someone
obviously
considered
it
a
laugh

(meanwhile, on
earth) ... what
do
i do
about it?

Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).

Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.

All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.

"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!

She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.

The versatile buttock abounds with
such uses as 'what you sit down with'.
Such a wonderful tool,
but what I find most cool:
‘tis an awf'lly fun thing to make sounds with.

.                                      m                   m                   m
                                      a                     a                    a
                                    ­ e                     e                    e
                                  ­  t                     t                    t
                                   s                    s                    s
                               BOAT           BOAT           BOAT
                              BOAT           BOAT           BOAT
                             BOAT           BOAT           BOAT
                            BOAT           BOAT           BOAT
I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat
    I'm a boat                                                             ­     I'm a boat
        I'm a boat                O         O         O               I'm a boat
            I'm a boat                                                  I'm a boat
                  I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat I'm a boat toot toot I'm a boat

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
blinking from who-knows-how-far,
holding captive all our eyes,
muse for all our lullabies.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
how I wonder what you are.

Twinkle, twinkle, Milky Way,
cosmic star of cabaret,
filling up our eyes at night,
making moonlight shadows bright.
Twinkle, twinkle, Milky Way -
what a vision you display.

Twinkle, twinkle, galaxy,
often do I think of thee,
hurtling through time and space,
pirouetting in your place.
Twinkle, twinkle, galaxy -
Teach us all to be as free.

I left the horizons
  for fear I would miss
    the evening stars set there
      so if your horizon sinks
        to the abyss
          mine are all here for us both to share.

I captured the starlight
  to jewel my eyes
    and dazzle the folks who'd see,
      but should your eyes tire
        of empty skies
          I'll glitter them fain with stars for thee.

be        au      tifu           lu      ng              ra              teful              talent­e
dd       iff      icult          lo       vi              ng              messy           suppo
 rti       ve     spitef         ul       w             arm            jealous          caring
  cr      az     ychar          m      in              gs               martd           epress
 ing   br    av      et         **     ug            htle             ss     ge          ne
   ro  us     inc     on       sid     er             ate              ad    ap          ta
   ble m     oo       dy      co      m             pass            io      na         te
    stub      bo        rn      af       fe             ctio             na      te         cr
    itica      lp          ra      ct       ic            al  ar            gu     m         en
    tati       ve           w     itt       y            un  pr           ed     ict        ablec
    our      ag            eo    us      to     ­      uc   hy          friendl          yrese
     ntf      ul             he    lp      fu           li      m          patien           tflirty
      sa       rc            as     tic      in          te      re          sting             boastf
      ul       cu           rio    us      in          fle     xi           bl    er          el
      ia        bl            e      cl     ­   in         gy     cre         at     ive        ta
      ct         les         s       **      ne         st     emo        tio     na       ld
      isc         ipl       ine    d        fo         rcefulsex         yse    ns       iti
      ve          su       lle      n        m        od         es        tf        ru      st
      ra            tin   ge         n  thus         ia           st        ic         hy    po
      cr             iticalp          lucky          cl            um     sy        am   usingp
      os             essiv            ecalm         in            g        sn         ide   friendl
       y              pom             pous         ad            ve      nt          ur    ousch      
      ar     ­          ism              atic           br             ok     en          and perfect

She wanders by the twilit lake,
for thoughts of him kept her awake,
so now she feels her heart may break,
and walks on, cold and bitter.

He treated her with scant respect,
while his behaviour went unchecked
and after years of self-neglect
she doesn't know what hit her.

The whispered words behind the bend
allow her heart no chance to mend,
thus forcing her instead to tend
to purely stressful matters,

and all the while the breezes blow,
the things she didn't want to know
occur to her in steady flow
and leave her heart in tatters.

For what good comes neglecting chat
which lays her bare, or lies her flat,
if without help, her brain does that,
and worse, it complicates it?

But she never does speak thus,
it's to be felt, not to discuss,
and, wanting not to cause a fuss,
she never even states it.

She'd written a verse
   on wandering love;
      of hearts that yearned to stray--
         it spoke of home, and now I yearn
            for all that she has
               to say.

lately, all
of my
veils have
evaporated,

laying bare
once-hidden
vistas and
emotions,

leaving me
open and
vulnerable to
either being

loved by you,
or simply
vanishing into the
ether.

here's to the girl who caught his eye
the one he never had
always in his back of mind
forever dormant, undefined
but ever since they said goodbye
the thought had grown sad
the one he never had
here's to the girl who caught his eye
aye, the girl who caught his eye

here's to the girl who broke his heart
the girl he loved and lost
there for him when no one was
who stuck around him just because
before she ripped the world apart
and lived to see the cost
the girl he loved and lost
here's to the girl who broke his heart
aye, the girl who broke his heart

here's to the girl who loves him still
the girl who never strayed
through thick and thin she spurred him on
and even though he now is gone
and left her nothing in the will
she stands there, poised and staid
the girl who never strayed
here's to the girl who loves him still
aye, the girl who loves him still

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In from the rain the barber comes,
and shimmies off his jacket.
His customers' hair
is already there,
waiting for him to attack it.

Swish! Slice! Snickerty-snack!
Face the mirror, forwards!
How ya bin?
Tilt your chin -
the hairs fall to the floorboards!

On the shore he perches daily,
body wrecked and curled.
Through his hand
there streams some sand,
drawn down unto the world.

As twilight sinks, he gives a wistful
glance toward the sky,
as tales and tears
of eighty years
still now adorn his eye.

Soon he picks himself on up, and
shuffles west, forlorn,
and no one knows
quite where he goes -
he's always back by morn.

He's seen a lot and lived his years
defined by time's demands,
and with regret,
like sand, he's let
his life slip through his hands.

So on the shore he perches daily,
fingers fixed, unfurled,
and for his bruises,
slowly loses,
bit-by-bit, his world.

You forged a map
  whilst quite unaware
    that he was in want of direction,
      and though he was lost
        and close to despair,
he mustered his will and he made a connection.

You spoke of an age
  from aeons ago;
    a harmony sweet to his ears.
      Though sep'rate by worlds,
        you drew him in slow
and extinguished his nerves and his bleakest of fears.

You opened yourself up
  to him like a rose,
    when discord and tension were rife,
      and gifted him naifly
        with welcome repose
when you entered his otherwise workaday life.

You flooded his thoughts,
  a tempestuous storm,
    your tales of love as his guide,
      and whilst he took your lead
        and began to transform,
he learned to catch starlight with you by his side.

And how can he thank you
  for touching him so,
    when he still barely knows who he is?
      The best he can do
        is to write you a verse -
a mainline direct to your heart, from his.

Isn't it a joy to look forward, skyward,
       (head spills to the anti-brain)
and follow with your eyes the wrens and magpies(LOUD)
champions of commonsense who don't care
because they know nothing more?
       (But what do we know no more?
       The eternity before us, the true art of peace...)
No, it's not enough to just look up,
       (yank back to reality, squinting at the dark)
for what a waste the heavens are!
       (No time in the day for that kind of lark)
No, better by far to keep the head down,
       (nose sniff neck stiff brow frown)
keep to the rest of the bunch
       (chin chest eye ground back hunch)
and follow the pristine path instead
       (for then one can't be misled)
and leave the wild, melodic skies
to romantics
     and dreamers
  and wrens
     and magpies

Finish the music you're playing.
I'll wait.
I'll never get weary
of hearing the melodies
you and your fingers create.

Finish the canvas you're painting.
My heart
fills up with such pride
inside when I see
how much joy you put into your art.

Finish the poem you're writing.
It's time.
I long for a day when
the grey leaves your mind
and you hit on the perfect rhyme.

Finish the book you started.
It's worth
the pain you'll go through
to do what you love
and gift sweet conception with birth.

A chocolate box, a show'r of roses,
passes by a hundred noses,
losing quick its scent or taste,
and its sweet colours nigh erased.
So therefore, I thought I’d be smart
and write an octave, from the heart,
for words won’t fade, as colours do,
and mine are written just for you.

He loved her so, she loved him deep.
She flushed so when he swore he’d stay,
and held her to his side in sleep,
since she gave her heart away.

She was his first everything;
he’d fill her heart up ev'ry day,
and press her to his heart and sing,
since she gave her heart away.

And when at last he did depart
she begged for him to not betray,
but nay, with him he took her heart,
since she’d given it away.

She was his first everything,
as all the famous poets say -
but he was her last anything,
since she gave her heart away.

in my room
a sunday afternoon on the island of a burgundyacidparadise dream
the pinch and push of human faces, cartoons shrinking rainbow triangles
a glance to the drawer - melting, melting(is it a bear or an eagle?)
the music echoes in a head room full of autumn sun
clifford brown cutting the light and springing joy
books floating, books falling, books fluttering fractal butterflies
and the painting flows together and becomes one
lanterns shooting dragonfly dots above the piano
hot, hot, the fan exists and fades, roars (did i speak just now?)
chemical reaction inside a chemical reaction
trip along with the music let it guide
and shake it out when it goes dark
drip into the wall ripples (is there a storm? or is it the fan?
which direction is the door? and where is the incense blowing?)
take it fagen, take it becker
time out of mind indeed
handprint, faceprint, dust in a yellow tint
don’t want me to leave that’s fine by me
lie down and let it take me where it wants to go
lyin tyga in my head
push me down upon my bed
cancel out the need for time
and make my visions warm
sublime as a sunflower
a spiral leaf of hummingcomb
water, water, fizz, fizz
take me where the sunset is
(how did i get outside)no noise
getting calmer but just as beautiful
in my room

But you see
The fact is
You have to understand
Really though
If you weigh it up
I have to say
If I'm being honest
What it is
To tell the truth
Well actually
To be clear
But truthfully
When all is said and done
                                                      
     ­                                                     How do you know?

I gave my girl a gift -
a dandy wee device:
a piece of string! A marv'lous thing!
But yet, she weren't at ease.
She seemed, I must admit,
a little... well... let down by it,
so this is what I said to her,
in order to appease:

"You see," I said, "my sweet,
if you take your end, yes,
and tie it to your wrist, and I
tie mine to mine in kind,
we'll never be apart.
Just think, and listen to your heart -
entangled thus, the two of us
will always be entwined!

This single strand of string
can be the bond between
the two of us, no matter where
we go or what we do -
for if you go astray,
or I grow far too far away,
this piece of twine will be divine
to guide me home to you."

Her laugh was long and loud.
She held her hand up high.
"That's great," she said, "but I'm not sure,
and yes, I could be wrong -
but if I am so bold,
I think it's time that you were told:
in case you hadn't noticed,
this string's barely one foot long!"

"You got me good," I grinned.
"It's all part of the plan.
You see, if I connect us two,
and tether heart to heart,
I'll always be in reach.
I do beseech you heed my speech.
A foot's the furthest I could ever
want us both apart."

She frowned her furrowed brow.
She eyed me, eye to eye.
"I'm not your dog, you wacko!
Leave me well enough alone!
You visit me each day;
each time I tell you, 'go away',
but somehow you still think I'm keen
to be a thing you own."

She soundly slammed the door.
I walked my way back home.
I so wish she would smile at me
and lead me to her room.
But I can heal the rift.
She's sure to love tomorrow's gift:
a teddy bear, with fluffy hair,
and eyes that I can zoom!

Happy birthday to you
Now you're thirty and greyed
Enjoy your new wrinkles
And I hope you get laid

There’s nowt exceeds the speed of light,
except perhaps bad news,
which travels ‘round the world and back
ere light puts on its shoes.

*******. Quit melting
my mind away, and cleaving
myself from myself.

*******. I'm losing
track of what I used to be,
all because of you.

*******. You're killing
me slowly, not with toxins,
but with my own mind.

*******. You've got me
hooked, confused, and lost inside,
outside my control.

*******. *******, you
self-destructive, sadistic
******* of a drug.

loneliness is just nostalgia
with a certain melancHoly
singular in form and yet
ubiquitous in mankind's folly

lonelinEss is frank aliveness
knowledge pure and terrifying
often coming, rarely going
self and ego freely dying

Loneliness is distilled dreaming
bottled by the ancient sorrows
sculPted to an angry brew and
full of ifs and lost tomorrows

loneliness is midnight meals
Microwaved on plastic trays
and eaten with a bitter sigh
to pass away the empty days

and loneliness is self-deception
Ev'ry time we draw our breaths
for we forget we call the shots
yet still crash blindly t'ward our deaths

There once was a codger from Sydney
who said, 'That bloke stole my sheep, didn' 'e!'
He chased him to Illawong,
pushed him in a billabong,
and stabbed him twelve times in the kidney.

Another day of never sun, a leaden heap that frowns above
Whilst the few tangled answers quiver rhymelessly as it trifles
In other ways, however done, instead, a sleep encrowns its love
And the dew-spangled branches shiver timelessly as the sky falls

The paper lanterns on the wall betray the leaves’ seat in the dark
And the cool ochre gloaming spurs a telling and frail ardour
Now vapour cantons over all display the eve’s sweet watermark
And a cruel joking moan occurs, impelling the rainfall harder

I linger by my window pane as twilight reddens every mote
And I stay, candid; I pass days compliantly standing upright
My finger spry discinds the rain and yea, night deadens every note
And a stray strand of ryegrass sways defiantly in the half-light

It's just a sandbox of reality,
a temporary timeshare, ours for now.
So what if, by some staggering degree,
we've simply let it go awry somehow,
and left the land in tears,
ignoring all the knowledge that we did
acquire through the years
to shuffle on, bemused by life, amid
the Ev'rests of destruction that we leave?
Yea, better that we humans all were rid,
to gift her with the time she needs to grieve
and banish all her fears.

This self-destruction is, you must agree,
a crueler tribute than we can allow.
She's just a sandbox of reality,
a temporary timeshare,

ours -

for now.

depressed days suggest pressed dazed
repressed separated deep sped dressers
dearest speed reddens undressed reeds
nursed desperate stressed depressors

i left the house just after midnight and you were returning
brief warmth as i passed you with him in the doorway
(am i wrong)worlds between us revolve in contradiction
and you played with his hands as i glanced, mourned, and departed
and it seems peculiar as time goes on that i should still think of you in this way
(what am i missing)you persist in myself,clutched to my heart like ice in my hand
and all i can think to say is that if i were to see the milky way’s circumvolution with the eyes of van gogh;
to hear a nightingale trill in delight with the ears of debussy;
enjoy the sweetest of wines and the warmest of nights;
the fiercest of romances and the harshest of wounds;
these would be to nothing
as you are to me
(and if my heart still stops when you stun my skin with your touch
and my breath
catches
deep in my chest
you,my sweet love, have moved me more than the entire heart-rending terror and beauty of existence)

I'm not a fan of who I have become;
   I know, it seems absurd, even to me.
Each day that breaks I feel a bit more numb.
   Since time itself provides no guarantee
and motivation's often hard to find,
   I do not like the man I have become.
Entire empires rise inside my mind
   although I often keep them under thumb
and then distract my brain through other means -
   to chemical addictions I succumb -
allowing me to flit between these scenes,
   disliking the mistake I have become.
They follow me around with haunting glares,
   a-rattling, like snares upon a drum,
and forcing me, reminding me, to pause
   and loathe the person that I have become.
It feels as though my conscience is at war...
but harsher struggles have been won before.

It's been the longest time, my sweet,
since both the two of us did meet;
it is, I have to say, a treat
to be a part of you again.

And since the moon is getting low,
I guess it's time for me to go -
I'll be back if you want me though,
to be a part of you again.

I fear, my love, I must depart;
I'm thankful for this brand new start,
and (now without a broken heart)
to be a part of you again.

I missed you so when you were gone,
but now it's my turn to go on,
so farewell, dear, until anon;
until we part anew again.

He left her on the lamplit doorstep, smiling,
grateful, finally, for their reconciling.
Then he paused and turned around again,
full of questions he could not contain...

Pardon me for saying, miss;
I only wish once more to kiss
your loving, sacred lips. What bliss
to be a part of you again.

Spitter spatter
isn't that a pocketful of rain,
that you keep
in your pocket
like a locket on a chain
that's so heavy on your mind
it can not be left behind?
It doesn't help that all the snow-
flakes are falling on the lane.
With a screech
and a grind
what may go
through your mind
is the mist
that you kissed
as you followed him while blind,
and that same
spitter spatter
doesn't help
doesn't matter
any more
than the chatter
of the girl
he may find.
And while your
strength is waning in the cold,
it starts raining
just another indication
of the touch
of his hand,
and that simple situation
of your present incarnation
silky smooth
on the rope -
it could cause
the foundation
to collapse
like a tree
or through fing-
ers like sand.
Is it broken?
Did it flee?
Is it light enough to see
that the girl
that you were
isn't strong enough to be?
So your feet
hanging there
motionless
in the air
rent your pocketful of rain
and at last
set you free.