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Frazer Charlton May 2014
I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees,
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelled of mussels and paraoa.
When he smiled it looked like the dawn.
When he broke wind the little fishes trembled.
When he frowned the ground shook.
When he laughed everybody got drunk.

The Maori Jesus came on shore
And picked out his twelve disciples.
One cleaned toilets in the railway station;
His hands were scrubbed red to get the **** out of the pores.
One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing.
One was a housewife who had forgotten the Pill
And stuck her TV set in the ******* can.
One was a little office clerk
Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buldings.
Yes, and there were several others;
One was a sad old quean;
One was an alcoholic priest
Going slowly mad in a respectable parish.

The Maori Jesus said, 'Man,
From now on the sun will shine.'

He did no miracles;
He played the guitar sitting on the ground.

The first day he was arrested
For having no lawful means of support.
The second day he was beaten up by the cops
For telling a dee his house was not in order.
The third day he was charged with being a Maori
And given a month in Mt Crawford.
The fourth day he was sent to Porirua
For telling a ***** the sun would stop rising.
The fifth day lasted seven years
While he worked in the Asylum laundry
Never out of the steam.
The sixth day he told the head doctor,
'I am the Light in the Void;
I am who I am.'
The seventh day he was lobotomised;
The brain of God was cut in half.

On the eighth day the sun did not rise.
It did not rise the day after.
God was neither alive nor dead.
The darkness of the Void,
Mountainous, mile-deep, civilised darkness
Sat on the earth from then till now.
One of my favourites aeeee,
yeah it's not by me, don't know how to not claim this.
annh Jun 2019
Is it not a paradox that her deception should leave her beauty so unmarked? Her winsome countenance - generously admired - leaves her suitors abject; mere puppets on a string.

Verily, the essence of her is as a tarnished trinket. For to mine own soul she appears as jaded as a ***** house quean. Her eyes which once shone with the light of truth unblemished, a colourless and infinite mire overgrown with the entangled falsehoods she has seeded.

‘Deceiving others. That is what the world called a romance.’
- Oscar Wilde

‘And we all know love is a glass which makes even a monster appear fascinating.’
- Alberto Moravia, The Woman of Rome
Life’s all getting and giving,
I’ve only myself to give.
What shall I do for a living?
I’ve only one life to live.
End it?  I’ll not find another.
Spend it? But how shall I best?
Sure the wise plan is to live like a man
And Luck may look after the rest!
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
Give or hold at your will.
If I’ve no care for Fortune,
Fortune must follow me still.

Bad Luck, she is never a lady
But the commonest ***** on the street,
Shuffling, shabby and shady,
Shameless to pass or meet.
Walk with her once—it’s a weakness!
Talk to her twice. It’s a crime!
****** her away when she gives you “good day”
And the besom won’t board you next time.
Largesse! Largesse, Fortune!
What is Your Ladyship’s mood?
If I have no care for Fortune,
My Fortune is bound to be good!

Good Luck she is never a lady
But the cursedest quean alive!
Tricksy,  wincing  and  jady,
Kittle to lead or drive.
Greet her—she’s hailing a stranger!
Meet her—she’s busking to leave.
Let her alone for a shrew  to the bone,
And the ***** comes plucking your sleeve!
Largesse!  Largesse, Fortune!
I’ll neither follow nor flee.
If I don’t run after Fortune,
Fortune must run after me!
"I can't wait, I miss you".

The thief's vocabulary is completely transposed within reprimanded articles,  dictating nasty and lavish celebrations

On Tuesdays, naked artists and painters sell predisposed slates with blank imagery and subtle expressions

"You guys are gonna be there, right?"

Both covers have been irreparably tarnished by overused carry-on bags that hold sharp blades and villanous anecdotes

Steam is heated in vaporized streams of groaning pipeline narratives, balanced and absurdly engrossed in hazy plots

"I'm waiting for you downstairs".

Grazed upon brick walls, thin as tightrope walking circus freaks on administrative leave from highlighted dream scenarios

We travel twenty miles per fortnight even though the hopeful guards lob cursed amulets and hurl ****** stones

"Finally,  you were supposed to be here hours ago".

*I'm home now
the black-rose Feb 2015
here's to a la mort of a love that can never be,
a outrance of feelings that never got to be expressed.
i hate that my heart is so refractory,
how can i be in love with someone i know nothing about?

never seen you yet somehow i've seen you,
never spoken to you yet i've had numerous conversations about you..
i want to enodate my thoughts onto the canvas that is your heart,
but how can i?

you're probably in love with a lightskin beauty,
but is there any room for a caramel skinned Queen?
or will i be too much of a challenge,
too much of something too brilliant?

my feelings for you are pygalgia,
please darling allow me the chance
to search your soul & find the most unappealing things,
but love you anyway...

you're soul is too ostrobogulous for a quean,
may my being coruscate in the very darkest place of your heart.
til you realize your soul's worth,
til you realize yupukta my love.
for one of my readers..
the black-rose  Feb 2015
()
the black-rose Feb 2015
()
i hear brontide as she calls your name,
a lover that she is undeserving of.
too monotonous,
she could never make your soul wonder..

of course she was beautiful,
but what you wanted was beauty beneath the surface.
she was no fit for you, a King.
she was a quean, you needed a Queen.
but you stayed, why?

i have cryptoscopophyllia but, to your soul.
she wanted to just love you,
i wanted to destroy you with the complexity of my love for you..
darling, why are you settling?

you cannot be apprehensive,
we are of the same unique animating principle,
yet in the end we are nothing more than love and space dust.
fallen in love with writing, honestly.. i hope you enjoy every single one of my pieces. xo
btw, i **** at picking titles.. lol

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