O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale

sweet ones, ladies
and yummy ones, gents;
precious doughnuts
you’ve never seen in your lands
I made them with my own hands
each sugary and yum to the core
round and hollow in the middle
each doughnut like Einstein’s universe


O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale


colorful doughnuts
I have for you gathered here
I climbed the skies
to steal a color off each rainbow
that appears and disappears –
so have a blue doughnut,
a red or pink or green or purple
any color you will
or a psychedelic one if that please you more


O look at this love doughnut trick:
it fits your fingers like a huge wedding ring
and your beloved bites through
and then gets to your finger
and has to lick off every drop of sugar
and then kisses you on your hands
and after that
O, modesty forbids me to say anything beyond –
it’s all up to you…
Or would you prefer a doughnut bangle?


O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale
O beautiful ladies
and gentle Sirs
please
make all my doughnuts
disappear within the hour

all those hearts
that'd like a part
in a play Time made
called Dali’s Wasteland
there’s good news:
the part is yours;
no auditions
no lines to remember
cos they’ll all come naturally

all you have to do
is to go about
your daily chores
just the way you are
lie through your teeth
like you always do
smile like a fox
like you learned to do
and just cut to size
all the innocent and defenseless
with your sharp words and mean manners
like you usually do
and the good news is
I’ll tell you this
the part is already yours
for you are it
Time’s very public masterpiece:
Dali’s Wasteland

I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others

I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****!

Little Teddy bear
pink and cuddly
lying on the kerb
with the lights
of the cafes
bouncing off you

Oh who’s missing you tonight
crying for her teddy bear?
maybe it’s little Amy asleep
who dropped you
while her mum carried her
into the car?
and maybe now little Amy
cries in her room:
'Where’s my teddy bear?'
And Mom says: 'Oh, sweetheart;
sleep, maybe it’s in the car…
we’ll get it in the morning.'



Little Teddy bear
pink and cuddly
lying on the kerb
with the lights
of the cafes
bouncing off you


Oh who’s missing you tonight
crying for her teddy bear?
maybe it’s little Lin
who came visiting from Shanghai
and exchanged her panda bear
for an Aussie cuddly toy
and she’s in the airport now
and cries: 'I lost my Aussie teddy bear'
and they can’t find one at the airport
and Dad says:
'Don’t worry;
we’ll get you a new one
when we get home…'



Little Teddy bear
pink and cuddly
lying on the kerb
with the lights
of the cafes
bouncing off you

Poetry and poverty go together, the saying goes; this poem explores this bleak idea. The narrative is set in an ancient Chinese context.**



Old Man Poet
you’ve grown a rich self
while your body grows weary
and your vision fades;
all your friends
Old Man Poet
have hoarded silver and gold
and all you’ve done
is to sing and grow old

you’ve not accumulated
and you’ve not gathered
though the dust gathers on
your scroll of poems;
your songs are stolen and sung even now
in distant villages
but passed on in new names
Ah, Old Man Poet
you’ve discovered too late
and don’t care though
nobody pays for poetry
and nobody reads such stuff
unless it’s flattery and free;
and though your songs may live
after you die
and they might sing it over your grave
and though villagers may sing it
as they sow and reap
it will all go in the wind
anonymous and unknown
all that when you die, when you die,
Old Man Poet, Old Man Poet -
but now, just days more
when you are frail
who will feed you, who will take care of you,
Old Man Poet, Old Man Poet?



ah, Old Man Poet
your neighbors call you useless;
your friends ask you if you need handouts
and your wife mocks you
and your children pour scorn in your empty bowls
and still you sing your songs
and you sit in marketplace corners
and you sing with your er-hu
and still you sing of sunsets and sunrise
and the rise of empires and the end of loves -
but who will feed you, Old Man Poet?
what will you do when
they put you in a corner when you’re too weak
and there’s no one to wipe the ******* your pants?



Old Man Poet
you’ve grown a rich self
while your body grows weary
and your vision fades;
all your friends
Old Man Poet
have hoarded silver and gold
and all you’ve done
is to sing and grow old

there is no seeing, no clear seeing; we do not want to see…
We rather have glasses with rainbow colors on them,
so what we see is seen through them…
Why see for oneself?
it’s far easier
far better, much more comfortable
to get in a group
and believe in what you are told to believe
I mean it’s too much effort to see for oneself: why bother
when people give you free rainbow glasses and tell you
to see through that?
so we stand at the bottom of the tree
and we listen to the man who climbs up the tree
and he shouts his description
and he tells you what he sees
and he gives you a complete description
of the world he sees
beyond the hills and mountains
and he comes down
and you’ve got his description –
and we all say:
“Write his words down
and this we shall believe
for this is the Complete Description
of the Truth seen
by our Mighty Seer…
and this we believe in….”
The description, the word
becomes the thing;
nobody climbs trees themselves–
why should they?
they’ve got the Complete Description.
and it’s added on
and illuminated
and passed on and on and repeated
until no one questions
and anyone who questions
is blind and does not see
You must not question authority.
There is no clarity
because the group
writes down everything for you
in a book
(Oh no, it’s not from the group;
it comes from High Above)
and you read the book
and you repeat and repeat
until the brain’s programmed
and the book talks in you
and the group shouts in you
and you do not think
everything’s done for you:
it’s safer this way
because this way all the promises, one thinks,
will come true
So we all book a place through our group’s book
and let the group do the talking and let the group
do the thinking and we just have faith and beliefs and dogma
and the promise and our greed
So we never see what actually is and we see
but through the tradition, the revelation, the doctrine,
the rainbow glasses…we see what we are told to see…
We’d rather be slaves
in the mind
for it’s safer that way,
safer in groups that will lead us on
than do the thinking, it’s too much effort…
Ah, clarity is too frightening;
it’s much easier to believe
and to be comforted by the Book
and to hang on to badges
and to hang on to labels
than to drop all beliefs and to see what actually is…we all
want to go to Heaven, don’t we?
With all the promised rewards…but if one could put aside
the description, and the rewards, and the rainbow glasses...

come animals
you have no rights;
what rights can you have?
when the Almighty Lord has said
you are but food for man
for man is given dominion over all things

come animals
you have no rights;
so come willingly
and with a broad smile and grin
to lay down your lives
for man’s potbellies;
come animals
with gratitude
for you are the Lord’s sweet and delicious creatures

come with glad hearts and a happy song
no: moo, moo, moo
no: baa, baa, baa…
no: **** a doodle doo
no: bow, wow, wow
no: oink, oink, oink
no: sss, sss, ssss
no: meow, meow, meow
but happily altogether now
you shall sing:
Merrily, merrily
we serve mankind
with a
hee, hee, hee
and a ha, ha, ha
Merrily, merrily
we lay our lives
so that man’s potbellies be filled
and the Lord’s will be done

come beasts
fat and well-bred
and positively yummy,
get in line and on the truck;
and here speedily at the abattoir
or your head on the chopping block
we in our infinite human kindness
we shall read you your animal rights:
You may stress out
on the conveyor belt;
and you may bleat or snort
according to your nature;
you may shake and struggle
and you may do
a final dance of trembling limbs before the slaughter;
and most important,
you have the right to remain silent…

I never speak of God
but people keep telling me about God
and they keep telling me:
This is the Word of God!
Or they brandish a Book before me
and they say:
This is the Final Word of God!

But I say:
Look, I've just had a Revelation;
God has just spoken to me;
it's the First and Final Message in One Word:
Love...
You see, there's only one Word of God:
Love...
and Love is unconditional
and you do not hate
and you do not ****, never...
That is the word of God, Love...
So take the Word of God: Love
and drop everything else...
So, there's just Love
and the word God is superfluous;
there's just one word, one reality:
Love

Hey birds
you rosellas and mynas
and magpies
it’s nice Spring and the flowers
are in bloom
in my garden;
and it’s good to see you flying about
as in a Walt Disney movie
and see you hover at the flowers
or on the lawn
but really, must you sit on the fence
and **** on my side of the garden?
why don’t you turn your **** around
and drop it in my neighbor’s colorless yard?

Oh God!
Not another
poem on God!

ask no questions:
you must obey;
and if you ask questions
you must accept all answers


there’s a teacher
and authority;
the student must ask
no questions;
just listen and obey


there’s the Parent
and children will do good
to listen and nod in agreement

you must obey
it’s good for you
it’s good for the Instructor

there’s the Great Leader
who issues edicts and reforms;
it’s nice of you to be informed
to mark and conform

there’s God in Heaven
and He’s (never a She)
given you Text Books;
school is in – and you must obey,
no questions…


there are Organizations
and Establishments;
look, it’s comfy and easy
for everybody
if you just followed
the rules and regulations
and don’t think outside
the Book of Instructions



ask no questions:
you must obey;
and if you ask questions
you must accept all answers

you’re not going are you
today to the edge of your seat
to the corners of insanity?
to the corners at the cinema
nearest the exit
to run off when the demons come
to sleep in the day
below your bed
so the rabbits cannot find you;
and then go for a walk
in the cold of the night
mumbling like Lady Macbeth
maybe now running a fast-food restaurant
and asking each tree in your garden :
Would you like some
manure with that?  
you’re not going to Extremity Town
today, are you?
to tell the Mayor
he’s taken extreme measures
opening an animal sanctuary;
would he please
open an abattoir instead?
Oh you’re not going
are you
to the bus-stop with a stopwatch
to time how long it takes for the passengers
to **** the driver?
Oh you’re not going are you
in the day or this evening or anytime tonight
to see if Jimmy the car mechanic
has diversified on your insistence
and if he now sells
in his garage
lingerie and toothpaste for that special night
and salads and beer and peanuts
for first dates only
O you are going to have a good quiet sleep aren’t you
and you won’t offer any surprises to the world?
not today?

Oedipus man
you’re not done
worlds move in and out
and meaning is undone;
and the Sphinx says
it’s your mommy and daddy
and this time
you can never unravel the riddle

the woman dad sleeps with
is not his wife
and his wife is not your mom
and your mom never carried you
and the womb you lived in is anonymous;
what else is new?


times are always the same
there’s nothing strange or novel
except terms and focus and brands

and the child who calls you daddy
is not yours
and the man who calls you "Son"
is loose in his morals

O see how man
how things unwind
and you have seen
unknown things
tease and strip;
and you have wept in
the face of the storm
in a world of King Lear’s
turned upside down, inside out
and you have cried like the Fool:
Ah, Hold! Hold!


O man don’t die on us
for we won’t die on you;
you’ve lived on hallucinations
and walking alone and wandering the face of the earth
you’ve tried all drugs, and ecstasy and Soma
and now you’ve adopted God and religion -
ah, it’s always been one drug or other



Oedipus man
you’re not done
worlds move in and out
and meaning is undone;
and the Sphinx says
it’s your mommy and daddy
and this time
you can never unravel the riddle

sometimes, baby
you’re soft and angelic;
for some time you’re a saint
and sometimes you’re a *****

sometimes life takes you along
sometimes you’re Athena
sometimes you’re innocent
and taken for a ride;
sometimes you’re the CEO
sometimes you’re dumped bad, darling O;
O sometimes you’re the Black Goddess
and sometimes you’re Dylan’s White Goddess
who shines the light on God
and we know He’s the Devil in one

sometimes you’re happy
sometimes sad;
and often enough a glitch
you don’t know what you are

O sometimes you ravage the earth
sometimes you give birth to solar systems;
often you’re high on drugs
and you look in the distance
as if Paradise asked you permission
to move near where you live;
and sometimes, darling O
you stand below the street-lamps
and you say: Hey Mister, can you spare a dime?

sometimes you are the star
that the multitudes adore,
long maybe;
after, you are just dark space
we ignore between stars


sometimes you’re filthy
sometimes you’re purity;
sometimes you’re alive
O sometimes you’re pretty dead;
O my lovely babe
find your mind
and I’ll give you a penny for your thought

you know you take
words and some cement and glue
and you make them all stick together
into verse and poetry;
and you gather love like a rolling stone
and you blow wild seeds in the air
and you’ve got fine diction
and refined sentiments
and it’s made into a poem
and it all makes sense
oh baby,
it all makes too much sense

you work like Vivaldi
and make poems about seasons
or you work like Goethe
and pour roaring poetry
to outdo Shakespeare
and you frighten Edgar Allan Poe;
and you have great insight
like the Buddha or some Great Prophet
or Only One Savior
and you give us mighty fine inspired poetry
pure, pure spirituality;
or you just take Revelation
like the countless mindless followers
the Great Being has been plagued with since Inception
and you make verse
and oh, it all makes sense
it all makes too much sense
and you take my foibles, our foibles
and your poems
laugh at them
or you put fine words together and string beads of harmony
like a millions-dollar necklace
Richard Burton might have offered Liz Taylor
oh you know you make poems
that come across time and cyberspace
and they all maketh perfect sense
but
how about
baby
you and me make verse
that knocks out sense and makes no sense?
poetry that takes the mickey out of meaning?
no, not for a change -
but forever?
no, not for entertainment
but for nonsense?
so that senses is knocked senseless
and we escape you and me
to North Caledonia
to Paradise of rhythm and senseless-beauty
and we have a beat
and we have a pulse
and the street gang says in awe:
Oh, hey
see these two babies move
they’ve got the style
they’ve got the swing
Yeah, they’re a fine couple of babies!
so we got no sense
and sense-less is meaningless
so we got no sense in nonsense either
or senselessness for that matter
we got nothing baby
(well, nothing on as well)
but plenty of rhythm and sway
we drop all fine subjects
that determine our lives
so we are all freed of lies maybe
(we don’t know what will happen)
and we got the spirit of poetry
beyond sense and line and word and form and intent and purpose
and that gets all the universe rocking
(no doubt, there’s enough rock already)
baby
in one baby-making sway
how about that, baby?
you and me
abandon sense
and dance naked between planets and stars?

1
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before


had a coffee at the center
caught up with some friends
watched a movie
and bought some stuff for home
and now I can’t find my car
though I’ve searched past 10 minutes



where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before


no, that’s not mine
that’s a Mercedes;
that one’s too shiny;
and maybe it’s this one
- no, mate,
we won’t go any nearer
this car is too clean
mine will look like
it’s not been washed since Noah



where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before


2
well, yes, help me look out...
it’s an old Nissan
blue faded into white;
no, nobody ‘ll steal that
and the only people
who’d give it a second look
will be the traffic police
who’d wave as if to say:
Pull over, Sir;
let’s have a look at
your rego and front tyres


now, where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before


well, ****,
I’m sure it hasn’t moved
it’s not that sort with smart technology
self-park, self-drive or with sensors;
it’s like an old useless dog
completely lost without its master


where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before


now that we’ve looked
about 30 minutes or more
I’m not sure if this is the right level;
Oh, did I stop at Yellow Level
or Blue or Green or Pink?
was it level 1 or 2 or 3 or 9?
it’s completely out of my mind



where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before


ah, there it is
that old boneshaker;
thanks mate, for helping me look
You were saying you want a lift –
yes, come - I'll drop you…no trouble…
yes, it’s just on the way…
Hey…Where you going?
What? Don’t want a lift?
You’d rather walk home?
Hey, what’s wrong with my car?
OK, suit yourself…
at least I found my faithful car…


where did I park my car?
it was Level 5, Yellow Sector
Lot 125
all the while
and that beauty was here each second
an old helpless dog, waiting for its master

you know
it’s not like anything is forever
nothing lasts till the end of days
so you must go
one day or night in hill or in bed
while fighting the enemy
or having *** in bed;
conditioned beings all of us
coming of stars and space and dimensions
particular to our space-time continuum
and set of conditions that ***** us into being;
you must go and I must go
and the saint must go and the powerful must go
and the holy and the unholy
and the clever and the stupid-
everyone, they must in their turn go;
and it doesn’t matter how weak or strong or power-packed you are
we must all each have a go;
but really think about it before you nod in agreement
for callous as it may sound
child and young and old
and wife and beloved and mom and dad;
think about that before you readily nod heads;
and so you’re God, and You think You are Forever?
Sorry brother,
Time’ll knock the d out of you
sooner or later…
for really -
no matter who you are -
everyone must go…
But I’m God, you may protest -
but really, you’ve had your centuries
and Time will not permit eternity
(you may choose to go with thunder and lightning)
but you too, Dear God,
sorry brother,
conditioned beings all of us
coming of stars and space and dimensions
particular to our space-time continuum
and set of conditions that bring us into being;
the time comes when each, creator and created, weak
and Omnipotent (Ouch! So Powerful!) -
each must go…
Time, you see, does not permit eternity…

it’s the time of the parochial
baby
tread with care;
it’s the time of fear and violence
walk with eyes
before and behind you

the barbarians are everywhere
tearing down libraries;
there are demon contortionists
who can bend Truth and sense;
and there is violence
blessed by God
and justified in anyone’s Holy Book

there is a man
who looks at how you dress
and look;
there is a team taking notes


the mindless are everywhere
and they want to eat your minds;
there is blackhole-distortion
and everything you might hold dear
is taken to be twisted and turned

look to your mind baby
look to your heart;
there’s the dread of Satan
who walks in God’s clothes;
they try and take what you got
and give you salt and sand to eat


it’s the time of the parochial
baby
tread with care;
it’s the time of fear and violence
walk with eyes
before and behind you

is one capable of observing with no projection of one’s mind and thoughts and ideas onto the observed? can one actually observe?
or does one see what one wants to see? does one look and see what is before one, or does one drag what one observes into one’s belief systems and one’s vision and preconceived notions and philosophy?
one is conditioned
by beliefs and documents
and is shaped by culture and religions
and revelations and dogma
and one sees everything merely
in the shape of what one believes in;
but can one merely observe what stands before one?
is that possible?
is it possible for one to stand before the sky, before the colors, before the setting sun and the trees - and to see what is before one? or must one always interpret everything one sees, so that one never sees
what actually is?
can one see beyond one’s beliefs
and one’s faith and one’s conditioning
and beyond the forms
and beyond the shaping words of revered Holy Books
that the leaders and organization put into one?
can one see with a free mind?

Talk-show queen
Oprah Winfrey with her entourage
is going to Australia
and it’s timely now for a quick Colbert Report
on the state of the colony of Australia
Colony?
Yes, that’s right
Australia is still a British colony -
How else do you explain it?
as the Head of Government in Australia
is still the British Monarchy
and her Majesty, the Queen of Great Britain,
has her representative
a Governor-General in Australia;
and the Aussie national media faithfully reports
that Prince Philip is a God in some remote island
and the TV stations broadcast visions of
which British Prince kissed which of their latest fancy
And so, Oprah, welcome to the Colony
Ah, yes, and the Chinese migrants coming in
are surprised to learn of Australia’s status
at citizenship ceremonies
and the young man explains to his grandma:
“Oh, Foreign Devil still control Australia;
sad, Chairman Mao did not Liberate Australia.”
And Indian migrants, much to their disappointment
are heard to remark:
“Oh no – does this mean we still have
to go through another fight for freedom as in 1947?”
But then they are consoled by the fact
that a Gandhi only comes once in 200 years
so we can all still get on with our lives
and the nation will continue
to eat burgers and enjoy barbecues and hop like kangaroos
until such things may happen…
Ah well, dear talk-show Queen Oprah Winfrey
and her entourage
this ends our report on the sovereign nation down under:
Happy Stay in Her British Majesty’s Colony

1
*** dum da da ***
moom moom
swish glish
sa sa sa lum
hey, hey, hey
I’m coming there
where you are
with a he he he
and a hu hu hu
la, la **!**!**!
Who’s me?
I’m the superest-ever clown
I’m coming right now
*** dum da da ***
moom moom
swish glish
sa sa sa lum
hey, hey, hey
I’ll be there!

2
I’m coming with a lot of noise
I’ll come with laughs
and cheers
I’ll come unseen and with joy
hey! hey! hey!
you can start laughing now
O you can smile
come on now
la la la di di da da
sum sum sum
sim sim sim
I’ll be as good as dim sum!

3
*** dum da da ***
moom moom
swish glish
sa sa sa lum
hey, hey, hey
I’ll be like the moon
when I come
seen by the first humans
for the first time
and everyone looking in wonder and love
and laughing, laughing
for what else can one do
when there’s so much radiant lunacy?
ha, ha ha
he he he
*** dum da da ***
moom moom
swish glish
sa sa sa lum
hey, hey, hey



4
*** dum da da ***
moom moom
swish glish
sa sa sa lum
hey, hey, hey
I’ll flower there
right inside your hearts
like a smile, a laugh
a happy feeling you don’t even know is there
and then suddenly it’ll all blossom
in your skin and your face and in your limbs and organs
and you’ll all laugh too
and your neighbors too
and strangers too
for you are me and I you
and everyone too
hey, hey, hey
*** dum dad a ***
he he he he he he
Ha ha ha ha ** **
we’ll be laughing
we’ll be all laughing at one another
and we’ll be laughing at ourselves
for I ‘m coming
O I’m ever coming
superest-ever clown ever
like delicate music
like an exotic flower
and we’ll all laugh
like kookaburras
*** dum da da ***
moom moom
swish glish
sa sa sa lum
hey, hey, hey
for I’m the happy Universal Clown ever
just like you
just like me
hey hey hey
*** dum da da ***
moom moom
swish glish
sa sa sa lum
hey, hey, hey

will the French
please stop stealing words
from Pretty Olde English?
we can’t but fix a secret meeting
and choose a rendezvous
and we discover the French have already
stolen every secret including the word rendezvous!
Oh, the French, when will
they stop this pilfering of English vocabulary?
I buy some trinkets and stuff for my beau
and they tell me my beau has been taken by the French –
and to add insult to injury
(those thieves!)
they’ve stolen all the stuff too!
Oh, there’s no stopping the French.
I can’t even sit to dine and say
“Bon appetit!”
and they steal my words,
and they run off with the dessert…
and would you believe it?
those cunning French,
they even steal the restaurant and its décor!
Oh, the evil French, will they never stop this? -
stealing from fecund English, so simple and innocent…
You see, even the Great Poet John Keats
he starts his poem in English
La Belle Dame sans Merci
and no sooner had he written the title,
the French stole the very words! -
and so ******* was our Romantic John Keats,
he wrote the poem itself
in what he hoped could never be Frenched!
Ah, the French…would you please stealing
words from our Fair Damsel English….


And the Chindians too!
Chindians?
you know,
the Chinese and the Indians together!
(Yes, it’s a new word,
shows how inventive English is.)
Well, the Chinese have done it with
a smile and a kowtow! –
there you go, while you bow or cringe,
the Chinese steal the kowtow;
and before our very own eyes
today even in our modern world
the Chinese steal words like Dao, Zen, taofu,
chi, and feng shui;
and the Indians, not to be beaten,
and perhaps with a vengeance
to deal a fatal blow to the Raj,
they steal words like: nirvana, pundits, yoga,
juggernaut, pepper and curry

And of course
there are many more tribes and nations
in this merry global **** of Gloriana English
and there’s just nothing Britannia can do about it!
Oh, what’s the world coming to
when our Plain Jane English is molested like this;
and so I do my part
the Dark Knight coming to her rescue -
perhaps this earnest appeal in verse
will touch the hearts of the beasts and dragons
and they’ll keep their claws away
from our Fair Helpless Dame English

Boys, I warn you, you are not
to look at Twinkle Girls;
I, Glum Master of the Universe, command
that none of you boys
look at those Shiny Girls who
are Bright as Stars
and so are called Twinkle Girls –
remember, you are not to look at
or wink at Twinkle Girls.
You can, O you immature boys
you can chase butterflies
and climb trees and fall off them and break your legs
but chasing Twinkle Girls,
no – I expressly forbid you from such a pursuit.
Twinkle Girls always come with a chime and charm
still, when they pass by and their scent gets into your mind
you are to poke your noses into your books
and you will contemplate the secrets of addition and subtraction
and the intricacies of algebra
until they pass you by…
Look, boys – you can have computer games
and you can play role-play games
and you can twitter and text
and you can steal cookies from the pantry when mom’s not looking
and you can spend the whole day
at websites your parents told you to stay away from –
but looking at Twinkle Girls,
that, I, Glum Master of the Universe,
I expressly forbid
And what will I, Glum Master of the Universe,
do about it if you ogle at  those Twinkle Girls who giggle?
I’ll amend the Books that Surely Lead to Heaven
so boys like you will all end up in Hell…
So, if you want to go to Heaven and eat for free
without mom nagging at you to be neat
and you want to play computer games for all eternity –
boys, I warn you, you are not
to look at Twinkle Girls…

Girls, do not giggle...
I know you like to giggle
but I, Glum Master of the Universe,
don’t like it;
so don’t giggle
You can have pink
you can have ice-cream
you can have gossip
you can still facebook and laugh
and drink coke and sugary drinks;
you can have candy floss
and eat processed food till your teeth yellow -
but giggle? No…
so what am I, Glum Master of the Universe,
going to do about it if you giggle?
Oh, I’ll send Miss Tornado
and Cold Moon
and Violent Thunderstorm
before and after and over you
all those girls who giggle
if you don’t listen to me,
Glum Master of the Universe…
so, girls, do not giggle…