Of Nannies ‘n houses ‘n Pink Flamingos
Cars ‘n clothes ‘n foreign lingoes
The rich hate the poor, the poor hate the rich
Did you see “Her” today?
Boy, she sure is a *****.

How did they get here, a chauffeur you say?
‘Cause Mom and Dad are Always away.
They remembered her birthday
Or so said the staff
A party, a clown
Just make her laugh

The rich hate the poor and the poor hate the rich
Did you see “Her” today?
Boy, she sure is a *****.

He stood on the corner outside a shack
Schoolbooks in hand, his lunch in a sack
He remembered his birthday
Or so said his mom
His dad wasn’t drunk
Just tired ‘n run down.

The bad hate the good and the good hate the bad
Did you see “Them” today?
Boy, they sure did look sad.

All the dreams and the dollars
Or missing of such
Builds a foundation or makes us a crutch
Better built on kindness, compassion and love
Understanding that all are the same from above

We all hurt the same deep in our heart
Forgotten, abused, life plays its part
Dressed up in spangles, bobbles or beads
A yard full of flowers, garbage or weeds
Under the crust is a person who bleeds

The bad hate the good and the good hate the bad
Did you see “Them” today?
Boy, they sure did look sad.

My hands fidget.
I will tell you when I see you that
my fingers could break when I speak,
loose from the chicken wire houses that pin them to nail holes
no one sees and my words could snap
with them, straight down their spines.
My hands fidget and my tongue trips.
One day I won’t be allowed to see your eyes, your eyes when the sun hits them and they turn green, your eyes when they're blue, when you're being real. Or both.
The sun is in your eyes and it's setting.
I think I could be the moon,
we could meet at every eclipse,
create our own lightshow in the sky or make them notice us just for five minutes,
the kids sat on steps behind the sports centre,
I will tell you when I see you that you are so ******* smart you could ruin the world with it, so why can’t I tell you this, so why can’t my hands stay still?
I want to feel the way my mouth tingles when we sit, you murmuring in my ear that you could spend all day here,
alone with the indents of each other's lips.
I guess if we ruined the world I wouldn't even feel Numb, the Nirvana song.
My hands fidget.
Recently I stuck a sticker over my fear of death to try and be as brave as you and now I am Nevermind,
I can't feel a thing.
My tongue sits still when I try to speak about thinking and when I think of losing you I see Topcat, Pink Panther and this time my mind trips over itself.
I chew my lips and the corners of my mouth close.
I can’t see in the dark like I can’t breathe when I see cartoons like I can’t see **** when you say we need to talk like I’m scared of the ******* dark so please walk me home.
You find my hair bobbles at your house and I'm sorry that that last one wasn’t a metaphor.
I imagine the space behind your closed eyelids looks like a dark place at 3am where you exhale smoke.
I imagine the space behind mine is inhaling, coughing and static in the form of a thousand headlights blinking
and
it burns.
My hands fidget.
You call me out and it sounds like my brain not being able to hold itself still, I can't,
I can't stop fidgeting under those blue-green eyes.
When you tell me you love me my fingers stay still.
When I think it's loud like nerve endings screaming at me god-**** react like
controlling hands, interconnecting veins jumping from wrists,
hazy.
The stuff of nightmares where you say I don’t trust you
but I know that your hands on my wrists would not,
do not,
burn
like that.
I will tell you when I see you
I will not wrap you in chicken wire.
I am writing to tell you that when you speak my hands stay still.
I am trying to say that nothing snaps and my head is
quiet.

Unapologetically Human
I am **** on the mezzanine
facing the darkened wet road
illuminated with acrid yellow tube light
better reds and blues surround towering palm trees
wooden fingers of ancient giant hands buried below
growing leafy green nails stretching skyward
little things, orange ribbons, endless cricks and dollops
bobbles and winches

Spirits
Play among the windmills
climb to the top of trees and sing into the warm wind songs of *** and heartache
as the universe ruffles along

Dive head first into the opponents forehead
grind the sand into his flesh with ram like resolve until the skin is red,
determine to die

This life is worth proving,
the stars are worth gazing,
and this body is worth bathing in the Maui air with naked delight

The ocean calls to my heart
water is a true lover whispering, kissing
inescapably feminine
I submerge my soul in joyful waves
always the tides follow the moon
like my silly heart, eclipsing
both light both night both day
simultaneously cycling
fully the light shines and our eyes perceive shadow faces in the dark blanketed clouds
the mountain gargoyles stand as titans, forgotten creatures
shoulders and heads, waiting for the moon ball
the ocean moon, tranquil bays
the air is sweeter with you near, a distant thought
cast about the horizon, the sun melting easy golden into my dreamy eye,
bless my drunken lips
dripping doltish songs into the friendly night

Wrestling with bulls of men
we kept our shirts on this time, yet blood was drawn in the sand
we madly danced in the moonlight to clapping hands,
kicking feet and knees
the ceremonial struggle toasting the stars
bottles were shared, some puffed on cigars

Come surf with me in the morning
or anytime the sun shines
even under moonlight would I meet you and we could paddle
come fill your heart with life and lust and romantic passions idyllic as freshly fallen snow undisturbed by worldly concerns
be not abashed for this embrace is a natural wonder of the soul,
join me,
forget what words of yesterday the prophets of doom chant,
we make our own tomorrow

[On my birthday]
                
                
At low tide like this how sheer the water is.
White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glare
and the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches.
Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,
the water in the bight doesn't wet anything,
the color of the gas flame turned as low as possible.
One can smell it turning to gas; if one were Baudelaire
one could probably hear it turning to marimba music.
The little ocher dredge at work off the end of the dock
already plays the dry perfectly off-beat claves.
The birds are outsize. Pelicans crash
into this peculiar gas unnecessarily hard,
it seems to me, like pickaxes,
rarely coming up with anything to show for it,
and going off with humorous elbowings.
Black-and-white man-of-war birds soar
on impalpable drafts
and open their tails like scissors on the curves
or tense them like wishbones, till they tremble.
The frowsy sponge boats keep coming in
with the obliging air of retrievers,
bristling with jackstraw gaffs and hooks
and decorated with bobbles of sponges.
There is a fence of chicken wire along the dock
where, glinting like little plowshares,
the blue-gray shark tails are hung up to dry
for the Chinese-restaurant trade.
Some of the little white boats are still piled up
against each other, or lie on their sides, stove in,
and not yet salvaged, if they ever will be, from the last bad storm,
like torn-open, unanswered letters.
The bight is littered with old correspondences.
Click. Click. Goes the dredge,
and brings up a dripping jawful of marl.
All the untidy activity continues,
awful but cheerful.

I called a friend of mine,
you see I've always scratched her back
you know and she's scratched mine.

What makes me crazy is that
she's always one to take,
she's always on the make.

You gimmie and grab
and turn around and gouge
out my eyes,
you talk real ****,
you don't answer any of my whys.
My thousands of whys.

Well so long now,
sorry but I got to go...

Yes so long, it's been a slice,
shaking loose of you is like
putting down a vice.

Golden earrings and pretty bobbles
couldn't clean up your act.
You've walked barefoot across the floor, broken fragments of glass,
everywhere, and you were there,
but, oh so was I.
I was there too

I've given you my very best,
yes I've given you my very best,
and what do I get?
I get treated worse than all of them,
worse than all the rest.

I wish I could remember
if it was a movie or if
I  heard it in a dream.
It doesn't matter much now,
Because when
I see you coming
I just want to leave.

Just like Dylan said, "A whole lot of people dying tonight
from the disease of conceit."

I've tried taking you aside
and softly admonishing  you,
that ended in a stalemate,
what good did it  do..

You wore my Austrailian hat and battered it black and blue.
You took my painting and  threw away the frame,
I lend you money
and you drink it away.

I don't talk about drawing a line,
I just do it and
if you're in you're right mind
you won't cross it
unless you really want
the **** to hit the fan.

This conflict, I must confess,
well it can make me cry.
every time you
turn around
you're telling me another lie.

I feel a lot of ambivalence .
I don't want to hear you any more.
Some times I think I want silence,
some times I think I want to even the score.

Man, I am on
cloud nine,
look what anger does,
as if I'm in a fight.
I just get to average,
but by no means normal,
the only normal I have found
is the cycle on a  washing machine.

I'm not sinkin' in a hole
that was dug real deep by you,
thinking
this old world is all ****** up
and
you don't want to play the game,


You'd just end up leaving me,
so sad and feeling so full of shame.

Do you love me, let me count the ways,
it's not that I don't care,
it's not that I don't want to be there.

I just don't know any more...
what's that sound
telling me I have fix it,
that I have to
put it right.
Now you're looking
to put me down,
always wanting
to start a fight.

You're acting so abstract,
while with me it's so 'as a matter of fact'.
Knowing no one has even half the answers.

Little rag doll in poses I place, smiles non linear
lipstick is smeared not as it should be perfection
is not on the features as statically smiling.

Meagerly patched doll how you are in my thoughts.
Knotted hair ill placed bobbles that don't show
the best of the features frozen on your hollow face.

mismatched clothes not in a way a woman of choosing
would place, odd socks an ankle one, poppy long stocking
contrasting is size and colour but you'll never know.

I look at you, a Picasso of imagery displaced on your face.
Looking like you got dressed in the closet blindfolded and
alone. My little rag doll I strategic leave in a lonely place.

I collect these porcine eyes drained of essence, I open
your thoughts and they are discarded in a bag.
Later your thoughts will feed my hungry dog.

I leave you empty vacant as you should be, my rag doll
with uninhabited motivation. hollowed shell of what you
used to be, blank stares between you and me go silently.

They find my dolls in there houses distorted like my
vison of how sights are seen. A play house of disillusion,
my dolls are my creations come will you be a rag doll for me.

the little white basket
with the pink and yellow daisy
bobbles along,
as the streamers on the handlebars
flutter in the wind.
"wheeeeeee!" she cries,
and i am ashamed because i forgot -
it's supposed to be fun.

The bobbles on my wrist itch
and tie
my hands as if
they were just
strands of
hair

So I've got two new bracelets
One's actually a necklace but who cares

I've got blue and reddish beads dangling
From this necklace, wrapped
Five times around my wrist
And sometimes the bobbles get under
My wrist when I write

I've got five peace signs melded
Together, gold toned and metal
I must admit, the reason I prefer it
Is because of a tiny imperfection
A little spike of metal on the second
Only I know it's there and it's
My silly imperfect secret

So there you have it
My two new bracelets...
I think I'll name them
Pentapax and sanguine
Bet you can't guess why

I don't suit hats
and I'm not their cup of tea.
My head is just the wrong shape
and it's far too small you see.

So the hats that I have
quite simply have to be
of the jokey, laughing,
giggling, silliest variety.

I've a pink hat with bobbles,
and a purple fluffy beast,
an Arsenal grey with dangling braids,
and a multicoloured feast
of points and tassles, braids and swirls.
I guess I'm not like other girls.

But none of the boys
will walk along with me.

Still, I don't mind. I love daft hats,
and my daft hats love me.

I am here and it is the day after.
I lift a pile of unread mail off of a chair and open the blinds,
And watch the sun boil the dust in the air. I set and I take it in.

The room smells of old corsets and perfumed talcum powder.
An antique Lady Schick Consolette hair dryer
Hides partly obscured under the heavy frame of the carved mahogany bed
Along with stacks of magazines and catalogs and…………
God knows what else lurks there.

And I realize that I am the only one now lurking,
Looking into a room that had been forbidden to me
The soul domain of the lady of the house.

But she in not here to make things tidy for this impromptu visit.
She would be so shamed by my eyes taking this all in,
Her secrets, her pills, her special candies, her oils, her perfumes -
All of the alchemical accruements of femininity in jars and tiny boxes.

And the symbols of her wizardry, her diamond encrusted Eastern Star ring,
Pendants, broaches, earrings, necklaces, bobbles, bracelets, clasps, loose pearls-
From a strand I broke long ago during happier days.

The sun dust boils from this cauldron now,
This stuffy, over stuffed chamber of perfume and chocolate,
Of daybeds and special treatments, laxatives, gels, powered and pills.
I dream…..a can of gas and a match would be a fitting end

And then I see it on the dresser, an old photo of a family, a pretend family
And a face is cut out of it, his face…….and so I feel, for a moment
Her pain and see the world has she may have seen it. So be it.  It is done.

Bits and Bobbles
Gizmos and trinkets
Testtubes with creatures
Coming to life with my skill.

Magic and Science
My domains to command
Creating life, Cheating death
Manipulating the very fabric of the Universe.

Dark swirling matter and energy
Bending to my will.
Every thread and wave,
All under my understanding
Yet I pleadge these powers
To the man I love with all my heart.

A penny for your thoughts
A dollar for your soul
Few more shining pieces
And now we're on a roll.

The world which runs
on paper and coin,
Be it for food, or house
Pleasure of ****.

We sell our bodies,
And not our souls
Though some sales will
Be worth more than gold

It's the world we choose.
The world we thrive in.
The world we'll lose
If we keep on lying.

Shiny bobbles and trinkets
Do not measure what lies within
To ignore this fact
Indeed would be sin

Lavish her with precious metals,
watch her sink under their weight.
Down. Lower.
The Tiffany necklace pulls her;
becomes the choke collar
you always wanted.  
Distract her with shiny bobbles,
tokens of your love and ownership.
What girl refuses that blue box?
Let her untie the white ribbon and
ignorantly open her cell.
Gladly fasten chains on
her dainty fingers,
her frail wrists,
her tender neck.

she clutches her body
a frayed rag
and she remembers his
ragweed teeth
the bobbles in his ears-
skin stretching like fabric on a loom.
there are no tears anymore
    just a quiet knowing
like the sad eyes of a cow
off to the slaughter house
and carcasses hang in strips
   a ****** mouth
torn open in a grin
and the hard glinting metal of a knife flaying open skin.
her skin,
her legs like wishbones,
cracking apart,
thrusted in obtuse angles
   a conveyor belt life of sludge
and consumption

I saw Ada,
In New York. I hit her up,
and she wanted to meet up for breakfast.

The next morning:

She had on slate shorts, a ruffling, loose white t,
And chucks falling apart at the seams
in scythes of fabric.

Her hair bobbles
as she bounces over.
It's so frizzy and curly
as if it’s been through electroshock.

She gives me a hug and as she pulls away
her lips hit my cheek.

A grey pigeon lands in my sight behind her
and pushes a white **** out onto a starbucks lid.

The best thing
Is seeing exes that you haven’t
talked to or seen in awhile; and hearing
them talk about the great things they’ve done
In your time apart.

It’s almost as if I was right there with Ada
when she was experiencing
her new love of Brooklyn.

I am
A  ghost in her life,
And in that piece of my heart
That misses her,
I like the feeling of being
as free as a spectre;
an unobtrusive observer.

I do not want
To be touched.
I do not want
You to whisper sweet nothings
Into the air,
Meant for me.

I want someone to fight the world with.
Someone to see the battle
From my eye level.
Someone to raise me up,
So I can see it from theirs.

I do not want
A lover.
I do not want
Passion.

I want fire,
And fire power.

I want a comrade in arms,
I want someone to be my equal,
I want to fight alongside
Someone in this battle of life,
And stand at their level,
And be awarded
With the same valor as them.
I want the same pain,
I want to help them with their struggles,
Because I, too, have been there and theirs.

I want to fight demons off
With a blazing dagger
To protect my friend,
My colleague,
This person I want to stand up and fight with.

Do not mistake me
For a girl who wants
To be a princess.
Who wants to be a fairy.
A goddess.

I do not need the spoils of war.
I need the breath of fresh air,
The honor,
The knowing I have done right by my friends.

I do not want things and gifts and shiny bobbles.
I want to know
That through the thick mustard gas shrouded fog,
When it clears and my vision returns and oxygen finds my lungs once more,
That I can stand by someone,
And in turn they may stand by me.

And together we will feel horror at the trenches,
But when the light of day finds us,
When the enemy's white flag is raised,
We'll have each other,
And in that, even after waking up drenched in cold sweat from the PTSD-induced night terrors,
We will have peace.

Often I think of you,
maybe too much at times,
but you are a love I have never experienced,
even though I have never experienced love,
your snow white skin creates a vibrancy for your fragile blue eyes,
it always seems like you believe in me, even when I lack belief in myself,
your words are my wings when my day has hit rock bottom,
You have two years on me but I always feel like we were born to be,
or maybe we were all born to believe that love belongs to us,
and maybe that is my reason for thriving...You, but am I allowed to love you?
Love,
it bobbles in my hands when I try to use it,
it makes me wonder how can I love without knowing what love is or having anything to compare to it,
For the longest I believed that love was a feeling something you showed toward someone,
but maybe I'm mistaken,
maybe it's what I'm feeling now,
Weightless,
yet heavy with love to give away,
please,
just tell me it's hopeless now...Cassandra,

Legion, O the sleeping of your flower is October
many fewer than everyday fewer and many

O slumber, your October is a legion of flowers
hairless kissing bulbs that bend oh just bend
in the grey bluster steeply bend and oh just

O flower, your slumber is the legion October
who marches cruelly through miles of trees
picking of them each their every jounce and bobble

October, O the flower of your sleep is Legion
many always fewer and always fewer many



(grey cruel blustering and through miles of
trees picking bobbles and jouncing marches
hairless kissing bulbs that lean just bending)

Early morning darkness
Pierced by tree lights
Douglas the Fir and I
Share a quiet space in time

Upon Douglas have hung
So many beautiful bobbles
Representing hopes and dreams
Shimmering moments of a past

Until, dried up, water unabsorbed
Douglas the Fir topples
Ornaments and lights shattered
Broken glass across the floor

Few treasures remain, stored away
Is it worth the effort?
Shopping for new bobbles or tree
Just knowing it too will die...

Yet, on lives a Christmas dream
One filled with joy, happiness, love
Where is Fraser the Fir?
Who's lights illuminate the morning.

At the bottom of a barrel,
soaked into the old wood,
is where I'll lie till I'm understood.

Some think me to be crude,
others think my arrogance
is unjustified and just plain rude.

But here at the bottom,
I'll lie turning rotten, forgotten

Just like the Autumn, now that your hats have bobbles on them.

Bows & Arrows
Kilns & Blow Torches
Fabrics & Patterns
Bead & Bobbles
Costumes & Wigs
Books & Important Papers
Pictures of the Kids
Things I have packed up
Things that can wait
I am moving On
You are Not my Pending Fate
Bring Me More Boxes
Keep Working Late
I am still packing
As this cannot wait

2day glass
through heaped sunlight
dusty
accumulates a second
when fair meticulous
paws stir
                (claw and whisker)
bunch and unbunching
deftly
shatter lilting
minutest bobbles

This heart was once steadfast and solid gold, but now it is
empty and solitaire
This heart, even though empty, is still pure and shines as brightly
as it ever has with values unchanged
This heart stays tactile smooth and comfortable to hold
This heart has a shape that remains true and always will, just it's
center has been taken
This heart is hollow now, waiting to be full, to be solid, solid gold
to be The Solid Gold Heart

THIS HEART NEEDS YOUR HELP

This heart, as you can see, has no chain to support it, to carry it
to hold it
This heart could not possibly join with a chain in full complement
to engage your neck
This heart needs to share a chain with other gems, bobbles and trinkets
for now
This heart is for all to see, this heart is for all to know the story of
The Solid Gold Heart
This heart will serve as a reminder of how truly remarkable and wonderful
The Solid Gold Heart is
This Solid Gold Heart belongs to you

By Nabs

Quiet reign over
Happiness accompanied with dread
The air stills, water freeze
Waiting

Alway waiting
The tell tale of burning ozone
How the wind blew the grass
Hard, unforgiving, preparing

Crystalized thunder
Icy fire, burning Ice
Skin prickles with anticipation
Dread and elation, what a company

Throwing sticks and stones
Fire ready and burning
Burning burning
Wishing to never be put out

To take all who dares

Shades and echo
Silence that sound too loud to be real
The drumming of hearts
Paper cranes fly wildly that day

Message bottles bobbles
Nowhere, they're going to nowhere
Nobody is singing
Song about the war of future and past

The mountains stood strong
For this is a battle they had long known
Never fear, even If they weren't here
But still the animal cower and disappear

The farmers elation
Palpable in the air
For they dance, the dance of harvest
Whilst the air becomes stiller and stiller

Waiting grew taller and longer
Drawn taut
Stings were plucked
No sound, silence, stillness

Sailors, look at the horizon
Praying to the gods that they believe in
To be able to come home

For the sirens are singing silently
About the storm that is coming

Sloppy cotton- rotten rollers rolling Autumn
into Winters bottom.
Forgotten Summer- runners run wearing hats
with bobbles on them.

Gotten tired of talking? I'm walking winter
back into the sea, you see Springs' a knockin'.
And we'll follow him to Summer even if he
thinks we're stalking.

All for two weeks! What a cheek the wee **** has

The golden baby
In the last slice of Mardigras cake

A half dollar
Well after they stopped being printed

A rare right sided conch
When most others are left

Are the rare treasures I find buried underneath

The glass bird
Dainty as can be
And the size of a nail

The miniature tea cup
A full set
Spoon and all

The Minni and Miki
Mouse holiday wear
mini collectibles

Miniature Kitty Kat
Pouches
In four different colors

Are the tiny bobbles I couldn’t bear to part with

The multitudes of dice
From classic six sided
To 8 To 12
Even dice in dice
More than can be counted

Erasers by the gazillions
Stingrays, baseball gloves
Eraser pencils with missing erasers
And a baby head detached from the body

Keychains, by the plenty
Sunglasses, Weapons
Dream catchers, bird’s with bells, all sorts
Of strange and curious oddities attached to a chain

Coins, many sizes countries
Fake, real
Dinar, Rupee, Euro, dollar,
Replica of ancient yuan

Jewelry-
Don’t even get me started
Necklaces, bracelets
Rings and earrings
Even though my ears aren’t pierced!

My hoarding tendencies coming to light in this
Curious collection of collections
Also known as
The objects in my closet