Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
god made beauty sing
when he painted myriad
designs on butterfly wings

delicate and so sublime
they float on by
graffitti artists of the sky
ravenous ....
...i watch..
the caterpillar
.....munch the leaf..
..edge to spine
in a systematic arc....

with a... squirm and
an inching motion...
he moves ......all energy
concentrated ....on ...the...
mouthpiece..... *******
rhythm,....
...cookie cutter.. nibbling...
...green mouthfuls....
...always ...just.. one ..more......

...willful ...energetic...unstoppable....
...obesity... for a cause..

...i wonder... what
wonderfully... beautifully..
..exquisite ..flutterful......
thing .....will this fat
wrinkly ****......become....


i turn to go inside.....
....i have a hankering...
for some.... green grapes..
Memories of a father long gone and only just remembered.
"You must remember this a kiss is but a kiss a smile is just a smile...., as time goes by"
sung as my lullaby in a deep low voice.

The smell of cigarette smoke, old spice and brylcreme.

The bone of your knee bouncing my backside as we watched Skippy on TV.
The deisel and oil that darkened your hands.

Barking laughter when you played rough'n'tumble with the boys.
Big gentle, fumbling hands when you came to "afternoon tea ".

The sheepish grin and shoulder shrug when you came home "weathered" from the pub.

Pockets empty except for betting slips.
Too many dinners of two dollars worth of chips please.
Christmas gifts in late February,
sometimes not at all.

The plate of bacon and eggs sliding down the wall,
inches from your head.

Angry shouting when we were meant to be sleeping, door slams followed by broken weeping.
Silence so intense it had us kids creeping round the walls.

Back bumper of a muscle car,
tailights burning red,
tyres sqealing,
suitcases stacked high in the backseat.

Selfish ******* whispered, by my mother,(the first time i ever heard her swear), into the coldnight country air.

As we stood watching and yearning for life to treat us fair.
I was five at the time.
crocodile tears fall

toddler learns deception

flim-flam at age three
a friend posed the question
there is a first world
and there is a second world,
but where do you find the
second world?

and sadly i think i know the answer.
the second world lives is
the hidden shadows of the
first.

and is populated by....

.....those who live in the shells
of architect designed houses, with no power running
water,

..or worse live in cars or
couchsurf.

....it is those  pensioners who
exsist on tinned cat food
and  teabags re-used  
seven times.

....old people who wear their entire wardrobe in the winter
cold.

....children with bad teeth and chronic health issues
un-attended because they
can't afford a doctor

...it is the man,
who died the other day.
hit by a train,
while his children watched,
retrieving some dropped groceries,
he got from,
a food drive van.
...it was the first food
they would have had in 48hrs,
the child stated for reporters.

this .....
is the second world!!!
right here ....
mostly hidden from sight
not even reminded by sad
tv ads
only when abject utter tragedy
happens
do we see a glimpse
of the second worlder's
desperate plight.
written in response to a poem by ernesto l gonzales

the story of the man  in the poem happened in the last few days in a major Australian City.

facts; 1 in eight people in Australia live below the poverty line.
one fifth of the nation's children are affected by poverty
poverty is growing at a rapid
rate in this country but is hidden because of  a reletively robust welfare system.
if this is australia what of the larger countries more affected by the g.f.c.???
now is the time
when ....it all winds.....
down....
            the lights are ......
dimmed.......
    and the world....
                          settles
the world settles.....
        .....and the breathing
of the room becomes
                         ...regulated
syncopated.......... smooth...
.........broken..only by...
the whimpers of.....
medicated ....sleep sodden pain.......
...as you shift ..... as they shift....
...  the broken...bruised ..and..
battered anatomy... on slabs
of latex ...concreted.... beds..
but.... even that.... has become
a ...descant.... that..
                harmonizes.....
with the..... murmuring lyric gossip...
... of the nurses station...
.... and the brass buzzers .
...seeking....seeking...
..........relief........
answered.....­ by squeaky.....sqeeeeky
... shod percussionary..... nurses
giving ....aid....care....pills
               i lie on.... the razors... edge...
...of pain..... ....in the half light
concentrating.... on this...
assonic symphony  ....willing for it ..
......to lull me.... into a... fitfull... sleep..
but .....   . tonight it seems the ....throbbing ...robbing...
roaring.....pain  ................
....in my damaged limb...
........... and ....torn ...........flesh
...............is playing.. playing
.. a counterpoint ..to sleep...
............... havoc........
........is this night's song.....
           .......for me....
at least ...until...
the meds.... sing .......
.in my veins....and then....
.... all is........ a lullaby.....lulla .....bbye
from when i was recently in hospital having
slipped and badly broken my leg..
Once angelic, now sounds like nails screeching against a chalkboard.
**
Next page