They look with disdain over China and froth
They bask in their imagined glory and whisper with sharpened tongues
It's 8 am and guns are drawn, hell really has no fury
Oh she's so fat and he's a homeless man
Thank God we are so perfect
You hear them say, "chow & rather, you don't say"
My money's all mine, you low life porper
Oh Gianni Versace and blah blah blah
Oh sporting it's Jan on the mobile
I'll call you back you mad old cow
From one mad cow to the other
I'm having a cap & a side dish of brie
Oh jolly, I live by the water
Now Jan's at The Spit, in her Ivory tower and Roger is such a delight
Just last night we had a ****, while Jan was in the shower
Now back to the peasants walking by
I do say, those clothes are appalling
Now she's found religion
Life really seems so proper
Oh chortle chortle, money and sin
I really am a power
Though every ***** n ******* has their day and she is no exception
You will have your day in Hell I know and laughing hard from above
Will be, the low life porper
© Poem by Shannon Leckie/Shabby, 2007.

The wind plays and the night time sleeps
Pain eases with time
A gentle kiss, a golden whisper on the shore
Pain eases with time
Stars burn through the night
Fairies dance to a babes delight
Somewhere a dream begins
Innocence is born again
In the dark of night and days so bright
You help me to remember
That pain is eased with time. ©
Poem by Shannon Leckie 1999

For I was thrown to the brooding storm
On a day so bright, yet so forlorn
If I had known the tasks back then
That sat before this saddest of men
Does it matter to thee, to write & to play
To write of such bother, oh torment do stay
For without thou angst, does passion not thrive
Should it be light, not dark by my side
For thou has dwelt within gardens of sin
Did dance, with a devils grin
Keep thi enemies close they say
It is easier to see him coming that way
Why him not her, no mention of maid
For the arms of thy Women, were warm & safe
Like sweet smelling roses
Warm days & cold nights
They did comfort, this saddest of men
For if not forlorn & broken today
Does thy not know, the happiest of days
Deciept & hate, i know these well
But abandon me not, the roses sweet smell
For these tears of pain should serve thee well
For on stalks of thorns, is the roses sweet smell. ©
Poem by Shannon Leckie 1998

Summer fades to winter rain
A thousand fires beseech thy soul
But, still no warmth reminds me
Of days in the sun, when times were fair and pains, few and far between
Tears do fall into silent nights and the Moon with empathy to spare
Lights the way for one this night
A man no longer cares
Whispers softly from within, oh man of saddened heart does walk
On lonely paths, this Winters night
A chilled breeze, blows softly through my soul
Darkness mixed with silent teardrops
Can they forgive my sins
Of love to much and not enough
With liquor, a plenty within
I will sit and talk with sister moon
For she, knows where I've been.
Shannon Leckie/Shabby 2010©