Where Love Will Grow

The scars of love

scattered seeds in the cracks of  concrete

I Tread Tread TREAD

FOOL

of not truths

how many of you and me

have hurt

in the path of trips and falls

in love

and when we see a seed of weeds

of thistles growing from the absurd

do we think this a sign of life and chance

and catch this luck before its blown

No we think poisons

pluck it out before it grows

what would a weed know

yet here it has laid its roots beneath our paths

and stayed the test of time

and with time growing so close by

Who knows where next

love may grow

 

 

 

Rose my Beloved

ah you bastard flower

that stings

with thorns of scorn

this rose

a spiral curl of pose

beneath

you carry weapons that steal

a drop of blood

for those who think to pluck your blooms

so be that

bleed

In the blood

of the red rose

love is not enough

unless written in prose

the pain

of sorrow

loss

and woe

pressed

in pages of time

bruised

in the rubble

of the broken

bleeding hearts

of the beloved

red rose

SLUT ..to all the Women who name call – your the part of the tool that screws up what’s rape

with pencil lips

and a skirt

up to her tits

this brazen hussy

is a crop circle

for judgements

when

found like a smudge marked

her eyes

black holes

like a stub of kohl

prosecuted

for her fires

carried like a torch

of crippled desire

mad man’s wires

break a fuse

who could blame them

when they stole the lock

and took her box

oh glory be woman

You were asking for it

what say your plea

to YOU women jury

all finger points and frowns

standing on pedestal

with your moral fucking crowns

defending the perp

to help counsel

the fool whom

carries his rape pack

like it’s his farQ tool

to exploit and be cruel

women who speak not

wear not

act not

like You

who Judges

and calls

a short skirt a slut

asking for it

so no wonder

the men go

fucking nuts

Yes YOU Women

who stand pointed fingers and frowns

help the rapist

the abuse

and the

violence

to stay

in the dark ages

No wonder

these laws of protection

are like a prostitution

of corrections

of ignorance

fear

and rejections

you would call

a girl a slut

a woman a slut

a mother a slut

a grandmother a slut

all because

she acts

out of accordance

to your moral

pool

Anyway

The loneliest place in the world

hangs

on the edge of life

Alive

just

by the merest

of a line

not of the heart

or life

a line so faint

Yet there it is

in the corner of the mouth

laughter

If one didn’t know

what to look for

you would miss it

which is constantly happening

Who would have missed her

anyway

This is not me asking you

the reader

a question

That’s her in her loneliness

she believes she has no one in her life

that would give a sod arse if she vanished

disappeared

She uses these words because she is scared of the L word

Can’t bring herself to say it

and

She would be quite right to think this way

if you cared to examine her life

you would see she actually has No one

Well no one that is involved with her

in her by her next to her

above her below her

and yes

she is female

the loneliest place in the world

anyway

Anyway

is also a place

a place filled with loneliness

a place where the lonely are so often thrown

to

anyway

and anyway is a hard and dark place

and its where she is

and she is sinking

struggling

trying to grasp on to the very edge

of anyway

and its taking every bit of energy

to hold on

for anyway was not made for connections

anyway is something that has many variants

it is random

the only constant about anyway

is how constant it changes

and its not the place you want to be

when you’re  in Your loneliest place

anyway

Your Big Ask Why

Institutionalised 

my mind 

is activated 

by punishment 

Institutionalised 

his mind 

is activated 

by punishment 

from childhood 

through to adulthood

the institutions 

that analyse and criticise 

crucify any choice chance or reason 

and now the system has us cleaning 

the dirt that becomes our meaning 

manipulation gratification prostitutes our

rhyme for reason 

as we kick arse 

to get some class 

respect is more gnarled than oak is old tree 

and here we are old school 

old fools bringing up new fools 

with new tools to clean the old schools 

institutions walls of reason 

punishment 

thats Your Big Ask

Why

 

Flight

 

the loudest

sound is the quiet

breath of day

Where Ravens Cry

This beautiful ravens pose of dark shadows ~ hangs like a winters sob ~ falling from a willows braid ~ deep below ~ cemented in the paths we tread ~ our eyes have clouds

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