Poet lives amongst people,
in the land of sadness and happiness, where they live,
he dresses up like them, speaks like them,
in their language he had to learn.
But when he is on his own, he speaks in own tongue
to not to forget it.
He speaks with the dead, he keeps in touch with them,
to make sure everything goes according to plan.

He is afraid to tell what he sees,
in case people put him down and disbelieve.
He forces himself to keep his mouth shut,
he knows the price. He can't just die,
he's on a mission. So carefully
he smuggles in the truth in his poetry.

I wanna do
unthinkable things with you,
all stuff that you
would never get down to.

Something exciting
like journey to the moon,
or like skydiving,
when sky is ocean blue.

Something we both
dream about quite a lot,
not brave enough
to turn it into thought.

I wanna do
unthinkable with you,
and I'm quite sure
you wanna do it too.

My gentle hands
are taking off your dress,
please, close your eyes
and let me do the rest.

Our zoo is not locked up at all,
and it doesn't look like a zoo.
It looks like there's no keeper in here,
but this is not true.

He does exist, he's watching us,
he doesn't let us escape before we die.

He makes us feel that zookeepers are us,
but it's not like that.

But I better shut up,
as he can overhear my words.
I better come back to my lair,
trying to hibernate.
And you better come back to your screeching,
your gibbering and neighing,
your whooping,
then the guard will be pleased,
he will love you.

Hello Sir,
how are you today?
We can offer you
a contract for life,
it's called
Pay As You Die.

You simply pay
in days, weeks and months,
7 days per week
or up to 31 days per month.
Simple as that.

You can also pay in advance:
365 or 366 days per year,
that's not a lot
taking under consideration
amount of time
you'll need to prepare yourself to die.

Also we can, for free,
help you to speed the things up,
you can gain a lot!

Let me know, please
are you okay with this?

Why not?

You can come to see me any time, even if
my waves don't whisper your name, don't call you,
be sure I think about you and remember,
for I am all thoughts and memories of you.  

My waters are always crystal clear for you,
ready for your coming, happily awaken,
I hear someone's footfall in the far,
even if not yours, I keep on flowing.

I flow constantly, even knowing that no wanderer
comes down to wash his face in my stream,
I spring, quietly awaiting for your dry lips.

I spill crystal clear water, not caring about the waste.
Believing, that one day you'll come and I'll refresh you.
That believe allows me to flow nights and days.

I've got a new friend, he is called... I forgot.
He told me the other day.
He said he's got many names. At least four.
He told me how is he called.
But I don't remember at all.
He said:
- Don't worry, maybe it's even better that you don't remember,
don't worry my friend. Just call me a friend.
Sometimes I forget my names myself. Who cares!

My new friend comes from... I can't remember.
He said he was born in one country,
and raised in another, then moved somewhere else,
only to move yet somewhere else.
He told me all these countries names,
but I forgot. What a shame.
I said to him: My friend, I'm sorry, but I don't remember them,
the countries you were born and raised, and the countries
you lived before we met.
But he said:
- Don't worry, my friend, I don't take offence,
maybe it's even better that you forgot it,  mate.
It's fine. Let's forget the past. Let's say I'm from here, okay?
Okay. But...
- No, no but, mate. It's not a problem at all.
Sometimes even me I forget when I was born
and where I lived. Who cares! I don't care myself.
It doesn't matter anymore what's your name, where are you from.
It was never a big deal to me. Never something to be proud of, to brag,
more likely something to hide, to cry about.
I asked him: Why?
He replied:
- You wouldn't wanna know.
I said: I would.
He said:
- Nevermind.

What if death is a pretty girl
with long legs, beautiful curves
and shiny hair?

With eyes like milky way,
with the softest lips in the world,
with a smile you can't forget,
with two sweet fruits of *******,
and body, beautifully shaped,
much warmer than any of the living girls?

What if pleasing is the way she smells
and her moves are full of grace?
What if she waits for you
to make you a happy, not sad?

What if the medieval art bluffs,
saying that she is ugly, scary and without face,
and without eyes and lips,
without nose, smile and *******,
but the cold ***** skeleton?
And that she stinks and she limps,
foaming heaves at the mouth,
waiting for you at the end of the tunnel,
where no light,
to take you in her arms and to kiss you goodbye?

You won't know until you die,
but why not to imagine her
in the meantime, called - life.

As long as you
play dead,
you'll be alive.

They are holding
your pale wrists
tight.

Everyone,
everything
looks suspicious
to me.

Those poppy fields were lifeless,
but now they shine with light.
The war has made them bleeding,
the Peace has made them smile.

Each flower is a soldier,
who sacrificed his life,
who gave up his own future
to make our future count.

Each flower tells a story
of man and woman's fight,
you hear them in the glory
of petals shining bright.

Shhh, quiet, can you hear this?
The flowers -  making sound.

The unsung heroes singing
the song of joy - and life.

Sitting in Starbucks
drinking sweet coffee from Christmas red cap.
Not many people inside. Table for two, me and I,
music in background, quite nice,
at least I don't mind, but who does mind
anything,
when festive time has just arrived?

Enjoy your coffee, my friend,
but in the meantime, have a look outside
the window,
at rough sleepers and their hands,
open and empty.
This year
Christmas came early again.

I don't touch ****,
once touched, it stinks
way more.

I don't touch ****,
I flush it,
quick.
My world and worlds around my world
smell nicer then.

I read newspapers, watch tv
and think:
I won't touch ****. Oh no,
once touched it'll stink
way more and more. And more.

What have we done wrong?
Why us?
We didn't vote,
we didn't rule,
we didn't lie.

We live in a stable,
not in a palace.
We don't eat caviar,
only hay and grass.

We didn't riot,
we didn't shout,
we didn't say a word,
so why they killed us?

Because we live in a stable,
and because we don't lie.
Because we didn't say a word,
that's why.

------------------------------------------------

Poem inspired by the news that *"Six police horses were injured by anti-capitalist demonstrators at last night's Million Mask March"

It's easy to follow
a crowd,
much harder
to follow your
heart.

It's easy
to put a mask on
and be the one that you're not.
Way harder is
to show face,
while being something against.  

Fireworks
lit up bonfire night,
but morning
sees them burnt out.

So **** them all, let's build the wall,
call us *******, we are *******
without a choice. It's us or them,
so let's get it done, and then we can
talk about Peace and Love, and make
love with those we love, make friends
and make *** with those we know. That's why
we now should build this wall. So **** them all.
It's us or them, at the end of the day.

It's not the way, we know, we are aware
that they deserve to breath and live and work
like we deserve. But I'm afraid, we can't
do anything. Sorry to say.

James Bond is cool
but I'm not sure
the armed guy should be the one
to rule,
to save a belle
from hell.

A man with a gun - it could be anyone,
not only Bond.
But guns are wrong,
and we all know, it won't
make world a better place, oh no.
Violence is not the way.

I'd like to see Prince William as James Bond,
with bunch of flowers in his hands,
instead of gun.
That would be fun.

And Duchess Kate
as real Bond's girl,
always a smile away from her man.

That would be great.

They ear you
but
they don't hear you.
That's the
problem, Mr Teacher.

Sometimes I wish
I was never born,
but, well,
I somehow was.
So help me out
and build me house,
if you wanna stay in yours.

This city never sleeps.
There are two cities in one.
I can show you both,
if you want to open your eyes.

Have you ever been to Heaven?
How about Hell?
I can show you devils,
just follow me there.

They are dressed like angels,
they have pretty smiles.
If you kiss their lips,
you will never die.

I can show you angels,
with big frightening horns.
If you bow in front of them,
the world will be yours.

Good Morning!
It's quarter past five.
How are you?
And why are you awake?
Early start?
Or something else?
Tell us everything
about yourself.
Tell us who you are
and where,
and most importantly, why.
You don't know?
Hahaha. Fun guy!
You are a star!
Have a lovely day.
Bye!

This town,
where the old church sings
the song of silence.
Where the houses
have a familiar light in the windows.
This town was mine, a while back -
for a while.

Then she came,
in her black dressing gown,
and said to this town "goodbye"
on my behalf.

What a *****!

Sperms, washed up by the tide, dies on the Australian coast.
Their heavy bodies hardly breath.
People try to help, water them,
waiting for the turning tide which could save the sperms.
But it comes too late.

The ocean takes sperms, already dead,
and people come back home, sad.

Today, they will eat dinner in silence,
but by tomorrow they'll forget,
and will happily surf the waves.

Diamonds, gas, and rope,
smallest glimpse of hope,
happiness and peace,
drugs and happy pills,
wild *** and fast cars,
Pepsi, chocolate bars,
whisky, *****, beer,
football on TV.

Want a paradise?
Well, you know the price.


Schools and therapists,
dentists, psychiatrists,
swimming pools and saunas,
It's all about "How much?".

Tanks, bombs, hospitals,
blood, guns, funerals,
Status, truth, and lies
"all exclusive" price.

Pay for stupid wars,
for the human corpse.
Pay for rent and food.
pay for "I feel good!"
pay for sleepless nights,
for your born-to-die.

Because nothing is for free,
even if it seems to be.

My time has come before I haven't had. So I sat in Oxford Circus
and watched men without home as they were passing by,
taking pictures of big screen above us,
where Katie Hopkins smiles.

My time has come and I didn't ask why I haven't come yet.
Who is to ask? Who is to blame, when no one knows the name of the game,
they just want to play, play, plaaaay.

I headed down the Regent Street
where hundreds in store and out store mannequins
were making a fuss. And man on the bus I looked at,
he looked at me but it was more like a glance.
Don't you wanna look at, or look inside? It's waste of time?
OK, so bye. Enjoy your ride. You're not from here, I know. How?
I know it, right?

I'll better go back under Katie Hopkins's smile,
where high and dry and where I can wait me never coming,
watching like broken mirrors shine.

If there's no heaven, then fine, cause I've found mine.