Piece of this show

Between the partitions of offices and egos
The expectations of some resigned midlevel management staff
About to get fired
About to have both employment and self esteem stepped on

Invite me in make me part of the show
The act I'm about to play should hit you in the skull trap
Something will slam shut
A shock to the rationale a hot jet of panic to the heart

In I walk closing the umbrella before penetrating the doorway
Saluting the under paid bellboy
Inviting the weather in with me
Dancing like I had the molten crust of the earth under foot

Listing all the forms of pain you force yourself to feel
Your well avoided secret taboos
Why should I be bathing in everybody's outrage the way guilty politicians do
the only crime I'm guilty of is exposing the conventional in all of you.

Words off my face

I need to find piece of the pavement to call mine
Work up my apetite watching the street glow
Up and down town like a yoyo
My face in the pages of a metaphoric journal

Just a poet tragically lost for words
Beasts in yellow and red and aged to half past dead
Free ride is over boy I hear some father say to his son, get off and start to push
Up the hill of forgiveness no less, that ankle twister for the distracted

Forgiveness is a steep hill not the point of a church tower
My wheels would grow bald on the ascent
My spokes would bend
Why have I decided to ride up here again?

Words to the wind pushing the pages to take my sight
verse that some tasteful folks would deem impolite
I don´t look for sofas in hip places in blue light
I look into a parking lot office and see looking back at me... an early night

Where can I go? These spilt words stain my clothes so
Damn desire and it´s skirmishes with the life plan
I somehow got this book of poetry stuck onto my face
The lines are oozing out and reaking of rhyme

Oh god why did you make me a poet?
A dreamer of the word and world wedded
A vagrant on the face of your dirty soccer ball
Like the words on my face that don´t seem to fall

The weight of the world

The weight of the world
can break your back, they tell us not to care, well...


The lighter you see and hear
the less it seems you must bear
Must you truly think of yourself first?
Or carry pain like we have someone to hurt?

You won´t float off this earth
No insect or baboon
if you don´t have an ounce of faith
You´ll need a balloon to lift you.

As useful as luck has been so far
full of hope your prayers must have been heard somewhere
The mindless rejoice in sports and cars
Poxy distractions from their all time low, creep up on them fear!

But I swear to you the evidence you seek is fleeting
Is temporary and suddenly snatched up before you can prove anything
Faith the hairy dog carries the dust of truth and spreads it as he runs and shakes
And if you, you Lucky ant just happen to be underneath with the world upon your back

Well, then some miracle or epiphany will take your mind off the weight of it
While everybody else calls you crazy.

The rooms of your life

Each idea you have about existence
Every thought you keep about life
The conceptions you have formed
In the house above your shoulders

They maybe tidy well kept ideas
they may have lamps that shine of the truth
But their shapes and amount of space
Say less of life and more about you

Those outdoor walls that you fear may be breached
 Your solid effort to protect your beliefs at all costs
This is not enough to maintain your lovely house
Or protect it from dishonest mouths and hammers

make yourself over in the room of love
For truth moves, falseness accumulates
Social convention is as destructive as a wrecking ball
it's roundness and power to divide should not attract you

Octogon moon

sweet night curving out the sky
Aromas of the trees bursting clouds silently
Cutting at the moon leaving it with eight sides
Shining moon in the sky, the cook in the kitchen

Daylights gone the sun has played
Our skin like ears to it's calling
now just the chirp of the night cicada
And the resting grass crickets greeting the moon

The edges of the moon emit light to earth
The wind has taken leave to discuss tomorrow with the sky
leaving us on this motionless earthen surface to delight in
the smell of the trees and fresh food from the kitchen

However the moon has edges
And they say eight
What mystery what confusion
On that celestial plate

A tasty lecture

There´s enough energy behind that
enough knowledge so far
You could give a seminar
You could show us something

Riding in on a dragon each light sweet morning
down to the auditorium, rushing, flying
I will evaluate life and the colors we see in living
All manor of mythological creatures will replace my adjectives

Shadowed room
You the "know how to do it" one
I the lectured
Out once more with that formal flavour

Lifes a grin and a dream
Love´s a life saver

Wash it in the word

I have my chilli´s, they´re superb
Wash them in the season
Wash them in my words
Grow them into bushes wet and dry through the day

I have my class
Wash it in the goal
Wash it in the language
Each word they utter

I have my bed
Now I wash it in my sleep
wash it in my dreams
Put my sore back down there

My life´s pretty clean
Cause I washed it in the words of this poetry.

Hope street mechanic

Wet meadows surround the road
freshening the world before town
Vehicle old but the land in it's youth
Riding into town like a birth

Sun invited by the mayor
Shop front grins
Wheels and gutters kiss
At the lips of driveways

Company signs exaggerate in color
Overalls drape down from the hips and filthy white t shirt
Of the oiled stained mechanic smiling up at the sun
In a town where people fixed things

The huge garage was mostly always empty
 For Every car that the mechanic fixed never broke down again
If it wasn't for check ups he'd have no work at all
Children would stay children for many decades in that town

And when you left town on the single same road you came in on
You'd feel as though you were doing something wrong
Betraying yourself
Regressing, even though your car was in the best working order ever.

Half the age

The reason you are where you are
Those wh questions rest on us and we carry them
Those questions about life
We can't sleep because those questions sleep on us

It's got a lot to do with philosophy and spirituality
But it's all to do with age
It's got a lot to do with mum and dad
But it's all to do with how old you are

Where and when are just bubbles
From the mouths of our doubts
Of our doubters
It's all happening even during the periods of fear

They'll tell you it's a question of maturity
How old do you have to pretend to be to be like that
Not the kind of pretending that brings a grin
But one that you've taken on as a current way of being

Half the age is gone out of you
It's got a lot to do with time gone by
About fun and boredom
Those hands that hugged the wall you dared to observe all to often

The stupid react

Those false friends that live in ego and reaction
Leaping out
The only real curse that incurs is the ego reaction
The weight of your worth being thrown on a filthy plate

Absent minded the anger gathers in the gall bladder
Makes it's way through organs like lightening
Out onto the street with it
Outrage whole, raw not sifted

Accumulated frustration
Brain function down to a minimum
The outburst looms
You can read the countdown on the man's brow

Conflict has jumped out of his clenched face
Laughter dragged it out
and mocking fed it and refreshed it
until it was a healthy monster

One simple comment owned the man's life for a few hours
The stupid react, consequences are distant relatives
Surrounded by the personal feeling of a grudge
Growing emotionally violent, blooming rage

An earfull

Curl the hand at the ear
Lean in with that trumpet piece
Words clamor out
Goblins if anything

Sewed up those listening holes
And stretched those speaking mechanisms
Sentences cling together desperate in tone and speed
Like fresh refugees accumulating in the air

Thing about refugees is only the sympathetic will accept them
Sympathetic ears are rare these days
Your pleas can tumble out of you
Goblins out of a barrel

No hiding place on the side of my head
No cave for hungry words
Warts of language, greasy and speculative
Good luck finding a landfill big enough

Riding on a mouth like that
Tire lips wheel and motor mouth runs
Fat chance there'll be ears for your whining and singing
No gas station pumping, just silence if anything

To dime and dine

Romance needs that grease
Love wants a home
surrender demands that sacrifice
The juice beneath that foam

Destinations are craved by even the most wayward girls
Curiosities traded for stabilities
Bright adventures traded for the heavy shade of routine
A perch for us, we the mimicking parrots

What is a man these days without a dime to dine
Without an asset to boast of?
He is not a wave headed to shore
But the little lapping of a lake against it's margin

To die a death

Do you have the patience to walk away from life
Aye?
The patience to die?
To fill the ground like roots slowly do

Do you grow down at the thought
No patience to let go, full of pseudo definitions about life
The pride in your bones keeping you together
Prophets walk away from your angry chanting

Philosophy on life barely more than a popular slogan
Why don't you drop your cancer for a moment to farewell a world of wonder
Take the axe and level that ugly pride of yours
have the patience to die and a faith to thank life

As the prophets walk away
No not men of the cloth or power, real prophets
Who knew your life and offered your heart a haven
A true peace of mind in storms of conscience and guilt

men and women who offered you solace as you pretended to be invincible
The first you spat on after you had healed
Blistering pride only makes you less when you've
Patience to go, to die a death

Inside denial

Denial the soft skin
Refusal of true feeling
Correcting others is no armour
Denial is the outbreak of want

Hair, tattoos and tricks of the trade under a grin
Boast syrup slipping down
Heating lips up to exaggerate
Sheen soft pink surface parched by the lie

Lips like locusts hungry and beating their wings
All you ever wanted was love, why lie about that?

Horse luck

Sleep over this earth so hollow
Near that river so shallow
This time gallop in dreams of the future
Spirit not borrowed, horse harrowed

Triumph swivel
Old dreams dry, new ones moisten
Spirit one of vital purpose
The great article in error, knowing one's flaws

Force
Rider and horse
Carried into tomorrow by verse
tearing holes in the present let that lucky light in

Posterity school outlaws free thought

Outrage breaks into a school
Crashing like a rampage rumors and here-say fueled
Elderly teachers run for cover
Barely more than products of their day

Students in their masses conspire and assemble
Fingers point and frowns flare dorm room doors are left splayed
The faculty, merely hairy politicians exit
Ideas beyond the books are traded like black market goods

The young cling to the sides of eroding hills under lost umbrellas
Under the old ruins of the last age

Between the centuries

Luxury high in wigs and chandelliers
Wooden floors near noble Lake shores
No labour or wages to earn
Smiles of glee for the nobles faces, to the plebe hard and stern

They hardly had to snob behind their gargoyled brickwalls
great theatres that peasants payed for with their work and taxes
Basements full of bright lights and half the village's servants
Entertainment for the lords and ladies brave spirits as cold as the gargoyles

On the high wall a young man met death
His noble approach was laughed out of his body by death
the young man thought it was simply the numbing cold
As death shook his hand and snow fell

The boy changed after he touched death
Instead of dying he could travel
Not just roaming the land but traveling through time as he went
Perhaps the scariest thing he saw was how death transformed things

Death transformed people
The boy saw how a living man would not resemble his spirit at all
As death and the mirror death carried would show
Sometimes our spirits are beautiful and sometimes they are ugly

Yet the spirit looks nothing like the body
And  death claimed that this world is nothing more than an old wardrobe