A musical trance seance under control by the hand of a shadow
A "Du hast" to a "Loco" To a "beautiful people"
A fraction of symphony, Sent by the gods of rock

Spiderweb rooms an corridor covered with the entrance to darkness set in place with danger light's, Strobe lights, an a fog machine set on auto
A haunted feel to a shack left cold an abandoned.
Equipped with superior beings and extended solo's of 6 string guitar's along with drum's and distorted bass guitar, setting the rhythm for our soul's,Feeding threw 4 large kickers.

This shadow was me
Venom
Decorated in crow face paint, Along with black attire to match my attitude
People came and went and came again
Supporting my and there craving for sublime sound
But one, the one, my goddess, my angel of death came to my dwelling, she came with a message

To indulge in my love

But also to give me a message of misery
To break me free of this chaotic world i was fixed in, with a bite to my fingertip the purified pressure was on
She wore the same colors as I
Only more dragged inline's
More pain, More beauty than she could see
I stared into her crystal corroded bloodshot eyes
I seen deep within herself
I saw pain, I saw hate for her fire, I saw hate from others
I had seen everything and nothing
I arose from my slumber to meet her in the darkness or mothers sleep
To give mother a great vision, a great dream and it was this
My angel of death, Meeting face to face, Eye to misery, Cure to disease, Beauty to ugly.

The words rolled off her tongue like the greatest embrace to a lover
Her words were sweet and seductive
Sprinkled with tears of a suicidal mind and a scarred wrist.
Then in a perfect moment are perfect tender love met with crying eyes and black lipstick.
Within that moment i ingested her misery
I took it and gave her what she deserved

Beauty

After the release of this lover's choice
We met vision and from there i seen the truth
I could never release her from this insanity
Only pamper or even embrace it
This timeless motion of misery will never stop ticking in my heart
Not till it expires!

Yeehaw! That's right. I'm gonna be a cowgirl tonight. Put on my ****-kickers, tight *** jeans. Yeah baby, my *** will fill them nicely. Throw on my pearl snap shirt. The one that's a little too tight up top, but that doesn't hurt. Brush this burnett hair till it's silk. Last but not least, my straw hat to finish the look.
I'm a cowgirl tonight. Yeah, that's me. Looking for my longer than 8 second ride. Hey muse, think you can hold onto me? Cause I'm a cowgirl. I like to buck it around. Get ***** in the ring. Come out in victory. And cowboy, you'll never tire of me. I'm the un-ridable bull. Let's see if you can't tame me. You've said once you like to cowboy up. We'll ***, let's see if you can hold on....

Jupiter moon v Saturn Methane


Today Javk Dyer and Chris Mainwaring are having a fun day at Jupiter Moon oval, to celebrate the after life UFL tournament, and Jack Dyer started the ball rolling with two space kickers, Daniel Morecmbe and Graham Thorne, and Graham Thorne kicked about 2 goals and 17 behinds and he beat Daniel Morecambe who just kicked 1 goal and no behinds and after they was over we went to the handball competition run by Tony Campbell, and we had some great participants like Don Bradman and Tony Grieg, and Zara Baker came in and was the first to get a bulls eye, and she got it twice, and also Peter Sargent handballed two through the bullseye and him and Zara were looking like winning, untill Blske came in and scored a superb bulls eye three times and he won the hand ball competition, there were two more entries, who were Peter Harvey and graham Kennedy, but neither of them got bulls eyes, so Peter Sargent won the prize, the next thing was the tie up footy game, you see if you miss a goal you get a part of your body ******* and if you get a goal, you don't, so the aim is to not get it wrong, because you will find it hard to get free to kick your next attempted goal, so the first was Naomi Innes, and she kicked a behind and Ted Bundy tied her legs together, and then Brett Eggins kicked a great goal, and he yelled put, boys are better, your going down little girlie, and then Zara Baker kicked a goal and she went over to Brett and said, girl's are smarter than you, na, nani, na na, then Scott Macdonald came up and kicked a goal and went up to Zara Baker and said boys rule the afterlife, chicks rule the bed afterwards, and then Marilyn Monroe came over and kicked a behind and the boys tied her legs together and both Naomi and Marilyn were trying to be free the next time, and then River Phoenix had a shot and he scored a behind and he disgraced the boys when Ted Bundy came out and tied his legs together, yes Ted felt good and the final person was Micheal Jackson, and he scored a beautiful goal, and now for the second and last series, and first Naomi with her legs tied together, tried to push her legs up, and because it was tbe afterlife, Naomi pushed her legs and showed us her skills she learnt in death, then Brett Eggins, kicked another goal, and Brett said I am the ruler of this afterlife, no one will beat me, no way no chance no hope and then Zara Baker, who requested to run with the ball with defenders trying to stop her, but that was a trick, because little Zara Baker was too fast as she swung around everyone and scored her second goal, and she said, go Zara, go Zara, I am the greatest in the afterlife, oh yeah I am and then Marilyn Monroe came to magically kick with her feet tied together, and she tried a full somersault over the top of Jupiter moon and scored a great goal and Marilyn said, I am the greatest kicker in the after life, and seeing I don't know much about Aussie rules, I seem alright, dudes, River Phoenis had the next kick and he wasn't too lucky and Ted Bundy tied his hands together as well as gag his mouth, and he is the loser, so he is going to burn in hell or get burnt by the methane, whatever came first, Micheal Jackson came in next to score a great goal,  and Zara, Brett and Micheal Jackson were our winners, congratulations to you 3 dudes, yes this was a great day at Jupiter moon, and everybody had fun.

Each day passing by in a wild-eyed dash
In truth my soul fell aside, but bluer birds still doth call
Missed that cardinal harken when I set down my last two cents
Kickers of tricks, scroll-ers of myth, bottlers of ships
Knew it all along, just couldn’t stiff the rest
Refuse to capitol, refuge atop the pious politic that steeps these hills
Is it not hard to tell? The meanings of what buys in bulk
The people is we, of what sells slicker than plot itself
A minority rule, hid reasons from majority fooled

That is working trade class, taught to chain drive
The gleaming sheen glowing green, crowning jewel¬¬¬ is as mist and steam, fleeting as the wash of this worlds seething seas
We, the misanthrope of being, bloom in the warmth of idea
Only to recede at the water mark high of each our lives

Authenticity bless the distant time, costless venture to each about die, salute through another caesars’ dilated eye a definition
Eons in annunciation; immortality flashing by
Reverence cannot lie, not long at least neathe a chipping patina
Gold leafed by the hand of man, coerced creations’ fondling finger tips strips thin, leaving us then to watch the weathering

Not a one may ever remember for too quickly or too timely
Arrives dismemberment, a cyclic certainty, often relegated falsely
As loss or gain, truly misspoken frames for reference
At any given attempt to render the language of tongues, oh speaker the son of the morning shamelessly ****** by predecessors increasingly lavish

Phonemic savage; life running rabid, splicing love over the atom
The simple one whom tends a patch of what he calls “cabbage”
Knowing always the wordless truth that is his field fallowing
Unconvinced by everyone, save himself if nothing else
Penitent candor dangle, frameless wonder can you hear the thunder?

i always wanted to write about the true heroes
It's not about hockey stickers or football kickers;
face punchers, these million-dollar-heroes, they manifest no social change
It's about us the people, it's about you and me
It's about free givers who give of themselves for the good of mankind
It's about free changers who freely make change for the good of mankind
That's it, hmmm, changers and free givers?
Oh yes! Free changers in the face of diversity
and against any form of oppression,
never be apathetic to what is right
Never become fearsome in knowing what is right
Stand up for all your brothers and sisters,
here on our delicate planet earth
Say never to the numbskulls, who disbelieve in change,
even at times trying to educate some
When hearts go forth and attach to others
is the beginning of a selfless human being
When the sun never seems to rise,
join other heroes along the way
Everyday count your blessings what you and I fought for
Altruistic motivation is the greatest catalyst for real heroism,
take advantage of it my heroes and potential heroes;
i love you guys, keep on truckin'

if i got all the abortions i wanted
would you still **** my
haunted *****?
baby gettin a nonsense foodstamp speed bump sticker
off a key bump off
do i need **** to write poems?
coming forward up with something
and figuring out you kicking,
kicking the kickers
and a bunch of rhetorical qeustion?
stalactite cellulite bring back britney she aint deadff
*******

I made some money
Spent it on a honey
She threw it in my face
As she ******* the lace

Backed up
Asking nothing
Sorrow is
Regret in the morrow'

Entertain this
Love this
Befriend and
Disgrace this

She walked outta the room
I stood still not feeling the expected doom
I peaked my eyes out the blinds
Yes time was still passing fine

I didn't ask the sky for forgiveness
For dropping me in a wrong'ed place
There was nothing I could do to please this
And yet I still remember the determined face

Generations feel the urge to run
So why don't they do it?, no mind is truly numb
We are the shouts heard if we dare speak it
Or do you think young souls aren't fit as the beatniks?

I've seen alley rat races with men with old wives
Heard stories from ghosts that couldn't get a ride
Tasted meat from a street that had been hit and beat
And smelled ripe leather liquors from aged' police kickers

We are being forgotten by a time that fears time
Fast and quick we will no longer be able to flick a switch
The page will burn like the victims of Vesuvius and the rest
A man and women tested, a bid to break the best

Bleu Swayed Shoe

Well I've been knocked down, but I've never been out,
I've been put down, did I just sit and pout,
I've been lied to, called a stupid fool,
stabbed in the back, with a sharp garden tool,
had my eyes poked, by some guy named Moe,
pulled my ear real hard, and stepped on my toe,
finally I said, “Hey, I've had enough”,
arched my eyebrows high, and talked real tough,
if you wanna mess with me, you're in for a fight,
I'll get you with my left hook, and then my right,
you've crossed the line, you done bit more than you can chew,
you can kiss your *** goodbye, you scuffed my Bleu Swayed Shoe

well I''ll do the time, if you give me one good reason,
didn't **** anybody, never have committed treason,
I pay my taxes, and go to Sunday school,
always have believed, in the golden rule,
ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies,
sure, I've done things, that I really do despise,
but one thing is sure, I never messed a mans kickers,                      
except that one time, with all those banjo pickers,
they kept spittin on the floor, I warned them in a nice way,
you need to be more careful, with that nasty old spray,
when they finally hit my foot, what else could I do,
I kicked their hoosier *****, with my Bleu Swayed Shoe

Gomer LePoet

Bleu Swayed Shoe

Well I've been knocked down,
but I've never been out,
I've been put down,
did I just sit and pout,
I've been lied to,
called a stupid fool,
stabbed in the back,
with a sharp garden tool,

had my eyes poked,
by some guy named Moe,
pulled my ear real hard,
and stepped on my toe,
finally I said, “Hey, I've had enough”,
arched my eyebrows high,
and talked real tough,

if you wanna mess with me,
you're in for a fight,
I'll get you with my left hook,
and then my right,
you've crossed the line,
you done bit more than you can chew,
you can kiss your *** goodbye,
you scuffed my Bleu Swayed Shoe

well I''ll do the time,
if you give me one good reason,
didn't **** anybody,
never have committed treason,
I pay my taxes,
and go to Sunday school,
always have believed,
in the golden rule,

ask me no questions,
and I'll tell you no lies,
sure, I've done things,
that I really do despise,
but one thing is sure,
I never messed a mans kickers,  
except that one time,
with all those banjo pickers,

they kept spittin on the floor,
I warned them in a nice way,
you need to be more careful,
with that nasty old spray,
when they finally hit my foot,
what else could I do,
I kicked their hoosier *****,
with my Bleu Swayed Shoe

Gomer Lepoet...

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      <p><em>the title? it just means i took a ****.... and it felt as good as ultra<br>homosexuality via transgender... or... whatever.</em><br><br>   <strong>why is         ęś      easier to pronounce than           eś...<br>                  or                      ęs?           in bracket?<br>         well... it had to be kept in bracket...<br>                                    the counter optional was simply e.</strong><br><br>the main point of this poem?<br>    i really don't know...<br>           i just like the way the word sounds /<br>                                 <em>sings</em>, to encounter <br>  my appreciation for it having a relevant counter<br>                                expression.<br>             i can't believe i just wrote: i took a ****<br>                                   in the most eloquent way possible...<br>seriously... it was a fudge hard expression of ****...<br>                    i think i started sneezing, or coughing<br>   while <em>liberating</em> this piece of ****...<br>            it probably resembled something akin to *******;<br>it's like i wanted some, and then said:<br>                        why is taking a **** so pleasurable?!<br>can i hasve some more?<br>       in all honesty?<br> the russians can't beat the expression -<br>                                                   <em>wysrałem się</em> -<br>i.e.: i just took a ****.<br>           at this point, the russian language is pompom...<br>boring...<br>                                             ­     it's just...            <em>dangling</em>...<br>                        like a yoyo...<br>                                                        t­ong... tong... tong...<br>i can't believe i found a source of <em>infectious</em> laughter...<br>    hence i know my <em>muse</em>... and her cat's name?<br>                   <em>kickers</em>...<br>                                           i know my muse....<br>   i knew my muse since she was 14 / 13 / 12...<br>             i.e. i don't really remember the day it was: love at first sight.<br>and that was in the year 2004...<br>                                 she's still a secret to most if not all people,<br>and will remain so... <br>                             but not to her elder sister...<br>                    hmm...<br>                            ­                       what a gratifying thought:<br>it's like memorising certain things in my life<br>                      as if in a crucible of pretence: that they didn't.</p>

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Cut jeans into shorts, a bra for a top, & *** kickers for feet. Can't wait for tonight.

the title? it just means i took a ****.... and it felt as good as ultra
homosexuality via transgender... or... whatever.

   why is         ęś      easier to pronounce than           eś...
                  or                      ęs?           in bracket?
         well... it had to be kept in bracket...
                                    the counter optional was simply e.

the main point of this poem?
    i really don't know...
           i just like the way the word sounds /
                                 *sings, to encounter
  my appreciation for it having a relevant counter
                                expression.
             i can't believe i just wrote: i took a ****
                                   in the most eloquent way possible...
seriously... it was a fudge hard expression of ****...
                    i think i started sneezing, or coughing
   while liberating this piece of ****...
            it probably resembled something akin to *******;
it's like i wanted some, and then said:
                        why is taking a **** so pleasurable?!
can i hasve some more?
       in all honesty?
the russians can't beat the expression -
                                                   wysrałem się -
i.e.: i just took a ****.
           at this point, the russian language is pompom...
boring...
                                             ­     it's just...            dangling...
                        like a yoyo...
                                                        t­ong... tong... tong...
i can't believe i found a source of infectious laughter...
    hence i know my muse... and her cat's name?
                   kickers...
                                           i know my muse....
   i knew my muse since she was 14 / 13 / 12...
             i.e. i don't really remember the day it was: love at first sight.
and that was in the year 2004...
                                 she's still a secret to most if not all people,
and will remain so...
                             but not to her elder sister...
                    hmm...
                            ­                       what a gratifying thought:
it's like memorising certain things in my life
                      as if in a crucible of pretence: that they didn't.

Awake at 0415
Sleep still in my eyes
Bundle up crib
**** and a ****
Shave clean
Coffee on the boil
Then, on the road.
Lit ciggy
Volume still up from last night
Knock it down a notch
Until the ears can focus...

Swipe on, turnstile spins
Follow in suit
Say g'day to nightshift
As the hi-vis is donned
PPE all strapped on
Steel capped **** kickers
Helmet slap, follow the crowd
To prestart.

Sit and nod, coffee lukewarm
Handover from nights
Sign on lads and ladies
Lock on, work instruction, THA
We are all dressed the same
The same team
With the same goal
To go home...

We don't know how it all works
In our silo, doing our bit
For our 12 hour stint
For 7 days.

Just before 6
With our bodies worn and ready
For a quiet bevvy
With mates we made at work
Swipe off, turnstile spins
Say g'day to nightshift
It'll be our turn next swing
Top job, had a win.

Microwave feed
Boots at the door
TV just for the noise
Stare at the phone
They ring before bed
Let it ring out
How was your day?
Same as every other, don't bother.

Asleep before head hits pilla
Awake at 0415

Should I write a poem about Halloween,
full of psychological horrors and gruesome things?

Like deep romantic wounds getting infected,
herpe kisses or Donald Trump getting elected?

I could lean on shuddery tropes, like haunted houses
or more real world threats, like cutthroat spouses.

I could make you look up scary looking words, like Syncretism.

gasp What caused that creek in the floor?!
Who’s that banging on the door?

Is that blood on that rag?
Is there a body in that bag?
Is that your husband in drag!?

Relax, have fun, chill-out,
Oh, better get a bowl of candy out.

Happy Halloween!
.
.
Songs for this:
Monster Mash by Bobby "Boris" Pickett & The Crypt-Kickers
I Killed You by Tyler, The Creator

then the immense mass heaves up
and the streets all fill with diamonds
in vivid hot designs
and the country contemplates
the pagan city as a zero.
then the country, driven to pondering,
panics. oh, how the fire frequents the sky
with straightforward accumulation.
it boils the sluggish blood.
there is too much
too much fire in the hands
too much fire in the hearts and eyes
this engine consumes too much
and the fire rages out of control.

in the drifting smoke, i saw bodies
burned to bare bones and the survivors
lunge forward. the chorus girls sprawl
on the sidewalk and are swept away.
the quick flame is the dividing line
the end of the sabbath.

the books all burst into flames and the dancing
is boisterous. my cheek pressed into the wall
of a skyscraper how satisfying. the falling waves
of sparks uplifting and gyrating with the kickers.

follow the long curve of hose-water with
your aching neck and see
the influencers arriving drenched to the skin
in fire-spray to divert the journalists. but they are
helpless and impotent and the edifice slips into
the pavement. this is the unexpected harvest.
and i preach nothing.

What do to when time is suspended
Not by my own admission
Where fates kickers
Tell and teach
For when
We are told
To exercise
Patience
And Resilence

/i can't, not be profane; otherwise i'd be dyslexic! came the river, came the fluidity of expression... came the sea, came the gate-keeper practice of herr censor./

now i remember the bed,
     did i tell you why maine ****
cats are the most terrible pets?
clingy, *******...
        i remember feeling
numb, lying almost dead
on my left side,
           in a spoon position,
kissing her neck goodnight by
gently itching a kissing
imprint onto her...
                  all of a sudden the left
side of my body
would become numb...,
a bit like sleeping with a cat,
  the maine ****
breed, ******'s as tearful seeking
attention as a bloodhound....
no, wait, that's a bassett hound...
same **** different cover,
but still the numbed left
bit of me...
                ugh...
                         at least with a woman
i'd get to nibble her skin
a goodnight... the **** am i supposed
to do with a cat?
            bite into its furr?!
        ******, no...
         i tried that, didn't work,
the ****** pedigree just came
back for more attention...
              all of this, and more,
having to admire people
walking their dogs,
            leash 'n' all...
                     the **** do you manage
toilet training at 5 a.m.?
dog must have a six-pack
exercise patent on its ******* bladder!
i forget what it means to
pet a dog,
                cats? you just ignore them,
they come back slobbering
anyways....
   kickers... now that's a cat,
used to sit on my lap whenever
i ate food with my ex-girlfriend's
family, two brothers, younger sister,
ma'h and pa'h...
                she had a meow
dyslexia... could never manage
the ******: "call for reason"
identifying her as feline....
                  but sure as **** she curled
into safety when i sat down;
i'm starting to imagine
we both slept through
   the fata moprgana of
                        the everyday life...
                 ****-wit's worth
of orthography attached to
e. e. cummings...
             you can. but only if you
apply diacritical markers...
             no point sEEing english lazy...
harasho?
               you know, index folded
beneath the thumb, and,
hey presto!
                 the alternative trinity!
came the father (middle),
came the ring (mother),
    came the pinky (alternatively
a daughter): finger!
                guess what's diabolical
about china?
generation one child state policy...
comes all cuckoo with
a delay button...
                     press, the, red, NOW!
because why do people
find it hard to pet cats?
             those attention seeking
****** only fathom ignoring them...
cats are, after all, predatory,
       you give them the required
attention, when they seek it...
         plus, i love dogs,
    but i simply abhor walking
a dog on a leash,
     with a kaganiec: i.e. a, muzzle...
**** turns out sado-masochistic
with only a wish to extend
the rubber layer past the ******
attire...
              ****...
        at least cats you can endure
by ignoring them...
        no leash, no muzzle...
                sometimes the rough
and tumble of playing to agitate,
i.e. a kanine incission,
   a paw scratch...
                       otherwise?
                 free as a ******* fairy!
cute, hairy, kritters;
but whenever the male decides
to share a bed with me,
i'm reminded of that one relationship
lasting a whole st. petersburg
insomnia summer...
       spooning her body to fall asleep,
numb to one side.
        why does hair not
                           smell of carrots?!

Sublime silence on the outcast marshes casted against the grey hills, too many large avarice’s to climb before the night fills up from the 32 brothers of Jain laying outside casually laying next to brains how then tomorrow comes just a little too early with farmhands and families chiding across the stone fences of solidified ones next too left faced so the wind caught the lifters before dragging upon the pavement red colors slurry with the clear curry favors from boot kickers thinking feet taste like curry hurry now before the bloated bow of Jamison’s ship across the American gates drift to sleep more often than you know but you’ll never find from the laughing torn apart from targets harnessed the underdarks promise trough filled till the gauntlets hill squealing pig fissure separating spectators from sepulcher never pauses left breathless whistles hasten to the untimely demise what a trend a friend asked me what I was doing but couldn’t respond because the algorithm wouldn’t let me breath heavily disaster of compost composing a decomposition of which snitch position to behead quietly an analogy of past tense and future meaning bereft of any merit to trust those qualifying for positions of power hours are 7-6am and please don’t push breath out of dispensers

Used initially for up
skirting Highland Kilt
wearers come dandruff
dancers and tyre kickers
at Mull with their kin.

There’s a big big sound
Down Sydney way
With the swans and the giants
They won both games
Different names
Of the goal kickers
Both came from behind
But still they won
Isn’t it a beaut
We are the swans and the giants
We’ll surprise the others this year
Cheer cheer the red and the white
And we will never surrender
Both will fight till the end
It is a great game for both