(Blackened tissue beside debris of bleachd cocktail
Power pundit in cubicle
A ship in shadow-pieces passing by, unnoticed

smoking water.. now costs getting kickd  out ur xafe
Your blood lies in a high-account and all the stampz areMelting
Crawling in a desert, accusations shave the top off my black land
Did failing the test lead to a power-packed punch in strands
No time for treagedies clogging up the freeway
Twenty watts up the waterfall and your ride is here
Befits a ceremonial decapping
Catch ur vogue latte on the way out
Come aboard by jet and then expect a red carpet, soaked dry from the spoils of erstwehile-smugglers
Let em bleed green notes till the moths all come round the flame
Wait for it… the flame grows hugher… and int it all…………****!

That was easy.
Don’t chuckle out loud when expletives slidie down your back
Like champagne off the shoulder of your ne-xt planet’s ride

Duck in time cos the butters hard and the toast is dry

Four friends over six decades carry grudges heavey enough to pump oil to lakes
And the unexpected happens.. the one they didn’t watch, wwent missing
All eyes on the little one.. no, you didn’t catch them all.

You became immunes to the skills you advert-tarted and sqeueamish set in
you didn’t know casn host violence in a putrid-robe?
One finger pointing out, makes at least three in.. to the pointer
How can one planet swallow so wide a dichotomy in plasticky degrees?
It’s too wide this time to make that jump  – we will ingest what weve been giving all along
And some end up well-funded while others simply dwell..  as frogs in a well.


sun can climb in sometimes, but for half an hour
their fingers are small for the mine, keep small the issue
don’t cry when it rains in expectorata
I think frogs can swim.

when do I ever learn that..  
I am simply a frog in a well
near craxks )*


21feb

Three-legged spider on a ***** tile
Eyeball rolls, clean in hand
Massive metal door opens, up top a hill
Graveyard of ever-ringing cells.

What's real creepy to you?

Enclose the city, lock us out ..for good
Condemned as doomed, living dead
Big guns survive in metallic domes
See the crass ******* shoot us down!

Wanna talk about what's creepy, huh?

Plunderers now lay down new laws
Can't fight the sick, red sway
Random acts of violence bay
Armoured eyes see all from lofty towers.

Creepy autocrats hide the truth, right?

No soaring when blood runs rivers
Tripping over rotting corpses
Decaying stench of hope dying
Help will come, we must believe!

Do you believe lies to your face?

Infrastructure's down, no services
Power's out, no more flushing
Car carcasses aflame on every corner, yet
How come big brother's eyes still move?

Are the gullible ones really stupid and feeble?

Sun shines, but nothing grows
Rain seeps red away into sewers
Crops of twisted metal, hoards of guns
Skeletal trees adorn our landscape.

Why hold askance your glance skyward?

The gates will open to let us in
Surely, they witness our hardship!
There must exist a life beyond this strife
Uproar, bombard, gas, artillery....then no more....

Can you ever cease to have temerity?

In face of adversity, calamity and injustice
We should NEVER cease to be exasperated!
Hope must prevail; faith must live;
Thoughts expressed; love and respect must survive.

Can you afford your spirit just to let go....?

Think about it. Creepy autocrats eternally rank ...

Chronically..........Insidious
Repressively........Deleterious
Egotistically.........Inadequate
Eruptively............Odious
Pretentiously.......Tedious
Yucky...................****!


S T, 31 May 2013

got.an.appointment.to.keep
can’t.be.late.at.all
got.an.appointmen­t.to.keep


Cycling hard in the taciturn rain
In the English countryside
Feeding  chunks *rassis to hissing Eton-swans

Pitch-black hot tar inside
Running relentless along the vacuous side-halls
Carrying mercy on three-legged cur

Crying for Odin . . .  leaving soon
Won’t make it down that clockwork-stairs
And can’t show up late for its own demise-appointment


taking.flight.to.a.never.portion
of
the.eve­r.furious.wanderer

(no latecomers allowed)

to.keep.that.appointment
to.never.go
crying.for.Odin

­
s t        27 aug

..



You whom I could not save

Listen to me.  

Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another.  

I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words.  

I speak to you with silence like a cloud or a tree.


What strengthened me, for you was lethal.  

You mixed up farewell to an epoch with the beginning of a new one,  

Inspiration of hatred with lyrical beauty;  

Blind force with accomplished shape.


Here is a valley of shallow Polish rivers. And an immense bridge  

Going into white fog. Here is a broken city;  

And the wind throws the screams of gulls on your grave  

When I am talking with you.


What is poetry which does not save  

Nations or people?  

A connivance with official lies,  

A song of drunkards whose throats will be cut in a moment,  

Readings for sophomore girls.

That I wanted good poetry without knowing it,  

That I discovered, late, its salutary aim,  

In this and only this I find salvation.


They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds  

To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds.  

I put this book here for you, who once lived  

So that you should visit us no more.  




                                                                                         Warsaw, 1945

                                                                                        
- by Czeslaw Milosz






st, 13 dec 13

At my side the Demon writhes forever,
Swimming around me like impalpable air;
As I breathe, he burns my lungs like fever
And fills me with an eternal guilty desire.


Knowing my love of Art, he snares my senses,
Appearing in woman's most seductive forms,
And, under the sneak's plausible pretenses,
Lips grow accustomed to his lewd love-charms.


He leads me thus, far from the sight of God,
Panting and broken with fatigue into
The wilderness of Ennui, deserted and broad,


And into my bewildered eyes he throws
Visions of festering wounds and filthy clothes,
And all Destruction's ****** retinue.

1.
thar once was a big tree
grew high in the middle of the field
it sheltered from rain; became fine-home to blue-birds
till the cutting-folk came and slew it.. down.

2.
enver was a man who had great luck at the table
this gent won a ton of coins hands-down
which attracted the rabble from all round
so this pore-man from denver lost it once again..

3.
gently rowing splendid
along the fyne shore
to reach
make sure ye have two oars!

4.
peter was a pyper, had a girl named jessie
hardly went to market
when the livestock all got tired
he played a tune, all lively-like.. they all got up to dance!

5.
jolly molly had a dolly, that she called polly
they went by train to Swiss-towne, Bern
to order two cups of strawb-lolly
but once there, they broke stride and ordered two hot-chox.

6.
there once lived a physicist who brought earth-pendulum to life
Léon Foucault was he named and born unto this day
born in 1819 in gay-Paree and died in 1868
he set about wide-views of rotation right upon its head!



S T - 18 septemba

it is true
when we give our blood too much
we aid in disempowerment


1.
constant giving in love and providing can set unhealthy-precedent
and when it falters in its expected-rhythm
ugly-tantrums get thrown, bordering on disrespect


2.
demands kick in hard upon trod-floor of insidious-hooks
there's always a rider for the other party on tightrope-theatre
            some or other condition to feed the monster of excitement
            while health straddles some jarring regions
            in hostile-spitting strong enough to lance startling-injury
shoelaces dripped in hazard-oil over a generational-canyon
provides unwanted-fodder for establishing long-term *slippage



(no! you weren't raised this way.. where does this stem from?)
there has been no failure to show how humans act and speak
this is unacceptable)

oh............you want / you want / you want..... all.. the.. time
then kick up unholy-storms when there's a break in rhyme


get ye, lad.. go practise your ire on a field
                   go throw a stick on the prairie
                   go find your path, you're old enough
yer insolence plain *****!



(I could tell you .. you're rude.. go home,
but you already are!)


S T - 10 dec 13

I will cut your eyes from you
Place them in the waiting dark
An oubliette prepared just for you
They will grow and let us feed.....


Star Toucher, 19 March 2013

You're building up a palace
For the world to see
How great you are
But do they know how loud the echo
In your walls.... is outdone
By the echo in your soul?

All pretty things to fill your life
And make you feel so useful
But yet, your day is dark and grey
And you still feel so blue
Oh, the echo in your soul.


Refrain
Why don't you stop....
Why don't you-ooh stop?
And tend your heart
Oh, feed your mind
And fill up your soul, oh
With beauty that
Cannot..... be seen.


It's easier to see your faith by showing
But then you're stuck in a rut
You'd surely nev-er-er leave
Outdone by the echo in your soul
The echo in your life
The echo in your smile
Oh, the echo-oh.... in your words.

It's harder for you to totally live your truth
For, it's not how you LOOK, but HOW you look
Take off the trappings and reveal
And see who you really are
See what you really are
See what you have become!

And now you're feeling all alone in a crowded room
You try to sound intelligent yet make no sense
Your stilted humour is outdone
By the echo-oh....in your soul.




Star Toucher, 26 March 2013

empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty emptyempty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty empty
eeeeeeeeeeeemmmmmmppp..tyyyyyyyyyyy
eeeeeeeeeeeemmmmmmppp..ty

Here lies wealthy aunt Dot
Let us pray for her, people
Let us pray for Dorothy Keeper
For here comes the grim reaper.

They called her Marie-Antoinette
Breaking fast on cake and tea
While gorging whole on tamarinds
And tittering her high-squealed laughs.

She wore her sky-scraper heels
With such care, they'd always look new
With no scuff marks, but in the end,
She hurt her back and broke her ankle!

She lived in such a mansion
You'd need an elevator to get to ***
Her gardener had his own butler
While her dogs had weekly pedicures.

Yet when they found her, on her last
She was bedecked in every wealth imaginable
Burdened tables, with rarest delicacies
But not a crumb of mercy on her plate.

You see, the ones she thought valued her
Were simply riding high on tails
They were cloven deep through the ranks
While rank decay sat fat in every corner.

Always one to expect return
She did little to relieve that scorned idea
When nephews begged for bursaries
She'd shoo them gone; let pets sap cream.

Now, upon her mortal hour, her eyes did sink
So deep in sharp despair.
Her ragged breath her kin did hear
And mere perfunctory embrace she felt.

Her sickness begged a touch of care
A little sweetness, a glance of kindness
But pitied eyes swept aghast around
At the splendid array in her mausoleum.

Nephews now grown men stand and look
They shoo not the flies around her mouth
For minds locked ******* heartless past
Fail to discover any worthy pattern.

No one could give what she desired
So they turned all from patient, one by one
To their cosy, quiet homes
Save the little boy, silent by the door.

They knew not that their paltry lesson in humanity
Screamed for mercy; to alter, make good flow
The little boy turned, to change the tide
*** for tat pays not; we should all know that!

Peace and mercy, she but sought now
And in his utter silence, he gave her that
Her eyes pled such deep appeal
His heart bled at their steep reveal.

Most unfortunate turn of events unseen
When the boy now held beneath his eyes
Heavy, darkened rings of suffering
Intense subject of compassion.

Years later, no one would know that
Upon her deathbed, she bequeathed him silent gift:
That, until kin break spited cycle
He would bear the brunt forthwith.

And now, Aunt Dot has died
All return to home and hearth
Yet no redemption till the day is due
And the soul awaits .......ever patient.

Star Toucher, 22 February 2013

marvel at the complex-pattern
painting such a span of swirls
light-panels less than shimmer
in the afternoon shadows on the wooden kitchen-table
biggest fear - your leaving


1.
beautiful summer-days lost in your eyes
oblivion dances like a wily-***** at hypnotising fire-licks
from our languid-bed, I'd lazy-feed you lox-on-crackers
and everything you liked
heaven never had it so good

........................till

woke up and *you weren't there
where'd you go to?
no letter, no call.. for days


2.
to overcome this fear
I brought in a  b-i-g-g-e-r  one
that used to drive me to serious-pitfalls in the past

off to the exotic pet-shop, my toes marched me
and I got one - very toxic thing on legs
without a natural terrarium

once home, I set it free
I set free.... my biggest fear
        to blot out your absence
        to overcome your presence
        to forget you

it crawled around and made a home
while I hardly breathed nor slept
and moved about on ginger-steps


3.
I kept feeling strands of your hair
          in my sleep
          on my cheek
          inside my cry
and woke to moonlight bathed in sweat

I did not wash your pillow, after weeks now
I bury my face in olfactory-memory lingering
and pine for you, but I see your missing set of keys and..

/ scratch .. scratch /

I hear a sudden scurrying
heartbeat jumps out cage
eyeballs to the parquet-floor

nothing.


4.
I'm getting used to this new pet
and she doesn't mind my breathing
                    oh, I swear she's a brain-scanner
                    when she looks at me that way
                    like she can read me.. through and through

I dare not pet, I dare not touch... ohhhh no!
       I leave her the daily-bowl of delicious, fresh worms
       to find it empty in the evening
I guess, thanks for freedom.. of sorts

one day, I left the window open
as I jotted down some poignant thoughts
at my antique-escritoire
    espied her legs upon the solar-sill
    thought she'd be running... a leaver, too
but no..    
                 she was sunning all her legs awhile


5.
the season's changing.. leaves are falling
crackle of wind in the air

now, I'm making me some coffee in my silver whistle-***
hot, solo beverage to calm my settling-mind
when.. ping-ping.. comes a text
lo and behold....
it is you...

you!


6.
delirium / delirium /
(I'm on cloud-nine... you're coming home tonight..
                                      you love me so much, you say..
                                      made a mistake..
                                       you've got something big to share..

I've taken time to prepare a special-meal.. candles and all your faves
but must pop out quick to get some lox...)


I'm back now, got the stuff now
key in lock
but the door.. jammed by a weight.. of sorts
can't seem to push the ****-door open...
shoving hard, I see........







fear compounded by a minus
simply multiplied
disaster




S T - 4 dec 13

pardon
thoroughly potent thoughts
piercing
mindset

even though

really
















m.i.l.e.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s.s








­





away...






S T, 27 June 2013

how.the.simplest.of.things.swell
to
magnified.import

1.
no more drawing lines in the sea-sand
frolicking with flirty fun-waves
(like before)

no more pure-playing in the fields
chasing magenta-and-green butterflies  
(like before)

2.
Mama, come home . . . where are you?
Papa, it’s time to plant the beans
Sister …
Brother …
Gramps …
Grand-ma …
Cousin …
Uncle, aunt . . . ??
                                 *please . . . where are you all?


3.
all.not.well.on.earth
(like.never.before)




even.th­is.small.voice.which.spake.wider.through.innocence
lies.silent.no­w
beneath.reddish.dry-mud . . .

its.melody.of.truth.heard.
only.in.a
field.of.butterflies

all­ gone





no.more.butterfly


S T, 5 sept

1.
And so, I clamber up the heavy *****
and sit alone upon a wide, flat rock.

I still the voices clamouring hard within
and try to listen to the air settle and breathe . . .

The eagle swoops low, whirring loud beside the rocky outcrop
likening its talons to sustain the hold of life . . . (this line to be amended ...sounds odd)

Leaves quiver silent on massive trees
obedient to nature, yet roots bold outgrown . . .

Shade reaches and stretches genial arms
while feel of dark and moist, fertile ground pervades . . .

Air thick with teeming life the eye can't see
thrums with invisible threads, linking slow tendrils . . .

Quiet sky looms dignified and peers squinted
while sun rays slant into pores, kiss my cheek.

Beetles scamper light along the soft, red sand
and not unlike them, I seek still the answer within . . .



2.
Fierce fire takes up dry tinder, consumes into heated coils
destroying with relish, yet offer cleansing balm . . .



3.
Sudden rains refresh, glance off surprised face, upturned
sweet deluge leaves all sodden to delighted heart . . .



4.
I turn not away
I look up
to receive . . . gladly.


I give such thanks
fall on knees to see . . .

No red sky (as in my nightmares)
No lost sun
No smoky horizon
No grey trees
No dead leaves.

Only yellow sunshine
Only blue sky
Only green leaves
Only clear horizon

as far as the eye can see.




S T, 8 May 2013

just the eyes of a child
fixed
seeking its place
in a meadow
of flowers
fixed on the horizon
out to sea

steep climb
yet I want to sit in that storm with you
in the eye of it all

sitting with Mimi-meouw and biscottis
and mind .... so far away...

the heart
one more line
closer to the sky



S T, 30 June 2013

A
B
C
D
E

F
G
H
I
J

K
L
M
N
O

P
R
S
T

U
V
Y
Z

plea of oddities: bring the tinkling back
its bell lies silent


1.
Existing (not entirely) alone
entertaining itself with nightmares witnessed from long ago
It waited and waited
until the neighbour-orb grew to a level sophisticated enough
to house that lovely assortment of fine specimens.. of females
       that flock of dusted-crystals so long dreamt of
       that mould of sensibility, that plug of warmth
       that banner of softness
which all mirrored the opposite of their ways


2.
they fled in quiet-rebellion from inhospitable hands of the boor-males
altogether, in a ship.. down into the bowels of their breaking planet
subtleties long abandoned by the barbed-wire handling of  rough hands
these gentles could take no more and *uncoupled themselves for good
burning, like the bridges behind them
               they disconnected and slid into a nether-sphere

When the males woke in stupor to find them gone
                 they flipped and fed in anger
and with access to goodness gone and unplaced voracious appetites
It decided to encase them.. in a giant glass-jar, preserving them in ire
until the time was right.. like a tea awaiting perfect steeping
In stasis, they remained for what seemed aeons
the glass-jar which held this army of men, was reduced
became small, like a coin.. which Foog summarily swallowed
and waited . . .  


3.
The sun turned its face in blank-horror of severe sights
                                                               splayed across the surface
forests shrank to toothpicks and died
         blue seas curled and dried
                                 meadows melted to greyish slush
every flying creature lost gravity and got ****** away, too high..
                                                        into harsh deafening-holes
when the tall sentries of oxygen.. twisted and became wiry-distorted
the sky sank and folding itself up.. hid in a black corner
                               behind the crumbling mountains

Foog hid beneath a crater made of ice, on the dark side of said planet
and once every millennium
        it felt the colliding-smack of a passing planetessimal
and it swore that somewhere, somehow..
        that punishment awaited new life

So, it shut its senses to the bay of life
       while hankering viciously for the scream of warm blood
The bell-jar inside, silent and
                        also somehow.. obscenely waiting in its oblivion



4.
Then, came Earth spinning round in flourish.. oh, the day on hand
Yet, veryyyyy far away.. an eye slowly opened
                      / /  roused by the smell of fressshhh life . . . / /



5.
A popping sound and the bell-jar was birthed from a slit on its forehead
It looked nearly quizzically at this odd creation beneath the silent-glass
this assortment of creatures trapped in the folly of Foog:
                                                                ­     oh, shall I, or not?
A cosmic joke, almost.. with so few revisions
The lid lifted and with proportion righted once more..
                                they came, oozing out in droves
Roaring from their milleniac-slumber,
                               crazed in half-remembered wounds
But alive with burning-purpose - - to find the equivalent
of
those soft-crystals

To melt the iron.. inside.



(unsolicited but self-warranted visitations:
camouflaged abductions.. secret prodding..
subtlety re-learnt.. poverty rehashed..
Fugue in a glass bell-jar.. unleashed)  



But alas, when sweet-sounds are closed again
see at whose smart-hands calamity befalls Life
Yet.. who are ultimately the ones
picking up the pieces after devastation wrought?




st, 27 march 2014

1.
Ye knew not me
As passing by
On yonder shore.



2.
No query of tongue, m'Lord
Canst let scales fall down.



3.
Sired was I nobly
Yet....
Thy Lady
Fall'st
To Papa.



4.
Desolation reaped
While trust is placed
And honour
Forever lost.



S T, 11 April 2013

enog si egami niwt eurt

tsuj ro
..dneb eht dnuor




S T, 12 July 2913

This is an excerpt of exquisite letter that Kerouac sent to his first wife, Edie Kerouac Parker, in late January of 1957, a decade after their marriage had been annulled.*


The world you see is just a movie in your mind.
Rocks don't see it.
Bless and sit down.
Forgive and forget.
Practice kindness all day to everybody
and you will realize you’re already
in heaven now.
That’s the story.
That’s the message.

Nobody understands it,
nobody listens, they’re
all running around like chickens with heads cut
off. I will try to teach it but it will
be in vain, s’why I’ll
end up in a shack
praying and being
cool and singing
by my woodstove
making pancakes.

1.
to give a chance, to an attending unsophisticate
await proof of whatever revered worth wanted
seeming to have little or no life experience
means not there's nothing to give

time-trenches furrowed in mire too deep . . .


2.
assume nothing so easy of another
chickety-choo, just see it through
fine particles of gray comet's tail ricochet in the eye
friction desired, yet not always

there is some pluck, you know . . .



3.
you see, as many a soul-straggler roams
some may not shine as bright as desirous fit
but (amongst other things)
actually, they do have something others crave

still unconverted, slow-releasing grit . . .



4.
no crisis here, only eager groom-in-waiting
cheerful chevy, too bright on wooden words
zigzagging to capture all-elusive allure
banish each espiegled scab

clip-clop, tear not off old wounds.



5.
So, even as half-regarded not good enough (yet?)
nails screech on board, turbulent cadence
tips dig deep into sinking blades
grant that chance not only to let make, but to make a mark . . .


for strangely, I already know.



S T, 16 May 2013