Some rely on cleaning machines  
the vacuum to **** up the dust,  
and one to scrub floors gleaming clean  
replacing same when those get bust.  
A hammer, these, to crack that nut  
as I think of the leccy price  
you can hear me go tut tut tut
cloth, mop and pail for me, suffice.  

No smart sweat-top, nor cut off jeans  
but **** nekked I swing my ****,  
to make dust motes fly in sun beams  
my mind flies with these, as it must...  
momentarily, till I'm pushed  
by brush in hand and in a trice  
I'm back to Earth to strut my stuff  
cloth, mop and pail for me, suffice.  

A cloth, Acdo, a mop some bleach  
my **** high nose down as I scrub,  
recalling grandma's quick brief screach  
quickly cured by her back-hand rub.  
The bleach does it to me, I blub,  
at memories that sting enticed,  
as I rinse out my cloth in the tub,  
cloth, mop and pail for me, suffice.  

Not for me the machine's hub-hub  
If offered I say " ain't my vice "  
I'll keep my Aladdin's lamp to rub  
cloth, mop and pail for me, suffice.

The big-bang blew out this universe  
from bubblegum blown by some deity,  
huge non-existent lips were pursed  
then blew and blew with some great glee 
then quarks and electrons came to be  
from its spittle as the bubble grew  
but the thing which is chewing on me  
what did Newton's Third Law get to do?  
  
Coz, I've heard there's no front nor obverse,  
or insides to a singularity,  
nothing for the Third to push in reverse    
no equal and opposite reaction, see?  
But still something blows and with glee  
thick as a Plank I haven't a clue,  
my head aches now, that's reality,  
out of nothing a universe spewed?  
  
When I was a kid,  mother got terse  
and berated me if I chewed chewy,    
she'd not shout nor stamp and not curse  
just say " mucky stuff, waste o' money."  
But she got a laugh thought it funny    
when inevitably my bubble blew,  
and left my face gummed and clarty  
but if this bubble bursts, I guess we're *******...

" On the ground! " was screamed at the man in flames  
the police were baffled at what could be done,
" get down on the ground !" was screamed yet again  

Their guns pointing as the man writhed in pain
why should they care it's not their Bro' or son
" on the ground! " was screamed at the man in flames,

I guess the policemen felt kinda lame
a burning man is no threat to anyone,  
" but, down on the ground! " was screamed yet again

Burning tendons stretched his hands up in vain
there was no way the burning man could run
" down on the ground " screamed at the man in flames,

Hands holding guns began to show the strain
as burning fats flared to outshine the sun
but, " down on the ground " was screamed yet again

Later their bosses played the old blame game
But the police were lost totally stunned,
" On the ground " was screamed at the man in flames
And " down on the ground " was screamed yet again.

He carries round his window cleaning gear
whistling some well known bohemian air,
wears gold earrings, (street cred' is now so dear)
and runs up his ladders like bedroom stairs.

Tanned and sleek, full of self-confident wealth,
he growls, '' you're next !"  (in hope to hear a purr?)
rippling muscles, bouncing around with health,
with a chest full of lush, gorilla, fur...

He cleans windows like an athletic cat
stalks those streets, an animal on the hunt,
but I know the repertoire, all the chat,
and the ****** way he says '' back'n front ? ''

'' Shall I do your inside's, there's not a spot missed? ''
As I'm paying him I think, '' Yeah... as if! ''

Though the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed      
it made its nest among sharp cacti plants    
then caws out oomegoolies very loud,    
    
On return to his nest ***** and proud,    
to bill and coo to find then squeak, " I can't "    
tho' the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed...    
    
So he lived, celibate, not on a  cloud    
no Ma to confide, no sis, Pa, or aunt      
tho' he cawed out oomegoolies very loud,    
    
And no mate to mate that he could've wowed    
his world lacked even a sniff of talent      
tho' the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed,    
    
That's why you'll not see these flock like a crowd    
and twitchers sightings are now somewhat scant    
tho' he cawed oomegoolies very loud,    
    
Wrap him stiff, at last, in his spiky shroud    
There was no hope for this would be gallant,    
Tho' he cawed oomegoolies very loud    
The Oomegoolie bird was well endowed.

I regaled my land with thunderings of merriment          
lighting my dark chuckles with bright flash of wit,          
I tickled trees, seas, oceans, till my joke was spent          
then rested to gather strengths to blow my season's blitz.          
Now I blast you foul storms your puny ambitions befit,          
as I reign over you tempestuously  crack and clap          
your puny stone buildings I will blast and split          
and rend your clothes and silly flags to scraps, as they flap...          
        
I blame you, you blustering creatures, for downpouring of my ire          
you forever chasing seasons of ease,          
climbing up for the secret of eternal fire,        
to power your life and turn my gales to balmy breeze...    
How dare you make my clouds weep, with stormy seeds,          
I am the life spreading Storm, you cannot control,          
I view you shower as a damping turbulent disease          
but, it may be, you do have a role?          
        
I will blow you down to a gory smear          
across your burnt and blasted arid lands,          
till nothing remains not even a tear          
then scour you gone with my whirlwinding sands.        
Your poisoned flesh, not fit for Earth's viands,          
but your bones, your dry bleached bones        
will nourish my green and pleasant sphere,          
till then I shall weather your howling, squalid, moans.