The beard

It grows and curls down
Becomes tussles and tangles
hanging off the face
elongating it with grace

It has eaten the chin
doing the lip spin
rotating the mouth
Like the face was a house

The hair that joins
under the nose
like a jungle
growing toward christmas

The brain itch

They say no to meditation

So much noise it´s confusion as a purpose
Blaring something moving
some lively distraction
I´d like some sleep

so much hype hype hype
little devices keeping our brain hot
such a city of fanfare
city of boom

Go home to the quiet to the still
Though slowly itchy ears crave noise
hands movement
some activity some interaction

each time we pour the glass overflows
we want it fast and furious, not peaceful and slow

People almost live

People´s voices duck and jump between the lines, the crowds, the tides of people
All to drain away as night squeezes day
as chains are pulled and light runs away
Our well sculpted illusions kind illusions sway

people´s murmur starts to tug on the ear
train breaks squeal
Dirty morning begger kneels
doesn´t look at full lipped mouth purse wallet cows

strutting down the guts of the city
Everyone is judging noone is admitting
stepping and thinking on the brink of living
whatever makes you tick  

The man who hands out flyers

Beard grey and black
Never eye contact
socks and flip flops
just before the fruit stall

Almost a smile
a yellow stained tooth toward tarot
got him out on the street slow, while it's busy
Southern cross street's full, his hand is panflet flush, but he's empty

Most don't see him
Lamp post common
Soft and lost, he turns to offer a flyer
eyes and hands ignore

He's still happy yellow tooth out
before the newsstand dodging midday drunks
stepping between mobile vendors
Litter and noise pollution offenders

He doesn't know you
doesn't even pretend to

Nerves and curves

Swear excitement didn´t put us off
Go on gut feelings and intuitions no!
Our hearts beat morse code which we hear and decipher
And they tell us to stick together

Leisure and pressure
The way we nurture one another
We fuss and caress and avoid becoming vexed
nerves and curves keep us on track while love is so perplexing

Don't lose the number

God was on the phone
Why did you hang up
It didn't speak in a voice that would deafen you
It didn't call to tell you what was not true

Still time to redial ignore uncertainty
Pick it up and listen
It won't tell you what you think you need
silence gives you the slowest growing seeds

The kind of fine nothing you need to bring home today
Some useful magic in what silence says
Without a spell or a phone number
God speaks happiness

Turn the corner away from grey

Hairs in your face
hot air from their mouths and can you bare it
Up here where squares fill the skies
boring patterns in pie society

Walls are concrete and paint
buy a complaint
hair in your face moving along the paved way
concentrating on some of the small pains

Ambling like the street was all yours
Like the world wasn´t a platform for wars
thats the way i paint the day sometimes it drips onto my shoulder
Artists have every brush and ignore the color of complaint

because its grey as grey
wall after wall and problems that cause dismay
A hitch-hiker knows how to buck up
even after a hundred sarcastic windshields

I´ve no grievance to lay
as i turn the corner into the light of day
creating the Picture as if i was the painter
leaving behind those walls and complaints so deeply grey

Randy Nii in Boise

Randy Nii in Boise
Randy up north there so far
Where the harvests have become festivals for centuries
Where northern winter clouds gather ice...

 Up in Idaho where I hope by now there's melting snow

Send you every adjective for the spring, fair lad
Wise one who has always advised us well
For I have opted for the tropics which is curious

 Because there the seasons are dubious
And your land changes like a trendy teenager
Our autumn hardly sees a leaf fade and fall
So write to us of melting ice and spring's call
and the way the winter sun stalled

Hugh's Ink well

The ink well
I think well, I have become quite distinct
Some dub me the observer, the seer, the eye
Though tis the ink well where my words fall
Hugh I cannot deny

The Ink's swell
appeal here as so many new poet's are aware
As rhyme chimes from so many creative bells
Why should I stay for I would but drown

Superficial am I
And so unreal, just to face the world
and it's treacherous cogs and wheels bake me
I've no place among authentic poets

for your suffering is real and mine is fake
Love to all of you

Turn your head son

It may not be the same world as mine son
You'll come to your conclusions after 15 years of fun
And you'll know shit on a stick to take home from a cheap circus
The only ones that care are the idealists and nurses

One day you can become one of them son
Turn your head we'll admire your hair, smile like a loaded gun
Be very offended as the world assembles to criticize
As the jealous and empty souls wear friend's disguises

Turn your head son and say thanks for your existence
Life is a ham sandwich pushing shit up hill persistence
Life is a daily joke played from the grinding stone to the pew
In the name of angel's laughter as they watch reruns of me and you

Turn your head son oncoming bus
Now meet the needy nurses that really care and fuss

Polly ticks

Sweet hello's
and sweet goodbye's
A ton of hidden hate where the sun don't shine

Workplace pretenders
simultaneously trying to end you
as Polly ticks off her to do list, under the desk people form fists

Illusional happy clappy
Vendettas and reprisals start filling in the nappies
We are babies crying and whinging, life gives us a slapping

Yet some hide the tears and plan revenge like snakes
serve it with a smile and a heavy handshake
Their only satisfaction is to break you as Polly ticks off her to do list