blue chiffon roses
pink ones
made from tulle
yellow
from cotton
green ones made of wool
orange made from linen
purple made from flannel
but the prettiest ones of all
are the blue chiffon roses

CAR OF THE WEEK
MAN OF THE MOMENT
GIRL OF THE MONTH
HORSE OF THE YEAR
SALE OF THE CENTURY

Better start an inventory
Check what’s missing
Hear the gas hissing
Don’t even  think…..
about dissin
this lyric I’m spittin
out LAVA
TORNADO
TYPHOON
So you’ll see very soon
How strong your Mother really is!
The Question is not an answer in itself
There’s more to food than the price on the shelf
There’s more to life than hoarding wealth
There’s more to this than meets the eye
BUT WHY?
Bother with a question
Just live
On AUTO-SUGGESTION
WHY NOT?
Count, Weigh and Measure
All the things that you find
And make yourself BLIND
To the fact that this IS
“my FLESH”
that you’re BURNIN and LOOTIN
those are my LUNGS
that you’re CHOKIN with you’re SMOKIN
this is my BLOOD
that’s FLOWIN
                   FULLA NOXIOUS
SUBSTANCES
Whilst the Stock Market CASH
                                        BOOM
                                        CRASH
                                        BOOM
                                         CASH
CASH on DEMAND
GOLD from my TEETH
Con-sumer demand
OIL from  my belly below
FUTURES DEMAND
FINAL DEMAND
Sale of the Century
Everything must go
So you know
Who you are
When you wake up
Saying “wot’s up?”
You may have to cup
A hand to your ear
So you hear
Very clear
This lyrik I’m chatting
The voice I am passing
The word of
“the MOTHER OF ALL F**KERS….
GOOD EVENING SUCKERS…!”
Time to wake up
alarm bell ringing
Fluid in my lungs
make birds stop singing
whales stop swimming
iceberg melting
Spells change
Smells strange
When viewed up close
Where the dose
Is the strongest
But strangest
Of all
Is the fall
From grace

From the bottom of the list
         Of endangered species
             You’ve carved niches
                    Genocided species
                                 Built follies
                                 Burnt witches
                                 Dug ditches
                                 Built fences
Against yourselves
    Against your spouses
               Within your houses
                              of detention
                               Prevention
                            Is better than cure
        The water has to be pure
If we can be sure, what constitutes pure?
SO
Better do some catchup
Have a mental checkup
Don’t crackup
Or blowup
Or turnup LATE
For your own
Great Escape
Don’t leave it too late
Your Mother can’t wait
To have a big shake
And scratch off her fleas
And boil up the seas
A few thousand degrees
Then you’ll see
A sale of the century
Where everything goes
Up the nose
Of who do you suppose?
And whose eye will it sting
When fire I bring
From down below
My oceans
Ancient potions
Alchemical lotions
Make motions
Measured in Richter scales
Southern gales
Beached whales
Mothers wail
Another sale
Of a slave
To the rhythm of madness
To the rhythm divine
The divine intervention
The total dissection
Of my very womb
Crash
Boom crash
Boom
Closing down sale
While stocks last
Last few days
Everything must go
at the SALE OF THE CENTURY

Hail the green,
It shall cover the earth again.
The time of beast is over,
Now is the time of leaf.

In my fairy garden
the bubbles fly so high
they blow into the atmosphere
and neutralise the sky

My fairy bubbles help my skin
they soften and they glow
they transmutate the sea-life
till extinction bids them "Go"

My lovely fairy bubbles
take my washday blues away
they saunter down my plughole
and drift into the bay

They poison and they modify
with each outgoing tide
They brighten up the logos
in the land of paranoid

Well my whites are so much whiter
since I bought my fairy friend
I give no **** for politics
I flush it round the bend

My clothes must be the cleanest
like the ones on my T.V.
A speck of dust a fleck of mud
is social leprosy

So lets all use our faries
and wash our blues away
let's forget about the ocean
and the price that we must pay

As the sea-life gets much rarer
from the toxic fairy sludge
ask yourself some questions
give your conscience a little nudge

This is the land of plenty
for all and not just one
Your cleaning and your preening
are blotting out the sun

"......for hands that do dishes
may one day grab your throat....
....buy Mind-Need-Fancy-Snake-****....."

The garden’s overgrown now

The poppies gone to seed

The flowerbeds run over

And all is choked by weeds



No-ones done the pruning

And the pond is stagnant slime

The brambles are encroaching

Too late for weeding time



The fields have gone to fallow

The veg no longer food

The fruit has started rotting

And the bees have left for good



The birds no longer singing

The river has dried up

Nothing is worth eating

And nowt is safe to sup



There’s autumn leaves in springtime

Desolation all around

There is no milk and honey

Or beauty to be found



Outside the gates of Eden

Adam sits and weeps

An aching in his ribcage

An apple at his feet

A lament don Ghaeilge

A language
in my Blood
but not - on my tongue.

The prose and poetry of my ancestors
fallen - on deaf ears.

When did we accept this anglicized assonance,
to marr the seanchaithe tale of soil and air?

The Land of Saints and Scholars -
speaking words from others tongues.

All birds fly towards the north
When the weather goes to be hot
And fly towards the south
When the cold spreads the wings
And destroys all nests

Except my birds
They fly towards your heart
Asking, screaming and shouting
You are the worst spy
When they meet your birds
They sing a deathless song
Making every poor land converted to be kind
And the loosing mind returning his mind
The old trunk gets strong
Branches covering with colored and smart
Roses

The bees put their honey
Making me taste it as your honey
Love, that makes me in happy
All the world gets funny
And the birds dance with harmony
The fishes swim in circles
Making the water spreads atoms
All over the world, that makes the flies tends
Once the left and the right at once

The important my birds get wide
Not distance, but from my sight
And I will whisper at your beauty ear
I hate my birds as they go to yours
That is obvious for all viewers
But I wish to be with them by yours

blue,
the color of the ocean,
the color of the sky,
the color of intelligence,
the color of calm,
the color of a cold, depressed winter.

green,
the color of trees,
the color of nature,
the color of mischief,
the color of safety.
the color of a bright, adventurous summer.

my eyes,
a swirling combination of blue and green,
a representation of intelligence and mischief,
a source of calm and adventure,
a union of complementary opposites,
a storm of different sides of one person.

The Voices of the Earth

I yearn to speak the words that sit on the tip of your tongue

I know I’ve hurt your waters, your leaves
I’ve left my mess on your shoulders, and weighed you down
I’ve taken all your fruit, all your hidden rivers
And in return I’ve given you the empty bottles that float in your arms
I’ve choked your beautiful dwellers
I’ve stolen their homes, I’ve set your trees on fire to make more room for my own
I’ve used your fields for torture, I’ve left innocent blood on your land
I’ve filled your skies with thick black smoke, and stolen your emerald blues
And now you’re starting to break, as I search for another place
I’ve denied your sickness, I’ve silenced your birds from telling the truth

And now...
I yearn to speak the words on the tip of your tongue
The ones we can barely hear, because you’re too ill, and time towers over your soul as you croak
“Let me live another year”