Wake up!
Burn!
BUUUURN!
Leave that bland man
who can't understand
your passion he caged!
Your fire!

Wake UP!
Sell it all!
All your comforts you've gathered-
all the years!
BURN your bridges-
Your standing-
Your convenience-

I want EVERYTHING!
BURN!

Lets rent a room
and live it up!
Forget it all!
Just you and me
and blazing bed sheets-
lets burn this lust on both ends!

Until there are not even dying embers!
Until all that's left- cold ash!
Until there is no more!
No purpose!
No direction!
Destitute!
Lost!

Until all that's left:
Regret
Resentment
Hatred

WAKE UP!

that's all I ask,
and then-
goodbye.

She buried my body at Loggers lake,
Her sweet revenge,
my bitter mistake.
The leaves were brown and yellow and red,
at the final place
I crashed my head.

a collection of pixels
making lines
making letters
making words
making beauty-

trying to make sense-
trying to express,
to bridge the divide-

and somewhere
in the black and white
we meet-

but as in a haze,
almost
and incomplete.

This is the human connection.

She writes poetry
with her fingers on my skin
her smile
her kindness
her existence

My mind cruel
the words spew-
blunt daggers-
ripping at the one I love.

My guard weak,
control down,
brash-
unforgiving.

But she sees another man,
Soft and kind,
gentle-
blind.

I see the horror that hides.

The beautiful views,
the ***,
the songs,
always living for the rush.

Connecting strong,
feeling deep,
traversing this old life ball.

Flying fast,
always between the sun and the moon,
never lost.

And the moon lights my back,
the sun shines on my face,
Bringing luck where ever I go.

I follow it like a shiny coin,
carrying the moon behind me like a balloon on a string,
my manic high.

Without warning,
another morning,
another mourning,
another contemplation
of our inundation,
our battle for our preservation.

Until death swallows us whole
and leaves behind only our bones
as a monument to our pain

The bones we hide so well in pretty boxes
6 feet underground.

Corpses in the carvery,
mouths watering with glee,
children running up and down,
one big happy family.
Daddy's having eisbein,
and mommas having roast,
there are innards on the burgers
and flesh smeared on the toast.

The smell of death hangs in the air,
it goes nice with the wine,
the music makes so elegant
the massacre they dine.
They stuff their bellies heavy,
the fat sits in their throats,
they're happy that they came again,
they grab their murdered coats.

So profound
is my passion
in this moment-
that I feel it echo
through eternity.

So strong
the pleasure and pain elixir-
that compels me
through this storm
to an unknown destination.

And I consider with pride,
all the sailors and lovers such as I,
my brothers and sisters,
who have persevered
against all reason and at great odds,
just to know what lies beyond,
even it it means just finding space.

The skin we are in

is first formed
then stretched
then dried and shrivelled
then decomposed
and eaten by worms.

Lasting beauty is a legacy,
not a face.

The last kiss,
the last touch,
the last smile,
the last tears,
the lost love.

Lost time,
regret,
we forget:

Only shadows of shadows remain.

Made for the monster
Played by the pauper
Aged by the sage
Loved by the lunatic
-it's neck broken by the *******.

Played before kings,
Sang shivers and dreams,
Was a woman
a lover
a poet
a thing...

Now waits
mounted
on a poor man's wall,
For a master
to recall:
the hidden,
the mystery,
the music-
its all in all.

Before you thought,
There was no world,
no light,
no chaos,
no love,
no pain,
nothing.

When you were born,
a new universe.

When it rains outside,
and their choirs grow,
while the crickets sing high,
the frogs sing low.

But where do they go when they're tucked in there beds?
And what are the voices they hear in their heads?
How loud are the screams that shatter the dreams?
And the sighs and the moans of the life in between?

And who gives them warts on their necks and and their hands?
Whose legs do they eat?
Whose fate do they meet?
And which prince will they kiss just to make him their own?
And where do they go when their frogging is done?

If I were you my little friends,
I'd make this vow to make amends,
with the green blood splattered on the cold road side,
and the twitching arms trying to stay alive...

Because from the dark there are eyes that peer,
and amphibious ears that are longing to hear,
of a hardened tongue and a wicked stare,
and the crooked hands that will lay a snare,
for the one who owns that-
sorrowless,
merciless,
cruel,
in-compassionate glare:
will find his end on a gondola,
while the night creatures doom him
to Frogola.

lost in your ocean
and I don't want to find my way back to shore.

You consume me
-the sweetest thing
- life in a bottle
-the best wine to get drunk on drips from your lips
-I'm an addict.

I drank deep and saw terrifying visions
that stole my sleep
and dried out my appetite.

The room around me was on fire,
my ship was burning down,
no wind could save me now.

I found my salvation
on your soft bed
of crushed shells
and forgotten sand
in your deep big blue.

I died in your greatness,
I've been swallowed by this love.

A storm is brewing:
everything is grey.

My mind is grey.

Grey as the forgotten sun.
Grey as a peacock on a pencil sketch.
Grey as the rainbow that lost its gold.
Grey as age and regret and pain.
Grey as your kiss on another man's tongue.

We are all legends in our own sagas
-its in the masses that we are lost,
and the few that do have their names immortalized-
no one truly knows who they were.

Your words
lose their structure
of hard black on white deadness
and fly off the page
like arrows
piercing
with truth and intention
my target heart.

Its beautiful poison
quickly runs
through my veins
infecting me,
drugging my mind
with thoughts
not my own.

Aged,
riddled with sores,
confined to a wheel chair,
His head shaking uncontrollably
and drooling onto his napking,
he smiles.

Her love is blindness pray
That she never sees the light of day
That she never sees the better way
For until she does she'll stay

I am bored with love,
and it's passionless limbs that drape over my bed
and it's lethargic state of impotence
while it still idiotically wears that same red heart.

There we were alone in togetherness,
trying to build dreams with two by fours and glue,
but even a home wouldn't bind us
when our hearts lived so alone...

Poetic vows cliched into nothingness,
like all words eventually do,
and we allowed our bodies to become
another pair of hollow shadows
that made love to walls
instead of to each other.

And still we wondered why
the roses were dying.

Its not that she never stays,
She was never there to begin with.
Her mind is still living in faerietales she creates
and whenever she sees a new Peter Pan
she must change her story
so she can fly away.

The passion and soft smile never was for you-
it belonged to the hero wedged in her head-
the moment she saw you,
you were dead.

Been dreaming of my first holy moments making love to you.

Your body is an intricate Japanese line drawing-
I look in awe and touch with reverence.
My head is thick with wonder.

You are a precious collectible,
wrapped in white linen,
waiting to be opened and adored.

Your taste is expensive oil,
I want to drink from your fountain forever.

Your light is but a mere reflection of broken stars,
of whose nuances and rumoured brilliance you act out so well.

You are blind my love,
in all our time you never met me.
All you see are the faerie tales
tattooed on the insides of your eyelids.

When the hype is over you fly to the next
and the next
and the next.
I knew from the day we met you would leave.

Even with all the songs you write,
the writers you quote,
your elegant chatter,
your flare that melts men and women alike-
you are still as shallow as pink bunny's and baked beans.

You are the most lethal kind,
if you were at least a ***** you would be honest,
but your softness and kindness
sets men up
to be dropped like broken toys from a fat spoilt brat.

I really don't know why I'm still so tender towards you.

Time gnaws at aging flesh,
like babies we all try to get up and walk,
we grapple for some selfish soul close by,
we fight for breath,
for light,
for a cool draft from the incessant heat.

Some have the blessing of failed hope and escape soon,
some see another better world through closing their eyes,
some fight the hell with stubborn angry zest,
and others embrace this hell as home.

It all ends in blood:
its what the rat desires,
its what the rat requires.

And though we can sometimes forget,
we feel it with each pain,
each struggle,
each disappointment,
regret:

our inevitable outcome,
the brevity of time,
even all our joys are tainted with decay and death.

We know in this life we are *******-
our only hope and possible redemption is for the invisible,
the unknown,
the jest.

In visions,
a coy smile and akward way,
sweet and ****,
on my side.

All my affections have been misplaced,
it has always been her.

Ive seen her shadows in other eyes and felt her tremors in others i touched,
but somehow i missed it and thought they were her.

Im sickened by her only being in my head.

Barefoot,
Along the thorny path,
Across the splintered bridge,
Over the icy lake,
Onto the muddy banks,
Into the empty hall,
Feeling the velvet carpet,
Sticking to the messy kitchen floor,
Cut up by the broken glass,
Cleaned in boiling water,
Wrapped in a warm bed.

The world is your mirror.

Mountains of mystery grow and crumble.
Mountaineers conquer the peaks and some stumble.
Poets dream,
And the fearful hide.
Hero cries echo in the crags that crack the skies.
Burning volcanoes exploding with sulphur,
Tall shadows forever hiding within her.

Sweeping tsunamis destroying with rage,
Peace is the ocean that brings this age.
Sailor that loved her she buried below,
Lovers that saw her were lost in her glow.

The Terra Firma,
We walk and are buried.
Like a mother
She fed and has carried.

The blood of the martyrs and murderers she caught,
The food for the children and the dying she wrought.
Sometimes barren and bare,
Or green without care,
Her arid, her acid, her ice and her air.

So much mystery,
So much madness,
All her ecstasy hides her sadness.
So much history forged with newness.
So much truth, so many truths lost in transit.

Our touch,
Our taste,
Our mind,
Our breath-

So much to mention and much left out.
So much discovered and been found out.
Words can never amount or count,
The dim reflection,
The horror,
The magnificence.

The other side,
You.

Large red pillows on a warm blanket in front of the fire.
Candles all around
-Michael Buble to set mood.

And you,
my 1950s movie star smiling coyly,
expectation hidden behind you brown satin kimino.

Her Garden

Her world is an explosion of colour.
Flowers paint her pumpkin walls,
Fuschias dance in her back garden
and exotic roses watch over the plants that play to her music that breezes from her soul.

She is their sun
and their shade-
their very earth
and their rain.

Her children are loved
and her beauty adorned
with the essence of God.

Her Home

So warm.
Large wooden windows give light to the rooms.
To be there is to be in history:
faded photos, art, collectibles, aged mirrors,
take me on journeys to old souls and to myself.

The walls that hold them are boldly coloured and yet so comfortable. Every corner is a suprise placed with care.
The butch duck on the grandfather clock has laid an egg and curiously glares at the fireplace in the opposite corner.
I will always remember her fireplace.

Her bed is dressed with a red and gold silk oriental throw and large pillows resting on the headrest.
In the corner a tree laden with colourful handbags and hats for all occasions.
She has a mirror on an antique dresser for company
decorated with rings and makeup and jewelry
and many many interesting things.
The basket holds scarves and gloves and shoes,
and her sheets hold the moment i was born anew.

Her Art

She is her art.
Full of suprise,
eclectic,
eccentric,
bright.

Her home,
her garden,
her songs,
her interests,
her way.

She smiles poetry and wears classical movies.
She dances flowers and daggers
and speaks mystery and passion.

So soft and perplexed-
a roller coaster of colourful tastes
and memorable aromas.

To meet her is a pilgrimage,
to lose her is to lose an eye.

The voice once so full of promise has found a new favourite word:
generic.

Generic i love you,
generic i care.

Thoughtless and unimaginative.
Lacking soul,
lacking vision.
As exciting as watching paint dry.

I squeeze for a spark where once was a blaze,
and at close inspection i find:
generic, generic, generic.

Warm molten ice cream drips from her mouth as she drools on here generic branded t-shirt.

Id rather have her curse me than belittle me with thoughtless hollow words picked up in her cliche dictionary.

Hold a moment,
Suspend it,
Suspend yourself in it.
The exact moment when the dream is realised, the fight won,
Savour it,
Taste it,
Linger there a moment.
Because once it has peaked corruption sets in...
No...
Corruption set in before it began.

Im alive!

I dont care anymore why!

Brevity or eternity-
I will breathe my air
and love my sun.

Today i am here,
so today i will take all i can.

I will **** in the world and contain it in my veins like a million songs.

I will touch,
I will feel,
I will break,
I will heal,
I will crack,
crumble,
then get up when i stumble.

I welcome it all,
the pain and the ecstasy,
my lifelong companions.

My sorrow i will hold for those absorbed with the greyness of monotony and in my arrogance know how lucky i am.

I will burn with anger,
laugh with joy,
cry with sorrow.

I will cast off my fetters stealing my time and my life.

My intentions will rule me.
I will become the hidden signature written on my soul.

I am.

Scratch the carbon copy dust off your eyeballs.

See the burning colors-
your world is decaying and your time is short.

**** the meaningless euphoria-
your breath is running out,
but you can still make that masterpiece.

You live your days in a haze while your body rots.
The food stuck in your broken teeth-
a constant reminder of your mortality.

You wake up tired and in pain,
gasping for smoke,
the binge,
the escape,
to speed up the inevitable corruption lurking daily around your cage like a sickness.

Buy some time.
Dig deep.
Be your own good parent.
The view must be appreciated.

Everyone is dying.
Everything is changing.
Make it beautiful.
See the beautiful.
Lift the load.
Give release.
Share joy.

Whisper love to passing mist.

The night is approaching when it will all be quiet.
Let death be your blazing sunset
to be admired
and then forgotten.

Baby just born,
this new world you won,
destiny's is open,
your journeys begun.

You cry for the sorrow you're still going to feel,
for all the confusion and broken souls that kneel.

You cry for the beautiful sunsets you will see,
the pain of love's passion and the horrors that be.

So much anticipation that you don't understand,
so much expectations of what will be wrought by your hands.

Will you be a hero who will rise and break through?
Or just another chancer with nothing to do?
Will you be a saviour defining this age?
Or just another traveler sailing the page?

The thorns pierce you deep as you churn in your sleep,
The future still open for the power you keep.

But for now enjoy the agony of just trying to survive,
be consumed with the wonder of being alive,
pierce our hearts with your intense and innocent glare,
let us carry you on to the cross you will bare.

We will build you up with the best that we have,
we will give you our dreams and the best of our rags,
you will eat our truths and mimic our faults,
You will sift our souls and take what is yours.

And then just like that your colours will fade,
disappearing in the mist all the wonders you made,
even as you entered your life's ticking down,
it is appointed to all to receive our burial crown.

I pray you will make your mark on the history books
of a rich beautiful life breathing beyond the boundaries
of your mortality and being remembered just a bit longer
until this world is passed too and all is forgotten.

Never lose the wonder,
never lose the tears,
never forget you were carried
until the day you're buried.

You are our hope for something new and something different,
a creative spark to erase our failures and apathy,
Namaste, we bow to you,
Be, my boy, and take what's due to you.

She is fire in a kiss,
more than she knows.

She is heat,
power
and passion-
a room on fire.

Yet she stares at me long and slow,
her dark eyes peering into my soul,
trying as she might
to unravel the mysteries of my universe.

Rowing on the moonlight,
that falls upon the water,
quiet is the night
on my lake of intimate desire.

The shores are strung with stars
that dance between the morning mist
and the oars caress the water
like the water in your sensual kiss.

I feel the cool wind whisper on my neck
and then I breathe you.
I taste the salt in the ocean air
just like your skin
and then I want you.

There's a rhythm in this motion that will bring me home to you.