Arthur the troublemaker

That fringe won´t do it fella.
That tongue on the frozen steel of sarcasm
Youth a nasty shower boyo
Youth a nasty kick in school and at home

Shake a hand or two instead of making hand signs
And use your mouth for words that ear would delight in
Don´t wear angst over that jacket as if you´ve something to say
The heat in this weather´s unstable these days

Put up that frown again let me see your face lying
No, youngen it´s not prudent to watch our hope in you die
is courtesy foreign to you?
Kindness unrecognizable? Too impromtu?
But I introduced you a few times kid
Your guilty shame forgot I wonder if your memory did?

Watery path

From the watery path

Walls are seen as eyes open

The views from the nearby window can be seen

Crying ensues

Arms fold and unfold tanging in sheets

 

She says "alive" in her language before languages

Statued smiles on their faces

Little knowledge not quite enough

Trust is hands outstretched

 

Trust is an unknowing smile

In a new world of protocols

Shining floors and footsteps

The sun and nurses

 

Steel trays roll past a routine scream

Numbed ears to foreign noises perspire

The heart learns love, it can´t profit by ignoring

Shooting it into their parents eyes

 

Smells and other impacts

come washing over the senses

the stagnancy of the womb forgotten forever

this bright new world clashing with disproportionate awareness and values

Naiive absolutes that you should one day ignore

Pantomime sentiments that are rehearsed

Child, let us hope your character is true

Life is just a lie without that F, don´t let our doubts affect you

 

Doubting the natural, my child

Denying inconvenient emotions

So don´t doubt the chaos in truth, my child

Doubt the tame inane! Not the spiritually wild

God may just eat you

The body is an oven
My lost one, tell truths and do not decieve your offspring

The soul is food
Don´t accuse or ridicule least the words burn you one day

Over a lifetime the food is cooked
You decide how hot your temperament and conscience must be

God will eat well cooked food
Overcooked or undercooked your conduct may lack or exceed the necessary temperature

Being spat into the spiritual gutter
No creed or badge can save you from the fall

Even the humble athiest can grow strong, unconscious of his being digested
For through efficiency and folly he flourished loving life and people

The body is an oven
The soul it´s food
Dogmas just the sauce
Your actions cook the stew

Electricity to houses

Little we know about the great Yard
Naming things under our rooves behind our masks
Facting and referring the senses ask for action
Ordering, the longing inside a small piece of the human brain

Solving the riddles, chimney blocks and rodents
Well manufactured muddles
The research your nights will be stolen by
The need to muster your mind

Knowledge is the fussy screaming child
Craving formation and appropriate use

Walls have power points
Like heads have ears
Some voices are heard
Like lines electricity to houses

Wash the car

The grease is thick
grey as the day
Smile and brush
Water´s jet and spray

Cleaning a life long dream
Polishing the hubcaps of a car
Thick with grease
as grey as an old friendly face

Not easily washed off
Heavy chemicals and elbow grease
The tacky layer a soot and oil stain feast
One my brushes tines and teeth will eat

From my smile and my hands
The puddles will darken until the shining steel
can be seen again
Even under the grey sky you´ll see the brightness of the wheel.

A dawn that could burp

The excess air
that falls behind a late dinner
Put your head back down says the shadow
Close your eyes says the wall

The waiting fart wants out
Bathroom light is out
Kitchen snack shelf empty
A dawn that would burp

Sweat is on the verge of it´s declaration
below the nose and above the chin grows new vegetation
blanket a friend to dust
A lover of stains, a once a fortnight acquaintance of soap sun and rain.

A gulp of sweetened juice
The routine slide door jostle
back to the mattress that Waits alone in the dark
Up it comes from the depths ,a dawn that could burp for a time

Doesn´t buy much

Serve the land
Serve the ideals
Wander with choice
to empty your pockets

Pay your way
Live off the rest
Doesn´t buy much
Human skin has it´s own rente

World a hive
Buzzing wildly
Money milk and honey
Abundance and lack

The broken scales of all empires
The broken conscience of the weak
This paper worth flesh counts us
These coins don´t buy much

 Geld game furnisher, mouth like a wallet
A smile like a bank clerk
And wild eyes of an overfed pig
What´s inside is not much more than a ride and doesn´t buy much.

Crush that night demon

Each space is a crawl space for the fiend
Wee hour predator painting our dreams with unnecessary ghast
Crossing the dark room like a dictator before imminent war
breathing on our cheeks and blaming us for the state of their reality

The whoosh of angry air can wake a man
Anger finds no hooks though
Fear no coldness
The demon is in it´s crawl space gargling

The hunting saviours of the night
Break nightsweats and paralysis
Dismantle bad dreams and return Faith
That night demon as naked as an oil stain in a puddle

SHALL BE NO MORE

disconnected

Each worker fantasy paycard in hand
the hours in long scribbled handwriting
Questioning faces like new masks
Not recognising each other

Here we are dancing to a song chosen by a robot
And all dance unquestioning
So don´t follow me home I if step differently
Don´t let curiosity get a foothold

Over sunny ridges I make my way
touch screen fences monitor me
And a gullible few observe obscenely from a distance
The same words turn up every lip

Have you been blinded?
The world turns and cattle marches
Were you cloned?
Beauty seems to be in just how disconnected you´ve become by being connected

Professor allhatsoff

The department needed someone who
could fill allhatsoff's well polished shoes
Morning sunshine across student's heads
Final exam worries fought thoughts of the weekend

No scalp rubs or injections for their brains
Just lip mutter and tongue blabber but not in vain
Information like a train from the voicebox station veers
Stopping at every hormone soaked ear

Luggage and children spill across the platform
Predictably awry as thoughts struggle to conform
But bags and kids get inevitably packed, hearts intact
Another generation of adolescents breach the threshold on track

Professor allhatsoff invites the new teacher in
Heartwarming speech using well sharpened similies to begin
coating them in a fine layer of purpose, dutifulness that dressed like the truth
Defining roles like the fine tile finish of a town's train ticket office roof

Five leaps and a skip from retirement
The abyss waits smiling
The new professor loaded from the wrist to the armpit with books
Seductive morning sunshine didactically lighting up wall diagrams to say "look"

Allhatsoff threw tips on the new teacher intending
Promise occupied his voice and whistled at each sentence ending
Dark black framed glasses the soot stained train-tracks of his career
Floppy grey fringe wavering like his tongue did when his words seemed to care

The new professor knew he wouldn't remember everything he should
Except the moment when the classroom itself cringed when Allhatsoff left for good.

Life is a shop

Just to convince your peers and parents when they accuse
To convince the world you have an idea or two
In the middle of the supermarket aisles
The many brands confuse you

Half empty bars, the stomach's comfort
Something on the rocks in the dim lit
A place to stay in the city's spread
Get the best of breakfast in bed

Catalogues rain down
as you amble up the street
The prices you paid
and the decisions you made...

...From where you'd walk
to what you'd put on your feet.

Amneion

The part of the world which draws you in
Leaves your body on the meadow, your vision dims
Carries your mind into it's multi-spectrum whirlpool alarm
And shines into the eyes of frightened angry farmers

It's no path to heaven, has no angel boss
No gate to hell, has no demon master
It's just a hot heavy daydream that will drag your soul across the pasture
It's just a roll in the supernatural disarray

So keep away from Amneion and it's bright haze
When you go chasing feathers
Or following lynch-mobs
 astray

You want to be a writer

You want the lit
You are fixing to use creativity to sell yourself
You want a bit
Foot broke the door´s slam, ambulance hip give it up

Flattery calls
Critics píck up the phone
No book deal
You are on your own

You want your literature to fit
Fixing to be someone at the base or the top of a hardcover
You want "it"
Key they gave you no longer fits since they changed the locks

Do you want to be a writer?
Is getting published worth the fight?
Agents and editors could overlook
guess you´ll need to line their pockets before you line your ego

Guess your definition of art wasn´t equipped
The target audience was big but your gun´s ink didn´t hit
Poetry bores,
 and what doesn´t have fangs or a wand is a chore
It´s what the mover shaker likes to ignore,
 and "it´s who you know..." hurts the ears as much as an eyesore

Bed mother

Phone line hot
convincing holes for the ears and voice
Under two layers
A land of dialogue with no end

Phone rings
Tone changes
Slippers slap slide and fill
The kitchen light goes on

The Young woman picks up the phone
She places her emergency call
The mother calls from back in her bedroom
Yelling her son is innocent

Every mother´s son
And the stubborn bed mother´s even more
Denial is no brickwall
The police will arrive shortly

The sheep of om

Hooves and chains pulled the chinaman and his carriage
When it stalled nothing would move it again
Looking infront of the carriage at plastic sheep whose limbs could never budge
And the chains so well crafted would never flex

Back to where the cul de sac boys lit their cigerettes with time to brag
And give poor advice and goad and bray
In the shade of the trees in the twilight of post tragedy
And back to the phone that fingers dialed panicking

We don´t question violence too much
Hands back to paper
We just follow and scream like stray livestock when it´s us...
whose Peace is being disturbed

Not a shadow but a cooking teacher

Not a cigarette but an ink pen in the hand
Opening minds, books and turning on lights
It wins while satisfaction cooks in the mind
I almost can´t hear chapo scream no cigar

Yet in a street of lamposts you learn height doesn´t determine shine
I´m no shadow, nor a myth swinging swigger, I´m a teacher
I don´t cover the ground nor do I shade your eyes
I take a piece of foreign reality and serve it like a chef

Show you what it´s made up of
The random soup of language
How to boil it with beans and rice
and how to choose the spice

Wealth with inner worth

Equate wealth with inner worth
You shortcut horse of the year
clutching the parapet of the seventh floor
Your legs locking onto the loans with low interest rates sign

Such a sadness hides in the hair of your thoughts
Rides down your airways like an aroma to land heavily on your heart
Big eyes do bulge though old chapo
and that sadness is pressed almost to it´s death just before you sell something

But you never kill it
it just grows back, your restless legs propagate it
The unsatisfying feeling you are not good enough
Pity you couldn´t convince people to buy that!

Consider a heart with no void
Such a sadness as this would be destitute and annoyed
Though you can´t fill it old chapo
So the world and it´s grievances will fill it for you

Counting money was exciting made you thought you were free
Live to buy and sell now old chapo without an ounce of glee
Joy now forgets to get up and jump into your eyes
Or was it you that shut them for it

Not a dollar will complete you
Yours is a soul undescerning and unaware
I love you all the same old chapo
Wealth is inner Worth you swear

Tell you about the fall(god expels another)

Part of the great cosmos rock cracked
Part of the great damn on which humanity depended
On which they leaned against for a century, under which some drowned in the deep end
I´ll tell you about the twisted cables and veins that are attached from a mortal angel...

...To a keen and wasteful scattering of the human range

When the rock cracked and subsided the angel fell
it was not a day of comemoration or dismay
For treachery was exposed but also freed to grow it´s own way
Now the mortal angel is of age

There are holes in the cables and the human veins
pretty soon another angel will fall one day
To take the reins of this modern ratrace
Because the current mortal angel is forfeit and grey

Somewhere deep beneath a new plan is put into play

Get yours through the gate

The great ones filling fotos with their pearly whites
Out grabbing the future, smooching it, powerful
Don´t let the arrogant trophy owners make you feel good
because they´ll just as soon offend you

The ones that have permission and prestige
That step on shoulders, that scorn justice
Jeer at fairness and eat their´s infront of the hungry
The fight will be long and ignorance isn´t bliss
(It´s the slavery that is payed in wages of indifference and cheap humour)

The hive will be torn into and invisible perpertrators will reside
The flavours of life will be available to those who struggle for a mind of variety
Destiny will be given as you get yours through the gates of life
Complacency and wicked bias rot under the will of a lover of life

Rubber bullet

The protest is over, run for cover
Police Shields and shotguns advance
No alley to aid or hide in as protesters fall over
Rubber bullets hit their backs, ill chance

Back home the documentaries raged on t.v
About oil being drilled in Brazil out to sea
It set off a chain of events that would darken skies and streets
Weeks of environmental catastrophe

Fuel was out, local governments were vexed
Skies were darkening still
Rubber bullets hit protesters
Politicians fed the economy pills

Each event came together to change Brazil for good
Before the horizon could shine, the sky would dress herself in flaky ash
Crumbling in the hand and convincing the world of how harmful
conventional industry had been.