domingo, 5 de abril de 2026

I was up against a gray silence

 So I breathed out,
the clouds were pushed.
Am I sincere?
Streets need paint-

I sneeze and color rouses itself.
Every surface now has something vibrant.
I look down at me god he's goofing off.
I said pay attention it's all gray out here.

But my dog stayed all quiet.
The road was carved out dinosaur bones.
I did my best to flatten them out with my mood.
And if I had had a cigarette right there and then.

 That would be the moment to spark it and breathe out,
creating some cloud for the oncoming front.
Silence echoed all over like a flood of ear glue.
So I conjured thunder to clear it all up.



Human drops

 There they go human beings leaking out away from the horizon.
Practicing their lives.
rehearsing future victories.

They go attempting to hold the road.
As traffic keeps pace.
Sun so timid to rise.
But shows it's first signs.

The flow of people wishing for something bigger.
Bigger than themselves in that proud impossibility.
Eyes judge and voices accuse.

Legs brace as feet hit the pavement.
thye move like drops of water down a glass window.
With the sun shining in, training to be something.

Dissimilitude of my creative epitome

 I am clothed
yet I feel undressed
I have so many choices
But I feel powerless

I have acquired stamina in my hustle
however I am exhausted
I have grown new muscle
Though I feel weak

When will it be my time
The the crust of glory becomes something I myself devour
my patience is tested
Because I cannot wait for this hour

I am pure creativity
But my mind is blank
My libido pulses with sensitivity
But I feel impotent

What is this cruel trickery devised from where the unseen stare
Stirring reality and adulterating it's incgredients with waking nightmares
Past rising to consume me and once again I smash it all into tiny shards
Thus becoming whole, visionary, passionate and hard!


The supply room at school

 School was talking fantasy film
Abandoned class room now for stock
Young girls with cute lisps
carried away with details

curly headed consciencious nerd
Who indulged the lisped young girl
Organizing material for the next exhibition
Then embracing in the empty corridor 

School was creating or building an image
then throwing it away
as if it were never you
As if you were above it

School was long winded opinions on cult classics
as cut into acres of paper
sit by and study the periodic table
Big empty rooms

Handfuls of empathy
Constant change silly confessions
That sent the struggling teen soul nosediving
speculating on teacher's past times

prospecting toward the forbidden
with wiggle room to deny everything later
To offer excuses by feigning naivety
weaving those very first webs of deception

Pet winning kilograms

 He spent his life eating,
becoming round and docile.
Non resistant,
giving his jolly self to the moment.

He spent his life playing.
The constant infant.
Somehow unreasonable.
Yet deep down so shapeable.

How much of us are just impulse,
nojo nojo instinct.
What are we but messes,
that need consistant cleaning.

Rigorous maintenance

sábado, 4 de abril de 2026

Temple ruins and legacy

 That was our last vestige
That was the temple of the bloodline
Built so tall with noble wood
strong stable supports
Complex catacombs beneath

Passages all through it
Remains of the living areas covered in mould
Deep rot and layer upon layer of dust
Rebuilding all this will take decades

The tower where your cross sat is busted by storms
I must reset it and have it reinforced
Push these wayward people obsessed with their small games
Into rebuilding you whole

sexta-feira, 3 de abril de 2026

Gratitude to death

 Death occupies itself inside a pigeon's body
Doing it's work dutifully inside and out
feathers ruffled and a missing eye
just an opening with a grey and pink nothing

Claw haphazard like a spasmodic goodbye
Ants make a line find their way to the cadaver
Beak slightly ajar as if finishing the last breath
Or nibbling the last morsel

It flew it's last peaceful flight
suffered the hardness
Enjoyed it's ease
It blesses the mud with it's corpse

Position of final forfeit
Elements and bacteria
Until all evidence of the creature has gone
The angle of the neck is thank you


Unicorns and flightless birds

 Warriors grandiose.
Come along the ridge here on horse back.
Oh so majestic and spiritual.
Where is your metaphor, where is your sacred spear.

And the rotten colonizer.
Oh what will you do with him?
The horrid brutal landbreaker!
Has he not humiliated the honor?

You remain on horseback the longer taiaha by your side.
Will you not smite me for past slights of my restless predecessors?
Hungry to subjugate your chaos into order.
With a bland English stroke.

Can you live in honour just with words and politics.
Must you not reclaim what is yours with the original violence.
Of such to carve out your appropriates of dominion.
Am I the eternal white Devil that should be huned for sport?

Or did you just run out of Moa.

Escaping the giant duck

 The neck extended under water.
Everyone thought it was a plesiosaur.
But it was a duck whose neck extended.
Exended twenty meters and it's body grew greatly.

Then it rose from those eel infested waters.
It clmabered over small islands with only one objective.
To eat us whole of course, so we in turn found refuge.
Little subterranean shelters and corridors.

But we knew one day it's beak would break through,
Thus some of us would be gone forever.
The duck looks so adorable from outside of our hiding shelters.
But when it engages it is worse than any existing land monster.

The question is, what made it grow so fast.
What made it so incredible aggressive.
And how do we survive in a world with a giant duck hunting us.

No it's not a goose, yes it's neck is long.
It bites us and eats us.

The ruins of wellington

I looked out from wadestown

Not a tree just fields over what used to be hills

flattened by the weeks of earthquakes a year ago

the debris of the building swept into the massive opening in the earth


I looked out from the ruins of an old hotel there

The ocean flatter than i've ever seen in it

Wellington typically and aggressively windy

What a wondrous city it once was


Now it is flattened

humbled and no longer something to behold

it is just pasture once again

inviting back agriculture and old traditions


Auckland grows in it's place

A humid monster sucking water from two coasts

accomodating the urban refugees 

who refused to settle in the ruins of wellington.

Renovating the abyss

 Forgive the abomination
look what i have become
A tidal wave of energy in an abyss
Endless blackness

Somewhere at the edge of all this
Drips drop down
Soaking the edges of the world I am creating
How will I shape the rock

Far from the external
curate light for life
redirect the water- my tears and my mouth watering...
something comes from nothing

That is his language
That is my language
The dominion over creation
Patience to watch things grow

I just need to calm this tidal wave
This abomination that breaks everything again
from within
Just so I can consolidate the good works

Converting this abyss to the paradise
Born of my own bold dreams


quinta-feira, 2 de abril de 2026

Mother am I the goshawk?

 Maybe what you need is to breathe in the lonliness.
The sense your are going to have to give up every human that loves or cares about you.
Mother sings to me as a baby.
The whine in her voice.

I can you offer you nothing.
And what have I misunderstood from this life?

The Earth and the true God give me unlimited power.
Why have i been cursed by wanting?

Instead of any empathy I get suspicious eyes.

So what they say is...
maybe what you need is to taste lonliness. 
Even your wife has evolved much past your stagnant tepid pond.
Get to the notion that you need to give up everyone you love.

Leave and maybe you won't humiliate yourself quite so intensely.
Leave soo because pretty soon there'll be nothing left of you.
As you wish and hope reality was somewhat different.
Hasn't the good old spirit given you enough?

Why do you keep complaining?
why do you need so much?
What a spoilt child you seem to be!
Then I hear the words of my mother.

She sings about the solitude of the Goshawk.
How it flies so nobly, it doesn't ask for anything.
Should I be like that Mother?
Mother can I be the solitary predator?
Am I heartless or was it merely destroyed because I couldn't see the value in feeling any fucking thing anymore.


Black dragons rata tat tat tat!

 Black dragons
Lines and flagons

they don't talk 
They pose staunch finesse
they are all about the business

Look at these zips everywhere
trendy leather lack or excess of hair

Rehearsed macho walk oh kowtow tow tow
How yall fuse collectively somehow

exclusive and brazen badge on breast
motorcycle enthusiast

They kick it outside the local burger joint
Abusing the locals, shells and coins

Some one squirts an uzi
All of a sudden quite rudely

Hyper breathing bullets riddle through noone saving
Time the gang die slow bleeding out on stained pavement

I talk and my words rata tat tat tat tat
Magazine gets refilled with a rush

Skin sensitive, bone too, tunneling flesh
in thud out exit wound swoosh

Sirens and waning life force
ketchup and blood sauce

Burgers stretchers and bravado all dried up
I reload again not quite enough

wet with fear
blood and sweat, night hot as the barrel against that tasteless tat tat tat!

scatter scatter moon's betrayed you before you left to intimidate
Put yourself in the line of chaos the slaughterhouse of fate

On the scene with a submachine dream
Cat scratching rat a tat tat tat

I say rata tata tat tat tat!
Motorbikes fall bodies too
sweet impact

dead black dragons extinct the pack
Rigamortis limbs in a mortuary sack




The tale of the duchess

 Clive and Adriana lived in a high-rise apartment in Atlanta.
Adriana was a freelance designer, known for her innovative work with fabric and light. She spent her days in a small studio on the ground floor, just below their apartment.

Clive was a businessman, working for a company that offered services to Wall Street. His days were filled with meetings and financial forecasts, while Adriana’s world was more creative and fluid.
Over the time that they were married, Clive became more reclusive and rude and sometimes even abusive, even as Adriana put more effort into the relationship.

Clive and Adriana's marriage slowly fell apart over the space of seven years because Clive was neglecting Adriana and sometimes being abusive. Adriana, on the other hand, she didn't know how to handle this. Often she would offer herself and would offer help to Clive sometimes, but this didn't solve anything. And so the marriage slowly became abusive.

Clive spent more and more time at work working on his projects, and when he got home, sometimes he would be demanding of Adriana and tell her that she had to do whatever he said, and so she had no way of expressing herself and she felt completely taken for granted and also extremely exploited.

As time went by, Adriana started to give in. She started to become more compliant, and she gave up. She gave into it

Things didn't improve. He became even more demanding, and he would request that she stay at home full-time instead of doing her design job. And still nothing improved in their relationship. There was no extra spark. There was no extra warmth in the relationship. It was Clive who was hardened by the nature of his business, and there was Adriana who still had that spark of human light within her, but it didn't work out as Adriana thought. He would continue to take advantage of her, and she would continue to take it.

The story actually starts as Adriana starts having these lucid dreams about a town that she visits in her sleep. the town itself perhaps had more like 30,000 people, 40,000 people, and it had very well-polished structures, but some of the structures or some of the buildings within the town appeared to be archaic and completely different from the newer structures. There was some kind of discrepancy between the old archaic and the new modern, and there was nothing in between.

Her nightly journeys are quite safe. These dreams seem to be quite pleasant. She greets people on the street and they in return regard her, but a lot of them actually regard her first or greet her first, as if they already knew who she is. And these greetings are so natural and so believable that she starts to identify more with her dreams than her waking life.

Then on one auspicious night, she dreams that she is walking through the town and she's going right through, so she passes through to the outskirts of the city, where there are fields, and on the other side of the fields, there are old factories, factories that look like they've been erected in the 1950s with the classic four-story high structure, chimneys, and the same short, narrow windows running along each story of the building, with that gray, intimidating color.

She can hear distant screams from within the factories. She gets curious. She doesn't know if she's willing to get closer and see what they are. The town seems warm and the factories seem cold, but they both belong to the same place, in fact. And so she forces herself.

And as she approaches, she looks through the bottom windows of the building, and what she sees lit up from within the factory astounds her and both terrifies her. And so she looks on, and what she sees is hundreds of machines that have been engineered specifically for one end or one purpose, that to torture men. And there were hundreds, maybe thousands of men inside being tortured upon these machines, maybe even two or three men to one machine, and all being tortured in unison, as if the building itself was trying to make music out of their misery.

 Even though she is feeling terror, she knows that in her waking life, she is feeling some kind of pain, similar to that. She is feeling not just that physical pain that those men inside those factories are feeling, but she also feels emotional pain, perhaps in an even more intense way than what they're feeling inside that factory. So she turns to herself and she says, well, maybe I have something in common with these poor souls, as she starts walking back to the town.

But in her waking reality, nothing changes. Clive is still abusive, and sometimes he takes a belt to her when he feels like it. Sometimes he forces himself on her when he likes, and this all adds up. This all does its damage, but she sees herself now not as a human being, but as an object. And her only humanity left is that of the dream. So when she goes back into the dream the next night, she meets a man from the town hall, and the man has a reddish tinge to his skin and perfectly white teeth, and he invites her in.

And there's something else. There's something to this reddish-skinned man with perfect teeth and well-groomed, well-dressed, with his cane and with his hat. He seems to be very confident, and there seems to be something else, another strange quotient to the situation.

As they're walking into the mayor's building, and they walk one after the other into his office, she gets that feeling. She has met this man before somewhere, maybe from another life, maybe in another form, but this person or creature, it's, it's someone or something that she has interacted with before. She just can't put her finger on it. She sits down and they start talking.

The man starts talking as if he's from the normal reality, not from some dream. Everything he says is too congruent, too coherent. And he says directly to her, Adriana, "I would like to give you an invitation. I would like to extend you this invitation. And as you probably can tell, this place is familiar to you. You have seen the town, you have seen the buildings. There is something familiar about this place, wouldn't you agree? And Adriana nods, but she still doesn't want to say anything. She still doesn't, she's still not sure about what she's going to say. So the man says, you have become almost like a battery for your husband, Clive. He uses your energy and he uses you up as he goes for his career goals and your life goes nowhere. And you have been given no recompense. So we have devised something here for you, but before I extend this, I need to reveal something that might shake your ideas."

 He continues speaking and he says, "This town is familiar to you, isn't it?" And she says, "yes, it is. I can recognize some of the buildings, but I still don't understand why there are these archaic buildings and then these new buildings, and the factories on the far side, I don't understand any, any of it." And he says to her, "You were once a very important person in this place, but you won't remember because you left this place many centuries ago."

"Part of your deal about visiting Earth again, was that you would lose memory of your place here. You were a duchess of our region here, and you decided that you would prefer to spend some time on Earth and test out your magic. And now it seems you have lost all of your magic, all of your spark, and you have just turned into one of those tortured souls that we keep in the factories. And so I've decided to take a course of action that will invert things, perhaps." She asks, "What must I do."

He says, "You mustn't do anything. Can you see the factories in the fields? They are full of tortured souls." And she replies, "Yes, I can." And he says, "Contemplate for a second. Clive has made you into one of these people who suffer just as they suffer in those factories. So he is using you as a battery. You can see that we have ample power in this city. We have very good lighting, and we have a very good glow. We can let the old and the new live together exactly in harmony because we have these wonderful, productive factories." He spoke as if it was natural that human souls were powering the the town with their pain.

"Would you like to have the opportunity of inverting the situation and putting Clive in his place? And if so, I need you to state that now for me.:"

She accepts the offer and she ponders to herself, "I wonder what is coming. I wonder what I must do." And he said, "I know what you're thinking." (Reading her mind.) "You think that you must do something, that you must change something, that this is going to revolutionize or you're going to grow yourself a new life. This is not going to happen. And in fact, what we here in the town want is for you to give yourself up even more, be more submissive, be more ridiculous, humiliate yourself more for him."
And she looks at the man, completely befuddled. What is he asking of me? she thinks. And he says, "well, you're going to suffer anyway. We need you to bring this new asset in. Think of yourself as our talent scout. Think of yourself as our incredible closer”

"And when he finishes the merger, we can get him here."
"Then what will happen?"
"He'll be occupied doing this and that, probably a few errands you'd like to see him... carry out."



of the Rigid and the Free

 Wizards alone become extremely rigid
tricked by blueberry muffins
freshly watered grass
and the insanity of faun flute music

Fauns alone become scattered their nature is chaotic
Controlled by haunting desires and impulsive acts
As they trees in the forest grow out of shape
so does the faun without any semblance of order

The authority of the wizard
Freezes the faun
The cupcakes distracts
And requires cleaning up.

The director's day off

 The ruthless man who ate caltrops
Found people's past sins and brought them up for discussion
Sat on the front lawn of his square existence
cheeto crumbs and caltrops bronze

Was a souless creature completely satisfied
wailing in silence yet with a mangled grin
Making a call to head office
and firing people he remembered didn't fit

Not far from his position in the grass
Were the neighbors sunlit steps
where three emmaculate cockerspaniel puppies sat together quietly
Enjoying the morning sun probably

 On further inspection the puppies were to quiet
Approaching them it was evident
They were lifeless on those steps
Was it the man's mere presence?

Their family fun approved

 They consumed cupcakes
Their mouths were stained with colors mostly blue
This was the entertainment
The group enjoyed and became carefree

Poking fun at one another
The blue stained mouths
Their laughter g spot
Their compulsory fun

Blue stained chins and cheeks too
A mild form of approved slapstick
Permitted giggles
In their gaggle

Way of the Faun

 The faun breaks through the undergrowth.
Leaps onto two feet and blows on it's flute
The countryside awakens
It runs through the forest playing it's tune

The animals emerge curious
Some in trance
And follow the faun on the ridge
sheep break their fence to be near

It turns it speaks it raises the leaves
As if a sun of itself
Echoing it's mystical melody
and naming the new day with it

The fields and forests invigorated

quarta-feira, 1 de abril de 2026

Movement and stillness

because you loom and find yourself upon movement
upon stillness

Eyes soaking reality in
Words profaning it all out

because when you look at me you may see a man who has no expression But inside me there is a flaming hurricane of thought and emotion being harnessed by a thousand flashing hands My face is blank, but my desire is to sprint and aggress, to devour the earth whole. To move faster than light. And to be completely still.

Jutting rock A bumpy life

 How bumpy this road to nowhere is ...
coasts jutt their rocks out forth to anywhere
Lost statues the sea slowly devours over sweet millenia
Licking their surfaces in intimate salt obsession

Washing into and out of earth's pain
The car jumps and picks up again
The Coastal rock's dark shades speak to me
The stained window of the car

Sea spray hits as I roll down
I see the giant approach alone
It is the towering sacred stone
revering the elements

Changing to be so divinely jagged
How bumpy this life of fallacy
The hardened edges of our reality
The acidic sea salt owning the wind

Will it topple these rocks
eat them whole in fury
each beautiful century
quasi immortal

I hear the humm
I hear the crash through the bumps
I see the stains of the ages 
Imagine being as sturdy, as being as sane


I am peace, I am the void

That's where my peace is
inside the void
So far from anything
completely abandoned

away from anything
From anywhere
Slowly spinning in darkness
I am a mite, I am a God

I am all sizes
I am the push and the pull
I am the divine squeeze
I am the precursor

Stillness of the blade

 The helicopter moves around and around
The blade quite still
coming within an inch of crashing into the hangar
The body of the helicopter keeps slowly turning

A simple hand on a clock
Professional faces look and tell us
Hiding everything they don't know
Unchecked its all random wisdom

Each device or storage computer
disconnected from the next
So the helicopter strangely moves around
The blade completely still

So that the occupants will get disoriented
Physics itself becomes unreasonably profane
The spin of the cabin the stillness of the blade
The certainty of the mechanic inverted and insane

terça-feira, 31 de março de 2026

Arriving late

 Rules are rules.
For me, for pools for fuss.
For sunscreen and chlorine.
for sunshine and room fluff dust.

For a grin that makes its way from the kitchen to the bedroom.
for a game that young people play on dates to provoke or groom.
Rules are rules.
Don't they just arouse us.

Our fears and turn ons have rules.
that run around like maniac adolescents.
wreaking havoc with our patience.
So when i arrived late well I broke a rule.

There's no coming back from that.
Everyday is an adventure.
The sparkling consequences.
Turn me into something I wasn't before.

Raking leaves with fake smile.
Fish and wine.
rules for restaurants.
ways you dine.


Omnem spem relinque

 I approached the distant town gloomily.
Full of all of those old illusions from the life behind me.
The pines tall and sinister looked down sizing me up.
I kicked a stone and cursed.

I walked toward the small town.
The orange lights still lighting up the valley.
Dawn hadn't yet arrived... And it never will.

I look up at the city archway between the engravings of two brave vultures.
The words- Omnem spem relinque. Were written.
I spoke the words aloud as I trudged in.

My old life gone, Somehow I walked out of a dream.
Of transforming times and places.
And now I stood here in tattered clothes.
In this strange little town.

The buildings were mixed between ancient and new.
The people regarded me as If they knew me.
I approached the big grey building at the center of town.

The red man invited me in.
he said he had some things to go over me.
Wonderful teeth and manners.

Find the pain fulfillers bring them back.
Give yourself to the cause.
Fires burst forth from his desk and I was engulfed.
I transformed into something so hideous, so damned.

I asked, "How am I supposed to go back to earth like this?"
He said, "It's just the truth no more no less. This is what you are on the inside."
I felt the burning through all of me.
I felt the condemnation in divine pulses through my temples.

"I thought I was christian."
"Did you actually forgive, did you actually help anyone for that matter?"
"No, I just sang and danced and said nice things."
"Exactly so serve us now, you were faithless. Completely self absorbed."

I woke up in the parliament building with a list in my hand.
"Atleast I had a purpose" I said out loud to myself.
A voice came from inside the walls. "Omnem spem relinque."


Host me upstairs then

 Host me upstairs
I'm coming to town
A thousand arms I'm grabby

walk and see
Just for me
the street is full
it's dead empty

I feel the breeze
Thoughts and feelings
tingling

Who are you
Who is me

Host me upstairs 
I'm coming to town
a thousand charms

oversweetening the room
Resist me with your words
Don't let me in

I feel the breeze
as you kick me out
Onto the street

The hush is fictional observers
Holding back a thousand giggles
it's dead empty

Who are you
Why invite then expel?
what do you want from me?

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1s8ax4i/comment/odhstbf/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button


You'll Fidget

 Choose the corner table
If my eyes are intense
If my voice changes
I'll order

You'll fidget
Ah nervousness
I'll steady you
tell you a secret

So pretend to be surprised
Play with your hair
I'll wrap an idea around
You'll be impressed

atleast show signs of impression
I'll point a way forward
Euphoria will get the best of us
I'll recommend a time and a place

Where you will become something more
Where i will have meaning
you'll fidget
I'll steady your hands

I'll tell you a secret that will cut through reality
I'll chase after you if you beg me to
I'll wrap you in my ideas until they become your skin
so that you may stand naked before me always

You will be cleaned

 After the desert
You will have food water and rest
You will be cleaned and care for
You will be accepted

For I will take you 
Like the wounded bird
The stray dog
But your values a hundred stronger

My attention will heal you
of all the road has done
I will smooth you
If you give yourself over

For the desert and it's obscured paths
Is merciless on you
Isolating and taunting you
It is your hell on earth

So I will take you 
Give you a place for repouse
For the desert is my back yard
It's depth and distance shallow and near to me

They err in calling me simple

segunda-feira, 30 de março de 2026

Summons of the profane quintet

 The shadows of the mind come to the forefront in whooshing sublime
A whirlwind of destructive force sent forth from the recesses of my mind
They arrive landing infront of my eyes dressed in squid ink purple
Priests of a realm beyond the abyss from the chasm of disturbance

Each priest of the five makes their promises dreamily
Overwhelming promise of power offered up to me
They attempt to tender a forbidden contract
Their certainty and glee each clause a fact

I look at the terms to ascertain if it's worth them
Their devlish forms and seductive wiles are unnerving
I'm the shark who attacks from below toward the surface
Then i understand what it is that's making me nervous

I can't have masters
Only loyal servants

domingo, 29 de março de 2026

Tomato soup and life lessons

 Eric got into his 60s.

 By that time his grandson was 10 years old.

 He would visit his grandfather after school.
 They would talk about some of their future plans.

 But what the grandson wanted to know was if there was tomato soup.
 And if it was going to be good.
And so the old man prepared tomato soup for me his Grandson.
 It was sour and tasted bad, so I poured it out in the kitchen sink.
 
And then he almost slapped me.
Because there wasn't enough to go around in his time.
Anyway, my mistake.
And I stuck by with him. He learned from all of his mistakes, namely an amputated leg, and I learned from mine.

 I took on those lessons, and I became wiser. As he lived here, some of his ideals went into my brain, went into my mind. sure, you could say I learned from them.

Where are your manners?

 Politeness speaks to the future

It has a voice for the modern.


Politeness guides you to possibility.



But vulgarity is baseness.

Vulgarity is primitive.

It is held and echoed from the dirty street drains of centuries gone.


That's why you see old men who don't use any filter when speaking.

And go about their business offending and clumsying their way through the misery.


Those old men reach back into the past with grazed knees from worshipping concrete.

Their sense of honor and pride walks into the slaughter chute.

Here they pretend it's their courage not their resignation.


Why yes the axe head is prefereable to the drip old men.

Bloodied steel instead of a thousand days on a stretcher!

But you don't live nobly, you just bleed your expectations across my carpet!


So where are your fucking manners?

Autumn's got a thing for you

 So summer really likes you.
Summer has a thing for you.
Summer imagines itself your hula hoop.

But Autumn is infatuated with you.
Fell in love and falls in love with you each day.

But winter, winter doesn't like you.
Winter seems to have something against you.
It tells Summer and autumn that you are no good for them.

Winter tells them all to walk away.
Except spring, Winter's arch rival.
And your vitality is likened to spring.

Winter tells the months that you are not good enough for anyone.
Winter is so pale, cold and waning.
Autumn is bronze and rich and so complex

Autumn is all of the colors and flavors
Secrets the equinoxes know deep down
And the solstices know only by word

Autumn is all of these things.
Autumn has such a devotion for you.
The rest of the year envies Autumn

Autumn is the marinade of life
The sour rot and the sweet emergencial new growth
Autumn fell in love with you

Which Norn feeds your gaunt spirit

 It's set out infront of you like a banquet
The knife and fork
it is the brain and body
The food on your plate

Your present day
better ask yourself a question
Which course are you on
Which swirl inside the knitted norn

The thread of time
Your existence attempting to align
Finishing dessert?
or just starting on the entree?

The four corners of insanity

 The ins and outs he said
Rabbit holes and dreary prairies
Bogs and forest noises echoing as if in conversation
The ins and outs he said

The obvious, the unmentionable
And the hidden secrets only few will tell
All just thought patterns dominating the mind
each one accumulating unto, or dissapating from itself

The duality of In
Of out
Through your moldable mind
The ins and outs of planet earth

Tomorrow is incomprehensible to you
Lost memories of yesterday
Sanity cracks like a log on the fire
Flames running in and out 

Wood to ember
To coal
To ash
All through out

Inside you 
outside you
behind you
infront of you



sábado, 28 de março de 2026

Bending consciousness

 Inspired to enchant
Severe and magic spell void wisdom
Digest the earth entire
Digest the power... mind

A million interpretations of the meaning
Each one a surreal gift moving out of itself
Like a serpent losing it´s skin
following a chaotic jungle path

The promise to chosen few
Furnish freedom from within
The axe to massacre illusion
Love to grow


Pre workout

 Change back into yourself, wonderful cafeteria
open yourself don't shut me off
Don't become the nurse or the server
don't overlift

don't be bloated by life's excess
Don't be chased by any man
Not even me
Just perfect that which is good already

Don't seek it out
Let it come
We human ambush better than we hunt
anyone would be lucky to get caught in your sticky trap 

The town of Leslimb

 I spent the day walking a thin dirt road
Night came and I knew I would need somewhere to stay.
I saw A side road up ahead and investigated, there were no signs.
But down the side road there were lights, a few houses. Maybe this will do.
I looked down, stepped forward and continued walking. I'll fing somesthing, I'll find somewhere to sleep.
I came to a roundabout with a few empty buildings. A big barn with an open door.
I'll sleep here. I set out the blanket I had lay down and dreamed of all those wonderful things I'm not allowed to have.
Then I woke to an old man looking in. He said to me "So you found the barn" A sunny morning, way too bright for my eyes that morning.
I said to the man "Well I guess I did."

I stepped out and observed the town. att he far end there were no houses just a grass berm with a charming little well, built with attractive rocks with one of those tiny rooves.
I looked back to the small township. It looked like it had been a tourist town with an old tourist bus parked perfectly against a rusted blue bus stop.
A plus size woman in her fifties with brown straggly hair and reddish skin, it looked like she was ushering me over, but she didn't seem to have the energy. Through one caravan window it looked like other women were in there. It was like a brothel on wheels perhaps. There was a fruit stall with a husband and wife selling fruits and a few vegetables. They looked a little more normal. Dark skinned and short stature, but more expressive, evidently happy.
Behind the bus stop was a clean and very welcoming looking tourist shop. It looked out of place. Everything else was dusty, Rusted and unclean. I looked through the window like a child at his first mall experience. There were soft toys and books so well exhibited under such good lighting it made me doubt the place was real at all. Felt real enough.
There was a butcher working out of a raised stall, probably something he built himself, He was grilling meat. The aroma coming out of there was incredible. Naturally I asked for a small bag of it. It was cheap enough and the coins in my pocket easily afforded me it.
I opened the bag and started to eat, as I walked away from the shop the meat started tasting raw.
A frustration, even an anger at being conned into raw meat took me over, I started to walk back to the stall to complain. with every foot fall toward teh old shack the paper bag in my hand warmed up a little more. By the time i was in earshot of the butcher, i could pull a piece of meat out and see it was completely grilled and smelled delicious.
An awkward tall and very slow speaking teenager came out of nowhere and approache me, same reddish tinge as if the sun was just a little too abrasive in the region.
"You need to eat it near the cart, otherwise it goes bad." I laughed at the absurdity of what he said.
But just like something magnetic losing it's pull, when i walked away it got cold, and when I walked back it heated up.
"Thank you for the heads up." I told him. he tried to press out a smile on his face. I knew he was expressing an attempt at joy.
I passed the mechanic's shops. It was empty, Then a small volkswagon beetle came out of nowhere and parked infront of me. Three dwarvish mechanics got out, all dressed in their blue stained overalls, echoing the color and rust of the bus stop. The first one that appeared had discolored skin on his face and signs of a cured goiter below the jaw. But he walked more confidently. The other two followed in behind. They waved and regarded me as naturally as if I'd been there an eternity. But we'd never met.
I had this feeling I needed to leave. Stop my little excursion and get back to the hotel in the other town.
I walked toward the distant pine trees that marked the cross roads.
As I approached it suddenly became dark. I checked my watch it was 5,14am around the time i need to get up when I'm working. Atleast I'm out of that strange town.
I turned up the road I had originally came from trudging on for kilometers. The sun came up and the heat of the day with it. I saw people working th fields on the road side, tending their crops.
I stopped by. "Hi, can you tell me what the name of the town off the cross roads back there is called?"
The wife absconded, but the husband showed more interest, he looked up at me enthusiastically, but also a little worried.
"Do you mean Leslimb? That's not really a town, there right." He said.
"Well of course it's a town I've just been inside it." I told him.
"Were things strange there, Did you notice anything, not quite right, time of day, a strange tourist shop, weird happenings."
 "What if I did" I said nervously.
"You were in purgatory, the real one."
"What do you mean?" I said concerned.
"When you walked out did the time change either getting later or earlier?"
He just looked at my face.
"You ate the food didn't you?"
Suddenly his wife was by his side, 
"Just let the man go about his business." She said.

An icy feeling started in the bend of my neck and slowly melted into spine.
A tear drop fell from my eye.
It was the same couple who worked the fruit and vegetable stall back in that town.

sexta-feira, 27 de março de 2026

The thickness of a sad existence

you are a teacher but you should have been a nurse
The thickness of this invention
you come upon a fantasy well ordered
you had an insight and beckoned

Then you reel me in like im some sort of marlin
your existance is the fishmarket
The knife and the frozen violence
Oh bring yourself to self pity

shoulders like these, just for tears
Just for worry
i feel the desperation
The race to consolidate it all

The thickness of your existence inside locked places
Dark and hostile my precious pretty one
Your parents expectations crushing down
The trapped existance making you a deviant of all things

shoulders like these grow to hold your head
Sadness splashing out of your skull
Appearances and colors dance for these
Then back to sadness sweet sweet void


That burning ambition

 Oh Rubi my ambition
It is a fire ball eating us both up
In flame and tongue and unearthly desire
Oh Rubi I devour

The office is shattered
Employment to administration
To oversee what you are all doing
more human ambition machine

Rubi you are not sure
Then it's washing clothes
And I've been through it with you
Until the water comes out dirty

you renew the obsession
What am I but ambition hovering
What am i an extinguished soul
Just tweaking through the dawn

Rubi you made it all up in your head
If you had to give any sort of account
It would read like a love puppy letter on a serviette
One i'd have to hide to retain your pride

SO as I take the manipulated and pu the city to fire
there will be no more, even colleagues and esttemed friends
Will perish in the fires as the city burns down wave after wave
SO it's farewell you little jewel the ashes will adjust the PH

The smoke will block out the sun


Caps and aeroplanes

 success came in pairs and triples

With motivational hats and aeroplane sweets 

eyes agree and its competition oh my

the eldest is the heir


the rest we will play by air

panels are white and concrete rich

you need a spotlight a skater and high performing niche

I want to give you a carpark of promises


Coastal winds bluster and make marks on the clouds
populations of perfectionists balance the plane's landing
I get a fail and tossed off the rocks into the sea
an alcoholic with no potential


They sit in the sun watching the cricket match these are the children of tomorrrow we care about

success is a super computer for bragging or bringing your false confidence into reality

Twins figure it out and highflyers know how to manipulate the results

it s a friendly place in the success lounge



Golden Dunedin sunset

 Her name was written on the sunset
In golden cloud letters
What a thing to have the sky advertise this woman
and the clouds dance and merge to exalt her

Yellow cast over the Dunedin beach
Their short summer
An orgasm of days
A broken name

A wistful afternoon
fragments of myself rising
becoming part of the overhead
ending in the day itself

Steep streets and powerful memories
make reality so intense
The golden sundown with the letters disappearing
Though I will know your name was once there

Te aro party

 I went in to the old flat in wellington
A few people sleeping on the floor
They were broken toys
No longer functional in a tidy world

Their addictions and traumas loud and painful
The hateful stayed outside of the party
In a sports car repeating slogans
taking their anti grief medication

That ealy morning the girls were traveling back
Back to their homes far away the fantasy was over
Their cars were so packed their faces expressionless
I thought I was dsad and they just reflected it in a wordless conversation

quinta-feira, 26 de março de 2026

The big bang

 I feel the universe screaming right now
A thousand images the same reflecting back
This is inifinity, this is the appearance of power
I feel the universe screaming

The heat of atomic bombs in my palms
i feel the push and the pull
I feel I belong to the two
Will you condemn me when I show you I am ambidextrous

Will you need to be convinced
Or will you flow with it
letting the small mind pass
So that the big idea can take us over for months

Smother our reality and hopes and fears
leave us aroused for the rest of our lives
Is it comfortable in there all shut
Why don't you let me in

an explosion must take place

leaving sleep

 I coughed and spluttered and reached for my alarm as it sounded
The disorientation of of exiting slumber clouds me
I fumble my phone- where am I? Who am I?
There's a crashing inside of my head

An assembling of my outside reality
It all screamed at me big waves of loud milk
Splashing across my face the alarm still bleeting
Like all the sheep I forgot to count

I forgot that warm alluring dream I slipped out of
Now out of reach, it never happened
Except it did I just cannot retrace it
Cannot bring it back to my surface of awareness

So I press the alarm button and it stops
I wobble on early legs like a daunted toddler
I grab the necessary and make my gentle way
To my office at the end of the corridor

And then I'll let breakfast console me from the lost dream
A hot coffee to throw me like a skipping stone into the body of the day
I will pretend I know this body I find myself in
I will pretend I care about purposes I had invented before yesterday

quarta-feira, 25 de março de 2026

stomach earth

 clouds and digestion
I'm walking metres from the forest
I see the abandoned mansion
I see the river follow me

I walk over grass and familiar hills
My hair is grass
My skin the earth
My love the sky

Clouds are passing
I am digesting you

Staircase of my name

 I climb this wooden staircase
The empty spaces between the slats of wood
Call my name, with each step up I look between
and hear the voice say -up one further

When I feel the slat under me
Shaky and unstable
I transition my weight to the next slat
Hearing calling far below

Like ghost parents
shouting toward a baby at risk
I was that baby
Not big enough to get to the top

Not small enough to fall through the slat
Just big enough to hear the subtle applause
As I go from one slat to the next
each one creaking my name

terça-feira, 24 de março de 2026

That Sturdy Cactus

 Bulging out of the sidewalk saying- how is it?
A metamorphic sex toy scaring grandads and grannies.
Taking up too much space so the dogwalker struggles to slip the gap.
The columns climb up to block out the neighbors windows.

When it's wet the fat thug doesn't droop or even yellow
When it's dry the thing shines and keeps growing anyway
While the rest of the vegetation dies off in the heat of the day
It just seems to stand prouder as if imitating a champion

It hangs out and waves
You never see it complain
Doesn't need twigs or leaves
Doesn't need fertile land
The modified stem grows out of porous neutral sand

Jeanine


 I saw you scratching words into the desk, while Mr Robinson wasn't looking.

Freckles never looked good on any girl, except for you Jeanine.
Blond pony tail, you knew how to dance. I was too goofy to ask you teach me, therefore I'd have a reason to rub up against you. To question your questioning eyes.
Where did you get those scissors and hide them before Old man Robinson sees, he's got a screw loose and he will break something if he sees. If he sees you scratching up the desk, he'll kill you.
Anyhow I'm passing you this note, so that you can have my permission to humiliate me infront of the whole class. Because I want to kiss your face. I want to kiss your lips.
I'm sick of being young and coming up short. I want a young and wild girl like yourself to kiss and get lost in. I want to take you to the backfield, just to see if you won't let me in for just a time.
Share secrets, share silly young notions of love. Hold hands, touch.
Give me my 101 in romance as you probably have a better understanding.
Or even better let me sit closer to you in class. So that I might touch your hair, or at the very least warn you before our tyrant of a teacher catches you scratching words into the desk.
Somehow I could see your hostility, but it didn't put me off. I just put it down to that fighting spirit. Growing up in small towns must be torture for beautiful girls like you.
What a miracle it was to know you, in our small pathetic town where everyone judged everything. 

Shutting up

 People would do well to shut up.
To stay trap clamped
To politely abstain from their yarns
Their rants and laughter

People can make it easier on the world
By shutting up all of you can cure the world
Words spoken spurted through lips
Tongue so proud, tone intact

But forget all that, use ears
Or eyes to read these letters into words
These cattle into herds
This sewage into wastewater collection

Like volume of cursewords
Rising from the stadiums
Of dumbfounded excited nobodies
Who have squandered their personal integrity

To join a mediocre collective 
Who scream their voiceboxes until wheezing
Just shut up and sit down
you have a lot to prove but a big void where the brain is supposed to be


Yes Charles I want to be a writer

 It does come bursting out of me
Like instinct
Like embrace
Like surrender

Dominance
excitement
anticipation
Creativity

It does come out of me
Do I want the fame?
The money?
The lifestyle?

You said I wasn't ready,
You are right.
It does come out of my soul like a rocket
Without it many vices would consume me

Why yes the sun inside me is burning for me to write
So I write, dear God I write
And i will keep doing it until I die
Or until it dies in me



The fruit of my words

 My poetry doesn't move you enough.
I wish it was me that was missing something here.
But it was you...
I took my words and formed a garden path for you to follow.

Down down where all seasons converge, all weather, all twilight.
There I have grown a fruit tree with the most delicious fruit you've ever tasted.
But you don't bite in...
Instead you pretend you know the flavor.

Your imagination doesn't turn.
My words just fall flat like autumn leaves under that same tree!
Or worse the uneaten fruit that spent a month on the tree.
Developing through those sunfilled days, sits rotting.

It doesn't move you.
The metaphor was built like a house whose curvature,
surrounded the eternal fruit tree of my verse.
You grin and say- They're just words!

Just imagine if you could see and taste the fruit.
A pomegranate persimmon looking fruit.
whose perfect sourness livened your senses.
That exposed flavors you never knew existed.

That exposed illusions in your waking life,
that leave you unsustained.



segunda-feira, 23 de março de 2026

Yellow dusty passenger

 The roll of flab comes over the arm rest and enters my private space
It was my turn to keep my prejudices to myself
While he gave me a huge roll of fat all over my arms
The sweaty watch strap the three chins and the beady eyes focusing in

I didn't give him permission to flood over me with that roll of fat
Or encourage the man to eat or avoid treatment
The steamy vapor changes our seat space
He burps casually relieving himself with several heavy breaths after

He laughs at a joke using animal puns on his instagram
The flab flexes, expands and contracts flacid and moist
The first yellow dusted snack makes it's way from stained fingers
Those fine yellow dust particles accumulate

Then the man sneezes and the yellow cloud covers the slim hostess
Her shriek made the man jump and the bag of cheetos spilt all over us


The brave coward

 Steve couldn't wait to celebrate his victory
He broke the jaw of the man who had confronted him in the pub
Sirens had landed and screamed like unfed children
the man on the floor bleeding and cursing

The police burst in, but Steve had left minutes before
He was leaning outside the abandoned fish and chip shop
cradling his knuckles and checking his manhood
But inside the scared boy lingered

The very fear that made him overact
Like a threatening piece of graffiti under the wotn's old entry bridge
That would spark up as if written in gasoline
Surge down his thin forearms

From some neglected room of his heart
That part that needed and taunted others for needing
The joke spins gets digested and doubles back to haunt old Steve
The respect I hold for him was for the pain that he could carry

Still pretending with his jeer
With his tireless lsd trip that protected him
Street lights burning abandoned orphans hang down
Drooping like used condoms

The very fear you invented now reverberating back through the radio speakers
The hell you conjured is in the back seat meddling with your senses
You give the cops the slip but your own demons handcuff you
And I see clearly what these demons are as they feed on your spine


Primal Tropidurus

 The lizard scoots like a rider
Sprints sideways across a wall
To catch the beetles and spiders
It nods and shakes it's head

It's all the fire and fury of a dragon
Sunlight speeding it up in the hush
heating the limbs pushing it forward
flashing legs send it boosting into the shade

It ducks down and staunches up on it's haunches
It's flicks the fork tongue to check the air
Then one eighties on the wall
The reptillian leer appears

The majestic colored marks on it's body
Adjusts to the color of a nearby trunk
In some minutes it will be camouflage
A mouth planning to devour

Blending slowly into surroundings
a silent game
Power in stillness
A violent calculation

The Joker under his tongue

 Lanky Steve was leary in the night 
He was impulse, he was carelessness
A shunner of consequence
Dancing the dance of a senseless existence

Hiding when sober and crashing
Exposing himself when high or drunk
He walked the abandoned railway
stumbling not falling

Tripping into the night
Where insane dogs barked and barked
Their echoes fusing into strange music
He was heedless

almost jogging each footfall a scoff
Building into laugh greeting the dog barks
distilling the darkness for a drop of sinister
That would float his hostile mind

Into the capital city
Emotion slowed things down
vehemence sped them up
his tab under the tongue was a joker 

The things he thought were completely exposed
were secret
Those things he was sure the world couldn't see
Were obvious


A splinter of my hardened self

 I move between precision and wonder
I want clarity but I need mystery

I think like both a human and a system
logic alongside instinct
I value simplicity
yet my mind naturally builds floors and storeys of meaning

I create daily, almost compulsively
 as if writing is how I exist
I am disciplined, but not rigid
I adapt when something feels off

I distrust artificial perfection
I see strength in flaws and edges
I seek purpose beyond routine
something visible, lasting, and real

I prefer clarity and brevity,
 yet my inner world is expansive
I am grounded in reality,
But I reach toward the symbolic and mythic

I carry responsibility quietly
health, work, relationship, creation
I want recognition
but only if it aligns with truth, not illusion.

The past is a dream

 I fought my way back into that dwindling last dream
To feel it's warmth and comfort to bathe in it's meaning
My eyes open and slowly I lose my grip on it
It slowly evapourates like morning dew in the first rays

Like a middle aged person reaching back for the adventure of his twenties
pursuing and simulating the nostalgia of those times
Instead of standing in the present fully and greeting it
There is zero for those that strive backward toward those special days

What is passed is gone we can never be our younger selves again
We can not relive those decades or reach those moments
So let go of it let the morning sun burn off the mist
Settle yourself into the creation of a new time

domingo, 22 de março de 2026

I was once taught

 I was once taught
Now i'm a teacher
I once wrought
Now a literary creature

Building dreams in above the ground my glee
In oceans, where gaze is possession honey
inside the abyss millions of miles of deep
Your terror surreal in sleep then wake and peak!

The strangeness moves over you like weather
I was once taught, now I'm that bright cloud
Excitement demands I show you in further
These depths a trillion stomachs

Digesting a tasty world baby, while it lasts
Oh just a notion of what's behind this eye
Now I'm an imaginer of infatuations of the past
Funky graffiti on the inner walls of my heart

Sometimes I read their cute spraypaint remarks
Those nostalgic crushes bursting forth with sparks
I look down at the still algae filled pond
But it's not stagnant rotten water, make me fond

It's all juice for my thirst pass my pen and straw
I'm diving headfirst longing to get to the bottom
Not afraid to drown, follow me down, you blossom
To learn from it, to burn, finally to fathom!

A vagabond's bedsit

 The ad said room to let
Those ten meter living spaces
In the old building built in the seventies
tiny bedsits under the town's big brothel

The neons would keep me up past the early hours
Reminding me of the lively nature of human need for connection
Maybe even the sound of the loudest of them making its way through walls
But it was cheap a lifeline for a simple writer like me, engulfed by the city

I'd even have a small window to see the remnants of a horizontal winter sun
A bed a desk and old block three channeled t.v a mini fridge teaspoon of hope
Just enough space to keep me from the laughing cord a noose
So I circled the ad and folded the page sparking the half cigarette i'd saved

With all of that business going on above maybe i'd get some inspiration
Here's to the neons as the sour fume embraced my lungs
Ember flared and I packed my stuff 

She will fly again

 The long night over head.
A city full of bridges and highways.
Overpass after overpass.
Nonstop transit.

The lost souls and I looked upward in those last hours of darkness.
It's a monoplane positioning itself to land on the highway.
Complaining in long winded sighs it's motor makes.
Because the traffic below won't make space.

The small structure wobbles and shudders.
Like a shopping trolley down a steep street.
Then rebalances itself as if suddenly a gocart.
It comes down horrorfying motorists.

Avoids the laggards swiveling this way and that.
Falling suddenly forward then jumping violently back.
Until it finds it's cruise speed, the tiny wheels adjust to the roadway.
Slowing and gracefully pulling into a pitstop, intact, she will fly again.

sábado, 21 de março de 2026

Yurodivy

 Unpredictable the highway is his dancefloor
He wanders and dances as if in a fever
He kicks out of his stride with a taunting cabriole
He blows dust from the road up into the ether

Where it vibrates madly and become planets
He moves through the villages detached
No expression on his face, life unplanned
Then suddenly a playful smile

Every secret of the cosmos well known to him
He speaks in cryptic riddles with a cheeky grin
When confronted he becomes provocative and fearless
He lives without possessions, under clothes is hairless

Out here on open roads he screams into the lands chasms
randomly cartwheels, sticks his hand up to tease the wind
He walks harmoniously avoiding danger in his careless wisdom
Watching the miracles and tragedies of our times unfold and kindle

Age and time tied the knot

 Age and time were married
They would wake and eat together
Each day like a child of their own
Each step in unison

Breezing through mornings
giving their faces to dawn's brightness
What was time doing with age
Age showed off time like it was statue

And time pushed age on through the ebbs and flows
Motivating those essential changes
Age greeted time with celebrations
Time reminded age with clocks and phones

When they made love the fresh and the old disappeared
Their climactic gift was the present
Their feelings were moments, exciting seconds
Something was born like a solstice or eclipse

Humans don't feel their movement
Have lost all notion of history
Uninterested in the transitions and progressions
Neither pious nor athiest believe in the consequence of time


sexta-feira, 20 de março de 2026

At the temple for washing souls(a free God)

 The two gargantuan temples awaited.
God was a child kicking a stone in the broad courtyard.
He knew he was God but played his reality as the child all the same.
He kicked the stone, it spun and hit the concrete.
He put his hand up to block the rays of the sun, as if this entity wasn't a family member.

Then he skipped just to enjoy the sensation of it.
I witnessed him do all this, as I entered the small rooms between the temple.
Once inside the elder women greeted and drew my death on the rock wall.
I grinned and gave myself up. I will let go here.
The hard rock wall covered with dried blood flaking and beckoning for me.

The elder women started their song which went from melodic and harmonic.
Into shrill cries, proclaiming and screaming blood curdling refrains.
As I felt my body smashed on the course and rough rock on the wall.
My body would be no more here under their strange wailing.
With little God planning the next millenia with the sun in his eyes.

I gasped my last gasp as teeth tongue and mouth were no more.
Crush me destroy me until I am finished my noble women.
Between good temples release me from existence.
Dance oblivion across me with your steps and words.
But before you do, split through into two.

My original two, the lamb and the wolf.
The giver and the taker.
Let me give my final offering.
Take my final fire from these sacred temples.
Let my name be dead forever...
Thus I witness the stone be kicked for eternity!
For I love a free God.


quinta-feira, 19 de março de 2026

The fleck of you

 one fleck of dust flew up through that sunlight.
a lost desire, a whim we didn't know we had.
A tiny piece of ourselves flying off.
Being thrown upward exposed in the sunlight.

Gone forever on the chaos of the air.
The sunlight glints off it,
radiating the beauty of it.
As soon as you reach for it...

The air between your hand and the fleck,
pushes it away.
Oh these lovely people that I loved,
pushed away.



The kids I cannot save

 Helena looks out of her cot into the slits of sunlight.
Iluminating the updraft of millions of tiny specs of dust.
Like a waterfall falling upward in an empty room.
She was born with a disease, am I not a dispicable human for not saving her?

Lucas is on the floor, he is making noises with his mouth.
Words don't come yet, he was born slow.
He moves the tiny horse a long the tile, no smile, no focus.
He still needs love as she does, what kind of monster am I to not accept them?

God bless these children for I am not noble enough to take them.
And the world has no empathy for them.
I have no soul, I am the same mess of a human being.
In love with acquiring, in love with my routine and fantasies.

Not willing to give anything up.
I am part of the selfishness.
I am the narcissist and the self worshipping illusion obsessed.
I am a silly man with a wounded child in his heart.

quarta-feira, 18 de março de 2026

Purple screen

 She slowly pulled away like a flower you forgot to fertilize
She sunk into bathrooms and well glazed mirrors
Losing herself ever so slowly but eventually forever
Into the creams and recipes the methods and secrets

She went inside the ocean of it all
I couldn't follow her through it
The purple screen waving back at me
giving her last goodbye

the solid screen shut and all I took was memory
Who would i be without her
Just an observer not a liver of experiences
Was she my courage and gift?

Could I not be more unto myself without her
The iron patience of that woman
The grace others seldom notice
her secret smile that takes hours to unglue


The sophistication of the primitive

 At the french villa a wealthy father gave his son a yacht
One he would take to the Mediterranean
I told the son not to sail as he had never done it before
That he should learn first

I walked through the vineyard the random grapevines thick leaves
made me think of hands reaching out toward the constant changing seasons
They reneted out a huge part of their land for outdoor sports
Exclusive people would do their trekking and rock climbing

Up on a pass on the range far above the estate there was a cave
There we were to prepare a barbecue to symbolize the primal
Cousins and restless drunks arrived insisting on how to build kindling
I inched them out with a handy shard and lengthy knife

Then went about conjuring that sweet fire that turns the raw into cooked
I lost myself in the turning of meat in the bragging of colleagues
I lost myself in the madness of overdressed macho obtuseness
Tools and matches, soot and charcoal, we were primitive


On two wheels

 we arrived there just as the motorcycle broke
We had gear that was only sentimental
My heart went to a woman called Maira
She had arrived from the escalators and metro trains

Her mother had a project and everyone else had many needs
We took hollow twigs and attempted to build a nest
Temptations came in and out like a walking tv screen
We fixed her mother's leaky gutter and her smile shined

We put everything back on the motorcyle in perfect order
She went to the mall land to discover her past
I was sent careening into some old french villa
Where the winter wasn't as cold

terça-feira, 17 de março de 2026

Park weeds

 The weeds have grown a foot out of the pavement.
They wave me and wave me out.
They green and they seedy flower stout.
Their roots deep inside pavement cracks.

The road running poser never notices,
Or even looks back.
He doesn't thank God for this little park.
He just keeps running as if we cared.

The brilliant long blades of grass.
reach upward so gracefully.
But just so that my hands can pull.
That I can uproot them and throw them beyond.

So that the curb can be clear.
All the way down clean and ordered.
Oh my smile oh my relief.
Just getting it all smooth.

But I found it on the driveway

 I took the cellphone from off of the driveway,
I am a seven year old lost boy.

I cradled it carefully in my hands,
My new obsession, my new toy.

I hid for hours as mother cooked,
As brother studied his vengeance books.

I gleefully played with the screen,
checking apps feeling like a teen.

I hid it from every oncoming eye,
This would be purely mine.

A strange call came from up the street,
A child was going door to door.
Dread hit my heart and carried me.
It wasn't my phone I couldn't ignore.

I would have to give the thing over


segunda-feira, 16 de março de 2026

Self Old Self Young

Self old= I told myself- There are so many things you need to improve on. It's been so long. where are you feeling most of your pain.
Self young= I'm not in pain.
Old -Then why are my memories so full of pain.
Young- Because you couldn't stand yourself.
Old- Why?
Young- You wanted to be good at everything, I wasn't ready.
Old- But that was you too, wasn't it?
Young- Only the part that eventually became you. The piece that no longer fits.
Old- So what is your current anxiety.
Young- You know what it is don't make me say it.
Old- Oh yeah then. Can I give you the guide then?
Young- You know I'll probably keep doing whatever feels right.
Old- Sure, we still do that sometimes.
Young- Okay say it.
Old- Cut all your peers off. Focus on clean friends, only one or two, tolerate their stupid jokes. Learn from them. Stay at your focus- writing and languages. Reading and maybe law. Stay away from drinking and smoking you will find out the only people who do that type thing arrive way later.
Young- what do you mean arrive?
Old- Get to your position of growth.
Young- Why is that important?
Old- Because you can stop trying and start doing. It works out real well. things become natural. Those jarring anxieties dissolve almost completely.
Young- Impossible!
Old- Certainly not impossible, as soon as you stop playing their game and start playing your own one, you will build mastery and you will know who you are.


All round suspicion

 If I empty the contents of my mind upon the page,
you read.
You might just blush and turn away from me.
I may not find you ever again, as you may avoid me, like you do the rain.

Those turns of the head and eyes that suspect.
These things smooth out with everyday respect.

I don't want to let the fit of your disguise interrupt what is happening.
The day you dream bubbled in fear- don't reach out and tap me.

Let me be appropriate and tell you what is true.
Life is full of choices and if the current ones fell through.
Then you gotta reconfigure and let in the new.

Who will love you thoroughly later.
So in need of a stimulator.

Jefferson Nicholas

  A young 26 year old politician making waves in the conservative party. In Brasilia the political center of Brazil. He had used every resource possible to get himself where he was. For the most part he was reasonably honest. Just a little vindictive.

2014 Something forms.
Chapter 1 


Jefferson drank down his last mouthful.
"See you guys in the Plenary tomorrow." Jeff said.
His colleagues waved to him. Antonio followed him out.
Jeff waved Antonio over. "Come ride with me. We have many things to talk about."
They began to talk about the increased pressure to tow the party line.
Signs of corruption were starting to become more evident. The shapes of schemes.

They drove down an avenue parallel to the city's lake. 
Antonio in his late thirties, his face showing signs of aging already.
"We can't stay out of their schemes, we just need to learn how to play their game better than them."
"Antonio, you don't get it. If it's their game it can never be your game." Grinning his young face full of cocky self satisfaction.
"That's all good and proper, but aren't you afraid they'll get to you. And if they do, they'll probably go after more than just your cooperation."

There was a long silence, they drove back toward the city.
"Where should my driver leave you Antonio?"
"Leave me near Planaltina. I have a friend I need to talk to there."
"A little rough isn't it..."

Before Antonio answered the question bullets came into the windshield. The bullet proofing stopped them from coming through.
The car screamed to a stop. The driver pulled a pistol.
"You guys stay here in the car, I'll go see who shot at us."
"Bad idea Edilson. Just get us out of here!" Jefferson screamed.
"I can't drive the windscreen is too cracked. I can't see a thing." Edilson the driver said.
Edilson opened the driver door, hands came out of nowhere pulling him away.
A man pointed his assault rifle inside the cabin of the car at Antonio and Jefferson.
"You are going to hand over your phones and credit cards boys, or you'll die here in the back of this car." 
Jeff and Antonio handed all, of their cards over.
The man called over his friend who had a mobile card reader. They started swiping the cards and stealing the funds.
A few minutes later they threw a trembling bloody Edilson back into the vehicle.
"I told you stay in the fucking car Edilson. Now look at you?"
Antonio put his hand Jeff's shoulder in a gesture of calm.
"I'm sorry" jefferson said. "Take us home."


Sushi on the office desk

 Sushi clothes will I undress
Errands filling the day dark green
Barrel fulls of rollable protein
Good nutrition pouring onto the table

Wrapped than squeezed into rolls like cables
With the contents of of the fields and the sea
Snacking on these stacks of snacks frequently
Silvery dark paper mande from flattened algae

Sushi flows out like a creek
Sushi opens mouths that speak
What sushi says to me is
Life is short wrap it up delicately

cut your slice of sovereignty

domingo, 15 de março de 2026

Where's my fuel

 It's all flat, the page is blank
There's fire where there should just be fuel
I need it to be the stockpiled fuel
Ready to put my spark into the accelerant

Just sweet liquid creativity 
And I'm a guzzler
I'm a streaking havoc 
Blazing tongues rising

the fire's dying down
I need it to be stoked
that transition for embers
Before the diappear into cinder

Yes unending fuel and heat
Burn working it's way through
Until the flickering points of fire
Form letters into words


The restless moving morning

 The sun came through the words good morning
breakfast wafted through the air into nose
Steam off coffee freshly buttered toast
morning sunlight ambling to six A.M

The edge of the day wants sweetly
to flow weather and time, to be complete
wanting to accompany you wherever you go
put it on like bedsheets, put it on like clothes

The dying moon studies me
It's funeral evapourates clouds 
My path is clear so is my pace
quietness folded into space

Houses trees and entire cities pass by
Your eyes look them over still dry
Then rain comes, eyes cry
Midday sun comes, morning dies

Uninvited versus the ostrasized.

 Great I've arrived at four square hotel with my fellow peers.
Friends from popschool, posing and putting on laughs and sneers.
They tell me the writer here, to get with the program.
They didn't have vacancies, I took what I could manage.
Down the rocks a little is the rest of the village. 
A tourist stop with bars and even a few party venues.

The crowd line up to get into buses so young and new.
The charismatic friends single me out as an introvert inside.
They tell me directly to my face- you are not invited.
-You can stay here, play with yourself. They derided
-You are a buzz killer, there's just no fun with you.

I turn to go, two guests turn to me and stare.
As if they would actually prefer me there.
They look toward me through the back window of the bus.
I look back at them. The engine starts without fuss.
The window rolls down on the nearby lamborghini.
-Stay out of our way freak! he said meanly.

I looked up to the amassing cloud.
Then back at that back window gossip seeping.
Now there were three or four people.
Men and women waving to me in such wist.
One made a hearthshape another  blew a kiss.

Big wheels clicked then rolled, charismatic heads swelling.
Heading to pleasure seekers village when they'd return no telling.
I wasn't invited, so i went back to the dark rooms of the mountain hotel.
There I wrote and wrote until my skin became paper.
My blood became ink then swirling vapor.
Soul stretched into a long etched scroll.

I filled up the corridors and every room of that hotel.
My words fell down in the hill onto the roads.
Like fat rain or small plump bouncing toads.
Some of them entered the buses open windows.
Then I was there among them.

Subject to their attempts at icebreakers
and their attempts to sneak drinks.
volume fall and volume rose.
My words gathered into form.
A figure of prose.

One of the charismatics poked his head around and got up.
-How did he get on the bus? He demanded exactly.
The rest stayed quiet just looking at the charismatic.
The charismatic screamed louder- Get him off the bus!
Eyes narrowed onto the charismatic with distrust.
Someone whispered. -Yuck.

The charismatic reeled in horror.
Sporadically giggles peeled out of the bus corridor.
The charismatic flustered ruddy beat red in the face.
The adams apple rose and fell in complete disgrace.
He attempted Nonchalance but a hidden tick had surfaced.

I was writing of all this from that dark little hotel room.
Up in that mountain I wrote into the late afternoon.
The fire was lit and the words just flowed like rising sparks.
Shaping their situations with literary archane art.
I could see the bus stopping and the charismatic get out.
The rowdy party goers abusive gestures and shouts.

You will have to face everything eventually,
came a voice to his ear.
From your smallest offence to your greatest fear.





sábado, 14 de março de 2026

Beyond and sublime

 In space beyond surreal dream.
Stirs a realm where souls are redeemed.
Lifetimes from here.
On my world come to bear.
 
The father and son observe my present day.
From open eyes to the will to pray.
Glee in their expressions they exist yet sublime.
They´ve reunited to fuse the threads of time.

The fathers have opened doors.
Sent good will and force.
Their harmony lives on resonates.
A future speaks back to the present day.

The blessings are now symbols that move and blend.
Rays down from narrow holes in clouds that extend.
I sign glory to come with my imagination´s pen.
Pouring that ink straight from my heart.

Doors and eyelids

 The door appears
I vanish
It opens
I am there

Just ether
Simply air
No walls or rooves
Just a door you stare

Turn the handle
Lock impaired
Shut it now
Unaware

Then you blink
You form a tear
Inside your eye
I am there


sexta-feira, 13 de março de 2026

Life backwards toward writer's paradise

 Oh sanity of the mundane, a helping of it
The distortion of time it's delicate serviette
Rise old engine of mistakes generate running legs to correct
rise and move again to the forefront of life's comedy

The shapes of Muckle Roe

 The shape of an animal up on the cliffs
Moving to and fro in mist that won't lift
Staring down from where it strut
On Muckle Roe where stone juts

The wind and drizzle unending, never blue
Random fat raindrops cutting through
On the patches of lichen it all landed
underneath the red sombre granite

Atop the sea edge cliff the Muckle Roe creature
Caught like a snapshot in random lightning flash
It's shape declares itself to eyes
fright and legends spread

None have the courage to climb for fear
For it's size and appearance
The rumours of what it is
Until this day on the reddish cliffs


Up a mountain and back

 The campervan catapulted
All of grandfather's tools spilled out
everything fell toward the roof
But before it couls touch fell back down

He wasn't afraid, he was anticipating more
Red faced, he was once the craftsman
A jeweller focused on the sparkle
Everything fell almost exactly back into place

The campervan followed the winding drive round and around
Until we found ourselves almost over a cliff
So into reverse following our tracks exactly
Until we were back to the known

There we found kindnesses and familiarity 
Stubbornesses and tranquil homelife

quinta-feira, 12 de março de 2026

The Focus obstructed

Interrupt me
Interest deep
steel is cold
runs along the routine

The weight of life is delicious
The pull and the push
The long silences the breathing
Then the crash

Interrupt me 
As I count the days upon the hill
The one I'll occupy herein
worshipping the air so still

The weight of the land has a hold
Shedding it's debris
Leaving me with it's gold
come disrupt me

Interrupt me I'm in the middle of so much
I barely hear the whisper
That begs kiss, begs touch
push me off my crutch

The weight of the glare
pushing past the side glance
Into that dirty stare
interject shamelessly


Something does

 something moves freely
a muscle extending
A thought across the existence of the mind flexing it's power through out me

Something grows inside
A heat pretending
A will to something beyond the plate of food the world is offering

Something dissolves reality
A spell binding
A sense of direction a falling star in slow motion I'm following

Something turns and emerges
A new skin over me
A body which only listens to boldness and plans for overthrowing


Apoetseye- what is it?

 













Maelstrom of me

 In the middle of me a vortex hides.
one you can't see, veiled and wild
Only coming out in flickers through the eyes
What magnet is this that on the tornado rides

Rolling, jarring and rocking around the heart
I split apart searching the seen and unseen
Then reintegrate looking back inside
Every aspect of me together again

Something whirls and grinds inside me
words and whispers spin and spin
These messages come flooding out
Into the daylight of the page

Served like a meal
tasted and digested
thus fed back into the vortex
Of the unquenchable twisting


quarta-feira, 11 de março de 2026

Hempsall- At the broken oar(Ghostlights of the fens) 1700

 
Big bog there was an old tavern near the reed patches
Joseph Hempsall spent his day cutting reed for thatch.
Checking the odd trap with his fellows over the Wicken Fen
Life was simple bright and cheery the most part to spend

He had a pretty busy morning cutting the thatch reed
Checking a few eel traps among the thick water weeds
By two he'd labored  much exhausted and sloven
So made the hour walk to the Broken Oar tavern

A bailiff, a shearer and a traveler drank cheap brandy
Talked of Lord Wentworth whom they slandered gladly
These men cursing and drinking from midday
Hempsall drank too, echoing their naysaying

Before long twilight came and darkness cast a spell
Hempsall chugged, grabbed his gear, then he said farewell
He stumbled across the narrow path within Big Bog
Tavern occupants called him back while croaking frogs

Their voices droned finally Joseph heard none
But he wasn't alone he was talking to someone
He continued his way blind across marshland half drunk still smiling
He began to shout his voice louder and louder... Then silence

The very next evening Hempsall turned up in the Broken Oar tavern
Nightfall and three distinct knocks at the door t'was his return
The bailiff opened the door to a pale wet Hempsall
Who cried ghostly mud tears and uttered appalled

"Seek my body in the bog among the cursed fens plants" 
then the apparition fell like water on the entrance
It all disappeared in an instant out of sight
Only to repeat exactly the next night