She's got brown eyes,
But it took her years,
Before she finally realised,
That his love was lies;

She's got brown eyes,
It lights up when she smiles,
But it takes her many tries,
For happiness she denies;

She's got brown eyes,
That tell stories of surprise,
An ending one would not reprise,
For it progresses till it dies;

She's got brown eyes,
Oh how they mesmerise,
Even the cowardly of mice,
And heartbreakers in disguise.

@byizn

Some years ago, on a Monday, I met Joyce at Whitlows.
I bonded with her over bourbon and cokes.
She wore a black dress; sloping V, open back
It clung to her thigh, as though her skin
Was coated in sweets: sugar, honey, syrup.
Her face shined under the light overhead:
Denim eyes, velvet lips, an upturned nose.
She went to G.W.; read Junot; rode thoroughbreds;
Spoke Arabic; ate okra; watched Kubrick.
At the foosball table, I touched her wrist. She touched my arm.
The next day, after coitus and coffee,
I went to my car and found a ticket.

a buzz
the only sound in the dark
ah !
disappointment disappointed !
never butterfly
flew higher

Woke up this morning I was tired as hell, decided I would sit in the garden and dwell,
On the last weekend of pubs and clubs,when my ears picked up this feeble buzz,
Now usually the buzzin’ is my bassbox boomin’ but my bassbox bins were still back in my room,
Looked at my feet and to my surprise was a big bumblebee who’d fallen from the skies,
He looked worn out,torn up up,but still a lil’ fighter, musta gotten separated from the rest of his flight yeah,
So I remembered a tale taught by my mum,how to get a tired bee back to buzzin and hummin,
Put some salt and some water in a little saucer,and watch him build up his strength like a sorcerer,
But I decided to add my own twist to the game,so the Manuka honey,out she came,
Put a little dose of each in the saucer on the ground,so I could help the lil’ fella start buzzin around.
Helped him over the lip of the saucer quick,he looked about done in til he gave it a sip,
Then like popeye with spinach he started to swell,comin’ hummin like  a trooper from the gates of hell,
From close to the end he was like Zip Zing!,floatin’ like a butterfly,ready to sting,
He took off and flew around all my ma’s fresh roses,full of beans, lookin mean striking Irish bee poses,
Then he landed on my hand but not to sting me up,
Took a little Bee bow then rose right up,
And I coulda swore I heard  a voice hummin out to me,

"Thanks man you really helped out this busy bee",

He floated like a butterfly off my hand ready to sting if needed on the flowers he lands,
Then I gave him a wave and went on my way, and started the bee- ginnings of my own busy day.

Tired limbs,

Tired eyes,

I'm tired again,

That's no surprise