If You give Bex alcohol,
Shes going to want a cigarette,
And everybody knows,
If You give Bex a cigarette,
Shes going to want to go outside.
If Bex gets to go outside,
Shes going to want to do kartwheels,
Once Bex has done her kartwheels,
She'll probably want to run around,
And if Bex runs around,
Shes going to get tired
And want to take a nap.
And everybody knows,
That when Bex wakes up...
Shes going to want...
More alcohol...
The end!

The colour of her lips were so deep
That I could not leave the room to sleep
For her beauty made my soul leap.

I could not forget her lovely eyes
Or say my goodbyes
For in her mind held all the skies.

Her laugh filled my heart
To the point I could not part
For she spoke the literary art.

Yet I no longer needed to sigh
For there, a clue, on her thigh
As an orchid did lie:

Just as the sun loves the moon
Again I shall have the ultimate boon
With the new day I could again enjoy her rune.

So as I bid my adieu
I pondered on the truth I now knew:
We will speak again after the morning dew.

She says I shouldn't love her;
She says she’s not real:
Just a pixie girl, a
Nymph of my dreams.

Indeed, I questioned her
Reality from the first day
And I finally decided believing
Was better than her not being.

She says I shouldn't love her
Because her job isn't the
Most respectable and I
Should find someone better

But one does not judge a book
By the cover, or how many
Fingerprints mark its glossy bindings,
But instead based on what’s inside.

Her appearance may have been
What first caught my eye, as the
Covers of books usually do,
But when I began reading

Page after page, I knew
I had fallen in love, truly
In love, with the content
Of the book called Bex Olivia.

for Sally, Bex and Tonya, Denel and my beloved

<>

gods do not seek forgiveness,
or comprehension,
desertion, desecration, ascension
or condemning condescension

but how how they crave
just a good conversation,
to get a word in edgewise,
a nice chat,
entrée à, la tête-à-tête,
entre deux, deluxe-amis

a casually talking,
absent of
words of need and beseech,
reason and causality,
and no I or We pronouns,
sans enunciations and annunciations,
false hopes for incarnations, incantations,
set asides for life's grievous aches
all human requests, and some of God's commandments
for now, set aside,
annulled

just a talk,
some repartee,
but mostly an open ear lent,
an early morn quiet listen
over tea (he/she) and coffee (me),
paying attention to
both sides of an interactive story

as recompense for my willingness to be,
his engaged counter party,
my mourning gloomier cloudiness,
quick exchanged for instant,
rising sunshine warming glorious

my vista
of a bay dancing
to Tchaikovsky Swan Lake ballet music,
deftly inserted between
an Agnus Dei and an Ave Maria

mood music he said,
and we chuckled,
he/she was god and orchestrated
my tastes,
Adele et Dudamel,
comprehending my undesirable apprehension,
by granting my needy wish for
poetic inspirational composition contentment

all exchanged,
for just a good listen,
no judgements, in either direction

I am the god of love,
the one who makes you weep,
when you study your beloved's rising chest,
each uplifted breast heaving,
a confirmation blessing,
that her life is present
for at least the next second,
ready for your magi adoration

be not fearful,
this day we talk only,
as I pass by,
I have no business to conduct,
on your island of sheltering redoubt,
but to engage and unburden
for even gods
are required to confess,
and aging godheads do adore
a human shoulder
upon to rest,
a great invention,
(If I may say so myself)
and to whom better to address
than my only love poetry
poète personnelle

here he off-guards me
with a favorite injection,
Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings,
music so sweet that it never fails
to weaken my knees,
sweeping my eyes unto weeping
priming me with this first coat of
sounds so elementary soothing

he half-bows before me and says,

forgive me human, for I have sinned

in Dallas and Nice,
just this past week,
with forays here and there,
doing god's work

read your bitterness and struggle,
anger and forgiveness all in one crust,
furious curses and wails so plaintive,
my heavenly musicians weep from jealousy,
at the cries emanating from the fired fury song
of human hearts torn and love plundered

I am the god of love

and

the god of pain and all that is the

anti-love

(and to make me better understand,  
Schindler's List score, so sweetly,
he plays for me,
to clarify the atmosphere,
that death and love -
and the courage of understanding,
so oft go hand in hand)

write me a love poem for me,
no hymn or sonnet do I require,
for love is essence of forgive,
there is no perfect union,
that cannot stand,
with out this emotion of
conciliatory intermediation

tell me you understand
that the scales
of bereft befallen,
disparate chance interrupting randomized,
must periodic perforce
sometimes weigh more,
than the good of simple

balance tip that creative god spark within,
of which you write,
away from my bloodied, unsightly hand

write me one more love poem
a frisson semi-sweet and cleanly neat,
of good things sad,
but worthy of remembrance

you are not the first for this bequest to receive,
other poet's before and after,
will Jacob-wrestle with my angels,
battling to find the...

no matter

"my love to thee is sound sans crack or flaw"^

let your love poem
to me
be of whole healing,
for these disarrayed feelings
cannot forever persist,
the perfect balance you desire
is not on your Earth existent,
unobtainable

these cracks and flaws must and will come


and yet

love poems
will be our common language

and then he/she left,
leaving this poem behind,
born from my mind, yet,
carved on my skin,
written with the nib of my rib,
sealed and signed,
future undefined,
but dated upon my
cleansed hand's lifeline,
hand held outstretched
as if to say

“and yet"

the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that.  
but to get to the Northwest,
Interstate 84
ain’t le route plus directe

nope curve north to Ontario,
wave to Bex as I cross over
London and Toronto, also can’t recall
which poet from Rochester hails,
or did they shuffle off to Buffalo?

Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all,
brings to mind
my mother’s birthplace,
Last of the Mohicans,
and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary,
where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play
of cowboys and Indians
but by god, it made me
the penitent fella I am today

Look skyward to Montreal,
yes, there he is, the Leo Priest,
the baffled king,
blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip
with a smiling unsurprising
hallelujah

Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada,
even if one forgot their passports,
and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT)

over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane,
a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from
St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen,
surely they still speak poetic English there
in a twangy metering methodology  - well, message me asap

wow there really is a Saskatoon!

the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats
to help turn the plane
so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver...
me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High,
considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial,
as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a
huuuuuge grin

see the distant Cascades
through a crack in the shuttered windows,
must be close to “the coast”
(as if, harrumph, there were but one)

ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking
must be getting close to Oregon,
where poets grow on trees, woody words like ****,
and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea

gonna drink me some poets
under the table cause this
trip I ain’t no driving and I am already
“flying” ‘n scribing and arriving
on a high tide and a good wind

The Bex Birthday Anthology

a very long quick perusal yields this trove,
but I know there are more
both disguised and plain hidden,
she invoked from within & without
getting partial credit

but search engine says there are too many millions of answers
to poems about Rebecca so cut to the chase and do your own

so don’t nobody get any ideas about getting their own
gift wrapped anthology cause I am overwhelmed by how,
how you all inspire me and give names to my muses,
and so I’ll just wish the northern girl that
all her happy poems
come true

who could want for anything more?

i know, rubbed off reading Pound, but scout's honour, but scout's honour, yet again: but on scout's honour it was a collage, and and and that's what could make Ezra's too a moment of weakness with a rainbow of subjects, a page ripped out from an encyclopaedia.

night cinema, and films from to preceding decades
this the current, 2nd of decade of a seemingly
never-ending September -
first - the disappearance of alice creed (a british
                                                         ­                            film),
second - the firm (                                            "           "   ),
the other two american, one an ageing classic -
sleepless in Seattle, and the last one the devil wears Prada -
already the differences are so relentless,
modern british cinema loves to capture grit,
graffiti on estates, meaningful f-off conjunctions,
and boy the slang in *the firm is as good as any -
one of the few films worth rummaging with at sunrise
with it fresh in memory (preferred it to
trainspotting given one face value:
Bex is way more sociopathic than Begpie, and
he doesn't end up living the easy life in
Miami or whether he is being an artist),
but the problem is... the library is too big, it's the sort
of library you'd find in heaven, although less grand,
already outside the realm of sensible reality,
beyond 2 to the power of 83 (named yogibyte),
we have this library, right now,
the 2 to the power of 3.321928 of a googol,
i.e. a Nikolai Gogolplex... but! it's not technically
a library, it's also a stock market, a phonebox,
a ***** booth, a casino... HMR & Customs, banking,
so technically we're not talking a heavenly library
(add to the list cyber warfare,
everything apart from a librarian's shush
is acceptable here)... but it got me
thinking, that film the firm (set in the 80s)...
three strands of music that interest me from the 80s,
synthesiser music (sounds really cheap now, i know)
but at least it sounds better than castrato rock
of the 80s... the synthesiser music of pseudo echo e.g.,
but these instruments were picked up by kiddies and
it was like a harpsichord to them, given previously
Bach's organs and the grand piano: a pool table
compared to a snooker table...          
and the third strand of music from the 80s... post-punk,
Joy Division (i'm not exact on the dates, blurry lines)...
Bauhaus (the man with x-ray eyes)... Staatliches...
well... post-punk... punk-entrenchment, all that
pre- post- proto- pre-fixation post-fixation...
the darker side of punk...
                                              god, this library is too big!
it's a bit like walking into a bookshop and falling
on your knees in desperation:
you can watch the aesthetic of winter through
to autumn no problem, hell, you might get a mystical insight
into this recycling bin... but when it comes to
the aesthetic of mankind's recycling bin, everyone
breaks down not having read or bothered to
read Melville or something: the price of creating
civilisation and moving away from tribalism -
and again onto cinema... cinematic warfare with
gaming, or cartoon cinema, gaming cinema,
in Seattle in 1993 they still used babysitters, now
the grown-ups sit at home while the babies
go out swinging - games less about joystick
button indentations on the fingers and more about
cinema... cinema more about games than about
meaningful conversations - take that word
games in two ways: social gaming, you know
what i mean: ******* people over;
but seriously, can you believe a band like
the soft moon exists and released an album in
2010 with such seminal songs as
parallels and sewer sickness among others?
two thousand and twelve... i was as much
gob-smacked when i realised
that godspeed, you black emperor! released
their album f# a# ∞ in nineteen ninety eight! 1998! i thought
progressive music from any genre died with punk
and the impatience at yet another solo from
robert fripp when no one wanted to do an air guitar
version of his solos (which largely borrowed from jazz).

Ronald McDoland & cousin Kentucky
had Iraq: ji had ji had ji had e ha e ha e ha oh!
i told you about the heresy of war,
the Soviets are back, success rate
up 1000% from Afghanistan to be the next
Uzbekistan - well, less Mongol tsunami down that
alley; it's still heresy to do puppet upon the head
of former state with oligarch tyrants selling
us bone marrow as meat: Iraqis just said:
let's keep it kosher and local and less global
and less treadmill!

the orb's lost & found song from the dream album is
so hard to follow at first; i only came back for the psychopath
avenue theme tune: ah... ******* ready to depose
Saddam Hussein... but now ******* in their pants to send
soldiers into the land of crucifixions and be-headings?!
how strange the correlation between actual warring
fake pacifism, simulated warfare and excess
theories with atoms but incompetence with
the elements.

i watched democracy fail... the foxes stole nothing,
they stole nothing because they were sloppy!
i thought this while hanging the washing on the line today...
*******... puck-puck-yellow-yanks... larynx by larynx on the tiles...
let's paint it red! spare me Slob Bogdan Maso Kiev Itch...
ah, when it was all under wraps... oh but the western
media are so ******* vociferous for those shady
gamblers known as shareholders, no casino,
just a house in suburbia... wankers... football hooligan me
into acting when it comes to practice!

sho you'sh shoor you'sh want'sh to shoo your shon
to shwastika access on return? me tshinks sho...
Bex is a girl's name Rebecca, we hear more of Bex's
past than anyone's.*

Colonel Kentucky can shove that chicken drumstick
up his **** and sing me a lullaby about his
famous discovery of deep baked **** batter!
crumbs ahoy, aye aye captain, my
stratosphere of anally commanding the first-mate
into coherent motivational propaganda of:
women outside of war will treat the dogs of
howling and barking as companions -
the stresses invigorate... no second chances are given
to buy a ******* toaster or a chimpanzee,
both do tricks, it just depends which one does the trick
quicker - it takes more than just a homelessness
from the realm of the cube to see how many
is an insect although not in an atheistic strict sense
of expressing nihilism: man the disharmonious
swarm can hardly keep queen or king:
unless we all were ****** by the king and unless
we all ****** the queen: insects are strict Martians,
they have no time for concubines or horse races
of football matches, or other coliseum distractions:
unique insecticide of insects against individualism
that's thought in being human so fondly kept
with the pyramid as with a book of some obscure
philosopher championing wear & tear & tatters
looking more for a tailor than a god:
appearances must be kept, after all, so few of us are
prisoners in the bedding chamber of perfect
genetics of post-******, and the dumb neo-****
scapegoats along with Israel are kept being fed
cinnamon sticks laced with sailors' *****
that's nutmeg.
**** you not... ere come the clueless klaxon hakuna
matata bob dylan bums... like two police officers
in reverse of the stereotype: one plays the harmonica
(i.e. can read), another strums the guitar (i.e. can write) -
but we're missing the elephant's
molesters:                          we're missing four of the six,
that's enough for the tetragrammaton verb,
we have the trunk and the leg, that'll do us just fine:
we can just say it's a fire hydrant...

with my new regime i understood the blanket
of un-forgiveness of english teachers,
i exported the idea of haiku to the east and
received the notion of esnō - i said double that
up, thrice it, make the thrice square,
add a hundred ballerina twirls and create
a hurricane from the ensō; what did i
get on my return? hardly a butterfly effect,
i got stenotype, the beheading of
Anne Boleyn - quick like a marriage with a black
widow spider or a mantis: an orphanage on my back...
so many more sperms reach the pyramid end
than in mammals, but look at what the Darwinism
rainbow gave us to feel depressed about...
comparative existentialism to insects, arguments
against parasites... might as well argue about
eating and **** evaporating rather than the pleasure
of faeces squeezing through the **** muscles...
(if you had *******, i'd tell you about the pleasure
of *******, and not needing to bother women
to stretch a muscle that's hardly an oyster of skin,
keep the flowers in Eden of comparisons,
mine ain't beauty, yours' ain't either:
it ain't a flower, it's a seashell protein, thing, the end):
oh yeah, the boys and me were watching salmon
in the school, we were using index and middle fingers
to slingshot shoot the salmon buds to dumb down and
forget feminism and remember the village life...
ha ha... worked like steroids to those fake muscle-heads
when looking at gymnasts and scaffolders:
PUMPIN' IRON PIMPIN' MOLLUSCS!
what a hydrochloric-hydraulic combination to non-grammatical
coordination from (0, 0) to (20 kilometres west,
50 kilometres east) in comparison to an epic literature
output of Russian angst origin in epilepsy shadowed
over by the joy of gambling... i have drinking,
now imagine Halloween on Hawaii.

(By: Alex)
How?
How can this be?
We, us, I.
Live in a world of infamy?
For me more empathy or more sorrow strenghening hate and dreadfullness.

How?
How do I cope?
How can I cope with this misery and sorrow I had so abruptly put upon me.
I feel like there is no end.
No end to this constant pain the world has so dreadfully put upon us.
Must we live in a world filled with hate and sadness.
So like I said, is there no end?

But yet we try.
Try so hard and dearly to end this madness that was cursed upon us in this time of sorrow.
Yet I ask again how do I, we cope with this?

How?

(By: Bex)
How?
How he asks me,
Do we make the pain end?
So I look him in the eyes,
And I say, "Love,
Love my dear,
will conquer all doubt,
all fear, and all pain"
For every woman knows,
Behind a man who can only stay strong
for so long...
There is a woman who will rise above
when he calls on her.
Love is to never give up,
because "how" is a word,
that say's "I probably can't,
it's Impossible"
But we, my dear
are indeed possible!

Through the white, beating Texan heat,
water towers cry out titles
high above the flat land
where kids from the roadside houses
run around in stained tank tops,
dreaming of their own names up there.
The long and burnt grass cuts their ankles
and the dry cement scrapes their feet.
The midday ritual begins in a racing circle
raising dust over the roofs and into the shy afternoon.
Around 5, the roadside families reunite
in front of their houses to watch the daily traffic jam
and observe the variety of faces through the glass windows,
which after a short while do not seem to vary at all.
But today, something else had their full attention.
The sky was never seen this low and the clouds
​turned a shade of black
so dark as to be almost green,
so the eldest women on that single row of houses
declared bad omen. The next early morning,
the closest water tower laid gravely against the ground.
Already, a small boy had climbed on top of the tank,
soles bleeding, and waving
​his shirt into the wide clear sky.

©2018 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

I am wanting to thank some very incredible people.
I also am hoping others will , also.
With that in mind I would like to list
ten poets here I feel people need to read.
My list consists of poets who are always active and generous ,
have good humor and sense.
I would like others to add their ten to my list.
And hopefully everyone eventually gets a shout out.
In the comments list ten poets you admire and would like to see
others appreciate. I will add  them to this list.
If you would like to list more feel free , the more the merrier, and the more
poets get a shout out and their name shared. I will add as many as you can type!
After all , this is goodwill and spirit and sharing and I feel good .


Vicki
Mark Cleavenger
Terry Collett
Ja
Sally Bayan
Emily Burns
Jules Winerose
Lady RF
Sukanya Sinha Roy
Valsa George
(Bill Hughes contributed the following)
Mary Winslow
Randolph L. Wilson
Elizabeth J
Bex
Ezra Warhol
my dearest reno
Wordvango
Jeff Stier
taia iverson
Dave Hewitt
Kristy Renae Dalton
(added by Eric W)
SPT
Doug Potter
Lola Park
SoulSurvivor
Inevitably Raised By Ducks
(added by Vicki)
Shawna Michele
Spygrandson
r
Woody
Pradip Chattopadhyay
SJR 1000
the seatbelt effect
Sonja Benskin Mesher
Don't Call Me Johnny
nivek
WL Winter
K Mae
Liz Balize
patty m
Pamela Rae
Sean Tierney
William Poppen
Michael Kagan
Biche
Irinia
Mikeccc
Paul Gaffney
Karina Norris Viers
Dawn
Brother Jimmy
Anthony
Phil Roberts
David Ehrgott
Jason Clarke
Angstrom
Jamadhi Verse
born
Weeping Willow
Terry Jordan
Traveler
Tonya Maria
CA Guilfoyle
elizabeth j
Grumpy Thumb
David Patrick O'C
f
(added by Sukanya Sinha Roy)
Eli N
Poetryjournal
Traveller
The Dead Sea
Zero
Nishu Mathur
James Michael Hail
Nagi
Angstorm
(Added by Sjr 1000)
Wardha
nagi
PoetryJournal
My Dystopia
Life's Jump
Bala
Nat Lipstad
Melissa
Ded Poet
Denel
Bex
Luiz Machado
(added by Jamadhi Verse)
Lora Lee
Wild is the Wind
Lalin
Akira Chen
R k
Onoma
Mydystopia
Stephanie
Stephan
Pradip :)
Karishna
(added by elizabeth j)
NB.
Lonely Soldier
Lily Mae
Thomas P Owens Sr
Sir WCA
Midnight Rain
Melissa S.
( added by Lori Jones McCaffery?
James
Kim Johanna Baker
Demonatachick
Elizabeth J
Yasaman Johari
Jean Lin
Lawrence Hall
Landon Miller
Chris Neilson
Pagan Paul
Sun Princess
Elizabeth Squires
Keith Wilson

Dissatisfaction curls the lip, so felt,
Alas we deal with what we’re dealt,
Contradiction screams her song
Alas that she could be so wrong.
Potential oozes from my pores,
(Of course my dear, what’s mine is yours)
Surely there must be a way
To reach beyond my limit’s day?
Limitations frazzled paw
Allows me much… but then no more,
Restricting me to what I’ve got
Within this irritating plot.
Dissatisfaction curls my lip, so felt,
Damnation deals with what I’m dealt!
M.

Hold hands and march behind me, buckel up this is a new horror,
A living nightmare unlike anything you have ever seen
Looking at your hollowed out corpse over for the very first time
I saw parts Jeffery only wished while committing his crime.
I'm the piper tricking you along the way; I got you in my trap
And there’s now no escape from my funeral pallor.
Quincy, CSI Miami and even Dr. G,
Could have never prepared me with only what they show on TV.
Downed played and minimalized to the max,
Read my works I'll paint for you all the true facts.
First things first I need for you to stop staring at me
With eye caps and a quick squirt of glue I broke the trance
Good, now I can begin the process and start this slow dance.
Like always I shake their hand and tell them my name
This time was different I got my first squeeze back
For on your right forearm was stained in ink
The first two verses of Psalms one hundred and forty four
After I finished reading I had to get back on track
With an instant snip a stitch is then cut apart
Adding another three ***** to your collection
Pulling them apart I go in first reaching for the clear viscera bag
Holding it up I fondled it all around in the bright light
Looking for the brain I felt it and then saw it come into my sight
Laying out all the puzzle pieces I start with the center first.
So smooth and slick the inside walls of your cage
Everywhere else looked like a time bomb burst.
Feeling all about searching for your iliac artery
Once found you’re now connected to the vat
Using sufficient pressure filling your tissues to full capacity
Injecting first your lower extremities I now see the veins swell
After a six point fill you should look like you’re getting well.
From under the flap and at the root of your neck
I reached in your head and into the hollow space
Because it is now time to try and firm up your mortal face.
With a pair of clamps I kinked your spinal cords fountain flow
Massaging your headless face and then the head *****
All the fluid went right where it had to go
After the fill you looked like you had a new mothers glow.
Now the suction of the liquid residue that smelled fowl
Then came the pressing of a paper towel
Very pleasant smell of wintergreen candy in my nose cause the
Shaking of the can of Bex embalming powder was now to follow.
Pressing here, pressing there, trust it was becoming a pest
Trying to tuck the bag with all your innards back into your chest
Putting the sternum back on top proved it was a perfect cut.
Folding down the three ***** to the point of origin
Was like folding a piece of paper into a paper airplane.
Almost at the home stretch we took turns closing you
And with it a perfect baseball stich and with it a coat of sealer.
Trying hard to keep a secret from for your heads crown
There is no way to do it I can't play it down
Holding the pieces of your skull in my hands
Starring where it has to go back now and back together with no glands
Looking just like what is, "Sweeter than honey and stronger than a lion?"
Me and my youngest son solved Samson's riddle in the Bible,
A seven letter word now needs to be added into the book of Judges because
Together we saw the answer written from a vision in the deserts sand.
Pulling down your face and all the way down to your chin
I lost sight of your eyes I only can see their other side
I now see a notch and the groove where this piece has to go
Gluing it in place I gave back to you your forehead
Tucking and packing cotton towels is your makeshift brain now
With a round file I score four half-moons in the thin bone
So the skull clamps can hold it together and hold it in place forever.
Pulling and stretching your face it was sewed together and with no space.
Now that it's complete you’re ready for a military examination
After getting the green light it's time for the fitting of your uniform
in your aurora steel casket you played in there
looking like the sailor on a ******* jack box.
one last trick to go; have to pull fibers out from the bottom
so your weightless head will look and sink naturally into your pillow.
out the back of a coach with plates that say livery
and into the belly of a plane your shipping container was stamped
Special Delivery.....

(CARSr. 10-24-12)

You play innocent
You're the one who started this
You think it's acceptable to play with fury
By calling him a *****?

I'm sorry Bex
It seems you've been misled
I was a normal caring citizen
Of this fabulous site where I can mend

A helping hand is a healing hand
Or so I first believed
But Woody is bad and gives me reason to write
So I guess looks can deceive

I pity those by his side
He seems respectable, right?
Yet when he calls you a ***** for no reason
Well if not for that, i coulda liked the guy

Nice try Woody. I'm not as stupid as you believe. All I have to do is signout, search my name and then check my activity. Unblock me and take your punishment like a man. You're the real coward here. I'm still in school man, does it feel good to kick a kid in the ribs?

feelin lazy today,
so you get what you get,
turn the page
move on
learn from your mistakes
be brave
face your fears
footloose and fancyfree
don't run with scissors
smile
stay a while
catch more flies with honey
wrong way turn back
a stitch in time saves nine
when i was your age
no rhyme or reason to it
high road or low road
polly want a *******
click, click, boom
first past the post
i 'm just a smiling sunbeam
barrel of monkeys
to thine ownself be
thank you
what doesn't **** you
hand in the cookie jar
never seen the like
flat out like a lizard drinking
not happy jan!
take a bex and have a good lie down
sunshine and daffodils
slip, slop, slap, put on a hat
life passes by in the blink of an eye
chip on your shoulder
take note
laughter the best medicine
***
brainfreeze
kindness warms the cockles of my heart
if you can't be nice
you did not just say that
umm, ahh,
now you in trouble
quiet now i am watching tv
do not cry
don't spray it, say it
do not tell mum
it was'nt me
hava mint,
please
lol
go to your room
do not pass go do not collect one hundred $$
hello
all the world's a stage... merely players
wanna play
go away busy
want to come over
can i kiss you
push
it's a boy
what a whopper
please i've seen better
do i know you
the dog ate my homework
who now
why am i here
put your clothes on
what goes up must come down
life goes on
is my *** big in this
stop the merry-go-round i want to get off
whatever
i need a dollar
tea anyone
she had a goodlife
sorry
how much
every things coming up roses
what pink pigs flying overhead
snap, crackle, pop
one sugar or two
in case i don't see you
good morning
good evening
and good night
ttyl
out
take a bow you've earned it

It's been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy, there's no doubt
Didn't mean to step before I left somthin'
That lit your soul on fire and got your hearts pumpin'
I'll lay down words that get the rhythm bumpin'
Don't need music when the words are thumpin'

It's been a year since I dropped out
I'm back y'all so scream and shout
I still got the rhymes that make words hop
And the liguistic skills to make the beats drop
I hit bottom but now I'm back on top
I'm back for writin' and to talk shop

It's been a year since I dropped out
It made the women cry and my boys pout
Don't worry y'all, I'm back to lay em on ya
I missed y'all, especially you Rick, Bex, and Tonya
Though y'all didn't make the list, I'm still fond of ya
I left in a Limo and drove back in a Honda

It's been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy, there's no doubt
I'm back y'all, so scream and shout
I'll make the women smile and show em all what I'm about
It been a year since I dropped out
Been more than busy' there's no doubt

feelin lazy today,
so you get what you get,
turn the page
move on
learn from your mistakes 
be brave face your fears
footloose and fancyfree
 don't run with scissors 
smile
stay a while 
catch more flies with honey 
wrong way turn back 
a stitch in time saves nine 
when i was your age 
no rhyme or reason to it 
high road or low road 
polly want a ******* 
click, click, boom
first past the post 
i 'm just a smiling sunbeam 
barrel of monkeys 
to thine ownself be
thank you what doesn't **** you 
hand in the cookie jar 
never seen the like 
flat out like a lizard drinking 
not happy jan! 
take a bex and have a good lie down
pull your socks up!
sunshine and daffodils
 slip, slop, slap, put on a hat 
life passes by in the blink of an eye
stand up straight
chip on your shoulder
 take note 
laughter the best medicine 
*** 
brainfreeze 
kindness warms the cockles of my heart 
if you can't be nice 
you did not just say that 
umm, ahh, now you in trouble 
quiet now i am watching tv 
do not cry 
don't spray it, say it 
do not tell mum 
it was'nt me 
hava mint,
please lol
go to your room 
do not pass go
do not collect one hundred $$ 
hello 
all the world's a stage... merely players 
wanna play
go away busy 
want to come over 
can i kiss you 
push 
it's a boy 
what a whopper 
please i've seen better 
do i know you 
the dog ate my homework 
who now 
why am i here
 put your clothes on 
what goes up must come down
 life goes on 
is my *** big in this 
stop the merry-go-round
i want to get off 
whatever
i need a dollar 
tea anyone 
she had a goodlife 
sorry
how much 
every things coming up roses 
what pink pigs flying overhead 
snap, crackle, n'pop 
one sugar or two 
in case i don't see you 
good morning 
good evening and good night 
ttyl 
out
take a bow you've earned it.

feelin lazy today,
so you get what you get,
turn the page
move on
learn from your mistakes 
be brave face your fears
footloose and fancy-free
don't run with scissors 
smile
stay a while 
catch more flies with honey 
wrong way turn back 
a stitch in time saves nine 
when i was your age 
no rhyme or reason to it 
high road or low road 
polly want a ******* 
click, click, boom
first past the post 
i 'm just a smiling sunbeam 
barrel of monkeys 
to thine ownself be
thank you what doesn't **** you 
hand in the cookie jar 
never seen the like 
flat out like a lizard drinking 
not happy jan! 
take a bex and have a good lie down
pull your socks up!
sunshine and daffodils
slip, slop, slap, put on a hat 
life passes by in the blink of an eye
stand up straight
chip on your shoulder
take note 
laughter the best medicine 
*** 
brainfreeze 
kindness warms the cockles of my heart 
if you can't be nice 
you did not just say that 
umm, ahh, now you in trouble 
quiet now i am watching tv 
do not cry 
don't spray it, say it 
do not tell mum 
it was'nt me 
hava mint,
please lol
go to your room 
do not pass go 
do not collect one hundred $$ 
hello 
all the world's a stage... merely players 
wanna play
go away busy 
want to come over 
can i kiss you 
push 
it's a boy 
what a whopper 
please i've seen better 
do i know you 
the dog ate my homework 
who now 
why am i here
put your clothes on 
what goes up must come down
 life goes on 
is my *** big in this 
stop the merry-go-round,
i want to get off 
whatever
i need a dollar 
tea anyone 
she had a goodlife 
sorry
how much 
every things coming up roses 
what pink pigs flying overhead 
snap, crackle, n'pop 
one sugar or two 
in case i don't see you 
good morning 
good evening and good night
rinse, repeat. set
now see here 
ttyl 
out
take a bow you've earned it

Bayou,
a vague haven
where the sky trembles
when howls the shadow man.




©2014 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

In late year retrospect,

half night suggests,
beyond Darlington junction,
an amber lining at street's end.



©2013 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

Echoes of long sirens
fade in hushed apartments;

familiar passersby
in the vastness of the night.

Now and only can we hear
the soft winter breathing.

©2017 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net

These kids celebrate the life
of the dead street pigeon.
Dark streams down their brown faces,
they intone their private lamentation-
One exposes the corpse
to his little circle, holding it up
the wings stretched out.

©2016 Alex Bex - www.alexbex.net