Category: poems

From the time of my birth, anew

For if a phoenix shall soar beyond its capacity
Churchills bark, full of audacity
I am game to feel an empty loss
A place of silence, the resonance of dross

Words remixed in a deluge of hails
Fires relit, rebels with no nails
March upon our banner fully
As smoke fills lungs, tounges do bogies

Potato jackets full of ocean salt
punters blasted with summers dead colt
we seek our mountains gains
rocks fall, gain to pain

Lake girl hit, the hospital is split
towers above the clouds
terror drives them, into the ground
wars begin again, barking hellish den

Dash tells of no future for children
Inspiration fell short of desires
Coral forests white like policy
Rudd speaks empty apology.

Around again this trickle-down lie
A plebiscite to run marks on tyres
Rainbows immersion, postal dispersion
We ask what a gurt ocean is

Fires and fires, a yet ignore
what is more important than
our counties wounds
will attention be given soon

Bus stop: local pessimism only

Lichen growing on a tree nearby the pavement that makes up this place of waiting

Bus stop for the place you wait for a bus to come and consume you

When it’s done digesting, it spits you out and has moved you

How many people are needed to feed this huge beast every day?

Is it possible that one day it will become so hungry that the whole world in on one bus?

Maybe that’s what will be called the crush

I have a few friends on this bus, people I see only on my bus

It’s one of many

Like me they are consumed, digested moved, it’s a slow process each day we are on the bus twice each

Some get consumed more, I wonder if that will make them older, bolder, colder than me?

I sometimes find myself on the bus with no idea when I got on. The digestive system has gotten to my memory.

Do I actually get off the bus? Or is that a dream brought on by these same forces? Are we all just courses? For the ever consuming bus?

Window shines

‪yes I know it’s a rap

Packed bus. Looking at jobs. Tummy feels like knots. Got to get to my stop. I’m not, going ‬to be above all the things in mind. I’m live, but I have to worry about all the things all the time. I want to feel for all the things that are happening, but I’m just on my own moccasins.

I swear to you that they are doing this to keep your focus on your own problems. A distraction to stop you thinking about all they have done to make us get closer to the day it’s all over.

Anthropeacene. It’s own end and our own means. I’m not kidding, I just seem…

Knots in a scene. Not shibari fun but a knotted bleed. Hanging us all like Odins knowledge tree.

Giving up your eyes to save face

We see the truth

It’s them that’s making the hate

We can’t do this again

Anthropeacene, it’s just what they mean

All that will be left is lizards and queens

Angels Tyr

Forget the love of a billion stars as the wink upon the surface of a moons lake. Your blessing brings me my knees to buckle under the weight of the day.

Intoxicated light glimmering feathers upon my face

Soft, and flush, each a kiss from your body to mine

Reaching beyond each nerve to my soul and touching each part to heal it

Growing love, to melt into your body. Push gently, as a creeks first flowing in spring rain. Gulping then the streams supple blessing to my sounds forge.

Moonshine darkness

(Koala)

Nay the last few days had brought her better leaves than ever
Never had it seemed they where growing faster than she could eat
The big ones, with their big stomp feet had helped her find them
Stems, stalk and leaf, they crunched in her mouth, slowly to be digested in her nap

The big ones visited her and brought more leaves, so many she could not believe 
How had they found them? It had been such a struggle, all her life
Now, it was like, forests of leaves just for her, it was nice
Silently, cameras capture her subtle beauty, come to visit her, call her cutie

The moon shone upon her enclosure as she was feeling her age
Darkly, the night continues to expose shadows across the leaves 
She can’t eat as many, but they bring her more than what seems like whole trees
No more, the next night, they being no more, as she is now in the big eternal eucalyptus tree
And the moon continues to shine upon the darkness left behind 

Counters in the grass

Eastwardly the raspberry bush grows

Anchored, down in the grass with twelve counters

Each day one disappears, taken on travels of mysterious places

I tie my shoelaces, and think of the races

Perfect metaphors for the capitalist people, watching it

The system hits them and as hard, clasping the crop in its hand

The raspberry bush grows nearby, sticking thorns into those taking coins

How many metaphors can you stand? I’m just here, watching the grass and hoping you can know.

Three green bikes

They sit on the sidewalk waiting

A set of three green bikes

faintly I sleep on bus

Kicking life inside my tum

Rush, of the fight inside my mind

Is never quite satisfied by all the din

Lilies on my dreams growing like fire

Likes on rushing to play my lyre

Truss upon truss over the rumors

Kite flying higher, blooming consumers

Ring a ding, upon the quick sin

Campus body slopes and upon me

From the archive: Well that’s it really

The more you change the more you stay the same
the song goes on and but the track changes
what is the story in your head
was it so wrong to be unfed?
I cannot see into the future anymore
its all just a blurr
I want to know did you lie or did you die or did you sigh?
at the sound of the gun
did we have fun
well thats it really
I want to know these things because I want to know its right
to have feelings like this, feelings like fright
why am I so scared
To say what I believe
To say my parers
To the lack of self confidence that I have held so long and deer
but it seems that tomorrow it will all be better again
at the going down of the sun
and then in the morning
I will remember what it was
to be who I am
to say what is right
in the morning I will fight
I will have the strength and courage to go on
Will the hart of sunrise bring me strength?
If It does not, I don’t care
I don’t give a flying spare
Its all raw
its all the last straw
and well thats it really
I can’t go on like this anymore…
anymore
like a song thats gorn old
like a wrong thats been done
three fold and three fold again taking back what was said cannot be done
its all in the past
its all why i break my fast
take it in your arms
cradle it well
let it grow and destroy you
or let it show and annoy you
take a step in the shoes of a poor man
the former self reborn, you find yourself starting back…

Last day as a monkey

I feel more alive than ever
I am have been able to think again
My mind has come back and forth through the void

whispers tell truth
of all of our ages
it makes us feel like we have stages

this is my last day as a monkey

tomorrow I talk to the birds and the bees
but I will be a man and I will be free

I feel no longer lost or found in a hedge
Its a way to be hidden just resting in bed
being lazy and not knowing who you are
makes you wish apon falling stars

this is my last day as a monkey

how borders and territories
and feelings a mix upon them
this is a day that has more than what songs can bring
I cross a road and follow a path

they restrict us sometimes our own minds aside
try and understand the words and we feel like were absurd
knowledge written down for ages burns to the ground
we feel lost and found

big black stone on a hill
to store all that we can
and in it is life
as we understand

this is my last day as a monkey

citys will be built on this land and we must understand
that is is our land
it is not going to last
if we treat it bad we will fast
starve all the way
beyond our present days
and die we will in our hundreds

so listen to the land, be you monkey or man
because she will tell you all she knows
you have to look after her
and it is your duty
if you do not
folly will follow you

I feel more alive than ever
I am have been able to think again
My mind has come back and forth through the void

whispers tell truth
of all of our ages
it makes us feel like we have stages

this is my last day as a monkey

tomorrow I talk to the birds and the bees
but I will be a man and I will be free

I feel no longer lost or found in a hedge
Its a way to be hidden just resting in bed
being lazy and not knowing who you are
makes you wish apon falling stars

this is my last day as a monkey

how borders and territories
and feelings a mix upon them
this is a day that has more than what songs can bring
I cross a road and follow a path

they restrict us sometimes our own minds aside
try and understand the words and we feel like were absurd
knowledge written down for ages burns to the ground
we feel lost and found

big black stone on a hill
to store all that we can
and in it is life
as we understand

this is my last day as a monkey

Shadows footsteps

Someone’s walking in a shadows footsteps
only looking to be seen
never knew the wishers
were the voices of the reeds
in the wind that flows so slow
down below the waters edge
is a man whose just lost
everything he couldn’t get.

Somethings eating the beginning
of the story thats so long
so it becomes a shadows footsteps
a simple thing to ignore
the voices of the long dead
become those of the newborn.

There is a creek
a simple stream
that flows down a hill
and standing their is
is a women who borne everything
and shes walking
she walking in the shadows footsteps

A cup

How about a sip from my cup boy,
A simple little thing
You need not think that I am trying to real you in.

Its made from the peel of an orange and a little courage,
Not a thing you need worry about, I have no doubt
Drink it up, see its just like stout

Just a sip, thats all it takes, for the thing to have its grasp
You can’t give it a name, but it owns your soul
Give into its lure, line, hook, and in the cold
It will warm you up
Keep you high
then send you down to sigh
and start singing the simple line

How about a sip from my cup boy,
A simple little thing
You need not think that I am trying to real you in.

Sin upon sin
from within you mind
comes this desire for you to get higher
drink a little more from my cup
and you will know more about yourself than anyone could ever like

just a sip thats all it takes

will you break, will you shatter
against all the odds, will you not matter?
you try and fight it, but you soon find that another sip is all you need
you can’t deny it
just try it!

and your gone, never to be found, down into the ground
it in you now, and you can’t let it go
one thing alone can set you free, and I doubt you can pay the fee…

Wade on the way

We wade out the way, to the ocean blue

I have been there way out on the ocean blue

Swimming I was, between these banners bright

Lost in the ocean, but to come back means we don’t

Sucking us down the rip in in the waves comes as suddenly

Grasping for air we see the lights

But then again we ask for a kiss

And then we are on the beach, and feeling dirty, unclean

From the archive: I did sing to you, dreams

I did sing to you, your dreams (long)
As the moon did shine upon us
Come hither, to the grove
Deep inside the big Forrest

I did sing to you, your dreams
I did sing to you, your dreams

You did sleep upon the leaves of autumn
And woke upon springs first rain
The fires of summer did come again!

And thats how we met,
In time again and times that pass
We meet again, and then we part

Four of us will meet again,
Four of us when sleep began

I did sing to you, your dreams
I did sing to you, your dreams

Well meet again and meet to part
Feet will take to the path
March upon the winters ground

And thats how we met,
In time again and times that pass
We meet again, and then we part
and then we part…

Milk hogs

”40” posted the hog, his snout elongated and sniffly

Nursing a cold like a new witch nurse’s a baby familiar

He looked at his accounting books from the milk crate factory

Beeswax slipped slowly down the morning milkshake

Shining yellow wattle light upon the poster on the wall

His old friend’s monkey and fox, and him, and the band they used to play in

Monkey had what? Gone to be a chef at that restaurant, in where? the London grotto?

Fox was Vixen now and made silk scarves and could she still forge the fakes?

Back to it, working, in the old accounting books, no cooking these he thought, taking a sip and trying not to sneeze

Clean now. Could the band still play? After all we were called

Crime’6 D0 Pa7

that was it! 60. The hog typed the answer into the log and decided to take a break.

He would give the old band a call, as soon as this cold passed.

Sniffling and wiping the last of the shake off his bristles, it was snowing again and time to go

Gen Tar Fried

Boiling hissing floating sickly

Made collision tongues simple

Them through flick enimies

Class sections airs become

For its all a war

Car park replication sit

unproductive upper filters eat

Thing Moment past farts

Waits potential apes died

Boiling made them class

Hissing collision through sections

Floating tongues flick airs

Sickly simple enemies become

For it’s all for war

Car unprotective thing waits

Park upper moment potential

Replication filters past apes

Sit eat farts died

So far, soft enough, warmth comes

Pricks of starlight frothing from the formidable sky. Grey clouds smothering the moonshine. Down warmth from the old fur knitting. It’s just soft enough to sleep soundly.

Blue sun rises on frosty plains. I wake and begin the day. Warmth coming and kissing the ground. Softly melting, and bringing a hope for spring.

Lacertae III: Bessemer Cruciballis

Pain. In the darkest places. Seeping, dripping, seeking, eating all it can.

Ice. Falling. Hail from the sky down to the frost covered ground. White, pure, but killing any hopes for spring.

Longing. I’m hearing you speak. Say words at a coffee table. Knowing that you will return to this moment. Knowing this is the moment I will remember in the weeks…

Ducks. Snow. Tamed memories.

Little things I remember. 

Your presence. Essence. The place in the world your had. 

Eclipse. Moonshine. 

Water. The lake. Roaring waves. Iceland. Dark smiles.

Juxtaposition, and it’s still a hot coffee I’m drinking. Another morning. I’m here. I can still here you. It doesn’t feel fair. But since when was the goddess fair? She made both the grass and the snake hiding in it. Or just perhaps the precursors. The soup that makes our reality. The memorial service.

The ducks. The lake. The Lacertae.

Playful nothingness

Begin my Chicago travels

punk scene and strong coffee

smoke clouds amoung blue hair

Future my demise, roll diagnosis experience

Peak rice blooming under sunset clouds

Can’t touch one sphere without spreading all the others

Neon man has a hat, slumps in the bar

Running lie, low swings, marksman’s eyes

Little did I mention, xylene chains and planting in the rain

From ghosts, black soap, hotel copies of the tribune and the post

Cuddle heart

Every day my heart smiles

Every place we are together

Cuddle heart

Love to hear your voice

No matter your mood

Love the feel of skin

Especially, nude

This is our place together

Joined by love, angels feathers

We’re in our cuddle heart

I hope we never part

Every day my heart smiles

Every place we are together

Cuddle heart

Love to make you breakfast

Eggs shining as the sun

Love to see you smile

Tea and some bagels too

Love inside our house

Especially, you

This is our hearts together

This is our place together

Joined by love, angels feathers

We’re in our cuddle heart

I hope we never part

Every day my heart smiles

Every place we are together

Cuddle heart

Cloudblades

Cutting edges of the sky. Ishmael flies his pigskin blimp high. Drinking brandy, and some handyman takes the hammer wheel. Antichrist, the redeemer, or is he just a dreamer? Limited to dreams of living rooms?

Boost June of the markets, and harsh republic darkness, we can ensure the commissary looms. Flying over forests of eucalyptus, listing to Rick from The Band sing Holy Cow. Eating some cheese and doing nothing else now, except float along.

Wetlands forming where once were roads, greasy warthogs eating roots in an abandoned carpark. Wet silky grass growing out from this marsh, ghosting building aching from times past. Mikes dropping down the street, potatoes growing under his feet, have you heard the news?

Ishmael continues to deepen their search and steal all that girths, floating again by the sea. Still, there are plastic shells, creatures dying yells, the marks from little wars. No one thinks this is fantastic, the night that seems elastic, and a fortress full of ghosts.

Road number 2 1/2

Flossing the neck lamps.

Tramp built guillotine sat.

Glamour daemons anguished upon their fishing from the lists of dark moon rituals.

Calculator buns, fresh from the oven, ready to eat upon their half of the second street, horns and a coven whom hath been gathered.

Onion, Top Hats, Potato, Coal and Hatred used to summon the Captain of the great flush

He’s a tough nut to crack, even standing overdrawn by the rain next to a tobacconist. Muttering sweet hatred into the street corner, hoping your pity is worth another box of dime store magic.

Ever the half-life, shirt stained by ignoble truth he watched them, and all who come to pass. Daemons pay him little if any attention. Go about their endless quest to hear the fires of hell just a bit longer.

Shagging off the last of the most important smoke of the day, sagging and calving edgy cardboard boxes covered in blankets that keeps just enough of the downpour out. Aqualung is muttered, as he slenderly steps into the Dreamlands.