Party
He gropes her ****
She grabs his ****
He reckons she wants it
Bad Bad Bad

He was a ***
She was a farce
Her husband saw & he’s
Mad Mad Mad

Nobody heard them, the 900,
But still they lay screaming.
We were much further out than they were,
And not waving but drowning.

Poor migrants, lured to a better life –
Now they’re dead.
It must have been too hot for them
In Gambia, Senegal, Syria, they said,

Oh no no no, it was too hot always,
Still, the stranded ones lay screaming.
We were much further out than they were,
And not waving but drowning.

Shyly curious you smile at me.
Tender, delicate I lightly stroke you,
friction ridges of long index finger
brushing fine hairs to attention.

A sensory meeting, pupils contracted,
I impress upon your pale skin
from the glenohumeral joint to your elbow,
Then our mouths align, entwined,

Soft lips parted, eyes closed and tasting;
Your worldly generous thighs slightly ajar
pressed apart by a firm hand, the sensitive
multifingered extremity searches out,

Reaching for where you’ve been waiting for years.
Beautiful, wide-spread in close proximity,
Touching and sizzled by that sweet odour
from your neck, pleasing the soul,

I do not ask for more delight
Upon slipping into your wet and woven silk.
But you suddenly unglue our lips and ease me
back with a firm hand,

Your voice articulates a silent pause.
There’s a fierce and undeniable attraction here,
Tempered as I sit back for a moment,
Excited, quiet and praying for nightfall.

Will Big Halo go crazy, freak out?

Like a ****** on wheels rolling down the Alps?

***** Tiny Youth’s brave be under the pavement?

We huddle for position as eyes form a circle,

On the grounds of the ‘Imperial’ two feared ***** meet.

Shells will settle this war.  Smoke!

The Tiny Youth draws:



“Your half mast pants waiting for a flood?

And your shoes are holy like the Bible.

Are they four stripe trainers, rip one off!

Then they might pass for Adidas.

Your neck collar is ***** like a **** star.

Is that a sheep bursting through your old padded coat?

So home take your smelly **** and stitch it up…”



“Me await a flood?  Yeah, your’e right.

Though the nylon gathering at your feet

Shows it long passed.  Your tight nylon pants

Stuck up your cheeks – Barry Sheene skids in your brief!

Your brief ‘s skiddy and dangerous like an ice rink!

So skate your brief home and scrub Daz in the sink…”



“Your head is tough like a coconut.

And that hair is rougher than a ghetto!

Knocking out teeth on afro-combs, and

Your skin bumpier than gravel stones!

Your face is dark like Darth Vader.

And did Moses part that gap in your teeth?

I smell the cesspit pooling from your mouth

Take your scent to the sewer

Where your bad breath belongs…”



“On your head sits a drenched black poodle.

And your skin is tougher than Bruce Lee.

That face is rounder than a full waxed moon and

Your skin is dry like sand.  Your teeth resemble

Mouldy cheese and your breath is even badder

Than ******!  So take your moon face camouflaged

As an eclipse and hide on the dark side equator…”



“Your mother is *****, paid every Tuesday,

The post man drops the wages in her sack.

And your father is a dosser, lazier than dole,

Drinks beer, forces farts with remote

His all day role!  And that shack you live in is dusty.

Dustier than a speedway track.  So take your

Double-barrel nostril nose and go do some hoovering up…”



“There are cracks in my shack, on the ceilings, on the wall,

I will fill them with polyfilla, when I see your mother -

Scraping that cake off her wrinkly crinkly face.

And your bald headed father reminds of a Buzzard!

Searching for carcass on the African plains!  Your’e

Soft and boring like porridge.  So in your lunch box

Pack your cheesy snack lyrics

And go hold down your snake of drool – fool!”



The circle stays silent.  We dare not laugh!

At exploding shells on full hardened *****.

Mr Brown, adjudicator, judges – and declares!

Slowly raising the arm of the winner who bops

And breaks the circle, fifty pats on his back.

The shelled **** leaves with Jack.

The prism is dark
Gravitating to light
Violence pursues
Navigating right –
Unperturbed  living in
A secure state with
Nukes, Military,
Order is great &
Resources dip low? You
Will see us very soon
Protests, Faces then
Guns propel your ruin –
The prism is dark
Gravitating to light
Violence pursues
Navigating right

Open the gate and let us enter,
Or we’ll wrench the lock and kick down the door.
If it doesn’t drop, we’ll sledgehammer through
Forcing our way into your homes.
And bring up the dead to eat the living –
And the dead will outnumber the living.

We demand the precious ring عيسى بن مريم
Now show us the secret place:
We bomb the fiery doors of Hell –
Our slain disturbed they rise again.
Sleepers awoken from their beds.
They sing for the dust gave up it’s dead.

The whipping spur of mercenaries greed,
Roaming, ******, take souls for the cause –
Casually pledge for the Leader’s sake
Whole heart and mind was taken –
They stroked, caressed and kissed her.
Marked men turned into wolves.

Now woe to whom you honoured!
The fickle god paid you back cruelly.
Passing you by as a cheating lover,
As if fairy tales can be heard.
He guided you from above the sky?
It’s fallen in and you pay dearly

Enslaved by things of worldly nature,
Your vigour was lost, vision unsightly,
Now history’s gone, snared –
The traps you fell into laid,
Manufactured by slick rulers,
Your nobles are now lying down.

Sandy graves have been prepared,
Rows of seven, Jannah, Heaven,
For proud in battle we never falter,
Whips flashing and blades to the ready
Hear AK-47s shooting idly
And dare you not squeal:

“My brother, do not let me perish!”
For this day the vocals of our song
Smother the kaffirs weeping
Women lamenting sacrificed children,
Slapping their faces because
The dead will rise and inhale the stench.

Are you sleeping paupers of the globe;
Rich folk feast yet you are fasting.
Who is there to help on these wretched streets?
There is no relief. The wound is incurable.
Some around the world hear and rejoice,
For this evil is transmitted continually.

Open the gate and let us enter,
Or we’ll wrench the lock and kick down the door,
If it doesn’t drop, we sledgehammer through
Forcing our way into your homes.
And bring up the dead to eat the living –
And the dead will outnumber the living.

Aint goin’ anymore

would like to claim the same

but rely upon you and others

to do same

heavy boots

sturdy *****

choosing the ground

was minded to travel

unorthodox / paradox

did sneak to the place -

entering by the flaky monolithic gate

Tool in hand,       above dark, calm at Southern Cemetery,                       the outskirts of town

though a bunch of vociferous crows

buzz amongst the stones.

II

Stabbing the bearer repeatedly turning over

the green

After lengthy work in the moments foray it was then I left and

floated away

from the scene

III

Time sensed = Time up

I place my part quietly in

Obscure

Time Future

is this absent body sure?

Though I hope you will come

return the soil and sing

songs for me….       *****, eat dance and parteeeee

Some of you will have *** at the end of the  fête -

this TOIL, SWEAT, RELEASE,                                                              CelEbraTe

Going to a few as well,

we know how it

drops

in

the

pit      and maybe ***

(ill or well smelling with the other congregates)

will drift through the pub or communal hall

and who will dare to say:             “Put out the roll of Bogey -

don’t you have any respect for the dead right now?”

My mother always told me to salute you,
With a brisk striking motion with my hand from the head,
The first time I ever saw you,
You lowered your head and bowed to me.

You have been despised for years I told,
For hanging around battlefields and gallows long ago,
Disturbing people with your chattering call,
When from a distance heard is unmistakable.

One morning you perched on my garden fence,
The eye in the sky shone buoyant and bright,
I was surprised you didn’t shoot off,
When the patio door slid open.

But elegant you perched on my garden fence,
I tiptoed towards you tentative and slow
And stopped and looked into your brown eyes,
I never thought I would get so close.

I stroke your velvet textured head,
My long finger tickles your oily white bust,
Your two tone colour mystifies me,
A cross between a crow and a dove.

My mother always told me you symbolise,
Bad nuns, bad priests made visible again.
You shoot off and my superstition dies –
No need to salute Magic Bird, chatter-pie.

The pale smoothness of your skin;
sleek face and pointed chin,
clarifies, enhances dark and oval eyes
an oyster shaped mouth smiling –

red lips, opened – an interesting twang
springing from the larynx, compels
me to wander to  The Muir Éirean:
a fierce wind whistles over my shoulder

at dusk; your embroidered headscarf,
a wild element decorated with tiny shells,
cloaks my head on the shoreline,
keeping me warm until you get home.

This is a wordy piece of prose
Jumping in and out of rhythms.
I hate to be negative of any expression
But this is of no use to anyone.

I am not advocating return to form
But it might help
If you know how it works.
The simple vocabulary

Does not stretch the reader
And the Mystery of Darkness,
Is philosophical rambling
Defunct of elegance.

A consciousness exists
Beyond our understanding,
Seek this, close your eyes
And enter the darkness…

Poetry is more than just
Writing down your thoughts.
Some material needs formality
Of poetic armoury.

And your images? Where are they?
There are all the trappings
Of abstract thought –
But I can’t see no ****** horse.

like a burqua, women
wrapped around his
demeanor, rebels.  he
gave the *******
saying, grass is always
greener in the summer
time.  the sun spurned
this long black Friday.

rabid speculation
death for bethel’s children.
hands, mouth, feet, iron-
fettered & bounded.  parents
blamed it on one horrid
baby boy.  he groomed,
bewitched, excelled, beguiled,
erectly sprouting forth.

mother took for granted
forever will i am:  we
miss your energy running
the streets like ******,
fool?  false.  for they said
you lost your mind,
possessed by beelzeboul.
a ****, tortured soul.

he was not fake,
& never phoney,
“sham you!” they screamed:
later paying homage.
quiet remains, but
i confess YHWV
when beloved left
they penned his fairy tale


fits of covert passion  
tempered as women, wait
outside the synagogue -
he debated with the
rabbi so every thing changed.
God’s voice betwixt his lips,
for ever sealed & raised
above the people.

wandered off sheep miss,
guided from the path when
fell the night suddenly
en-lightened by sudden
incantations evoked from
a man with lighted face
jude, twinned, grew in skills
& oratory spells mastered.

mother took for granted
forever will i am:  
we miss your energy
running the streets like ******,
fool?  false.  for they said
you lost your mind
possessed by Beelzeboul.
a ****, tortured soul.

he was not fake,
& never phoney,
“sham you!” they screamed:
later paying homage.
quiet remains, but
i confess YHWV
when beloved left
they penned his fairy tale

Know my soul
sometimes goes
on expeditions

for the wretched
hate of boredom.
It’s no good!

Excitement is
not sane when
travelling alone.