Cordoned off from moneyed people
Kept at  distance by the clique,
Separate by class and culture’s
Moneyed  boundary is their trick.
Wealth creates a boundary zone
Where only wealthy tread,
Admission is beyond the reach
Of those who toil for bread.

The maintenance of status
Is defended by their code
Of only Rich association
With no dilution in the mode.
Rich parties held on tropic isles
Exclusive to their wealth,
Accessable by private jet
And curvey blondes with stealth.

With status strictly guarded
By muscle, dogs and fence,
And fawning politicians
Who clamour to commence
The photo opportunity,
The handshakes and the smiles
Of wealth and power in unison
To win them votes for miles.

The Rich protect their Rich friends
In their universal club
Exclusivity’s the keynote…
And you’ll deftly get the rub
Should you smear your gloss and polish,
Lose your money in a fraud,
Then you’ll be exorcised at once
And  immediately ignored.

The rules here are quite simple
And elementary my friend,
No matter how you gain your wealth
Or make it in the end….
By fair or foul’s acceptable
Just so long as banks’ remand
That you OWN a ****** fortune….
Then the Rich will shake your hand.


Marshalg
Broke@the Bach
Mangere Bridge
4 December 2010

TATTOOED

She appear Juicy,
Delicious Must be Her Pink *****,

I am Loving her, I am Liking her,
I Already Feel Like I am Licking her,
I Picture Myself Cracking her,

I Mean On Bed So Bad... .. . [•]  

She has a *****, Body... For Years like she has been craving for it Four Years, I am sure the day she Left, Her ex was in Tears,

because Of Her Warm Heart and beauty that Pierce Like Spears, and She is Steamy Like That Beef From Steers,

Should I go on in her Life? Or wait till the dust of her Previous Relationship Clears,

She has an Electronic Scent just like a ***** ready to mate, When I look at her image, it Stays Up Till Quarter to Nine, at Night, so Bright is her appearance, Curvey is her Body, She also appear Godly, I want her Badly, Madly and Sadly,

She is tattooed allover her Body, you can easily tell, She is a Freak, but to judge, You never know, I might be Quick,

Unbelievable is the way she make me Feel, She make me want to Kneel, Send her a Picture On My Knees Holding a Golden Diamond Ring,

She is a woman I wish She Could Break the Spring of my Single Bed, because I have a wish to make Love to her until my white blankets are Red, if she has it or not I am NOT afraid,

I am tired, of looking at her pictures, paralyzed like I am nothing, with a wish to give her something so pure like the love of Christ,
She is the type to get wet for days, I just wish we could lay together on bed and blaze, as I gaze at it ready to **** it, peel it and lick it when it starts to drip, her beauty held me with a strange grip, can't even believe the way it pulls me closer, its like my life is about to be over, because I would give my all to her, if this whole imagination thing works out,

I always work out, because when I have her that night I want us to burn out, ignite the forces of our newly found love, Given by the one from above, The moment I looked at her I was set free like a dove, Now I am attached to her tight like a glove,  

I like the fact that she has tattoos, freaky you can see her, the type that knows how to choose, now I have a wish to walk with her in these shoes, The way this whole thing goes, only God knows, How her love wind blows, it might be deadly or friendly, because this type of a woman possesses some sort of super natural powers that I call Black Girl Magic,

Her body is on point, worth more than one point,

I am Liking and Loving her, wish to smell and touch her hair, she seem fair, I have got no fear but a wish to get near, Fall in Love and get out of here, When she read this I hope its my Voice That She hear.

She saw me one way
Now she sees me in another
Because of what I had to say
she no longer wants me to bother

Mature relationships I hope to have
My time I continually bide
In the wise words of Corgen
Love is Suicide

A new chapter in an old story
Self-improvement is what I need
From the lips of a past evil  
Motivation and confidence is the key

So here I sit writing about my woes
she doesn't want me and that's okay
I'll find another friend who has no bo
Who actually likes what I have to say

I'm not bitter or resentful
I only wish I felt worthy
It's my fault itz seems
I let myself get curvey

Eureka, I've found it!
the life I must now live
one where I learn and be fit.
And meet those who do not shiv

It needs to be for me.
There should be a consensus
That the new life I forsee
Is not held on the fences

It's called self-actualization for a reason
A transformation done for me
My body's last days are up this season
I'll prove my worth and they'll all see

body mind and soul
old young and untold,
our cold folds waiting to role down the gold toll
another destination that we have to go and see
another body of water
but not as pretty as the sea
as she
her beauty and physique
curvey like the creek that speaks
in whispering melodies
singing sweet songs that hum in  mesmerizing remedies
the memories  
remembering that angels wings.
she is the wind that blows off your hat
and she is the fat rat that teases your cat on the front porch welcome matt
she is the flower in the weeds that wrap your house
she is the lucky dollar bill that you find in your couch.
she is the oceans tide and the sandy shore
she is the earths crust mantle and its core.
she is life
and she is death
she is everything that ever runs through my head.

Standing close, head tilted back
with eyes pressed shut,
small curvey hollow of neck exposed
by an open top button on her uniform,
she waits to taste her very first kiss.

She saw me one way
Now she sees me in another
Because of what I had to say
she no longer wants me to bother

Mature relationships I hope to have
My time I continually bide
In the wise words of Corgen
Love is Suicide

A new chapter in an old story
Self-improvement is what I need
From the lips of a past evil  
Motivation and confidence is the key

So here I sit writing about my woes
she doesn't want me and that's okay
I'll find another friend who has no bo
Who actually likes what I have to say

I'm not bitter or resentful
I only wish I felt worthy
It's my fault itz seems
I let myself get curvey

Eureka, I've found it!
the life I must now live
one where I learn and be fit.
And meet those who do not shiv

It needs to be for me.
There should be a consensus
That the new life I forsee
Is not held on the fences

It's called self-actualization for a reason
A transformation done for me
My body's last days are up this season
I'll prove my worth and they'll all see

every painting in the house is
modestly crooked due to the
twinning effects of
vibrations and moon-full
spoonfuls of gravity.

causing the tensile strength of the wires to
pensile (1) slowly surrender to point downwards.
It occurs, perhaps
it’s me that’s crooked,
but that’s just plainly
in depth insanity,
like writing a thousand poems
in one 14 day
long sitting.,
now that’s
croissant curvey crazy

nah, not me,
not totally nuts yet,
after all these years,
though not for crooked trying.

My eyes, insanity of blessings,
He sees smthng in them, from the corner of my lash
To the depths of its vision,
He sees smthng;
An extraordinare , a face so soft to be imagined by a straye-r!!
A french poem woven into a curvey menniquin?
A heart of whom, bounded by endless fumes;
Of needs and desires,
Of countless sattire,
Of upside rotten days and nights,
Of forgotten rhymes,
N still he finds rich beautiful poem in her eyes,
A french woven attire!!

Suddenly she gulps the pain of being forgotten
Tear away the praising letter, turn her thoughts frozen,
Yet, inside cold castle still burns a flame
In lonesome night, of long sung-songs and fame!!!

Before I woke this morning
this title was peeking through the cobwebs,
eventually waking me before dawn.

Now with Bernstein’s Grofe Grand Canyon Sunrise
is playing before first light, violins barely audible,
mules waking up with their weird wail
ready to hit the high trail.
Those magnificent odd beasts.

My old body still  dull,
my left hip protesting the early wake,
my brain puzzling with this title
me saddling the mules
for their trudge down the curvey canyon walls,
young adventurers on their old swaying backs.

Here I am looking out over the trees beyond the back yard
into the gray dawn.
I write with the thought of visiting my old friends
on the poetry website,
they probably wondering where I’ve been for the last several months
with  nary a word posted there.

Last night, the Beatles’ White Album played,
those young shaggy heads
awake with popping images
tunes and words tumbling from John and Paul,
they  too, like me, oblivious of where the trail would  lead.

Put me back together.
That’s what the Great Spirit is trying to do
between my synapses
while they still stir up there in the attic
among the dusty old books and broken furniture
and the all but forgotten dreams there
among the silverfish.

Recently Moses was trying to teach me and the new generation
in Deuteronomy
before they crossed the Jordan into the Promised Land.,
his old body still holding on in the mountains
where he would finally be laid to rest.
I  never thought I would get anything from that old book
but Moses had one more old mind to reach.
I am grateful his words were preserved
for me before I too make it up
beyond the top of the mountain
finally put together.