The expansion of the spiders

The expansion of the spiders
expansion of the night
Where ambition is wrything
Eight legs of fright

Above the shower curtain
dark red against the bathroom tile White
A lost bug will be dinner for certain
Carapaces and fangs arachnoid plight

Up bedsheets they sang
We don´t fear their bite despite the sting
Their venom no longer takes it´s fix
They are reduced to persuing smaller wings

Their hideous gallop doesn´t intimidate
No fear when they are near and clicking to play
In the bottom of the cupboard is a full can of fly spray

Before and laughter

Sometimes only the senseless can win a grin
Ridiculous nonsense that has some strange fact hidden in it
It's the absurd creeping up tapping you on the back and...
It's the unreal slapping your face with the back of it's hand

These things devour you spurning chuckles
And consume you into bellows of crazy laughing luck
Because life is short a fact few distort
so expand it with your most humorous thoughts

Let it rise from the belly
and joyfully spew forth
before and ever after

A universe without spice

He assumed he was a cook in flames
he wore every kitchen plain
The apron was printed with the words
the same flavors

Spice never reached his hand
Yet how it screamed from the shiny pantry
Begging to be diminished
so that stews would become delicious

Wondrous smells longing to be boiled into existence
It was a universe without life

Poets in a sardine can

Coca cola and starbucks, haaa they're the elixirs of life
Don't let them dilute that fine oil that binds you all
Don't let any member knock on group therapy's door
Or make a villan of those who guard your authenticity with their metaphors

As some will resent the implications
sent like rusty nails into fossilized styles and rhyme patterns
The rules of Mike shamed some of you through
Popularity Nick and his poetry stew

I hope you all write to separate yourself from the world
Because your words turn the earth, inflate George collet's mirth
and scare poets like Goddard into writing Stephen King's curse
Nestled together golden oil on you all

The poet's eye was always pickled and fickle
Now it's just a pious housecat and I
and we both have an appetite

Doesn't matter which transport

Hi bet you wrapped your laughing gear around a thousand hills out there
Your own heart texted you expressing it's longing to get back into the car
there's a hundred windows for where the journey ends
No matter how desolate the Cul-de-sac

Even if you are two invisible eyes
observing those you once admired
Or the mouth in a river telling your life story to the running water
Doesn't matter which transport, a ride is a ride

The sausage factories in the autumn

Music blares and and the sausage piles up
There´s cheer in the air
The winter sets in but doesn´t cool the hot capricornian sun
That sausage accumulates as the workers whistle and fill

The countryside looks delicious with that excess fat
Go down to the factory at bell time and have a chat
They are playing mellow beach music as the wrap fills up
The million pigs and chickens were a quick bad dream from your mouth

Yet the mince looks enticing as the roof on your house
Late autumn touches gates in middle class lanes
far from working class hands
there it seems to wane

it´s Wind commands coats and jackets
A Thousand sausages wrapped as snacks

Music blares and the unthinking let the mind travel
from sewage canals to fine dreams of mansions
The autumn wind doesn´t bargain
yet the sun warms it´s insensitive chill

Prosperity ahead

That superstitious word blessing
when so many of us are looking for more
Just like me, except when I turn to the one I'm kissing
Moments of peace are wondrous during life's arduous test

Her smile is my transport
That smile which is well attached to my new wife
I didn't see possibilities at the end of the tunnel
I saw grand prospects

An atmosphere for happiness
A road to wealth
How I adore this blessing
I am supposed to be here and in every direction I see evidence

You´re going somewhere

Rubber passports
maps and guidebooks in the trunk
sunhats and lotion
scarves and overcoats

Walls and fees
road tax accumulating
shoe soles wearing down
sense of purpose still roaming

The pie out there seems to look closer
sweeter even closer to touching
their sense of possession
Hands shouldn´t be raised

The road continues
the aroma does too
So take the next step
we are waiting for you.

A sunny day on your hermaphrodite janitor

Grunt mutter and litter,
turn the caring person into a laughing stock
caretaker rocks!
subtle yet present ambiguity of gender

Broken wheels on their rationale
happy go simply
Fuel tank takes envy
Non awareness for a lifetime

Sudden outbursts of emotion
then forced short answers
sniffing for appreciation
Their middle class employers don´t give them a taste

A feat of engineering

The monstrous production made possible by the super tank venture
Able to carry a hundred thousand tons of steel over long distances
Building airports and railways and cities with sound infrastructures
Misplaced thugs still robbing helpless motorists sad nuisances

The great dream for the world to push it forward
is to build bigger than ever before!
Plan design and realize great works as testaments
Recruit the riff raff or the damage will have no estimate

The winner

They put their faith in many places
different to each other
faith indeed divided them
Which one would fall to the sound of bats blowing trumpets

Which one would feel gravity disappear
Would they see stars racing away from impact
Who tricks you out of believing you love the sport
A winner, a loser, the blood and the violence

The fixed dream is no one's reality
the fixed dream is a buyable illusion
You may walk out of a hospital bed
or a ten story mansion

Reality's dreamer must sleep
when the illusion of a winner takes the day

They say it´s the rule

It´s a tradition
A modern equation
A piece of evidence
that you can use to buy some certainty

Evidence as currency sweet
Evidence is a luxury for some
and for a multitude some strange heiroglyphics
It´s just allegory, leisurely reciting parables

Where does he hide?
In your brain, your heart or the sky?

Helicopter head

yelp as the nogan keeps spining
Yope yelp and the yoke rattles around up there
Two big long heli blades churning thought on the halo ring
give it a spin

Thinking like a search engine
machine make make´s a scene in the mind
Turning pining burning the lining the membraine
the hot head veins

Tell me helicopter head
How are all those misplaced thoughts fed
The skull cringes
all lobes flaring up

Heli heli wop wop search engine replica

Always toward me

She can't ride yet
but when she does...

A lot of the streets and the people we meet
seem to turn away but so be it
Even shop ghosts
But we buttered them anyway like toast

Don't dream about your own life
It's likely to be fiction
Because when she learns to ride
it will be in my direction

And every family's parents, daughters and sons
and every squashed baby bird that kneels
will be known by the sun
never to be buried but to be healed

Two wheels across town perhaps
but always toward me

Isles of Paraty

The salty sea laps the rock solid shores of a dozen isles or more
The  multitude of wind marching Jerivás, outgrowing the other shrubs and palms
Mostly the bay sea is calm, autumn has rarely any storms to deliver

Oyster beds cling to the natural platform tidelines secretly performing in their shells
humming as the waves roll over and with jagged shell formation cutting anything that treads
thereon.

The Mango and the Guava shy to the salty surrounds, grows less and bear little fruit
Yet the all hardy banana that golden tropical rhizome eats the shrub space till the shoreline
Yellow and purple burst out of the undergrowth humble shrubs that face the saltwinds

The township is a fat brick skeleton that somehow maintained it's colours
The imperial palms always carrying thick bunches of hanging seeds
A town full of Inns a modern fantasy of an old pirates village

And mysteries lie there still, from lost gold of the slave colonies
To the mists that the ranges and hills breathe all the way to the islands
Almost keeping the town in the past
 

The spa pool

Floods had destroyed most of the neighborhoods
everybody was living on the second floor
People wanted more before their own houses could be repaired
before they even fixed the front door

The ground was filthy
Debris huddled around buildings like gardens
One man won his fame on a song
He didn't get his money but he wanted it all

Before everything was improved
The singing man tried his hand at seduction
But the woman he sought was now married
And the city rebuilt as the singer cried

They tried to build a spa pool on the second floor
when they barely had the power to work a stove