throw yah shoes away Nobody’s gona walk in them

don’t throw your life in front of life

there will be no kiss of death

there will be nothing

just the living death of life

born from babe to adult

you will be dragged from pillar to post

taught things that not even a non life should fucking see

institutionalised with understandings that should not be

called education

given cosmetics to manipulate the scene

trained to be empathetic but really its just a hedge for more sinister purposes

like

tough love

cause while we all can see what its like to walk in the others shoes

Oh How WE STATE WE FEEL

how many of us really do

or even Do something about the empathetic state of being

They all live on an island

called a state of mind and choice

but see the choice can at times be what is thought of as lost at see

the Blind state of being

blinkers come in handy for such things

especially when they upset ones own state of being

I wish i was a volcano

at least I could erupt naturally

if I could spill my words out

LAVAtate

if I could spew up a vomit of my life to you

if would be the hottest shit in town

written on the front page of your frown

but instead I’m living in a life of unnatural habits

my naturally is no more natural than fucking kids starving

or the kidney being ripped out of the starving for a buck

to fill another with life, fell of the truck luck

and wars and drugs and chemicals and cancers and cigarettes

yeah all that shit

getting in our lungs in our air

and everyday I look at You and You and ME

and I see sadness and shit and fucking unnatural habitat

I don’t even recognise myself

cause i really thought I was somebody with a care

but I’m just the same as you who I detest so fucking much

I sit and write my words tonight with the full knowledge that

as I write a child is born and one does die a senseless death

and all I do is write this crap

surely we are worth even more than that

Advertisements

A Woman n The Aftermath of War

Enter a caption

 

breaths heavy clues
the stains are left
five long years of them
all over the house
ironed love
steamy spitting farking starched hemmed in
laboured aproned stringed n stained
on Lino floors

the micarriage of abortions

she still feels each punch

naked nicotine lung of light hangs
like a lynching
of white power
from the cord high above
n she She
can’t wake up
till it’s too darn late
the laundry is done
the filths been washed
they’ve all gone
cept him
n this is where she’ll hide
far away
from all there was in life
resting sleeping
call it a passing
it’s just a lil death
call it a spirit of suicide

she splutters on her own vomit of laughter
likely the last one
she’s really feeling drowsy now
didn’t think it would be so messy
or take so long
Farking Hollywood
she even bought her own cask
emptied it
n splutters a laugh again

Cremation will do it
was left on a note
didn’t wont to cause a fuss .. she wrote
n tell him
he’ll just have to press his own shirts now
Man about town War Hero
well
seems they missed something
wonders if they’ll sack him
Not likely
probably feel sorry for the bastard
she vaguely wonders
if he’s as big a bastard in uniform
as he is at home
Nah They’ll think the sun shines outa his arse
Weird how war can pull that off
when they send them home
n everybody’s Mr Hero
Who is this monster

At first she thought
What did she think
Cause she didn’t know
n still doesn’t
what has happen
to this sweet loving man she knew
married
who found a stray kitten
feed it with his fingertips of milk
early hours of the morning
she’d find him sitting next to a box
he’d made with his jumper as a blanket of warmth
singing what sounded a lullaby
as he feed nourishment n love
to care for a kitten
How she loved him for that
How she dreamed of his coming home
all the things they had wrote about
having a baby starting a family
n him always asking
how is ‘In the Wars’
That’s what he’d named
this now full grown cat

Gad Had it been that long
since he left
This War had now taken him hostage
like a parasite it feed greedily
off the very core of his once sweet existence
she knew He the man she loved
was never coming back

After Five years of what felt to her
like he was trying to teach her to fight
To kill him
she’d now become his own personal war enemy
Her refusing his orders
n no one listening
just still enlisting
n at the cock of his gun
becoming the norm of his arousal
she knew the Camo had to go

She wakes come morning
face hair stuck to the kitchen floor
amongst all the spit n vomit
she’s watching them all look horrified shocked
as she leaves herself
the ambos have stopped resuscitation
n wanders above for what seems an eternity
reality only a second
for the love of war

The Arsonist & His Crucification a Light

The stage is set 

He stands legs spread 

surveying the scene 

white milky figures of wax stare hollow 

beneath bright fluorescents a flicker with bugs 

This disease of bloody play

I’ll give you one minute rehearsal

Get It Right 

or I light this explosive 

he takes a cigarette from a packet 

Counts a deliberate beat of sixty

his lips slightly part

a pouch for its filter and flicks his zippo 

lights his cigarette 

Picks a can up

Laughingly sings Gasoline 

n dances the stage 

Insanity he states Can be tricky to pinpoint 

Would you not All Agree 

It’s all about timing 

n pours the flammable fluid over the motionless 

flicks his zippo again … afire of mesmerising excitement flares

fluidity of their making melts the silence of all watching

I am the light to you fucking bugs.. he screams 

choking 

walks through the spread of toxic black smoke 

facing the audience terror 

hostages now

to his flame 

Twins of Summertime

the pregnancy
to the end of a day
gives bursts
to giant rain clouds
of blood red
that fill the sky
like a fired furnace

stretch marks of deep violet blues
twilight
and coil the red flames
in this furnace
a burning
of summers day

screaming’s of birth
tantrums of thunder
as an explosion
of blood red
gives way
from the belly
of the sky
and the waters break
giant drops of rain
fall

slowly
the sun slips
into the wet mouth
of the sea
swallowed whole
in a day
the birth of darkness
is born ‘
bearing full its moon
on the horizon
we call this time
night

Births of Tomorrow’s

 

above epileptic blue
the mouth of the sky opens
frothing clouds of white
the pregnancy of a new day
falls
holding on to the embryo
of tomorrow
with new hope

…………………………………………………………………………………

A lemon scented night
for a quarter of a moon
brought you priceless
memories

sun bleached and tangled
seaweed and hair
sand between toes
blackberry bruised fingers
and peeling skin kissed red nose
looking for shells

I have received the same perfume
for as long as I can remember
I wonder as I sit

September: the boy who was born with blue eyes

September blue

this name I gave

and secretly called out to you

for as fast as I passed out

so you were born and passed out to strangers hands

who laid you in a crib with no hand or arms

no breasts

no blood warmth of flesh

against your skin only

a blanket of acrylic

fake comfort

and I know how you must have cried

for your tears were mine

our eyes tears of September Blues

each year like clockwork you bury deep within my skin

around in fetal curl the memory of you breaks my heart

September blue

I cry out the loudest of silent screams

as this month once again repeats itself

the ground i stand on caves in beneath

burying me into the deepest darkest pit

no sound or sight

I loose everything within me

I feel every tiny piece of my skin dissolve into nothing

I loose speech I cannot say a word

I have no words left to say

I cannot move

there is no light in this place

there is nothing but a gut wrenching stab

I scream inwards the pain of loss grief

stand in the deafening silence within me

where am I

where do you take me

i fear this is where i left you

my dear beautiful baby blue

September blue

Depression is the name they have given you

I shun this name

its like the colour of death bluer than blue

I shun next year

I know you will come

For three months my grief is a tidal wave of tears

with no where to go I choke on my mouthless face of empty words

I suffocate in the silence of my minds memory

September October November

the first letter of each month S O N

was this coincidence or fate

each year my son comes back to bury me alive

I cant blame him

I was his mother

and I passed out when he was born

what sort of mother does that

when I opened my eyes you were gone

of soles of souls

 

on my hands
weatherboard grains
of comes and goes
raining only sands
of the winds
that keep blowing moons dusty ole lies
Id do the dance if I still had soles
maybe I never told you
I loved you enough
empty as room without a floor