tone of voice praying
I´ll look your way.
Try to make me feel lonely.
Hot senses are all we are.
 
What are you depriving me of?
What are you driving at?
Excluded, my heart smiles.
For to live a life of indulging you
p*ss quite a state of denial.
So just try to get me to feel hard done by.
 
Search for a frown on my face my sweet,
I´m here in the open.
All we are, are hot senses,
genetic pretences.
 

Sweetly ignores me.

Oh for the flesh´s misery.
How I´ve pined for the delivery.
Of a new true muse.

Oh there´s no responding.
Cupids not listening.
My request has been refused.

Oh the one that made my verse free.
Is leaving my mind steadily.
For she sweetly ignores me.
I almost hit writer´s block´s pavement...
heavily.

Israel and Iran.

The ancient sweat, the wandering hebrews scripture pride.
Until they settled along that cursed/blessed coast.
The ancient sweat the modern persian empire can´t hide.
The ayatollah preaches his spiritual boasts.
 
Bombs and spies and premeditated martyrdom.
The resolve of the old world is quite hard to fathom.
Televiv will light up as if illuminated by heaven.
As Iranian bombs fall.
Tehran will burst ten times worse than nine eleven.
At the wests call.
And each religion will celebrate their chosen brethren.
As they liquidate themselves accusing each other
of being heathens.

Free from tyranny

They wanted a return to priviledge and luxury.
At any cost.
The mormon wealth accumulator tired but
lost.
The man whose life has been sacrifice.
Is no longer your scapegoat to be disregarded
and tossed.

Four more years safe from tyranny though to
you inside it may seem bleak.
For over are the good old days of wasting the world´s resources
and worshipping the rich as the meak.

Yes pull up your sleeves and change your beliefs.
Nostalgia is a thief.
Forget the extremists drinking tea and selling grief.
This land is free once again!

Fabric of words.

We bring the indescribable alive.
Words sweat and work up gumption.
Words can anesthetize wounds,
that subtle knives
scar us with at each of life´s junctions.
 
The letters gather to give you glamour,
flavour and phrases you can savour.
 
Poems are rivers, lakes and pools.
That undermine money-margin minded fools.
 
Poets are magicians of word´s fine threads.
Indulging on metaphors and cacophony until our
minds are fed.
 
Words are the spiritual ambulance
and the ephemeral nurse.
I´m the rhyming imposter-I´m sure you´ve heard.
Now sit back as I relate, recite
and rehearse!

Oh Tiberius(arrogant poet)

Oh Tiberius
Drinking your clean thousand dollar whiskey.
Boasting class your voice box, catnip frisky.
Bragging from your beard getting poxy and lippy.
 
The barman looked up hopeful of a tip.
Though tiberius´ fat fingers formed the bird doing a flip.
His cigar tipped sending ash and a little ember into
the barman´s face.
 
A good few pounds of snobbery, false chivalry.
Like a senile priest he rants and raves.
Short fat glass jingling bravely with ice and the
remains of his drab of dram.
Tibby you dream of commanding the old boys slam club.
With cloaks and clandestine rituals that entice you chub!

November dry dog.

His wagging tail does air his body.
His pants and extending tongue
accelerate evapouration.
The dry dog takes november
His hair clogs the clouds and has them fall
on their side.
His bark calls the sun for an early summer ride.

Pinnochio poet(Ricardo Azevedo)

A refreshing random rhyme selection.
Yarns with pings and pangs
and depressions that hang.
Overjoyed blocks that spring
from his pen.
Like his hand sang.
Golden expression unfolds
emotive words glowing.
Rhyme and freeverse extending
Like his nose growing.
Who knows where the stream of his rhyme
next will flow?
Though this be no lie
for he´s the hardened wooden king of prose.
Jumping through moods as
jiminey cricket stows...
Away with Morrison´s peace frog fredo.
Critic´s unease is the tenacious
Azevedo!

Jelly throne(limericked)

Out of snake filled valleys.
Into pimp blocked alleys,
with lost shopping trolleys.
Debauchery volleyed.
 
"Fun for fifty dolley!"
Said the whore named polly.
 
Golly i was chilly,
In the city´s belly.
I could feel the welling
of the spice of life swelling.
In this crowded dwelling.
 
But boy was I jolly.
Laughter I was rolling.
As they sold their tellies.
To buy my throne holy.
Made from priest blessed jelly.

Cutting the blue line.

They are out in force killing cops.
São paulo frontline police are getting
mopped.
Down by the bakery when they´re off duty.
Some local punk contacts the nearest down
dope fiend.
Up on his motorbike with his side kick and arm
they go to town to do some serious harm.
The cop sees them coming too late no tip,
as the two criminals empty their clips.
São Paulo is a state under attack.
By ruthless drug gangs and their
killing squad rackets.
Cutting the blue line and selling
those white ones.
Come on boys in blue pack extra and
zip up those bullet proof jackets.

Greekshine (Elias foukis)

Heal these islands Elias.
look out toward the flat seas
of the mediterranean.
 
There your inspiration must come.
The pleasant heat has been dropped to
hook a winter.
 
Dig deep into the columns of your spirit
and Write a piece for greece.
Bring back the abundance like
the sacred baked herb bread.
Like the tart olives and ripe grapes.
 
Like the oceans bounty and the
blessing in your words.
 
Elias Foukis bring greece back to the vital
epoch where democracy and philosophy
reigned as gods.
 
Continue to awe us with your epic
writing, let it be the medicine
to cure these sweet warm islands.
 
Before winter and the north insist on
 a scapegoat.

Larry stallings(Time´s poet)

He writes with the long hand of the clock.
He was given a telescope by fair providence
she shook her hair at his gratitude.
Larry hurried the theory of a lifetime.
Employed by minute angels to paint the gates
to eternity.
What eloquent words turned to colours
during each hour of his master labour,
each one a brick in this sacred arch
stalling´s long hand and brush touches.
(special tribute to Larry whose poetry and support has been great)

Mother summer(sonnet)

The highway was clear,
As we drove back home,
The sun sent clean glare,
so that heat would roam.
 
She said this weather was good enough to own,
The day´s cloudless morning- light, warm and blue.
Into a bold pleasant midday it has grown.
Out of that blushing cool dawn sunrise it grew.
 
The summer starts with warm dew each day anew.
Graceful heat that endless dry highways harvest.
Long afternoons stick to night like balmy glue.
Such bright feelings, winter´s at it´s farthest.
 
As we pull into the pebbled driveway,
we see summer´s signs have something to say.
(for my mother I hope I´ve been a good sun)

Townhall on the hill

Nobody cared how this town hall looked one hundred years ago.
Nostalgia only comes in the form of football or slum go go.
The high trees surrounding the building make the hill breeze slow.
 
Each morning shoes on, to where the council flies.
Standing in lines everyone of us with a manifesto of lies.
 
Inside the tedious wait for attendance creates a fuss.
There´s a rifle named peachy aimed at each of us.
As we trade nicities and meaningless signed sheets.
Awkward introductions as semi-smiles and semi-frowns meet.

Never caring for the lyrics.

You always approved of the music.
You never really cared for the song you were sick.
 
Never really interested in the message.
You wanted the moves like a horse in dressage.
 
Pompous clown.
Predicting their reactions with accuracy.
Sarcastic frown.
Your face´s charismatic elastacity.
 
Just a breeze for your small heart.
I´m the source of creativity,.
people smell your plagerism
 when I fart.
Your lack of longevity
toward selling out, you go
from us- depart.

Indus fluss, Gaita de foley

 Indus fluss
The warm miracle.
The hot flow.
The elephants nearby plunge.
And true harmony reigns.
The valley fertile, god´s layer!
Thank him, thank christ, and krishna and the subtle
air of difference.
Love for there is no difference.
Love for there is no difference.

Gaita de foley
 And the Kilts and leather buckled crests.
The celtic wail during their village fests.
 
Hugging the highlands of portugal
and scotland.
 
An ancient tongue with a mesclan
of restless greeks and moors that joined hands.
 
Resisting the oppressive empires of the modern day
since the time of the romans.
 
With BAGPIPES and KILTS!

The ghosts of JIM

The man was attacked through his sleep.
As the slim spirits crowded his sweet slumber.
He´d try as he would to cover his head...
But they became a part of him.
They knew him through.
They knew the very landscapes of his dreams.
The very purpose for which they wailed.
The man haunted, learned the true ghost.
Learned him off by heart, as morrison took the liberty...
To tap me on the shoulder.

God chance

It´s mucky down in the dim devil´s gully,
I´ve often played there.
 
Turned and climbed the hill out of bully´s folly,
God made me aware.
 
Life´s error is from excitement to boredom-
in a split second.
 
From shaking of fright to stone like a gorgon-
gift of life wrecking.
 
God´s hand appears again and again to my aid.
Showing me the value in subtle things I´ve
deemed lame.

Within the foreign neglect

Paradise is sought after.
As armies of interlopers thunder.
The sun rises on their heads
as they wonder,
  "Is the grass greener?"
   "Is the carcass still fresh, is the dream"
(with enough to feed my family)
Deep within the foreign necklace.
Stigmas have been nailed in.
The host´s need for inexpensive labour,
his false embraces.
His resorting to bullets and hammers
when the profits drop.

Off the wall war crimes.

They were killed like the hunter does his prey.
With grit teeth and brute hearts.
They were killed on no auspicious day.
Bullets sculpted them like art!

as Syria burns.

Night´s couple(sonnet)

They set the scene with the full moon.
The balmy night air as warm as their hearts.
Sharing the dawns announce as the night departs.
On their love there will be light soon.
 
The turbulence of union settles down.
Their light conversation moves in circles.
Their lovebird halos float turning from red to purple.
The very sight of them would ease a hard frown.
 
Love so warm the night could hardly absorb it.
         So fresh transforming into morning´s blessing.
         So ripe like tropical spring mangos.
 
Such a flame in the way they fit.
Such a game as their spirit´s wrestle.
As they tussle in moonlight flow.

Here´s a clue

Humourous options,
Tumors, interruption.
 
Late mammoths see dusk
between their gigantic tusks.
 
This day requires passion.
through colours and musk.

Molten breach, Dante´s blindness

The landscape is pitch black
if not for the lava pouring out in great
streams across the land.
Illuminating the land of eternal death.
The sparks fly out touching the blind who´d
stay near for warmth.
Showing the faces of rundown souls
and sadistic adolescent demon spawn
that would slit the souls renewed form
with shards of igneous rock.
Sharp Mountain ranges make perches for
flying zombie bats.
Every now and then comes the local alpha
demonic laughter to spread the dread on whole.
Then he holds the closest unfortunate near to
his chest as if in embrace.
Alas outcomes the spider connected to him
through veins, as it runs up through the hair of
the pleb like soul and digs it´s fangs in
true excrutiating terror!
Vile nightmarish existance
upon the molten breach of
devastation.
(Hell well enough to map it)

Kali roams

The swerve of a                                                         Haggis fire
deadly mountain,                                                      Roast heroe brave
The curve of                                                               Fire that touches
it´s blue arm.                                                             unholy tribes  
The destroyer,
fast descending.
To claim the lives.                                                     Deep wells of black
To satiate,                                                                  decades on worms
the apetite                                                                trapped in it´s stomach
Of blind
wandering vagabonds.
To eat the hearts
of well fed
lawyers,
and bathe in
the blood of...
a complacent population.                          Tunnel dwelling fig dragon!
 
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARAAAAAAAA
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.