I was barbecuing for my local footy club
And I felt like kidnapping the Auskick kids
I felt like taking them and cooking them on the barbecue
Barbecue barbecue
Cooking kids on the barbecue
I didn’t want to act on it because
I will go to jail if I did that
And I will get the sack from bring the barbecue man
I was trying to be a young person
Who loved to work for the footy
And every time a kid walked past
I felt like taking them into my young person trap
But I didn’t because I knew it was wrong
Some of the kids teased me because they thought I was a ****** or something
And my hormones wanted to take him so bad
But I didn’t act on it
I feel like a big kid in my house
And when I mean big, I don’t mean fat
Just big and full of muscles
I know it is wrong but I felt the past catching up with me especially when two boys played near me
Because I talked to the ladies of the football club and the boys were playing and laughing at me
Well that is what I felt anyway
And every year I went to barbecue for the footy club those boys changed from being teasing boys to playing for the club and one of them played for the city as a ruck rover
I visioned the moo cows on the front
And the ships on the back
I think I wanted to get these thoughts to go away
Because even though the kids teased me because I was getting on with their mothers kids are innocent
Please Matthew Isaac and Alex and many more
My hormones were driving me crazy

Downhill after dark we took our nightly showers  

Under the standpipe, dodging the cars light,

It was fun in those days, the life of the poor black child

The countryside, but the sweetest thing to remember,

Roast breadfruit, roast flying fish, roast corns,

It was fun in those days, for the life of the poor, young villagers

in today world it called Backyard Barbecuing with friends,  

when we did it was called poor people way of cooking, and celebrating.

So often now and then,  

it's good to go back in time

And relived, those awkward and happy moments

Only thing I detest was loading the sugarcane

On my head and going up the ladder,

The white man reap all the sweet

The black man bake under the sun.



Last month I sat in the most expensive Restaurant

And eat, lobster, drank expensive bottle of wine

I wouldn’t reveal the cost of the meal,

But, I always knew, that one day, this would

Have happen, from roast fish, on the hill of Prout Hill

To Washington DC exquisite night restaurant. MI*VIDA

And yes I made all of this happened:

Like a Moth to a flame
I'm drawn to the same
even though I know it burns
it dances for me and asks me to join in
I love how it flickers
I love how it beckons
I even try to touch it
as it reaches its arms above it's head to the heavens
then holds it to me
silently beckoning
asking
telling
and I take the hand into mine
trying to forget about the burning
or the smell of my flesh barbecuing
my body is yearning
my spirit slowly burning
and yet I pay it no mind as I dive right in
dancing around with more of it at my feet
and it no longer burns me
As I dance, I don't notice myself turning
I am wild, or is it wild becoming me
I am playful and carefree, or does carefree become me
what is to become of me
but as the dance dies,no longer wanting to dance with me
it leaves me with blazed wings of an angel
and the small horns of a demon
what has become of me

Winter of 2003
I won't hang my head past February,
Or let the obstacles I face stamp my feet into a statistic.
You left me, 10 years old, with a baby that's hand coiled around my finger like a ring that was two sizes too small.
I would use sweat to lubricate his grip but,
He was to precious to remove, so I let him choke the circulation until it looked like your eye makeup before you left for "work".
Painful.
A 10 year old, with ten fingers, perfect to cook 10 chicken nuggets I got for $2.67.
He only had ten teeth but I only had 10 dollars that you earned from spending ounces of Smirnoff wasting away your body to the underground public.
Early Spring 2003
He calls me 'Mom' instead of 'Maddie'.
The bathtub in our apartment would always slump,
I would grip handfuls of his rolls to save him from drowning,
water leaked into the grout of the tile, drawing mold between the carpet causing our conversations to rot,
They were no longer sweet,
The expiration date was February 1st  when you planned another baby.
Summer 2008
You kicked me out,
I spent each day with my feet scorching,
Barbecuing on the charcoal grill of Las Vegas streets.
I couch hopped from friend to friend,
sometimes slept in the rain gutter to stake out for the night.
I still knew your hours,
kept my journal close, dragged my guitar case behind me, occasionally stopped by the house to see him all grown up, only at 8 years old.
He would leave chicken nuggets on the front window sill, the dragging of my guitar case gave me away.
September 10th, 2011
You let me back into the house,
My little brother of 8 years old slept in my bed for 3 weeks straight.

1.4 million teens become runaways each year.
I won't let you stamp my feet into a statistic.
Runaway isn't my choice.

Fall 2014

Still standing.

The cool breeze tickles my face,
The sun plays hide and seek.
There is peace in the air,
A quietness that precedes the sunset.

Most of the young baseball teams
Have already left or, are winding up.
The young basket ball players are still busy
Running around the hoop and throwing the ball.

Walkers and runners, people with strollers
Are all there going around that mile long track,
Surrounded by the tall Eucalyptus trees and
Curious squirrels and the dogs that chase them.

The usual Latino picnickers are less in number.
Some are still barbecuing and eating on the benches.
But there is one group under some tents,
Singing with an all female mariachi band.

The same dog walkers that I see every weekend,
With dogs on strollers, in their backpacks, and walking on their sides,
Are having an impromptu meeting with a bunch of their tribe,
With their dogs eagerly expressing their opinions.

There is a Dance 1 show from Redondo,
With the young kids showing off their just acquired talent,
Dancing asynchronously, but trying their best though,
Sometimes, stopping and watching others.

Batting cage is still active, the clunk clunk sound
Adding background music to the park.
People are still sitting around the pond,
Ducks walking eagerly around them asking for food.

There is a group of people busy eating,
Perhaps members of the "Bigger than the Big” club.
I watched curiously about their transition
From standing to the sitting position.

Shadows get longer, sun is bidding farewell,
Dance team dismantles its stage,
Young dancers with wild hopes,
All start walking towards their cars.

©Bharathi Devi

Let us kiss and end this brutal fighting, so as to resume hot *** sans disfiguring biting. The time has arrived to forgive & forget, the crime you committed barbecuing my pet. He was a good dog that was faithfully sweet, till you pickled his brains & boiled his feet. For you such things are normal in ol' Saigon, 'cause your **** neighbors eat dog till the whole dog is gone. No one knows and no one should care, how I romanced twin sisters born as a pair. One was happy, the other was happy too. We need a big pillow when big pillows are few. I believe that a man can **** with uncorrupted kindness, but not after urological surgery messed up his straight-line ****. Peeing is always very gratifyingly important, to Mexican wetbacks who can't be deported. So far as I know, 50 dollars still buys a penicillin-chomping ***. Let us pretend that my woman is equal, from her twin peaks to her permanent sink hole. There was an era when wives couldn't vote, nor navigate rivers via river barge or boat. My Mother's generosity has aided & helped, pregnant dog ******* too young to be whelped. A white guy who marries a squaw is a squaw man. A white guy who humps negresses lays down the law, man. Living on food stamps is thrilling, when it's Iowa farmers you love killing. Queer Jesse Jackson's current wife is a well-respected chick, who only pukes, upchucks, hurls & vomits when she's ailingly ill & sick. I love peanut butter spread on her quills thickly, as it makes the porcupine nettles on Sophia Loren's lard *** less prickly. Look at my bowel after it's resected: swollen & green & gangrenously infected. I'd rather die having ****** ******* with a thousand beauty queen Pinay nips than plant a soul kiss on your moody, mean, thin, gray lips. Never will you lie on your back for nothing, as long as you keep tidy your rosebud's muffin. I like you because you are so wild & free, like a ******* who'll perform for 15 to twenty. My beauty is proclaimed by millionaires with money, from Australia in weather gloomy & sunny. I love your hard *** & Niagara splash back, when I'm not under a red alert *** gas attack.

feb12
3.04
ante
meridiem

We all slept together. Not that it was weird or anything, but mostly for warmth. There was a lack of insulation and that wrecked hell on the furnace. Half the time it wouldn’t even light, or stay lit, long enough to produce anything more than black smoke. Caustic stuff that flooded the house and left stains on the basement ceiling. So we did what any rational group of communal people would do, we bundled up as in an **** fashion and stayed warm. Stayed alive through a winter harsher than any in recent memory.
There were moments when we were at each others’ throats. Usually happened when someone had done too many hits and were just schizin. Trippin’ a  lil too hard for their – or any one else’s – good. They were just living this experience on a separate plane. We were living it in reality, or whatever word can be put to a subjective group conscious.

apr14
2.49
post
meridiem

Im here again, stuck again. Third time’s the charm, eh? That’s a lie if ever there were one. First time was alright, I could cope well enough; second time, I was numb in entirety; third time is as if I am Dante descending further. Descending further. Each ring of Hell a reality, thorn-bushes screaming and bleeding as their twigs are snapped for fodder. Yeah, that bad - and it's my third time.

jun6
3.00
post
meridiem

**** hot, the kind that turns asphalt to wax. Kinda wanna pick up a chunk and chew it, maybe Rant a little. I swear I could drop a match and the entire road system would blaze. It'd melt cars, and I am sure the asphalt would glow for a while. That'd be a sight I bet, something like a snake writhing and turning in attempts to strangle and consume itself. These thoughts, it's the heat.

jan14
4.22
ante
meridiem

I don't know what it is about graveyards and tripping, but there's a weird connection goin on there. I mean, ya know, like all that energy is built up in those hallowed grounds. Hollow ground. And you're all up in the Universe's business tryin' to proposition it with *** for answers to life. Only, I realized, ya know, that like, well, you can't **** the Universe. Be ****'d if It won't ******* without a second thought.


oct13
10.38
ante
meridiem

These are quieter days. The kinda days when I wake up exhausted and want nothing more than a coffee and cigarette. Knowing **** well that my sore throat will hate me after. "Why don't you take a flying **** at a rolling doughnut?" and I continue. Sitting in a cold garage, steam collecting on my eyelids as I try to warm up. The smoke doesn't help. Not a bit. These are quieter days. These are the days of less wandering and more thought. Thought processes. And action, I can not forget about the action. Though, there are times when I have a thought and tell myself to act on it that I find Vonnegut coming outta my mouth. "Why don't you take a flying **** at the mooooooooooooon?" Directed at me, at my own thoughts.

jan7
4.38
ante
meridiem

She was fine for a while. It wasn't but a few hours before her mind turned. Just a simple conversation, and then the next thing I knew she was trying to climb the wall. Mumbles about a tree-house and saving the Amazon. Comments on the proletariat uprising. Ranting to the CIA, they were monitoring everything and her escape from Communism was of particular interest to them. "It's alright." Her eyes met mine. "It's alright, they know I am for the good of the common-wealth. For the good of the People." What light hit her eyes sank into the abyss that were her pupils. Green halos, the color more pronounced as her mind turned furthur.

june 16th
8.40
post
meridiem

We built the fire up to the point where a person might have felt they were at a pow-wow. Could barely stand within five feet of it unless someone had a point of barbecuing their flesh. It was a tiny fire to begin with, and as we went off adventuring we would haul back giant logs. All of it driftwood, that meant it was quite a bit lighter. Meant that the wood was quite a bit dryer and would burn down fast, and that was the whole point.

A red and white patterned ball,
emblazoned with blue stars,
rolls across the lawn of green,

Across a gray concrete retaining wall
muddy brown red water reaches
for the land with every windy wave.

Orange washers fly through the air
looking to land in the yellow trough,
in the opposite direction, red washers fly.

Giggling children sprint by with water guns,
stopping only to grab dad and friends another beer
with blue mountains on chrome out of the cooler.

Silver smoke curls out of the red stack,
the smell of brisket and ribs barbecuing,
mixes with the coconut smell of sunscreen.

Camo and flag patterned bikinis
worn by wives and girlfriends
are a stark contrast to the pink floats.

The women bob happily on the lake,
tied to a stake in the shallows,
enjoying frozen margaritas in the sun.

We all await the night's show
fireworks sparking in the night sky
the booming of beautiful artillery shells.