Pile of islands

Tanned bodies contrast with very pale rosy white ones
Walking by boy and girl, child and parent, sand and seawater
Fit middle-aged residents slip through the sand and disappear into the waves
Large awkward tourists mope at the shore, where white wash waxes their lumpy limbs
Football youths bronzed and beer gutted head-butt their ball and brag into the day
as if they were pushing it into being real

Hoards of chilli-bin lugging hawkers make their way arduously
 through the deep squishy sand
Umbrellas have landed like parachutes
Giving short shards of shade for the midday timid
Beach vibration tropical and vivid.

Airplanes drag advertising across the open sky
Thin sly locals rent you beach chairs sunglasses and beards get to work
Launches, yaughts and cargo ships slide off the horizon
like it was the edge of the world
A couple of miles from this pile of islands god tried to glue to paradise

My plane

She flies and like the clouds she should
She's packing now and she will be unpacking soon
We will land soon and take off grand
She's an inspiration in the sand
She's a piece of summer in my hand

Under the umbrella with her all day
Peanut vendors are praying I'll pay
Full of the sunlight they will go home hollow pocketed
She's the plane she's the right design she's my rocket
The beach is ours forever blue never grey

Farmer of war(The grey existance)

The borders are sweet and fertile
The plough hits the earth and enters it like a knife
What he plants will explode when the rebels step to the harvest
The poison he drops from his plane he calls pesticide

He keeps working
Smoke pouring through his crops
Shell shocked Refugees wander through
The fixed frown of the farmer as bent as the hoe blade

He tends his patch while chaos devours the land
Borders burn again and again
He simply plods away at his tilling
As if the shrapnel won't hit him

Conflict finds fuel and ammunition
The farmer of war finds his pipe and lights it
No birds sing or peck the ground for worms
He is not burnt not touched by any bullet

Late afternoon's sun casts the farmer of war's long shadow
And in it's bounds a megalomaniac germinates

The breaking of the Phantom

The spirit's true turmoil strikes the heart and mind
And after the hundred dreadful thoughts
each one a cord for the phantom to climb
I have readied the flame for the dry strands

This magician of the afterlife will meet his doom
Desires extinguished conscience groomed
Doubt devastated through the spacious aware
Now the facades will burn like the ghouls in my room

I promise the lurking specter will cringe
In the quiet darkness where it sings
I will be there with the dagger in my eyes
No longer the observed, I have become the spy

With those regrets disappearing
These lies are weak, I have ripped apart the fear
Well wishing in my hand and I wield it like a whip
I will find your neck phantom...

And choke the heck out of you.
I'll feed you to the birds
The ones that bask in the daylight
Ghostly feed for the beak of my words

The approaching phantom

Footsteps toward the bed
footsteps that the dark night imposed in your head
The second curse
A spectre in your room replenished

Facing it again and again
But the fear drops as sweat
and the cool invisible ones can smell it
they touch your pillow and the cold air lands

Here It is in the dark
The phantom lays the curse
I tear it up yet it reforms
Footsteps across the floor

Something plays and preys after midnight's bell
Something with a hundred mouths
Dull profanity and a union with darkness
I cast it out despite it's fraternity with the night

How did it so cunningly link itself to doubt fed fear
Spread itself through the calm air?
How did it choke my peace?
The approaching phantom will never cease

The flourishing of the deliverers

These handles on days that go by
Rounded and shaped for fingers
Fingers of light
fingers that gave life

Waves of aging crash down
but your prayer has been heard
yes divinity hides behind those eyes
You can't see it, the world a tenacious disguise

The flourishing of the deliverers
Let their time on earth be blessed
And their acceptance of the mystery
their perseverance toward vitality

For living as they do blesses all that lives
and far from scripture
or the preachers mouth
Is the bed of the lord where dreams come true

Gist juice

The taste of understanding tangy on the tongue
The tastebuds know
Flavour is radiating
as sweet as ideas surging and disappearing

A cup of that illuminating knowledge quenching gist juice
Facts flowing rapidly pouring into the swirl of accumulated academia
The IQ levitating and sometimes dropping to graze the base of the brain
Give me the answer the reason the modern interpretation

Let it warm between blossoming ears
Perculate in there
Boil down to something solid and lightbulb shaped
Gist juice

Gunpowder

Dried riverbeds drag through the old mining town
The rock of the ground a hazy yellow from days of sun drenching
A few shrubs withstand the imposing dry
The silent land´s only echo is the heat.

Even the rust is dying of thirst
On the welcome to gunpowder sign

Faith´s tide(yes they sent a demon)

Beachfront rooves baked in the sun
Sons surfed to their noon fun
Misty middays, and i dragged the living
from where the children played

Paperwork hindered and frustrated
I was almost assasinated
Like a convoy of love to the sea I was
Under the sinister pines a sign i´d pay a cost

Down toward the islands divide everything improved
Life treated me to clear skies shimmering midday lagoons
A trailer filled with loved ones I towed with a tractor
Market gardens with servants of god to greet us

Then the dimness stole all life from the day
Darkness found me in a medievil tavern
On the sand floor with a wooden cup of wine in my hand
A demon in a tantrum lunged at me with rage as sour as the wine was

Faith was there in my gut dripping down from my rapidly pumping heart
I was with my creator as the demon full of blame and hate emitted his poison
His eyes boiling his sharp ears and mouth accusing
I cut him in half and stared at his remains

This broken demon body upon the sand
the trophy of my faith
The inversion of the curse
The turning point of the ordeal and resounding demise of the yellow demon

May the world be rid of hidden spells
Of wishing pain and invoking hell
Indeed I do pray that my Faith continues to rise
Before evil´s next diabolical surprise

Lateness and dawn cloud

 Leaving a city
Travelling slowly away from that familiar scenery
Entering a new one

Leaving behind that rolled up cloud that would grip trees at dawn
That smoky layer
Sun's burning it up

The end of this year
end of the train line
Late to work attached to strings of complacency

I love slumber
though it's being robbed
The pillow and the sheet call me lullaby sweetly

All things I left behind creep up
previous engagements rattle around in my head
My plans are being broken like dawn cloud

I've managed to hold onto a few
No late train can hold this back

Afford your mansion

Tiger head fountains in your high homes.
hard dead grey walls
Big hands reaching into the pot
Pushing back the poor

Candid two faced administrator
Drama headquarters of hell
Our hearts are mansions of pride
A mansion of anger a symbol of your simple greed

Long are the lost roads in these overcrowded cities
Where we Exchange promises and guarantees
Numbers on paper under mansions that loom like sentries
Spending our Money and keeping poor people poor

The van to a brilliant new world is heavy
 under the weight of our obsession with possessions
the driver says our Money is no good
And we have to catch the late bus like the criminals

Life is no mansion, it´s not a fancy stoned ring
Tiger head fountains won´t stop bullets
So stop selling guns to poverty
Try to drain the hidden contempt of your servants

Investigate exploitation´s cost high and handsome
Before you invest in your next big mansion.

Wanganui shade

Old Phoenix palm umbrela
with fruit trees and tall flowering shrubs
to form a canopy over the Yard
Where shade would lay all year round

If time had two eyes and a face
It would look to the sky and feel the temperature of the seasons
The shade is the only cool place through rainless january days
The earth naked to the laughing leaves

Late friend the blueberries have ripened
And from here to otaki their fruit forms
Would you dare go by foot under pines in the night
Like the wild dog hiding from the moonlight

No your courage is for show friend
Time is ticking as the Phoenix palm rots from the inside out
The grassless soil below transparente as your fear
January evenings your mouth boasts out and puts in beer

The window sills will  be as sad as stationary you come april
No more heat to take hold of you, move your lazy carcass
You can hear your dead father screaming leave this place
For nothing grows there´s no laughter for jokes and you´re always broke

Don´t let your Peace be cut by the hands of time
The surface roots cracking earth are alarm bells that started ringing years ago.

Lines of the sunset

Strange waves of clouds have washed the storm in
The Blurring drenching front
Falling to land with the gails and forks
With knocks and cracks

Dispersing and disappearing
Drifting into fragments cut by the waning sun
Into lines of the sunset
A blazing outlandish Orange pink

Peace at the end of daylight

Thin(tragic loss)

When the heart becomes a balloon
big and empty for mourning blows
The father's grief looms
A space inside him grows

The simple joys are flattened
The future is a nurse
ears hear pitter patter
Though not a footstep is what's worse

Not a burp or grin or burst of laughter
But a thousand tears for a mourning father
Times grow thin and tragic loss growls
Emaciated will each day tastes foul

The arms that once held such a beautiful son
reach out to emptiness despair fills lungs
The punishing strokes of disbelief
Of reliving the shock during black weeks of grief.

Where there's no picture(selfish crown)

Someone's waiting oh it can't be me
Someone with a crown and an empty picture
Waiting for confirmation that the person is royalty
Life's short, forget majestic and get the nectar

Am I the lost love sick stick figure pointing
With bags under my eyes?
I admit I used to lose sleep and breathe sighs
Until I realized too life's short to pine

An elephant' s memory and a lions heart
the empty picture is a lie
Known is the reason why I departed
Framed obsession isn't art... Or a way to get by

The mother of the matter

Life´s emergency in this sweet new world
A chaotic ball of fallen angels from heaven hurled
Our mother is the ocean and our mother is the sky
Did gravity land us here? Is there a how or even a why?

Life´s masterpiece half painted in the front halls of midlife existance
Tones of blue fresh and calming but that don´t hide the reddish turmoil
Our mother is thinners so our brush can change through tints
Our mother is pure colours before we mix, blend and foil them

As life makes fathers of men
Few miracles hasten the process
Bravery sends us to the rescue now and then
With not a paintbrush in my case but a pen blessed

Our mother is conflict
Our mother is survival
Our mother is the quest so epic
to love life while we´re alive

Without a face on

I was in need
brakes on secretary
Forms filled pockets too
Second hand greed

I needed some help
behind the counter they were wary
Pens write, keyboards tap but butter doesn´t melt
Screen saving smiles on their faces is how I felt

I could have used a hand
They wouldn´t throw a wonton
You tell me you´re a great fan
without your real face on

Second hand greed skyrockets
and screen saving religion´s beliefs
Tithings crossing counters entering pockets
Without facing the truth it´s just false relief

Life's tables

When you sit and ponder at life's great table
About the chair you sit on termite ridden and unstable
Your forearms gripping for the inevitable fall
Forget the cadence and accept it all

Indeed swing back smiling
And if the back legs creak
Think back to the time you found life so beguiling
And if you hear a crack under cheek
Ponder longer and linger over your decent worthwhiling

So many souls wait to join these tables
Special people leave us elderly and babies
I write a line of thanksgiving to god
When I ask him if my chairs firm I pray he nods

Innocence and Death

Death runs a mysterious game
Knitting itself into our lives
nodding and shaking it's head with authority
Life is out there it's light that death forces our eyes open to see

It climbs into our heads as we climb into bed
And won't leave our humble footsteps to and from work
There's a lot of beauty in this world
Some of it remains for many years and some of it disappears,
before you could even put your finger on what you thought was so beautiful about it.

Yes death runs a mysterious business
Slamming into things and interrupting everybody's lives
When a young child dies silences are deafening
The stomach is upturned and thoughts of god's master plan and destiny
are thrown onto the table like an ugly supper that takes months to eat.

How does life just simply evaporate leaving a few ridiculous signs
that our science and medicine can calmly pass off as being reasonable causes
Death itself some invention of the human mind, some fifteenth century painting
of a hooded specter wielding a scythe.
There's no death there's just departure, departure of beautiful people
and smiles for a while, departure of lifestyles and certain giggles

Some question god, some question destiny
on how a soul so innocent as a young child's could leave a caring family so abruptly
Death the mysterious game, as unpredictable as life
Moving and working as life does
subtracting from the equation of our existence. Above all scrutiny

The waterwheel and the son

Out from the caves were blue skies
New ideas and new empires
A Young boy was raised above the waterwheel
Heavens Kingdoms couldn´t decide

Out of uncertainty and severe cities
The son brought blue skies
fairness
And enough water to conquer thirst for a decade

The son was elevated above the water wheel
In an epoch of thievery and injustice
The son had spent his short time on this Earth
Curing with his smile

As the waterwheel turned above the sun
Droplets came down like rain
Like holywater on his head
Blessing him and the Family that bore him

A Thousand blessings to Benjamin
A Thousand blessings to Benjamin
May god capture his games

Empty bottles(groceries)

Where´s the sauce?
Where´s the juice?
Empty bottles in my home it´s a nuisance
I look at myself there´s noone to accuse

Glass and plastic
Recycle now bare shelves fantastic
None left now the grocery obligation
No more snack cabinet temptation

Bottles full of air stained and stale
Where´s the sauce
The spice of course
What have they got on sale?

Or fill them up
The stomach is the ironic destination
Where heaven is digestion
Empty as my bottles are.

Big beach by the seaside

Bike lane smooth red and hot
Narrow tires and flip flops hit it way past sundown
Aromas mix from beach bar fried food and young people's fruity smoke
The smell of freshly boiled corn wafting through beachside town

Tandem bikes pass by so close to the sand
dumbfounded teens with drinks and smokes in their hands
Surfboard carrying middle aged men who seldom found a wave
Scantily clad girls simultaneously dancing and walking the pavement

The beach totally colonized by umbrella hugging families
Big chilly bins and beach chairs filled with sun-loving folks by the sea
Swarms of children confused by all the space and muddle
Not knowing whether to dig to jump or paddle

Beach vendors whistle and shout
Oh the warm bustle how could I go without?

One foot in the fair ground

The grass is three inches high just enough
to break the fall of your steps
Soft toys and all something fluffy
you can drag home and pet

The ferris wheel is opaque
rolling around for gypsy's sake
Candy floss sickly adheres to the roof
And the entrance is stained with cake

Three inch grass all the way to the carousel
The sky is overcast light grey no arousal
The pines bulge out their dark green overtures
circling the fair like overgrown vultures

The grass frisky and flappy heavenly and alive
brushes against punter's souls and shoes
teens balloons and flying hands for high fives
One foot in the fair ground the other in a queue

It's back in fashion

Yeah jacket vests
Lil pests from the eighties
they grin and spin me the line
about how great these are

Mild pride in their voices as they announce
that this crap is back in fashion
Life saving vest sports cap backwards
Go to town with that coolness, not an ounce

Back in fashion
The iron fist of the retro faction
colours clashing
Go to town with that coolness not a fraction

So yippy peeps grow an imagination
Don't reinvent the old pop out of frustration

Big hairy stomach

Back legs of the chair bend
The slouch reveals flab there's no pretending
Cavalier attitude his problems are inflatable
Hairy misplaced fat bulges toward the table

Preoccupied with not caring
Grunts from his nose rise scarily
Accusations the unpleased grin appears
No effect as he tries to instill fear

Way to bug the teacher chubby
Way to blame him for the way you spend your money
So suck your belly in tubby
Your spoilt childhood aint even funny

Try to break the chair under your weight
or the teacher with your hate
Conceal your ugly stomach mate
If that shit falls you won't levitate

Itchy neighbour

Darkness falls off the sky like a silk veil off a pale blue table
A screen door opens
So does a mouth
There´s coughing
A mutter and a swig of coffee

Light creeps into the Windows
God´s hands indeed
Itchy neighbour back to bed
A sigh and a mumble
a screen door fumble

Wrong side of bed
pillow crease lines on the face
Mouth wants taste and to stop the yawn
Hello itchy neighbour, good morning

Wince

Common come on typical facial sign
Under the pasture
eyebrows raised it's a stampede
signs of intensity around ever since they've let me lead

The sigh is a silken sheet of an utterance
I demand to hear it softly fluttering
out of valleys between elbows and knees
Eyebrows raised at the planting of seeds

Oh the eyes half closed like night shy flowers
Are almost enough to convince me
They've let me lead and ever since
I like to see the way my night shy flower winces

Sandwiches and the fall of mankind(your very own confusion)

Wouldn't want to suggest that the unrest
will bring down stability in the west
Wouldn't want to imply the outrageous strawberry
That'll top just desserts seriously

The bread of continents has only small grains of equality
Phillistine rule and order is the sauce that soaks it totally
You my convention's concubine are the filling
Wrapping snacks for the fall

Wouldn't want to expose your bruises
Your wounds, your anger it keeps you working and accusing
Worshipping the elite is a hamburger that'll make you sick
Drizzle money and blood before the storm's fat and tickled

Animals like these afore armagaeddon, animals like me
Cutting your crusts off for compost tastefully
as the gusts of coastal hurricanes touch down like your refusing
You no longer flex but you shiver engulfed by your own confusion
 (Factories for the destruction of genuine ytilautirips)

Father of spirit

I saw my father
It was dusk the police had almost caught him
he fled some party knocking over garden furniture
He got home excited

I took him by the arm and warned him
He was set to go off
An aggressive heart you have boy!
Who took your power?

I was my grandfather
It was morning and fresh paint
and freshly cut lawns could be smelt
Windless clear spring sky, tea steamed out of the mug

The cigarette went a rolling
and the local rag unfolded
My father(my son) played down by the gate
As I called my wife to tell her how much he'd grown

That day I had a sermon to give
Local churchgoers were still getting used to my voice
My wife never liked the idea
Today I'd take my youngest son

Sunday assembly was about to begin
In my life I had seen war and recession win
I decided my son would have it different
heaven had a plan for him

Freckled William(numb to the smirk)

Freckled William
A search for approval
A stocky boy spouting boasts
For his overdue there´s no renewal

Freckled william of all pups
of all chicks, of all hatchlings
of all roosted baby otters
attention deficit adult dragling

Freckled William Pete infact
Nod off while announcing
Question while distracted
Listen without hearing class clown impact

Freckled William bootfolk
Lucky with screens and wives
semi humourous slang jokes
Attention seeking live

Needy seedy sleazy
self thought appealing
parallel peers with their giggle force out
He´s numb to their smirking

Eduardo mendigo

By the church
old cardboard box
A few dirty possessions
Hope was like a bad word

Head like a bird´s nest
Eyes dim street lights
Left there by the world
He and his dog Abandoned by it

The echo of scripture being read
The vibration of wedding trumpets
The ceremonies roll past
his humble existance

Nothing but charity
and pure lonliness

God can dance

God can kick god can walk
He´s a follower of your steps
Streets were shaped for his shoulders
Falling feet that gravity hold

God´s our toy in conversation
We are his toy in life
As people play with rules and Faith
blood stained metal of bullet and knife

Parapet wings to fly
Heavenly chorus´ singing of how christ died
Cherubs and trumpets and fast talking preachers
Views of the world and god askew

They can talk about adam and eve
and history and spirituality as if with a clue!
But don´t you know god can dance
Dreams are free and life's a chance?

Hobo´s sermon

Sermão de mendigo(Hobo´s sermon)

He from the broken home
he who lived by the church
Eduardo mendigo the homeless prophet
Fear kept it´s distance

He who cleaned my eyes
and told me of the inner trickery
He said put your games away sir
For everything will change

He said at the same rate as my hair grows
so do the times change
His words had the tone and speed of truth
His eyes of intimacy with deep pain

His hair will grow
If god wants it so
Some of those destructive concerns
will leave our shoulders

Maybe our Faith
could move a few boulders

Let me teach

Let me build barns of your brains and fill them
feed them and the winter livestock
Let me instruct your shallow night
Point out your mistakes so you won't err

Let me plant a tree where nests will be thatched
The wise out there will be in you matched
And we can cherish a few of those little known facts
Learn and you'll shine a little brighter perhaps

Clean those windows
brush out the chimneys
Your mind's a house
and when you're with me feel at home

Write words into the water watch them go
speak in ripples
I'll let the information we investigate flow
drink it in sips

The tide carries away the food

By the shallow pools of seawater slowly being filled by the incoming tide
is the chef of our century preparing soup and tipping it into sea.
The soup washes up against the sand green and floating,
Such a waste yet so destined to be that way.

Desired maidens brush back their hair while sportsmen try to court them
They don't know and entertainment wants to find itself
Worried men's minds can't interrupt the need
So flowing through the waves the observer goes as the couples split

The water full of food
Beauty hits the sand nude
Wooden boards that skip across the water
Plates carrying us for we are edible

I am the cassino

Look at me
What am I beyond loose change and leather sofas?
A little here a little there
My ear is a pocket and i´m listening to the jingle

Pokermachines a life upside down pure gambling
In the corner someone wins a fortune
Lights and coins and how life spins
Five minute weddings and betting on sin

Welcome to me, shining like the head
the cocaine note unfolded
I am the cassino always hungry yet overfed
I am the chance to win

So come to me break even or breakdown bankrupt
For I am the cassino tossing the coin high
As wallets empty and time is spent
Is it mere luck below the neon signs?

Before you count to five

Before count to five(before twenty)

The eternal teenager.

Haircuts and gossip the who's who changing with the hormones

At sixteen self involved, hair-dye experiments and pop music

The movement of youth it's bleeding through the hospital of time

Flashing brilliant, transforming and exploding into neon colors

The who did what and when comes to light school like a razor

Turbulent emotional flabbergast

We shut our mouths when we should speak

Class clowns ridiculing from backseats

Lust new and undiluted lines the veins of the brain

Eyes are distracted and life and love await like long lost family

Lunchtime corners where shyness breathes on some

Middle hall power-points fizzle and spark energy in their skin

Sports field changing-rooms admit dropping sweat and mud-stains

Part of the cycle exposes itself shamelessly to the world

exaggerated stories of loss and victory, remorse and repugnant taunting

Even the odd secret between wooden benches

Showers clean none of that necessary dirt

None of that untapped necessary living to screw up

Pride finds itself in holes in each young heart

Where it grows and takes hold

or runs around not knowing where to sustain itself

For each balanced kid there's always one that's twisted

Bent out of shape by disillusion, pressure

and the changing chemistry in a live body new to the world

Yet even the distinct foul taste of confusion could sweeten over the years

The flavor of loss or depression changing to please the souls taste-buds

In the lukewarm soup of memory.

Dance club lights flirt with teen auras

the confusion makes sense

Hot stories of when first timer lips met repeat

Enthusiasm is cradled like a new born

Chatter and laughter match the cricket's summer night racket

Social network threads flood the world

Frivolous impulsive thought a deluge

Conforming to the illusion of individuality

Yes that great beast flexing shopping mall biceps

The greedy and ever-consuming “Illusion of individuality”

Clinging to puberty and a void above the sign “identity”

Thought and opinion manipulators inject the clouds above the young

Minds are made like pancakes before you can count to five

Cosmos toddler

Cosmos Toddler

Abandoned near the park bench,

semi-grin radiating off him as he toddled.

Half melted ice cream in hand.

Outside some restaurant closed for the day.

His mother's scolding on his mind.

The semi grin dies down.

A lonely world growls hideously

and the wee boy quickly points to sky.

Like god would come down and comfort him,

suddenly give him back his parents.

Lost in the streets and his tears, his handkerchief still smelt like his mother

as his tiny hand held it up to his nose

A taxi passed by the man inside stared

but was unwilling to stop and help him.

The toddler swung his arms high

and thought of his fourth birthday a month before

How heinously strange that things should turn so sour now

All the same a grin sneaked back up across his face

as he remembered how his father had lifted him up

to show his little friends all his new toys.

He dragged his legs in the gutter as despair returned

bottom lip starting to tremble.

The clouds opened up and the sun shone upon him

He felt the warmth and remembered his mother's chest

He remembered his grandparents' smiles

The sun intensified and he pointed his finger again

his hand jarring from side to side as he extended his arm.

It was like something was there to protect him

as he heard a beating from under the ground

Looking around himself at the people passing who simply ignored him.

The beating got stronger as if the earth had a heart.

The tiny boy put his ear to the ground as the sun held him.

The warmth and the presence sent him to sleep.

Simple games and curiosities spun around in his dreams,

he was falling to earth not in panic but as the rays of the sun

As if he'd became plural and as he arrived he spread across the lands as the wind

It was as if the pieces of the cosmos had been broken up

and been given to him as building blocks.

The little boy simply disappeared from where he'd been sleeping on the side walk,

His mother just a block away screaming her head off like a demented rooster.

The little boy was now absorbed into the earth and sun, his sadness, fear and his glee

burned deep under and high high above. He was now the cosmos toddler.

Luke far off

Voice bounced around a few tones
Squarish approach... you
Us between our hometown and the island.
The world between us now

Academy driven
Like a genius you, I but a simple similie... you
toward the skies
a family

I´m not there to interrupt your prestige
won´t bug you or hound you
So stay an inspiration to me... You
my brother, my everlost link, you far off evolving sibling

Wind and vanity

It hits the river of hair knocking it back
Like a soap star´s tear
It breathes all over from out of nowhere
It sneaks and bothers

It hits skin running up goosebumping it
It swarms summing up
In the valleys of a woman it hovers just enough
before diving like a crazed puma

It hit's eyelids battering them because vanity matters
Bearing down as self want skids
For grand crowds of dull know how to flatter
Madeup and proud

The movement of hot and cold air
of mirrors that stare
of wind and vanity

The light that promised

Towering light house kneel down and chat to me mild
For I am the rocky limits of the sea´s curiosity a waving child
Talk of old shipwrecks your mirrored firey eyes caught near midnights edge
Account for those lost sailors gripping the craggy points of these coasts
Like last century´s widows running up your steps for the lighthouse girl´s throat

Sit down and Split bricks about rock pools and between seaweed educate me
give me the tidal rules
No captain in the world had searched so desperately, no wayward seafearer
 had eyes that licked the shores so sweepingly
Comfort light that saves the keel from reef plunder
That keeps the mast firm in storms that render ships asunder

Light the way towering lighthouse so the lost and adrift
may find their calm harbours.

Seven scorpions(junkyard universe)

The doorstep almost kept them out
But seven Scorpions crept up on it and tried to enter
The blue colours on their backs seemed to glow as they came in
A rolled up newspaper knocked them back must have been the front page

Broken matchbox cars and a faulty time machine now lay at the foot of the step
As I swept it all up one scorpion latched on to my finger
Help came late and left my finger to be bitten
I looked down at a piece of the time machine in my hand

Childhood stings and curious insects doubtful doorsteps
How vulnerable is the one who proposes to protect
Time machine flattened, claws cracked all by life´s depth
Seven imortal Scorpions scurry without direction through a junkyard

The train that drags daylight

Gossip at the shopfront, sun almost successful through thursday´s strong clouds
Neighbourhood friends all set to go and entertain themselves
A few awkward loners left on the side walk, sun not quite shining on them
Girl clerk spreads words on the day like butter and the sky that wouldn´t change

Walking down to some basin school where expectations had legs and walked like paperwork
Where lanky supervisors breathed through beaks and peeped through butterstained specs
The day arrived like the train, tunnels and numbness led the line of Young aloof teens
The sky became a blanket of grey comforting the Young ones like chicks in nests

The carriage carried the youths toward the city centre the buildings turned upside down
And when they arrived the girl clerk got out of her car and met the youths as they disembarked,
Carriages bumped and creaked, sootstained bushes welcomed them, as did the drizzley afternoon,
the way ahead lacked any signage but was familiar and reeked of the past.

The soul collectivity

Pieces of us and our organic chemistry
The mouth to kiss, the same that breathes
The physical world gripped by vibration
The way a soul moves when tranquil or uneasy

Who can measure the size of a soul
Or even relate it´s collectivity?
Swimming as spiritual fish in a schoal
just lightbulbs powered by god´s electricity?

Let your will to wonder manifest
as your will to pray and play
The many colours of existence as a test
Curious eyes to the light of day

The soul´s collectivity
Energies that shift briefly
Experiences light and heavy
inside the shape of the human body

How the spirit moves

His body tilted to the side
as he gave an example
I could see his spirit the one hitching a ride
The supernatural patch of light

The spirit moved the ambient provoked the halo
 Angelic glow glued to the personality lively on show
The sway of the light hit his conviction
Encouraging hoards of spirits to give us protection

The balanced aura reflecting a settled soul
This turbulent piece of me that twists and rolls
And as the preacher breathed the sermon onto spirit hands
Gracefully his voice was carried to human fear and demand

Dusk and society

Streetlamps turn on as we prepare to live at night
Failing to outshine the sun or mirror the moon
We compete ceaselessly for the late afternoon
Day retires to dog-walks, rush-hour and early date-swoon

It's night and day's art in saying glare gives way to gloom
Dinner time clank and oven mitt fit, dining rooms bright
Closing time imitating the dwindling daylight, as it removes it's loom
Youth refuses to put away wheels, unpredictability's might.

Last-minute shoppers accelerate, plastic bags clenched tight
Beaches become lonely plains dim empty sand dunes
Even the suburban birds reduce their song and flight
As the sky slowly turns a darker blue

Busy cafe

Some just search for a brasserie
Wooden floors and chairs lit up by summer's glee
Plates and mugs and aprons wafting of modern food and coffee
Laughing glasses and pseudo class fitters park bums

Waiters drift past
Norah jones' wet and sneaky humm
Polished cheeks and kitchen trash-talk nasty
The murmur rises and falls like wind taking leaves

People invent heaven
Just so they can leave

The children of conflict

Our infancy still reflecting from our eyes but we don't see
Little obsessions that formed when we were toddlers
Have been hardened into the surface of our personalities
Shaping our pleasantness and our need for conflict we squabblers

Little kids we are, knocking about tongues in mouths
like loose opinions floating in rooms
Like anticipation in the soon
Just meaningless fleas in the tines of broken brooms

Children we are, all in god's scoop
Doing the 2nd or 3rd rotation of reincarnation's steep loop
Youth tickles the mind even as age assumes
Children we are till our day of doom

Queensize bed on the pavement

Mendigo hobo the street curb's your pillow
No walls or windows, exhaust fume wind blows
Under the bridge where everybody talks but noone knows
Daylight glare open nighttime gates closed.

Queensize bed all marked with carbon
stained with body fluids a smell that befuddles
Quirky hangovered hobos share their last drops
Slap happy till the buzz stops

Dazed eyes monitor the streeet vendors passing by
Hobos wobble and lean as they follow junkyard style
The local mob disperse as spiritual crocadiles
At the centre of despair the helpless sleep in bile.

Teach

Stand and deliver
Sign with body language
sound it out
teach

Demonstrate
connect the dots in the class
Listen and correct
teach

Appeal and symbolize

From underneath

Like a rabbit in the ground
But more like a troll
I attack the nearest cabin
my weapon takes a toll

I enter shooting and demanding
I come out smiley faced, loot in hand
Open the hatch, break my fall, boots hit sand
Along the tunnel, what a hoot, my heist was grand

Best friend institutionalized, hid the loot with him
The asylum imposed lies, I was his only honesty, a thief
He implored I disguise him for an escape, I said chances were slim
I said I´ll dig you a tunnel and surprise you from underneath

Time and the meaning of life

My brother and his helicopter
The river and it´s flow
The entrance to the hospital
Meaning of life to never know

The river flowed toward the inevitable
Time water, time climate
Turning the current
Learning to rotate it

Damaged entrance to the hospital
Meaning of life some lost scroll
Time a voice that becomes a feeling
That becomes an expression of the events that unfold

Suddenly I am

Diminished I felt
Illusions and big mouths bend the truth
Sky gray ride- I realized
The fact I am is absolute

A localized shift left me where I am
Curiosity in the eyes that look upon I the man
Diminished I was never, of that I'm now astute
No adjective fits not ugly nor cute

And suddenly among you I am
Where big mouths exaggerate
Where envy and pride abide
Where half men's egos burst and inflate

I never begged acceptance, I don't try to fit
I just use these humble words to write about it.

Rules unto a poet

As conduct is to fall on us now like snow did unto the caveless Neanderthal
Etiquette rains down and floods us out like Noah's cynics
These rules manners and modes overcrowd us day after day
From the way you walk in the park to the full blown picnic

The way I word the night has been likewise described  a million times
The digestion of words and the regurgitation
Rules that I've broken aren't original rhymes
Though my poetry never danced to expectation

These should's and have to's are supposed to even me out
Though imbalance in the written word is what it's all about
The form suggests it's not my head but my chest
Throwing forbidden ink into your eyes, verse blessed!

Beyond the pines

And there the motorcycling daredevil shot a root
Into the ground, into a woman, into a small town
Attempting to love to care
safety and security clothes he couldn't wear

As adrenaline once again took it's toll
coursing through his veins with the fifty grand he stole
His new son was his reasoning
Even with nothing he'd bluff but never fold

So down he fell from his bike
and down he fell from the cop's bullet
He should have continued to live in the circus
'cause beyond the pines he wouldn't

His girl and her security took care of the baby
While the cop became a hero
Their sons ate fate it was tasty
and came close to starting back from zero

Patience and the ghost(a teacher´s insomnia)

Midnight leapt upon me
Eyes fighting to shut
mind to halt
how many sheep?

To teach to teach
with the heat of hot brains
as we attempt to provoke a response
Reach and realize student gain.

Back home to snuggle and slumber
A tight numbness clings to reflection and wonder
Between me and blissful relaxing
Friction of interactions a dozen heavy facts

Patience said the ghost
As we shared a species of insomnia
Patience said the ghost
Sleep is eternal where I´m from

Awaken consider

The alarm blows Instantly your mind tries to wrap itself around the day.
Your blankets fall from you you stand grab at clothes and sway
The crumbs and drabs from dreams are shaken as you stumble to the bathroom
Did you awaken to the same life into the same reality the same you?

Crumpled sheets and no reflection
A Thousand tasks and a struggle for direction
A pillow´s dents dried sweat and yesterdays concern
Dawn´s been waiting daylight burns

Breakfast hands and a preoccupied mind
plans for the week´s work and freetime.
Open Windows breathe in
tomorrow touched the air.

The bald ego

He batted his wings at me.
Glared and smirked,
Propped himself up like a dismal clerk
Payed attention in silence and ignored any dialogue

scruffed up and predisappointed
he believed Faith was a disease
He believed rewards would fall without commitment
He was a midlife crisis laughing on his knees

And as I appealed to him invain
he called me an angry man
Yet not a wince more of frustration do I carry
His ears ever waxed his eyes ever full of sand

Fat and thin(honesty in a city)

Shop shelves empty
Mouths aswell lips swollen
saliva drips oh hell
Left for wanting the owner quits

Streets warm grey stretch to Exchange ideas
with the Wind
Grey streets humid urge us to walk on down them
despite dust, grit and sin.

Those empty shops full of people scavenging
On the corner of town where dank lobbies hide
 the type that swallow the lost for nights and days
 begging their timid permission

The cities far off skyscrapers pointing ridiculing
excreting suburbs and slums
Honesty had so much room in the director´s fat stomach
poisoned it slid into a meagre janitor where it became emaciated as he was

The gossiping man

What does the gossiper do when no News is given?                                                                             Of what does he drink, of what does he sip?        
Bad News he hits the bottle and spills the puke
From quivering lips he spits the pips

Gossiper paints the neighbours ugly
Seldom speaks well of anybody
His appeal to outrage is a hunger
it´s his addiction as a scandal-monger

Far be it from me to judge the loose lipped
For all their indiscretions their rebuttle and quips
For everyman- even he has his rightful place
And to deny the gossiper a lie is such a waste

Tragic traffic light

There they stopped unaware
Motorbike pulled up assailants stare
Gun tapped against the window
Working man´s pride pretending not to care

Smashing glass and shouting
With the wallets and purses delivered
offenders offended pistol touting
bullets went through arms faces and livers

The onlookers shocked obligatory witnesses
forced to see the killing by revelling misfits
The hard punch of their guns disgusting reverberation
As if their heinous acts were inflicted in deliberation

Blood soaked the road´s soot and dust
Sirens blared and the criminals scarpered
Screaming died down as forensics clumsily fussed
Not a fibre did they find of hair or nor a finger print

And the victims still know their stare that turned into angry squints

If my eye

If my eye could eat
It would eat a hole in this fit dusk
crunch fibres annhilate them and spit the whole husks

My eye eats
No shame no timidity
My eye full of itself the extroverted humidity

My eye dares to chomp
Intentions toward loitering hooliganing
and the all enticing romp

My eye has an apetite
Getting fat in summer
and glummer in the cold winter numbness

My eyes dart and catch curves
After my just deserts
What the bee makes after the birds

Samba frees us

The music calms the drums suave beat is sweetly feeding
the hunger for peace the hunger for a lean life freely lived

The samba takes my shoulders lowers them
takes my stress and throws it off I love it

Relaxation every string on the cavaquinho
Every note every romantic whim that would sooth you

Hunger for a lean living light and fresh
Taking the strain out of once was a heavy life

Samba frees and our flux our breeze
meets my needs as life takes us somewhere when we help it and let it
leave us at ease

The wealthiest son

Grandfather sent a dime between continents
A little recognition
A smile from abroad
A token just a crooked latitude away from banal platitudes in play

The crying son got nothing
Blue lips pleading for gifts and sweets
neediness and attention seeking idiosyncracies
Not a grain of sugar for his sour mouth nor a sent for him to see

The older son tall and sufficient carried big wads of humility
A chest full of patience and golden forgiveness lined his heart
His younger brother craved so many things digging his fingernails in
empty sweaty hands is all he pulled from expanses between the schoolyard

The wealthiest son cradled his brother
sung him to sleep when madness reigned
halted his anger when rage melted his reason
Dried his tears and shared his wealth for the youngest son was art

Clumsy embrace in a cool marsh

The cool marsh indicated my mood and no rush
If contentment was a flavour and a texture
I´d be chewing a pleasant hush
In light of living, in the light of day

High hedges the ones that spring flowers
Loved ones leave for months and years
garages and houses become spacious mirrors
Comfort surrounds it´s the marsh it cools me down

Mother Peace assures me
she walks me to slumber
I dream of new ways
to have the outside world accept my clumsy embrace

Don´t ask questions

Oh i´d like to try the new food
and get it for a deal
No I´d rather eat convention
 and the mystery it steals
I´d like to combine flavours just for fun
 `cause it appeals
Forget about the routine it's just fine elixir
 I got a real feel for it

Oh i think i´ll change my ways just for a day
 and see how that wheels
No way a snake doesn´t lose it´s stripes nor do you
 like slime from an eel
Just follow the plot don´t map it out
and scratch the cursed keel
Don´t ask questions or tempt taste buds
indifference is edible make a meal out of it

Do what you´re good at don´t tempt achilles heal
Live on a diet the masses prescribe this bland salted veal
Buy the Orange and muse lose the courage to peal it
Wear predictable
 speak everbody´s mind
 screen lover don´t take the zeal out of it

sky press cold

Sky press cold
And turned down the temperature
Laughter became shudders and shakes
as the sky threw chills into the struggling pedestrians

The icy wind bended and fattened and thinned
Finding it´s way to our goosebumped skin
the sky pressed down jeepers
the heat I clowned was found roaming northbound

Climbing like spiders the cold front up from the South
shocks the tropics and we search for warm clothes
and palm tree groves no longer contain the warm breeze
The falling degrees trigger snivels and sneezes

Conveying the cold is my rhymey rhyme
Hope the season is pleased I mean winter time

Diving in headfirst

The woman on fire lay on the table smiling
The lacerated flesh couldn´t stop her laughter
The woman on the roof was eletrocuted from the power cable
sparks burst out of her and she fell, dating´s hard

Love can´t be more than a fly undone
Saliva and skin and a feeling that confuses one into thinking
It´s more than just a sensory overload
Or a fear that life will end if you don´t dive in head first

Lines and queues and blowing off meetings
waiting for the nevercomer
nevercoming for the waiter
What conduct exists between hugs and kisses?

Dream rooms

What´s inside the dry spin toward sleep?
how much realness hidews itself in the images?
These dream rooms have space for me
this escape is sometimes nothing more than a dead end

Through the coloured scented façades
Every experience you´ve had jumbled mixed
and served while you sleep
From snow to tropical sunlight I feel it truly

These dream rooms where I can capture mystery
interrogate her to understand life
and send her on her way just to follow her
deeper and deeper

Sharp as broken mirrors

For as it falls from the sky
We capture it´s glint
we call it a spark
yet it´s a knife made of flint

It falls from the sky as water but before it settles
It touches down and becomes like metal
Like tiny mirrors people´s hopes
Holes will be made

The tragic juggler floats high before his show
Down come those pointed swords with every word you invest
down they come to rest in our shoulders and chests
To make us bleed and stifle us

The reflection you see in the one you adore
is broken in the mirror you upturned to ignore
A shard of glass is grasped and used to remember
The scar on your hand won´t let you forget anymore

What happened last time

Throwing the knives up in the air
the sky changed colour and they ran this way and that
The grey hills reflected their faces hungry for colour adventure
Where I ran the knife fell close by

The courageous that threw them screamed don´t forget what happened last time
The river was irrelevant
You smell like an element
 Knives rain down on hearts

Your father and mother took in a wretch a piece of steel
You hug your knees and look up at me reflecting
Yes i the lucky orphan as sharp as the blades returning to earth
As sharp as disappointment you glare at my smile no matter

Chests to the heavens
remember what happened last time

Friday saw you twice

Friday saw you twice and i´m here for your seat
She saw you twice and no point turning away
Gave up a lot of time to be with that bitch of a day
Sweet bitch that would try to mistreat

Friday saw you coming
and hooked you up to weekend optimism
Friday controlled you something
You saw friday twice speechless and priceless

Friday held you up showed you the sun
Some taboos and promise of something more when
there was nothing.
Saturday squatted and abaded morning sent

Dawn trod on friday´s farewell roughly
the waving bitch who was responsible bowed
introducing the weekend and now
Through screen glass breasts friday struts her stuff

Stephen King´s smile

He´s hugging everyone
Brushing the hair back from their brows and complimenting them
His thin slinky demeanor bursts out to welcome
Short hair and unsure wrinkle lines

Shaking hands the smile in and out
ginger headed stephen king
friendly him you´d say hello
Horror couldn´t describe the disguise

Beer had tickled him
spirits had drenched him in euphoria
Now he was kicking it out like
Stephen king strawm figures on fire

He beemed at everyone before he left
his skinny face made love to the air
the strange posture he had
kind of screamed happy.

Edward street urchin

Cardboard and donated blankets
People stop by to give him food
He and his dog that sometimes attacks
or the few who break the barrier of rude

The calm night wells up in his eyes
He doesn´t question the past
He got some pretty good stories to lie
As long as people give he´ll last

His clumpy hair and dumbfounded expression
Hide most of his true face
Unknown to the stress of a working life the pressure
is this what a young man looks like when he falls from grace

Next to the church the calm night wells up in his eyes
Another species of lonesome where people, pass where he lies.

Easy answers the ears can´t hear

Could I get an answer
One that justifies an hour long smile
Real answers with side effects of relief
I´d like one like that

No easy answers
We build bridges between day and night
brick by brick each hour
Constructions away from our nature

Avoiding the rivers that may clean us
The valleys that might teach us
How much of our labour is invain?
Easy answers artificial flowers, slogans and narcotics

In silence some still listen
To how complex questions ould be solved in simplicity
But those loud forcefed solution are trends
that sell and swell a market injecting the paying ego with
temporary certainty

Oh no easy answer, diagnosis or instruction
Linger with me briefly all sure of yourselves between creation and oblivion
No easy answer the ear can hear without difficulty
it´s mystery we live on.

Two comrades

The loud and red political theatre
The speech that bored the two boys
they resembled the true instigators of the movement
Comrades that would serve as body doubles for sure

They took their bikes and rode away
until they were stopped by the dynasy´s hired help
Who bet them half to death
But before they could...

Fortunately the rest of the young people
also bored by the speeches followed close behind
The hired help was massacred
laced with the recent rhetoric that kicked out of them

The heroes of the movement didn´t know how compelling
 to make their future speeches
Old ignorant farmhands gazed vacantly into the local lakes midday reflection
Sun shining off it like brainwash.

Defining evil is like writing a recipe

Life indoors

The floorboards creaked
The restless heart croaked
There was a basement underneath
Fine and cushioned for the broken

T.v´s and stables
Doctrines for the young
Out of town guest who play
"I love what you´ve done to the place" like clowns

Afterall what is a life indoors really worth?

Forgotten passion

Forgotten passion breathes down
My neck crimson flavours
Spice in the sound of it´s respiration
It´s calm insistance and inevitable existance

Forgotten passion
Unto where bubbles of bitterness have burst
Hopes toward union have stuck firmly
as bugs onto the windshield
of a joyriding vehicle of years

I toast to friendships with finely dressed optimism
how overly proud we can all be at a party
In midboast to having such a blind yet cheery chum
Forgotten passion deprives the memory

Blind and deaf to the scars that scream and dance
pessimism and hopelessness cackle over strong drinks
 in their conveniently dark designated corner
Ah forgotten passion regret would lie dead in it´s stead

Passion that built cities inside memories
That love would populate
That love would light and radiate
Forgetting such a thing shortchanges true living

Like mere breaths

poetry I come to you again
My bastion in words
subtle spells
poetry my sheer escape

The mind always infantile
rhyme as it´s crude rattle
it´s tangled slithering snake
letters revolve in the chaos

In the absense of pen to paper
a sharp need awakens
poetry oh poetry i write you
like mere breaths I take

Protests ahead

The dent in the man´s head
rubber bullet
the smoke and spray
blinding sting

The swing of the flag sting
the bloodied head
screaming shouting manifesting into
booming into being

The protestor
outrage and addrenaline
twisting into
confronting no longer complacent

Raging streets

Raging streets

Flags banners and placards
The people hit the streets
Marching and chanting hard
Everyday repeat

Tear gas and rubber bullets
pepper spray and nightsticks
police repression won´t dull it
The timebomb has ticked

Through loud voices anger and fear
appeal for an honest government
Division is aroused here and there
as the injured are taken off the front

Courageous Brazilians keep up the fight
Political priviledge no longer a right
Continue your quest for a better country
This worthy protest this real plight

Woman scourned

Infected woman

She walked into the bar
Disease ridden she had aids and a few other STDs.
All she wanted was a glass of rum to take the pain away
and struggle on into the cold and lonely night.
She had no money, she had had an abortion earlier that week
making it her 3rd. Her hands trembled and her voice wavered as she
demanded a rum.
One of the men drinking there felt sorry and gave her some beer
but the barkeeper was furious and had gone out back to find a bucket
of trash covered in old beer that had been tipped in there after the
cans were damaged when they were transported.

The woman had turned to gloat amongst the men drinking, that she had indeed conned someone into giving her something to drink even if it was only beer.
One of the men warned her that the barman had gone to fetch a very ugly suprise
and it would be prudent for her to take leave.
She put down the plastic cup they had given her and turned for the door
it was too late the barman tipped the bucket over her head the smell was ghastly
and even though the woman reeked to high heaven before she´d entered the bar it really was nothing in comparison to what she had on her now!
She screamed a scream that´s tone was heard by none of the men before.
One that almost opened a screen on the wall showing them that hell did exist
and that the very scream ushered their souls to follow hers into it headfirst.

The woman´s life had been hell, she had suffered at the hands of many men when she was still a child. She´d spent her youth drunk or heavily stoned on all types of poison. A few years ago she was still making enough money to support her various habits by hooking, but as her addictions got the better of her so the clientele dropped down a class taking less care in their hygiene and thus she was infected with aids.
Hell was her life and when she screamed that night so loudly and horiffically some of the men present couldn´t hold their urine.

She was barely twenty five but she walked like an eighty year old, scorned and rejected she made her way out of the bar wet with scum and stinking, the cold night made it even worse. She fell down on the curbside and begged for a few hours making enough change to buy herself a small bottle of grog.
The eyes of the people who looked at her stung her aswell, she was numb she didn´t want to be reminded of how gone she was.
She didn´t want to know that she was like some gaping hole in the pavement to be avoided. In her child like brain all she wanted was to be hugged by someone who didn´t want to hurt or abuse her. Destiny had other plans as many future saturday nights ended the same way for her infact years would go by and all she would ever get out of people was sympathy or abhorrence. When I saw her the night she was thrown from the bar I couldn´t help but be curious to how a human being could deal with so much pain.

Way she wept

Legs crossed
tears dropped
Without a pallet fifty shades of blame
The big picture punctured and ripped

She wept with different poisons in the heart
Pure sadness would cleanse her
Though she wouldn´t be cleansed nor cleaned
Sudden injustice for the pain occured

Hair down over the red cheeks of her face
Regret had grown into a beast
One no love could conquer
One that would bite her with jagged hungry teeth

The wet face squares up accusing
Eyes locking onto the sympathetic listener
Rage and tears roll ears refusing
Justifying fault by every man who kissed her

The way she wept
lines of water stuck her hair to her face
No handkerchief just sighs and whines
her true and bitter piece of personal disgrace

Fleeting shoreline

 Fleeting shoreline

The sea and the shore
So close never apart
the overhanging slat tolerant vegetation
The jungles beyond

The hopes and the dreams that the tide could wash in
Inside a house orange light

A table a plan square ideas
Out into the sun and down a path
layed there a few years back
Down to the shore

Night appealed the spear diver dives
The milky moonlight guides the point
Azure and pearly no fish
Back to shore for the night

Hair is seaweed
Vines in the jungles beyond
Sleep may never find us
If we keep looking Into eachothers eyes

The dying animal a piece of bitterness
Soon to be gone forever
So fresh feelings may come forth as a spring
A water source for a new era

Fleeting moments as these are
Feed the dreams of hopers
of forgivers whose faith bares wounds
yet in a short time heals from the inside out

The shoreline always moving
adapting like us
Changing the land
Shaping the world and it´s endless swimming pool

A poet I may seem

A poet I may seem

Tell a poet with an idea
who has an idea kind´o like
tears that tear down cheeks mere cheeks
like leaks that sneak after charm wallops sleeps

A poet like me totalmind free
No remaining no fleeing letting the body
purely be
 each braincell a flower
for our grand life´s bee

a poet whose putting words
on screens
on people, on dreams
letter by letter like a river
A poet I seem flowing through perception
noone owns reality

Sixty with his hat backwards

Outside the bar
Still had his teeth but his youth was out out of reach though
second beer of the day check again falling hair of grey wise know?
humble there distant stare what´s life but dulling the scare
plastic chair no interruption sixty with the hat backwards just enough or...
too much

Sneakers decade in the wearing pointing out to the pillow curbs
Soon to be vomit stained like yellow rain before the last draw on local herb
Smile awakes as the hangover subsides makes its way on to his face
His dainty trance soon to be disturbed by an open mouth full of unnecessary words

The jaw rocks back and forth now with jibber jabber
 twenty years of the same boasts and blather
A condescending laugh and fat greedy bladder
 and his happy marriage to the words "it doesn´t matter"

Some would deride the old goat
Claim the scruffy mess as without worth
Yet the man could joke whiskey soaked laughter´d surely burst
With humour and a whim for high spirits he was cursed

Stuck up

She used to call herself a princess
it´s getting old oh so old this mess
She used to lead men into declaration
now the words won´t melt the ice

She´d lean on a bench and state the obvious
she´d laugh half ironically in her announcing of a full gone conclusion
A full blown slice of her fancy illusions
A popular idea for walking dolls as ruses

She got herself an unoriginal tatoo
One that clichés with the tribal lines
Dancing shoes on, social lives
provocative sly grin easy come easy lie

So before you state the obvious
remember to shut up
Try to find your own blindspot
it´s there where you´re stuck up.

Long distance flirt

That hundred metre smile got someone
Favourable glaring toward my lazy gaze
Car door slams off she drives
Turn of the head and wandering eyes

Hundred metre smile chased me
all the way to the supermarket
I´ve got to eat
She parked well out of the way and hid

Atleast she went home after staring
she got to look at me
I´ve got to go home and make a sandwich
Long distance flirting makes me hungry

Each metre between our eyes
didn´t seem to matter
We couldn´t hear each other sigh
as the space between us got fatter

Broken penguins

Broken penguins

We climbed that fained ladder
The one that drives up toward heaven
Curiosity made our grip certain
A friend jumped off and sense was lost

Down he went four hundred metres
Into a deep blue pool comfortably cold
The splash was quickly absorbed by the moving shapes in the water
Penguins dirty penguins

They attached themselves to him
as he submerged
we pulled the penguins off of him
Penguins with plastic straw like bones

Houses and buildings swayed in the wind
frogs on the margin of the pool burped fire
changing colour and shape
The broken penguins layed scattered about

We needed to organize our things
get back on the road as the sun went down
The mayor of the town was Salvador Dali
Curfew would be enforced

Tangelo

So you´ve found orange stains under your fingernails
Peels discarded
drops of juice on the table
a slight zing subsiding from the lips

Remember when you started peeling it
 how anticipation hung
like the cottony short threads of internal skin
The subtle rip and the ease of the skin as it seperated

You were so young
 time went by
 fingernails grew
The fruit was ripe

Now the inner fruit is naked
Pick out a segment and break it between your teeth
The juice fuses with the saliva in your mouth
Though the pip distracts you from the sweetness

You knew little
events passed like harvests
Your eyes both opened and squinted
Even fruit has it´s stones

Finish the last segment
Discard the skin
Throw the pips on some heap of earth
Maybe one of them will sprout a tangelo tree

A game for a wanderer

Open evening small bars become it
cobblestone hills
The accent on the wind toward ears
Coolness and cheap lighting

The cue makes colours roll
beer spilt and cursing and laughing
Patrons boast and relate
Friends convince eachother of the next round

Jokes are thrown from one side of the table
to the other
Dissappointment shrinks
Bellowing sinks denial the last ball dissapears

Another coin goes in the slot
Glory in bottles and cans whoas and wows
The sharp eye softens
four percent catches up

Tips are chalked and delivered
sometimes finding the right point on the ball
Trajectory a steady interest for the inibriated
The paradox that they drink with no attention to the flavour

Turning monkeys

Change someone
Something
An ape
The animal in yourself

Civilize
make it hygenic
Open logic
build expectations

Trials are sterile
the monkey is virile
The tests relieve
Theories comfort

It bites and scratches
No longer recognizing
The jungles far off
concrete is it´s scenery

Must you tame the world?
Are you validated
by rehabilitating the wild
Or are you just smart soap?

Nowhere for a knife?

The knife under the bed
It rests
it doesn´t shift from it´s position
It really stays sharp

It will be applied one day
Into some aggressive cranium
The knife it comforts me hiding there
as night greets

dusk retreats
thieves conspire
birds desist their tweets
The ugly shine
 the slither of it represented
introduced
down it can come
through the boasting mind
I hold it humbly
Under the bed it bides
waiting like an angry child
grey and half rusted

toward flesh it winks
toward hands it breathes
Bloody floors and never agains
will be expressed caprichiously

Basketball clown phantom

You´re on t.v
the last night of your life
The spirit you boast is now a basketball
being bounced by a clown phantom

Bed spins
You become him
See yourself attemtping sleep
4 am and the game has begun

The bed spins and the phantom lurks
Your face pokes out and the phantom hits it
you struggle and turn searching for the comfort
that the night won´t provide

You´re on t.v
how about dying in your sleep
as the phantom plays basketball with your soul
Dawn is nearing like pity

You´ll be half traumatized
half warped
halfway falling out of your bed
Th phantom stirs you wake

The sum total

The sum total of your lifetime fits into what sort of container?
It´s a thought that will no doubt be squeezed into the observations you carry with you
to answer the stupid question

The sum total of your life
Blug

stratosphere tax
foreatey

Anti limbo pull
gulb yetaerof

Prison for children

Behind bars at sixteen
Hands hold him down
The land holds him down
Back on the streets full indifference and rage

Taught petty crime to improvise
A filthy existance lower echeleon life
Sent to the big house no education
Violent crime his future wife

Terror in the shops he robs
shaking customers lie in fright
Maiming and killing
Promoting a crazy life

No turning back the time
A drug deal goes bad
Knives slicing bullets flying
No funeral for the dead lad.

Some unknown treasure

Some windmills are built in the wrong areas
Fields where the Wind no longer blows
Some expected person just never appears
Shield the feeling be the life raft in the undertow

Some unknown treasure would open my hands and eyes
Closed I Know my sleep the taste of dormant months
Some unknown treasure would quell frustrated sighs
Someone elses treasure lost and violently dumped

Some holes are dug to keep such treasure safe
Loose surplus dirt leaves a mound often fertile
Soft weeds creep over it a soft protective lace
The treasure is under an overgrown pile

Finding wind in the windless meadow
Why for the windmill with a mouth such words would scourge
Finding a chest empty no gold or blood to flow
I would like to give wind and jewels but only have I words

Harmonic Paul

Put another lovesong together
write a piece about the deep feeling
Leave wist on the whistle
Take us to that deep blue where the heart is as lost as out poet souls are

Yes Paul sing us into revival make the world see us all
we dirty poets that seldom are seen beyond the drape´s shadow
No redemption for us sir for we replace god in shaping the world with words
and he is not so forgiving to those like we who´d dare

Yes those like we that would light dark hearts by recognizing the mapping out of them
That would confront the sinister and never cower
Understanding the adventure ended and the crater after the bomb blast that was our lives
Should we continue on forthright with rhyme and verse when society bottles scorn for it

Yes harmonic Paul you shall write on and block words in the shutting door
So we don´t all suffocate between internet gimics and overindulgent egos
Write a poem of love and give birth to yet another sentiment within someone
As rebel poets our work must be hated to be loved let me nicely verse it vice versa

Write a poem of lonliness for we writers are forever alone
Our lonliness builds and never subsides the only addrenaline we can boast of
Is between the lines with cacophony rollercoasters
Yes let them harp on about the softness without them seeing our steel

Those dark holes that consume us in dreams polluted with monsters and spirits
They know not how we combat, they know nothing of the thoughts we face
To be a poet is to see through with steel in our eye and ink in our pens
The reckoning resolve of ruthless rhyme armoured by our illiteration

To the joke making mind

To the joke making mind

Say the crux of falling from grace
was a cup of pure self pity
before he went to be I warned him
Love hides in big cities

Another punchline came on like a headache
couldn´t form the joke though
So I repeated it for humours sake
Better to laugh i would know

The mind comes to terms with itself
Laughter bursts out bless the balanced ridiculous
To the mechanical of mind, finding health
is keeping those thoughts simple and swell

To the squirting brain it´s all the same
Machines and energy the flat call sane

The last clutch

Words are spoken with a rattle snakes tail
serpent sentences the phrases slither
Close those lips so poison doesn´t spray
Loose cobra her mouth has nothing good to say

Assuming the treatment of a queen
The servants back has broken
The two squires in between
are in her grief soaken

Nothing to give
Though the snake finds a way to request
finds a way to get a favour
The scales and tears and all of her fears

Leverage a venemous beverage
Nothing more will be lifted from me
The hand closes as this poem is written
The last clutch will be a wrist bitten

On the way home

But on the way home

Voyage through the blues
Plastic and so
through the day, destination afternoon
destination get there soon

Through the vendor streets
and between palms over the industrial humps
Up the steep suburban slump
and down to the long alligator

houses for teeth
sunny visions
Voyage to the end
were not many get to

Some cul de sac unknown
a solitary shop where you can repair your baggage
a guesthouse where you´ll stay one eternity
A door opens a child´s smile

Cure to procure

What ends you well
kills your sickness but kills you too
No subtle remedy
No great cure but a kamikaze solution

What ends you not at all
Though kills your ailments through
Your body enemy
A great cure to the deadlyfuzzy life exclusion

What ends you do tell
So we can quickly heal you
The answer will be sent to me
To postpone your eventual health´s execution

Glory or death to the gladiator

Empire´s toys come out to bleed
Metal masks that hold the sun´s immortal fire
Helmets that reflect it into the audience´s greedy eyes
Shin guards making their march look animal like

The slave makes his ascent to percieved glory
months and years of training
Turning the flesh into muscle and vein
Dust from dawn to dusk

Blades meet over the sand beneath
chiming and sparking between grit teeth
Heavy hammers fall denting shields or heads with force
Trumpets sound as a new champion stands over the corpses

The empire´s new toy a symbol
Spectator´s sport for the masses to enjoy
Armed slaves and their gory stories
Under sun and sweat and illusions of glory

Leave the cantina

Lateness life´s behind the time
The bar is full of foolish liquid capped
and waitress eyes watch it absorb
coloured clothes and hats

Pack and unpack shave the mustache
follow the itinery take a swig
A train stops for sabotage
The undercover local pulled along by pigs

between the pines a banana plantation
A sniper in the undergrowth
I´m late for the hours exploitation
Time table and train I forgot both

I need to kick it out
somewhere where snow is feared
For I´m late by years the conscience shouts
The clouds resent me and rain won´t be shared

Pack it up you have five minutes running hyper
The clock ticks and you need to leave the cantina under duress
Mexican pig farmers and mercenary snipers
Time falls out of the bottle and assists forgetfulness

All await disappointed as I could not arrive
I couldn´t pack my bags and catch the train
Wrist watch leaves such stains when it´s deprived
I wanted to survive the cantina by remaining sane

To like nothing

He said he liked nothing!
He raised his head and uttered blankness
Nothing all day
My eyes see the colour of a void it´s whiteness

I like nothing he said
The mind goes nowhere
I didn´t expect anything
Moronically unsurprised

Lean forward and draw a blank
Lack of anything a purity to it
excrutiating for the creative
colourless space

Mundane zero contrast
the food of my sleep
He said he liked no one and nothing
what a drag

These feelings are natural
don´t find them snags
Nothing I like nothing like flavourless cheese
Like the mute and surreal salivaless sneeze

Blankness and whiteness
no creativity
fashion corporations and potatoe flavoured beef
"Nothing I like nothing" he said to me

Positively vase like

This vase shouldn´t be empty
sunday morning surprises
humble worry from some well fed head
That head shouldn´t be empty

A giggle I placed in her mouth
let me know she was healthy
Optimism pushing me up a level
She drove tolerance and understanding

Chest empty as the vase is
medicine out of reach
wanting ever present the sticky residue on her skin
All I do is teach

Hearts mushy balloons
waiting to be played with
They shouldn´t be empty though
No surprises sunday morning the cold face of a glacier

A hollow glacier melting at my excitement
The timer counting down
ghosts have nestled
each one more haunted by me

I loved once and that vase was full
There´s a hole in the earth that desires me
Awaits me trusts I´ll fall for it
Yet I will not fill it till the heart and vase are overflowing.

Not darkwater

Words find life
everyform blessed and cursed
Lamen will tell you it´s darkwater
High fields of paradise ploughed by men whose eyes have been to hell

River of rhyme not where darkwater flows
No sinister fish here dwell
Demonic masks ward off infernal spirits
The admission of an unfair world is slavery from the tongue

No dark blood squeezed from the executed witches
necessary beauty of reality
as cruel and merciful as eveyday life
Words find life none so dark as the mind that digests

The premise(reason to live)

"Give me a reason to live", shouldn´t this be a question on young people´s minds.
Though Young people should recognise over the span of a lifetime
exactly how important having a reason can be!
Is it all about our actions, good and bad?
Is that what matters? If so, What controls our actions?
For people in the position to judge or who nominate themselves there
may decide what is good and evil, guilty or innocent.
Though does their judgement recognise why the crime or good deed was done?
One important thing that should be done above all others is to analyze carefully
from where and what kind of energy drove the action to cause recent obvious
events.
The consequences of actions can easily help us in conclusion as to why the deed good or evil was done.
Though in law it is often the motive and the fact it was an action waiting to happen.
The aspect and the true colour of the deed can only be understood by recognizing the person´s mental conditioning which determines a person´s values or lack of them and often affects a person´s actions directly.
Some may say god is instilled in all of us, but is it?
If so why would some of us need so much convincing we belong to it.
Are athiests born or made?
All of us are imperfect people that´s a given, yet alot of us go about preaching our religions etc and
our ethics in regard to such ideas.
 Lofty and highly unrealistic ideals are found within every form of scripture and the notion of living up to those ideals is almost as ridiculous as the same religion´s theories about our origins.
Holy teachings don´t just convert people to faith within a dogma but faith in maintaining standards of the most ethical and compassionate, when most of the low income congregation are not even soundly educated to recognize what or why morality itself really serves any purpose at all.
They practice a kind of dishonesty, that somehow if they stand and shout it will make their actions during the working week just!
Honesty most people don´t practice, for the pride in religion wakes a soul and begs it onto the white horse riding into town and spilling words of how things ought to be without lifting a finger to change a thing. A declaration that I am friends with god so my sins are really of no concern, no personal improvement necessary so long as I pray.
But does that mean that god doesn´t exist when so many believers represent a lifestyle of lies?
No just because people are lost and unconscious that doesn´t mean anything except most have no true idea how to live.
Young people become athiests in their millions everyday and did in the past aswell. Hopeless role models preaching about the rewards of good behaviour and heaven and hell and karma etc. The very same rolemodels end up at some point redhanded doing the exact thing they spoke out against.
Yes sir they stain the very god they go about promoting, that great order young people could follow and say this is concrete, eternal and good unto itself! The all purpose, for the masses "reason" is taken off the menu of living because there is and has never been enough examples that the religion is a sure path toward a great and truthful life!
And on this planet people´s deeds are not decided by god but by the followers of god. Stories of old glorify and the modern day accounts of the church and holy war etc shock!

The real premise
The real premise to live in fact is just like a fingerprint. Each of us in his kind has different hidden and vital aspirations, most of which don´t go anywhere but to the redundant daydream between shifts.
Each person has a different fingerprint it´s like a code that demands each of us is different, evidence of god maybe! Sometimes the problem isn´t aspiring to what you have found to be the truest and most authentic career and ideal lifestyle. No sometimes for many people the search is the hardest part and many would be distracted by a material world´s well honed rubbish think tank to keep them entertained until death.
But dedicating yourself to find what you love what you are good at and to what you can give yourself entirely to must be the noblest quest and by my words is the path to god!

Think of the fingerprint as a mixture of things that make up your life your emotions, instincts, hobbies, likes, dislikes, habits, hopes and dreams. Sure enough you share many things in common with others BUT never everything with anyone. We are simple codes but extremely different custom made for a world like this one, learning to assign ourselves to the correct roles should be sacrosanct.
Each of us has a purpose potential to become who we really want to become, sometimes we don´t have the personality or the physical traits to help us realize our goal, though few even get close to doing what they want to do most. The pursuit must matter for as cliche as it appears having a goal is more important than attaining it.

Success and failure
Success and failure are not just illusions but meaningless in the greater scheme. Short term success short term gain. Longterm premise to live is a longterm guarantee of greatness and satisfaction if it is what you have found to be a premise above all other ways of life or careers.
Success is wonderful in the moment but only a slave or a tool would believe success is the meaning of life.
Failure is gods hand either pushing you down or unseen by your own eyes lifting you up.
A person aware of their true vocation will continue their efforts life long if necessary, failure and success determine very little long term and determination determines with more certainty the frequency of such momentary acknowledgements. Failure and success don´t define life.
What defines life is finding the reason to live that is relevant to you and continuing toward that end naturally.
failure and success are as special as a product´s brand or slogan, at first they catch your eye and may inspire a smile or frown but really only aid in distracting you and keeping you in the slave perception that the material world demands.

Dishonesty and sin
The confusion of dishonesty is only encouraged by notions of failure and success. Fear to fail is the great underlying factor in most white collar crimes and other intriguing deceptions.
Learning from our mistakes what a funny concept. The funniest part is once again people preach the "learn from our mistakes" and continue to repeat their own mistakes. By this stage in human evolution you still actually here adults telling other adults to learn from their mistakes this is the surprising thing.
The mistakes are not happening again and again because of failure and success but because the person has no real authentic aim in life, passive existance renders him victim, a victim of an unfulfilled ideal and a bigger victim of dishonesty and all the diseases that accompany it.

The slippery slope
I watched an interview with a motorist who lost control on a curve on a road above a valley, his car rolled down the bank which proceeded the curve and paralyzed himself from the neck down and wrote off his car.
His excuse was feasible. He exclaimed that as he was making the turn the low late afternoon sun was shining directly into his eyes. He turned the wheel but the distraction put him off and off the curve he went.
However the stretch of road leading toward the curve was poorly maintained and there were untarred areas running into and out from the edge of the road almost touching the white broken lines in the middle. Also on the curve he failed to take, the gradient of the road sloped down toward the unpaved shoulder of loose stones where there was no barrier to stop his car from going over the edge. Was this not also a great contributor to the accident?  There wasn´t even a sign to warn of the impending curve!!!
Perhaps the most pathetic thing about this case was that the man blamed his accident on the time of day and his distraction during it. When infact the road itself was so poorly paved and maintained! Almost every notable detail of the road was engineered to cause such an accident.
Now the car was written off and so was the chances of the man ever walking again.
We can´t exactly repave the roads we drive on that we find inadequate. Though what we can do in our own lives to avoid unnnecessary harm is to curve and pave our own real paths in life.
This is only possible when we have the true premise to live.