A Strange Affair

A Strange Affair ~ Depression

The kiss
of promise
to always be
the quiet of me
Loneliness
like cold death
Oh Jealous Lover
it has always been you

The sadness of a cross
lays like a crucifixion
in darkness
this sordid affair
you call me
I crawl the weight of you
your breath like humidity
takes mine
in the kiss

you know me well
you hide behind a veil
the clouds are now my eyes

such a strange affair
my only companion
since I was when
You were there then
took over my dreams
my youth
even my illusions
turned disillusions

how you wear me down
I’ve carried the weight of you for years
Im so tired
my back has turned me on myself

my control freak

you call yourself a friend

whisper this in my ear

each pill I take I feel you smile warm to me
Im just concerned
how this affair will end

I find myself
trying to hide things from you
even the scars that cut deep
with your name
till i was blue
but somehow you have a hand
in that too

You have convinced
the world that you are needed
they worship you
write your name
in script
and in turn
you have turned viral

Taking the world on
with a force
of quiet submission

I lay in wait for your one mistake
my control freak
my jealous lover
    and when you do
I will be there
ready for you
as all lovers do

Living The Hype





Immediate is the Attention
That boulders
                  for shoulders
As she walks

She thinks Im a trunk
smirks
rhymes with cunt
her cunt she believes
her flesh is of wood
She never feels good
she knows her trunk 
Its what everybody Everybody sees 

She lives within this mind set
Its in her eyes
looking out through her window
Her eyes demand
her whole soul screams
  Look At  Me  LOOK  AT  ME
What do you see
 Furious
            her belief she is a trunk
Furious her roots
are buried so deep

She lives alone in twisted belief
records and plays 
the reels of her image
twenty four seven
spinning round and round
over and over again and again

Lets Listen In as she continues her walk

Theres a guy sitting having coffee as I pass him by
he will see Im a tree
                                  perhaps not a Trunk
Perhaps he might like trees
                                  GReat

Huh she grins with teeth tight clenched
                    Who am I trying to Kid … He wont like me …he’s laughing already
                     He’s laughing at me
                     Look at that Giant Trunk – He thinks

Look at the size of it
          Its a walking trunk
Got Great Big Logs for Legs
Look at that head
that bush on her head
I swear theres a nest of eggs

Thats me Im a sad piece of would be could be done’s
Made of wood my trunk my head my logging legs
Im misunderstood

Her minds thoughts
drawn from hyped up guise
No pride is seen 
in her height that stoops
               For she is tall
large of limbs
Long of trunk
so her length gives height
But its in her eyes you see the fall
She thinks to herself
As a woman I
if of another place
perhaps yes even of another race
Would be dignified
Glorified and looked upon with pride
But not here  Not for her
Not for me 
Not for I

She thinks
If only her skin perhaps a shade darker
she would not stand out
like a gum ghost
She’d be all and more
She’d be beautified
but alas
For her skin is white
Snow white pure of grey
With marks and lines
that have stretched with time
showing fine silvery blues of birch

In the cold cold light of day
Her stomach
An alien landing site
Her apple her core
never far from the tree
this apple of me
This me 

She is but a Wail of a trunk
that walks with Anger and Anguish
with no love in her heart
for herself
so no trust for herself or another
       she does not mother
her natural urges to nurture
                                    Her mind
                                            Her body
                                                      Her soul
and has allowed her spirit to leave

She suddenly Stops and looks down at me

She is looking at me now 
I am looking at her
She wants to kill what she sees
In her eyes she sees not me
but the perfection of one
                          that is meant to be her
me

I hold her stare
I dare her to glare
with more than her eyes
for contact would be the first reach to my disguise
           I too am a wail In my branch
for within this slim slight body of mine 
I see a body
that bushes clumpy and frumpy
           she sees me as perfect and right
a body that would give her
the love she seeks in life

I wish I could tell her
this body is dying
for all she desires
is starving itself
to a death
that weighs religiously each day
a kilo or two
leads me to starving and spewing
I am
but a ghost gum of myself
For I
Like you
Also live in the woods
I too cant see the forest
for all of us trees

Not wails of logs trunk and branch

we come together as a beautiful forest 

All unique individuals

us trees 

Prisoner

a write about nothing

because now I can at least write

that’s got to be worth something

PRISONER

all my life
I’ve been a prisoner
not just Institution

first a violent child life

told I must have dreamt

next a violent man no different from above

except one terrible terrible act

if a god you cruel bastard

my child only two years old

gone

no one ever asked said a thing

tried to help regardless of my pleas

will not speak of this more it is too much too much

then hours spent with people
I never knew outside four walls
endless despair
no friend
no escape

i was a loyal soldier to a man I never knew even his name

nor where he came from family nothing nothing nothing

insanity to live this way

the only thing I did not have to wear was a burka

i could not write a thing on paper

own anything I had a futon bed no furniture no plate cup carpet

nothing

when I did not overlook his empire I was confined to a room with bars

not different really from her Majesty’s Palace Prison

yet how invisible was I made and felt
I always ready to run
fight

Escape yet where with what

i knew nobody was nobody had Nothing not even five cents

yet I was put to work from early morn to early morn

perhaps at most five hours sleep

more ir was less

365 days a year I did this for Nothing

there’s that word again

nothing
and all this was outside razor wires

Then

To be outcast from the only life I knew
incarcerated for him and him
Years again
relentless despair

now out of her Majesty’s stupidity
I’ve also Many names along the way
I’ve forgotten my own
To feel nothing but four walls again
Confined
Even though I can walk outside
Freedom

I never experienced freedom out

Or their so called punishment of in

being released was called free they said

Both were the same

What is that Free people speak of

I’d like to know if to just taste

what does it smell like

Jasmine a Rose?

I’ve been held a hostage to life’s cruel twists
since birth
if inside a Russian Prison I’d Survive
Better than the loveless ball-less lot below
Parents
Family

law

And those things that called themselves Men
they were not
that left me to become what

nothing

More Than A MERMAID OR A BUTTERFLY

May 2021

Can you see All of me ~
Im so beautiful don’t you think ~
In my mermaid tail and butterfly wings ~
Most would say Im rather unique ~
But its not for this that You seek ~
I understand that you are weak ~
that you admire beauty that’s not skin deep ~

I lay under the sun ~
with a tail that i fling ~
and wings ~ Yes wings GIANT luminous wings ~
That can take me gliding wherever my whim ~
I am mermaid and butterfly ~
Im what I want to be ~
When I lay under the sun ~ In my skin ~

Yes Yes I know and there is no denying this is so ~
for beautiful is the skin ~
But don’t you think you’ve been ripped off ~
Being conditioned to think ~ 
that beauty is the outer skin ~

If you would take the time to look within ~
and see me internally ~
not just externally ~
I might let you in on the tale ~

like my wings

they’re not real ~
this is all surreal ~
to get you thinking ~
for once ~
past ~
your ~
own ~
beautiful ~
skin

PUNCH FAKE MEDIA SPOILS

May 2021

punch fake
how i hate the flake
like paint peels
nice to rip
but to see
underneath
all thats cosmetic
paint and peel
You really
Aren’t quite the real deal

punch fake
when I look at you
such a pose you present
of yourself to the world
sex sells oh yes
even in poetry
so it tells
your story
using pains of women
 wars
glorified miseries
to gain your glory
to get your story

punch fake
from a miscarriage
to the carriage
you have carried it all
it seems
only I see your real lines
they are silvery purple
stretch lines of truth
a mass million zillion dot dot dots

punch fake
you tell lies
make your own faerie tales
exploit secrets
manipulate what is white
what is black
print it all
                  on an
off beaten track
and in between
Giving wrong directions

                                     wrong direction

and what about the grays
There are no grays
so you say
Grays
its an area
a mentality
those well trod old paths
common as muck
Take ya luck
its all pot luck
Where you end up
Getting nipped and tucked
all in the mind
thats where the gray of day is
and the gray of night stay
gray or grey or grave
sounds much of the same
All them grays
Old Truths
‘Well           you say
“Its all cement
                         they just need a good filler
Like cracks and
                     paint peels
No one knows 
               Anyhow what is
what isn’t
                The real deal

punch fake
are the words
that fall
from your lips
The looks
that you roll in a blink
with eyes
                                      that spy
on others
 and lie

fake punch
is the only thing you know how to give
to stand and deliver
you would rather fall
than be a giver

punch fake

WOMEN WALKING TALKING LIVING THE HYPE

   Immediate is the Attention
That boulders
                  for shoulders
As she walks

She thinks Im a trunk
smirks
rhymes with cunt
her cunt she believes
her flesh is of wood
She never feels good
she knows her trunk
Its what everybody Everybody sees

She lives within this mind set
Its in her eyes
looking out through her window
Her eyes demand
her whole soul screams
  Look At  Me  LOOK  AT  ME
What do you see
 Furious
            her belief she is a trunk
Furious her roots
are buried so deep

She lives alone in twisted belief
records and plays 
the reels of her image
twenty four seven
spinning round and round
over and over again and again

Lets Listen In as she continues her walk

Theres a guy sitting having coffee as I pass him by
he will see Im a tree
                                  perhaps not a Trunk
Perhaps he might like trees
                                  GReat

Huh she grins with teeth tight clenched
                    Who am I trying to Kid … He wont like me …he’s laughing already
                     He’s laughing at me
                     Look at that Giant Trunk – He thinks

Look at the size of it
          Its a walking trunk
Got Great Big Logs for Legs
Look at that head
that bush on her head
I swear theres a nest of eggs

Thats me Im a sad piece of would be could be done’s
Made of wood my trunk my head my logging legs
Im misunderstood

Her minds thoughts
drawn from hyped up guise
No pride is seen 
in her height that stoops
               For she is tall
large of limbs
Long of trunk
so her length gives height
But its in her eyes you see the fall
She thinks to herself
As a woman I
if of another place
perhaps yes even of another race
Would be dignified
Glorified and looked upon with pride
But not here  Not for her
Not for me 
Not for I

She thinks
If only her skin perhaps a shade darker
she would not stand out
like a gum ghost
She’d be all and more
She’d be beautified
but alas
For her skin is white
Snow white pure of grey
With marks and lines
that have stretched with time
showing fine silvery blues of birch

In the cold cold light of day
Her stomach
An alien landing site
Her apple her core
never far from the tree
this apple of me
This me

She is but a Wail of a trunk
that walks with Anger and Anguish
with no love in her heart
for herself
so no trust for herself or another
       she does not mother
her natural urges to nurture
                                    Her mind
                                            Her body
                                                      Her soul
and has allowed her spirit to leave

She suddenly Stops and looks down at me

She is looking at me now 
I am looking at her
She wants to kill what she sees
In her eyes she sees not me
but the perfection of one
                          that is meant to be her
me

I hold her stare
I dare her to glare
with more than her eyes
for contact would be the first reach to my disguise
           I too am a wail In my branch
for within this slim slight body of mine 
I see a body
that bushes clumpy and frumpy
           she sees me as perfect and right
a body that would give her
the love she seeks in life

I wish I could tell her
this body is dying
for all she desires
is starving itself
to a death
that weighs religiously each day
a kilo or two
leads me to starving and spewing
I am
but a ghost gum of myself
For I
Like you
Also live in the woods
I too cant see the forest
for all of us trees

Not wails of logs trunk and branch

we come together as a beautiful forest

All unique individuals

us trees

Fetish Suits I Wore

my mother
a fetish thing
I wore you as a child
like a knight
in armoured suit
steel cold against my skin
even the angels
their tears would scold
against this thing

my teenage blues
my head wrapped in plastic
a rubber studded skin I sealed
I whipped myself a life of cold
in wells of crocodiles
their teeth snarled smiles
their scars still bite this child
the holes they left in each side
of my hooves a devils child
I was told in pimp alley
sold
to the man with coal eyes

he gave me fine suits
of snake skin venom
they kept the prey at bay
my hide of rhino
hidden beneath

I steal a look
at my mother
a fetish thing
to have you by my side here now so late
better than never
the angels finally heard my prayer
sent to a god of wrath
for you sit beside me
with a bullet in your head
your brains spilled upon the floor
your memory of me
no more

I wear you well
my mother
a fetish thing
in these words I write
a downpour
of me
in this suit
of tears

OrigAmI

There are two I’s in Origami

the origami Of I
written on paper
I fold myself
inside out
till i am no more a muse
a poem
or haiku
rubbish
I am picked up
a one night stand
by the wind
and just as I cling
Im let go
curled like a leaf
I am
falling
from the tree
that once held me
made no promises
to keep me
I am origami
I am paper thin
I cut sharp
and you bleed
my words out
like there is
no tomorrow
I am me
a piece of poetry
that neither rhymes
or for some
has rind
but I am amused
by all my origami art
made without paper
but folded
none the less
with words

i am 

Mrs Organic Jones

Fuck me or I’ll faint

she says

underneath this desperate thread
that keeps coming undone
when she finds herself out
of it again and again
and again

why won’t he look at me
hes with no one else
thats plain ta fucking see

Fuck me
or I’ll faint
she says
he’s with that fucken’ tart
what the hell has she got
at least I’ve got heart
oh great he’s leaving her and looken at me ~ I wink and smile and wiggle my fucken big toe
here he comes

Fuck me
or i’ll faint

Hello Mrs Jones
what are you doing here
Its me Pete

I used to live down the road
your son used to go to the same school as me
God luv that must be some years or so ago

Id recognise you anywhere Mrs Jones
leaning up close says ~ you still do ya smoko
and a blow job to go…

Fuck me
or i’ll faint
I thought you’d never ask
Of course love of course and aven’t you grown
come on let me grab me bag
we’re good to go
I don’t need no face lift
or to look seventeen
all I need is me title Mrs Jones
and the rest is all organic and free

Dream …I Am

Touched by the misty mornings light
kisses whisper across my blue eyes
with surprise I am looking out of myself
looking down at me in my dream

I am the sky
looking now into my eyes
white clouds drift on by
An extraordinary view of me lays below
so vast am I now spreading out of myself
I become the sea that is mirrored by sunlight
in my blue blue eyes

I look deep within
and see I am now
but a mere speck of myself
I close my eyes
as white soft tides of surf
brings me

back in