"kiwis" poems
What colour are Mondays?
Red? Well mine are.
The same colour
you’d imagine a headache to be,
tomatoes, morello cherries
or like a nosebleed.
Does that mean Tuesdays are blue?
That mouthwash shade,
brain-freeze after a Slushie.
Wednesdays? Perhaps purpley-pink
as burning potassium,
Parma Violets under your tongue.
Thoughts on Thursdays? Fake-tanned,
tangerine skin, the ugliest orange
for the ugliest day.
But Fridays are a healthier green,
think telephone-pole celery,
cucumber truncheons and kiwis.
Saturdays then? Funeral black
speckled with brown sugar
though Sundays are white.
Hurts-your-eyes-like-snow white,
almost transparent, for they come
and dash by with no tone in-between.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
Ah! how the memory of
those pretty green eyes
enlighten my senses
making them parallel to
round ***** of safety.
Ah! how those eyes
regurgitate and bounce
pupils widening whenever
my eyes meet their gaze
wavering and moving from
person to person in an intimate crowded group setting.
Ah! how those eyes
which resemble soft moss
or the slick flesh of kiwis
stare at mine catching like how
flypaper catches mosquitoes
accidentally but intentionally
awkwardly but inventively
and ultimately intentionally.
Ah! how the memory of
those pretty green eyes
throw me off balance
when they lock into mine
and for a good ten seconds
merging a little too long
unnoticed by the crowd.
Ah! how those eyes
are like ghosts in my
memories so valid and
plausible they seem to
drift yet knowing they
will be seen tonight
creates a fidgety hope
splintered and shaking
within this hubris heart.
Ah! how those eyes
are framed by the
curliest of lashes
so cute they bloom
ripe smiles within this
here empty chest cavity
which seems to be defeated
at the moment but somehow
waiting to witness
orbs of stegosaurus skin
shelled and shellacked and unbuckled am i
at just a smack.
Ah! how those eyes
are like a slap
to my psyche.
Every part a swirling mass
of unabridged uncertainty.
And no matter how it seems
those irises of gold and green
will always be downright dainty.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:16 PM UTC
horns squawk
rainforest avenues
exoskeleton
of cars
arteries clogged
with unlovely taxi cabs
fat green fruit
for sale
five languages
merge into a knot
hisses kiss vowels
kiwis apples pears
black guys basketball
debt rises like blood pressure
stocks tumble
but we walk
brogues clop on concrete
count brick after brick
sun cascades
over roof slates
mind cracks in slabs
(you say
Monroe stood here)
heat quivers
men are dominoes
suits for the office
a funeral
designer sneakers
daddy paid for
pigtails cheap thrills
violet octagons
on a stranger’s neck
(behind the closed doors)
today
I drink purple water
aubergine lips
remind me
of a Tuscany Superb
list the names
Houston Charlton
Leroy Sullivan
Perry Cornelia
Dominick and Jane
(ladders lead
away from me
close to
you)
and back again
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
The assassins hit in 63
And Camelot was gone,
Inspiration vanished
And the darkness sang it’s song.
*Vietnam escalated
Brezhnev’s Russia loomed,
Africa was eviscerated
And Red China entombed.
*Floating on a long white cloud
The Kiwis were replete
With abundant British markets
For their butter, wool and meat.
*The Europeans went ****
And Britain lost it’s way
When the Beatles and the Rolling Stones
Monopolized their day.
*Man landed on the moon
And raised the Yankee flag
And they shot Mahatma Ghandi
For making good things out of bad.
*The Berlin Wall dividing,
The Cold War tense and spare,
ICBM’s threaten silently
In their silos of despair.
*Bob Menzies ruled Australia
As an amassing of his loot
And his White Australia Policy
Condemned him as a brute.
*Found naked on her tousled bed,
Blonde hair across her face,
Marylin Monroe is dead
The world’s a darker place.
*In the Age of Aquarius
Our children lost their youth,
LSD and smoking ***
And Afro’s were the proof.
*Lots of leg in miniskirts,
High bouffant’s in the hair,
Screaming teeny boppers
Rock with Elvis on “the Air”.
*Giant, Rawhide, Ponderosa,
Martin Luther King,
Kaftans and a cheese fondue,
Abortion is a sin!
It’s a sixties kaleidoscope,
A panoramic skim
Of an era of wonderment
Which you and I lived in.
Marshalg
@the Gate
Mangere Bridge
20th January 2009
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 2:25 PM UTC
tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy
sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids
reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers
fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style
baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam
ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai
milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays
icing splicing with knife dicing
makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes
****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle
gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns
angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways
fruits, ***** parachutes, scooters, jello shooters
goobers, corn on the cobbers,
veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes,
fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops',
dishes of fishes,
witches brew platypus and fat kush
pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy
fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies
cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads,
rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast,
last but not least, wheat is a treat,
kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits,
bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks.
ill eat anything.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
*Flashing willow, spinning ball
Four million screaming Kiwis call
You champion of this far flung land
In World Cup Cricket’s greatest stand.*
Tomorrow at the MCG
In Australia’s hostile field,
Black shall battle Green and Gold
To seize the Cup, to make them yield.
*Flashing willow, spinning ball
The Black caps, as a team, enthrall
With inspirational de je Vue
In self belief, we’re backing you.*
Tomorrow at the MCG
In Australia’s hostile field,
Black shall battle Green and Gold
To win the Cup, to watch them yield.
*Flashing willow, spinning ball
Humble, proud…none can recall
A better cricket team to hand
To represent this Kiwi land.*
Tomorrow at the MCG
Beneath Australia’s hostile sun
Black will hold the trophy high
This Cricket World Cup
SHALL BE WON!
M
Auckland, NZ
28 March2015
*Black Caps v Australia,
Melbourne Cricket Ground.*
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
My love, my love these shaky Isles
Abandoned in the vast blue seas,
Born in Mesozoic times
When sedimentary oozes ease.
From far Antarctic mountainsides
To windblown dust from Austral plain
They lay in layers thick and deep
Beneath the Tasman Sea's domain.
A thousand million years of ******
Of plate tectonic shear and drift,
Mid oceanic larva seep
Determines continental shift.
Deep magmatic plumes arise
From down within the planet's core
To burst asunder from the crust
As mountain God's volcanic lore.
Ash and larva from the vent
In pyroclastic feirce display,
Obliterate the cold blue sky
Explosively in massive way.
Rooster tails of feiry ash
And bread crust bombs cascade about
Vulcan roars his rage to all
In violent, vast, volcanic route.
Ignimbrite flows from the vent
In sheets a hundred meters deep
The incandescence, from on high,
Would, watching Angels, cause to weep.
Like quicksilver, it cloaks the land
To cover all in burning flow,
To last a million years as sheets
Of sharded rock where 'ere you go.
So the land was born of fire
And bent and twisted by the force
Of upthrust from the great, beneath
And earthquakes felt throughout, of course.
Earthquakes of unearthly fear
Wrack foundation's very base,
Sudden as the artic gale
Unpredictable to face.
So the shaky Isles were born
Here to lie in ocean's vast,
Clad in forest lush and green
Snowclad mountains, rivers fast.
Well kept cities, well kept towns
Population proud and clean,
Beauty all around is felt
Perched atop creation's dream.
So the Shaky Isles exist
Perfect in their place in time,
Perched atop subducting plates
Perched in ignorance sublime.
What's around the corner now?
Who's concerned, who really cares
For Kiwis make the best of now...
The rest remains as chance declares.
Marshalg
Celebrating a love affair with my beautiful New Zealand.
31 August 2012
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC
The peach was soft and fuzzy, bruise less and juicy, waiting to be tasted.
Yet no one would touch it.
Maybe it was because it was the last peach left in the ceramic fruit bowl.
Or maybe no one craved peaches anymore.
It sat in the sun for weeks, getting softer and changing it's pale peach colour to a sandy burnt orange.
No one ate it or threw it away.
It just became part of the bowl, hidden by new, plumper fruit.
Kiwis, oranges, lemons.
Yet no one touched the peach.
Eventually it was noticed, decaying next to a pear.
It was tossed into the compost where it decayed even further, becoming a slushy brown slime.
The peach was forgotten so easily and noticed too late.
It could have been the best peach anyone had ever tasted.
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
The Pear,
Armed with scissors
And glue
Settled down to
His task
The Apples,
Glared disapprovingly
Coxes have no time
For arts
And crafts
The Bananas,
Thought the whole
Affair was beneath them
They thought
Too much
The Kiwis,
Were green with envy
At such freedoms
Desire, bursting
Through brown coats
The Grapes,
Clung to each other
Fearful, by nature
At the concept
Of life beyond
The Fruit-bowl
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 4:57 AM UTC
Let us imagine, we write together!
You come for a visit,
From Germany, the Philippines, Singapore,
India, Nepal, even from industrial Leeds,
Bring me some Aussies and some Kiwis,
Green Tennessee, Nevada City (Ca?), the Canadian Plains
Hampshire & Haverford, where the H's get lost,
Even London, where everything is pensive expensive!
Cannot forget Minnesota, hotbed of poets restless.
If you are crosstown, let's meet on the Great Lawn in
Central Park, by Shakespeare's castle,
Let us turn my, now our, town into a belle-ville!
Side by side,
Stride for stride,
Manhattan, we connive
As our source, spring waters
For inspiration.
You come to me not as tourist,
But as explorer.
Ever-after twenty blocks,
Movement ceased, halted,
The mile, approximately travelled,
We then stop-sit.
Park bench, museum steps, bus stop,
Street curb, ok ok, Starbucks!
We each write a poem.
Exchange fluid words.
No proceeding until each have
Completed composing.
That's the rule.
A poem per mile.
I see this lovely island,
As home,
The sidewalk cracks, my veins,
The harshest of noises, my siren harmonies,
The dirt, my soul food.
But you, fresh eyes for me to
Discover what's been missed, for
Familiarity breeds cataracts,
Clouds the visionary.
I need you beside me
To be my teacher
To see my city
Anew.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
Bills in my wallet folded into wads, unsorted in their random cacophony
Smiles on the faces of those ignorant enough to ignore suffering
Cuts on her feet like symbols in the stars
From her voice I was told the taste of kiwis and ginger root
From her kiss I was sharing nicotine and half exhaled cigarette smoke
And from our silence there is an overlapping ambience of dead noise
From our comprehension we realize our ignorance
From our comprehension we realize out insignificance
It is reassuring to know that you are a compilation of subatomic structures
It is comforting to know your matter is just recycled stardust
From a smile between crooked teeth and chipped molars I find comfort
In knowing that your heart is like a sponge absorbing all my poison
And somehow you exhale such radiance, a phenomenon
I marvel from my spot in the yard, watching sparrows chase
crows
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 12:57 AM UTC
Seldom have I seen such strength, such purposefulness shown
And I have witnessed many who have made their message known,
Immovable this woman stands in seas of raging tide
Where friend and foe, as challengers, she’s deftly swept aside.
Resolute she stands atop white cliffs of blazing chalk
To glare across the Channel where her predecessors stalked
In league with Winston Churchill with pugnacious jawline set
When he thrashed the fiend in Jackboots and field grey appuletes.
In league with Margaret Thatcher with that glint of grey in eyes
To the accolades of Gorbachev who recognised the prize.
In league with Boadecia the ghost of power past
Who rallied this great nation to fight on to the last.
Snapping at her ankles the dogs of turmoil writhe
And comrades of another time amass to criticise,
Labourites howl murderously to all who would take heed
While the rabble rousing Europeans joust to intercede.
Swirling round her skirts they mass now screaming their abuse
At her articulated message of a pathway less obtuse.
If Tony Blair had the ***** it’s to her side he’d dance
As would Jeremy Corbett but of that there’s little chance,
Her Majesty stands forthright, as do all her heirs
Including Will and Harry who are cheering from the stairs.
Dianna’s there in spirit plus the Kiwis from the pub
And the rough crowd from the chippie all dolled up with a scrub.
She needs ALL of you behind her in her struggle for the best,
Independence for Great Britain is ascendancy’s great quest.
The very heart of what It means to dwell within these shores
The very heart of what it means to be Brittish to the core.
England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales combining for the task
Of a guarantee of future from the quagmire of the past.
We SHALL stand behind Teresa May and make our voices heard
As we scream aloud the anthem to impart our final word….
RULE BRITANNIA,
BRITTANIA RULE THE WAVES
BRITAIN NEVER, NEVER EVER…
SHALL BE SLAVES!
Boom, boom, boom
RULE BRITANNIA,
BRITANNIA RULE THE WAVES
BRITAIN NEVER, NEVER EVER….
SHALL BE SLAVES!
M.
18 December 2018
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
Yeah! - we win!
We Aussies win
the CoreData 2011 award:
each household will spend
an average of more than $1000
on gifts, food and deco for Xmas
Yeah! - we win!
China? $400 only
The French? $600 only
The Kiwis? $631 only
America? $644 only
The British? $815 only
Britain beats France - but
Yeah! - we Aussies beat 'em all!
Yeah! - we win!
We Aussies also win
the IBISWorld 2011 award:
Australia will spend $1.2 billion
on ***** just in December
Yeah, we win! And throughout 2011!
the UK? they drink only 10.58 litres
average year round
the USA? a paltry 8.42 liters average
And Down Under? - 10.61 litres this year
Yeah! - we win! we win! we win!
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 8:42 PM UTC
He asks for the knife and I don’t want to spar so I tell him: we made a slide out of it. We made gravy out of it. We turned it into a homeless shelter for banana’s displaced by the sandstorms in your bedroom. It’s a new language. It’s something see through now, something you might hold to the light in a long car ride. It’s an excuse to not listen. It’s what’s left after you’ve eaten all the cheese and there’s still a thousand crackers on the plate. It’s one click away from getting it done. It’s stuck in an old contract it signed when it was young and desperate. It’s high fashion. It’s remembering you on fire with hope like every ******* dawn.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 7:03 AM UTC
My feet long to walk
Until i reach the ocean
Where only a boat
Might take me further
My old habits
Catch me
By the hair
I
Feel
Like running
Away
This night is cold
Colder than anything
But maybe if you
Were warmer
Id Actually
Want
To
Stay
No
No
No
I cant
Blame
You
Its me.
It has always
Been me.
Im afraid of words
Because i live
In their power
Love
Holds far
Too much
Pain
If i could live by the ocean
Maybe
Maybe id stay
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:53 PM UTC
He was the kind of boy that would listen to you talk about your dreams
And watch you try on a series of hats only to tell you he didn't like any of them.
This boy that could talk about kiwis
without seeming dull.
He had an affinity for hip hop music and ironic T shirts
and fancied himself a good club crawl every now and again.
The two P's were often on his dinner menu (pasta and pesto)
And he was quirky.
Not in a Zooey Deschanel kind of way,
But in the way that is effortless.
In the way that intrigues people.
Intrigues me.
He wasn't the kind of boy you read about in books,
but should have books written about him.
I wanted to be the one to write it.
It started off as a fan-fiction
and ended as wishful thinking.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
Grab-ass is as far from **** as promiscuity
is from prostitution---
The Weinsteins move to Nigeria
to make Nollywood blockbusters
w/ kpop soundtracks---
big in China & Russia, making movie stars
of Ukrainian beauty queens driving drunk
at midnight in a country where grab-ass is okay
& homosexuality is illegal
& subject to the death penalty---
See beautiful African women
lining up to get their ***** felt
by the Jewish movie mogul
who can make them stars overnight---
Mathematically correct & joined by Chinese
& Indian beauty queens in a veritable renaissance
Of ***** men and women
who become bolder in public
than in private in speaking out against those
who promote the homosexual lifestyle;
**** them all!’ they cry
& the Nollywood industry cranks on---
American boycott the new Nollywood films
Which means nothing but free publicity
Since Asian people line up
around the block & ***** the ***** of women
in front of them & Russians
hail the resurgence of masculinity
when the life of Pushkin is made into a biopic
with a Russian cast in
a Russian-Nigerian co-production;
In Elizabethan theatre
(the height of the Renaissance in England)
Young boys played girls
& backstage got their butts dutifully reamed---
The universal irony that young boys
replaced women yet were *****
& molested as if they were---
European history has always been gay
from the Neanderthals who died out from ******
(the root of the myth of ***** & Gomorrah);
To the Greeks & Romans
to the Catholic Church---to gay marriage
to the rights of transgenders
to be treated like women & men except in reverse
which changes everything for everybody---
In Nigeria gay men are lynched by mobs
Of right-thinking citizens
who pay good dollars to see movies
Where some of the world’s most attractive women
get sodomized by rough,
burly macho male stars as if they were boys---
Nollywood becomes Nollyporn
becomes Nollyrape & sells around the world
bringing in millions & then billions---
while Americans & Europeans, Australians & Kiwis
adamantly promote the gay agenda
that is rejected by the rest of the world---
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 4:00 PM UTC
I like you in purple,
purple flower fields
We're safe in our meadow,
but they're nipping at our heels
I like you in blue,
blue swirling monsoons
Just think of happy thoughts:
puppies, kiwis and raccoons
I like you in yellow,
yellow playground slides
It's too hot in here,
but it's a place to hide
I like you in green,
green stalks of bamboo.
Puffs of smoke and pocket change,
help me lace my shoes
I like you in red,
red blankets by the river
twilight, moonlight, Starlight,
waking up with shivers
I like you in purple,
purple lazy sighs
Sleepyheads with heavy limbs
and guilty, smiling eyes
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC
The Yuba River was my heart beat.
It's rushing rapids and trickling streams my veins.
The fog that lay as blanket on the surface in early morning was my breathe.
The cold and sun touched rocks were my palms and foot soles.
Nevada City.
That little bubble of a town was my home.
Walking down Broad Street made each step I took a joyous jump.
Sitting in the Curly Wolf and the Foxhound drinking espresso to quench my caffeine addiction, always brought the calmest of tones on my mind.
Sitting in Three Forks, smiling at my coworkers, eating a croissant on my break or on my day off, always brought the warmest smile to my face.
The Yuba River. Nevada City.
The people that made me happy and the people that made me cringe.
All of it, I loved and still hold dear.
But, it was time.
On November 17th at 8 pm I buckled my strap and looked out the planes shaky window.
It was time for my adventures to begin.
I was ready to embrace this chance to start fresh.
Oh what an exciting, terrifying, incredible decision this was.
The best I've ever made.
Now, the North Cali girl
Is in New Zealand, Middle Earth, Kiwi Land.
And she is beyond happy!
Beyond joyous!
Beyond grateful!
She feels whole, and she feels independent and strong.
She's in love with herself
And everything around her.
As the Kiwis say...
Cheers
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:20 AM UTC
So it's 2:37 in the morning and I've been up since pretty much forever now but I had a **** ton of coffee just now and I'm looking at my fan and it's just spinning and spinning and I put it in a black and white filter on snapchat as one does and all I can think is "Woah... It's just... Spinning" and it reminds me of black and white movies for some odd reason which gets me thinking about those outdoor movies that no one does anymore...
And now it's 3:00 AM and Orange Is The New Black is playing in the background while I start to think again and I start to think about this guy who.... I definitely think is cool but who I only half have feelings for.. Not like it matters anyways though beeeecause it is safe to say he's not interested anyways but even so I wonder what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms asleep because I'd feel safe... But it doesn't last for long because I've started to wonder about elephants and if they wish the same things we do like if they wished to be loved or wished for more money in some weird possibly existent elephant currency...
It's 3:05 and time seems to be moving by more slowly by the minute and I get the urge to dye my hair pink or purple or maybe even blue and then I imagine my skin naturally those colors and suddenly I'm a chameleon.
Then I think back to that time where a friend said my eyes looked like kiwis and she meant it in a nice way, but then I imagined myself with actual kiwis for eyes and now I'm just kind of confused and laughing in a confused way because... I'm seeing myself as a... Chameleon with... Kiwis for eyes.. And I suppose sounding crazy is better than seeing myself as fat when I'm not or hella ugly but I mean being a chameleon is pretty ******* weird....
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
I’m a plumb in a Fruit Basket that’s out of control, Two Apples ones green because the Banana forgot that he smelt see he was so old.
The Grape would always sit on its own in the corner in the cold, The Orange could never peel it’s self so the story goes.
The Kiwis always got a twin he aint really in a rush to want to go, Mangos getting weaker as they feel the muscles grow.
Crunch getting over taken by the hour glass that never grows, Sand dunes created by the sweet taste of the Tangerines we all loved to know.
Fruit salad created by the imagination our taste buds have grown to know Pears trying to mingle in this fruit basket that’s getting out of control.
See the birds all sing to the sweet taste of the Nectarines that I’m missing just thought you should know.
This fruit basket is getting heavy i can’t carry it anymore; I’m a Plumb in a fruit basket that’s gone out of control.
JidosReality 7.5.11
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
Words in the night, distant daytime conversations after the downpour
Smoke exhaled from heavy lungs like the last rain drops
Clouds reanimated in the cloying nicotine
Memories of a smile over kiwis cut crosswise
A bottle holds it all now, those memories
Memories closed and final
Wash the dirt from my hands
With loving pen strokes
Help me make the world fall
Away
Water in the mug, a smile like insects under heel
7 a.m., all alone, empty road, I’ll walk until
I lose my sole
The sun burns luminous
The day breaks lovingly
Fresh brewed love
Drank down like a poison
Spat a poem for you
Broke it all again
And here we sit among the blooming hyacinth
The moths on our skin like the gin we sweated out
In the night over Roman candle illumination
Oh tell me, oh spell me, cover me with your algebra
Little notes on hand or thumb
A loving limb separated with skilled hands
The subtly of your heart
Sewed so skillfully to my dullness
Strong hands have retired to
Holding a basket of bitter apples
I have found a quiet place to write it all down
A silent place to find the distinctions between sounds
In our absence such life has grown
In our tolerance such symbols have been sketched
I found the gap between the stones
Delved in the depths of a bottle or two
Stacked stones on the shores of empty
Bodies of water
Love sketched out in five
Letters
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 11:06 AM UTC
Picking, lacy clouds from April skies
to make a bouquet of wildflowers,
I get tired of leaning and think of was
Disappointed,
since when did I decide to
hide myself behind insincerity?
Made, my wish come true
by writing one more poem on
dull riots of burning willows
Distraught,
twice-born within
seven days of this in a hotel
of days like a passing shadow
Pitied, myself for being so
for having such a weak
and childish heart
Humm, in the marketplace
I patiently pick out the perfect
moments from a basket of kiwis
Surprised, by ten years roamed
of letting days go idly by
while I stay perfectly still
Faithless,
compiling my work
of brushing grass and prose,
not caring anymore about fame
Mindless, my shutter snaps
another beautiful day that’s mine
and I quickly pin it on my wall
Wending,
without a word,
I fall from April skies
May 20, 2020
May 20, 2020 at 8:18 PM UTC
None of clothes are right and so I am not human. Only cold winds and crazed neon. I sometimes shine a flashlight under my fingers to remind myself of my bones. But they're as breathlike and photonic as the plastic tears I will never be given the right to have.
*We know that **** ain't real.*
How brittle a (we) can be. What sound is my voice allowed to have other than the violent dance of glass on concrete? My happiness always hangs from the end of a baseball bat.
And that's the way things are.
Of course, my mantras are just idolatry or faggotry. Systems of oppressive heat and chemical equations either pat me on the back or slap me across the face and I can never quite seem to catch my breath or feel an embrace, not really.
My forehead burned, but I closed my eyes.
How heavy must my skin and eyelashes and all the things that encase me, engender me, hang about me before I can finally count myself beloved? The question is as impossible as my own humanity, and my existence is not so self-evident that kiwis taste like queer fruits. So until smiles lose their tartness and I can breathe at last, **** you.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
*Biden come and goeth now , quickly doth he run
Whilst wielding compulsions deadly smoking gun,
Coercing this allies need to restate
Defiance to China’s political take
Of tactical ****** in the South China Sea
And belligerence spat…. when we all disagree.
Like meat in the sandwich we twitch and we squirm
When thrown on the spot like an early bird’s worm,
Risking primary markets of pine tree and milk
Midst Asia’s burgeoning tourism’s ilk?
Kiwifruit’s sales meeting China’s demand….
Risk all this ….for America’s leveraged command?
Do we sit on the fence in a balancing act?
Or throw caution to wind, redress or retract?
Do we hang like the Swiss in neutralities’ air
Attracting contempt…. as both parties stare?
With superpower leverage approaching white heat
The decision demands that we’re quick on our feet!
A questionable pleasure to dwell in this spot
When the wrong moves consequence, clearly has got,
Too disastrous an outcome for Kiwis to call
Should China’s great markets vanish and fall?
Or the Western Big Brother’s umbrella withdraw
Leaving us, militarily, adrift once more?
Strong armed tactics, they both brandish here,
The quandary posed is starkly clear….
Shall we tip toe through the tulips, soft,
Or tell them all to.... GO GET LOST?*
M.
23 July 2016
Auckland N.Z.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 12:10 AM UTC