"mish" poems
I love maths
it proves that we were
just another mish mash
of geometric nonsense
refusing to accept
that you were a square
and that I was a circle
and that organic movements
do not match
with corners
and straight lines
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
I trace my fingertips
along your neon facets.
I twist and turn you
to make a match
or make a mish mash
of coloured squares.
You bring me back in time
to 1980's plastics.
I cannot solve your puzzle
for i lack your cuboid logic.
But just to rotate and
feel your shape in my hand
is sublime and fantastic!
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
At The Cafe
I heard her say to the teary-eyed lady
as they sliced their custard creams,
" Move on and go find someone else"
As if suggesting to take that knife and slice
that face out of her brain and replace it with
another. As if perhaps she should cut out
her heart and separate it from the rest of
her. I suppose the thoughtless lady was only
trying to help. I suppose that's normal procedure
in such circumstances. Like quickly go find a
lollipop for god's sake.
I felt like saying to the broken woman;
wait a bit. No need to be in such a rush.
This terrible ache, this fierce wrenching
this oozing sore is love disguised.
You'll come to it. You will. No substitute
necessary.
That someone else is waiting
in the dim horizon, fresh faced and true
with eyes that pierce through
the mish mash of dough and syrup
of wounds and ruins of love and war
and sharp metal objects.
That someone else is you, whole
and undisguised.
You can't rush that.
You'll come to it
You will.
Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 6:07 AM UTC
jumping jumbled thoughts
hop-scotch, double-dutch, criss-cross
getting lost in mish-mosh
scratching a vinyl
stuck constant skipping,
unfinished rounds of loop-de-loop spinning
speeding down stream
leaping across time warping lilypads,
memories interrupted by what-if daydreams.
my brain places haphazard bookmarks
when it runs into a lump,
then hops on a new train
ka-clunk ka-clunk-clunk ka-clunk,
tripping over decaying stumps
and mountains of over-processed junk.
always falling back to distraction,
instant satisfaction
was taught to me habitually,
so i look the other way when
my will bends instantaneously
at the mention of insane
raucous romping renegades.
i throw hand grenades
to prevent unfinished fragments
of insight from cementing.
wishing my words would
spit themselves out,
or dive off a cliff to utter calamity
cause effort is lost on me -
passionless revere
and bottomless see-sawing.
just stick me slack-jawed
in front of any cookie-cutter size of
plastic rectangle-god,
they all repeat the same chant
commanding me to stare endlessly at
screen after screen after screen after screen after screen -
my screaming pacified by flashing lights
and buzzing jibber-gabber.
infinite scrolling consumes isolated nights,
meticulously crafting a self-projection
made from inverse other-reflection
to deflect nagging fear of
detection and rejection.
can you really hear my inflection
from this typeface
and condensed pre-packaged mind-space?
i feel like i'm speaking,
but feedback is empty and misplaced
only muttered out by thoughtless mistake.
well once i pin me down
ill stick you beside,
and we can melt into cork board
a collage of disintegrated insides.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
You're feeling kind of worn out
Things, they never turn out
Like you saw them
In your dreams
Things, they're kind of hazy
Things have gotten crazy
A convoluted mish-mash of what once was
Things are never what they once were
So on this rainy night, baby
Just hold me tight
Take me through the wind
Next to you in the storm
Things you never win
May turn out pretty nice
You've just got to hold out your hand
For things that just may happen
You can't let your delusions
Stray you from the truth
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
criss·cross (krĭs′krôs′)
~~~
verb:
criss·crossed, criss·cross·ing, criss·cross·es
1. To mark with crossing lines.
2. To move back and forth through or over:
noun:
1. A mark or pattern made of crossing lines.
2. A state of being at conflicting or contrary purposes.
~~~
Oh Steve,
you nailed me
one mo' time,
to this cross of mine,
it's composition,
wood of linear mish mash, and the
nails, of a clear liquid substance,
drops of contradictory emotions
insight inside,
your practiced spécialité,
disarming the self-arming, harming,
we let our minds assemble reasons why,
in order to ourselves
dissemble
I keep hammering myself
unsure why, unclear the charge,
unknown the inevitable outcome
but the lines are continuously crossing, indeed,
but the intersections dissatisfying, in deed,
which is why theses words sores,
seeded by your words,
both burst and languish,
taking to the limitless limit,
of deep water oil exploration
unsure if I want to discover,
unknown if I want to uncover
the essential oils,
the caustic causing lyes,
that anoint these graying hairs,
blind his eyes,
both resting upon a furrowed, burrowed,
a puzzled forehead expression of
confusion about such simple line items as
life everlasting
out of bounds,
out of town,
writing poetry,
down by Richie Haven's San Francisco Bay,
listening to Norah Jones, wailing plaintive,
another Pandora perfect choice
"Don't Miss You At All"
am I stuck on an endless, repeating rifle
firing blanks of repetitious, line life patterns,
or worse,
forever trapped in the colorless
spaces between,
wondering if I can answer-handle
Stevie Nick's pre-vision precsion
pinpricking, questioning,
about the seasons of our life
*" but time makes you bolder,
even children get older,
I'm getting older too...
and if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,
well, well, the landslide will bring it down*"
so in this out of state, out of mind,
drinking up these meandering ramblings,
experiential wondering not,
if
the summer sunshine,
only the
when,
it will return,
and the lines drawn upon my face
sun burnt,
cease their
meaning meandering
re life's line items such as
life everlasting
~
Market Street
San Francisco,
two thirteen two thousand sixteen
Feb 13, 2016
Feb 13, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
What did I do,
Quite the disaster, but if only they knew
The depth of the hole I find myself in,
Thank goodness ambition is no mortal sin.
I seriously thought this thing would be fast,
A simple invasion, a side show, a blast,
Over by dinner then pop the Champagne,
Ukraine by name only, Russia’s domain.
Never the thought came into my head
That a little B actor would play me instead,
Tenacious and cunning he's proven to be
But if chess is the game, good luck playing me.
The West struts its stuff, more noise than effect,
A mish mash of junk all easily wrecked,
Perhaps they forget the Russian resolve,
Stay tuned for a while and watch it evolve.
Ukraine is no match for what we can do,
Time our best friend and that's always been true,
We're patient and hardy, impervious to pain,
We'll suffer and bleed for what's ours to gain.
Don't read me wrong I want this to end,
I'm just very careful which message I send,
At the end of the day I'll make a tough deal,
And a big swath of land I'll invariably steal.
Ukraine won't be happy, the West will cry foul,
But don't be impressed, it's merely a howl,
A little play acting for show and effect,
As for this to continue they clearly all dread.
Ignore the odd glitches it's the outcome that counts,
This hasn't been pretty, a truth with few doubts,
But often what shines is merely fool’s gold,
Land is the key and Ukraine’s I will hold.
Jul 14, 2023
Jul 14, 2023 at 3:47 PM UTC
tachyphylaxis - tach·y·phy·lax·is (tāk'ə-fĭ-lāk'sĭs) n.
1. A rapidly decreasing response to pleasure following initial administration.
I didn’t know this
demon had a name.
Ugly as it is it fits,
a random mish-mash
of unpleasant sounds
and equal unpleasantness
felt.
I’ve known the *******
forever, manifest in vitamin cures
and psychological processes,
SSRI’s and stabilizers.
He attends to the end of
affectionate loving and all
the designer vacations
you've ever taken.
He is the golden handcuffs of
square foot home ownership
and his business cards are
set in silver.
To put it bluntly
his continuous presence
is intent on destruction
of any contentment.
He is all things along the way
that appear so promising at first
but never last.
Synonymous with tolerance,
antonymous with precedence,
the antagonistic leaven of all living.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 3:29 AM UTC
I don’t see people anymore,
only shadows.
I see their past and future
trailing behind and ahead
the constant lagging and catching up of them.
I am the patch-work mish-mosh
made-up creature-being
with Past / Future / Present
silly-goose whatnots.
I am the girl you laugh with at Starbucks
because you’re too ****** bored to live for coffee.
I get it.
Let your smiling teeth do the talking.
I am the one-liner two-timing
bimbo-less wretch of a lady you call friend.
I am the cigarette loser who watches your dogs.
I will burn your children alive.
I am the tree-hugging
nonchalant ******** handing out flyers.
I will plant a seedling then rip it to shreds.
I will wear its bark for armor.
Your precious ******* oak
puts out cigarette butts now.
And from its death we grow cancer cells for fun.
Hell, we’re past time for past-times.
It’s all coffee and cigarettes now.
Coffee and cigarettes
and honking horns.
Coffee and cigarettes and honking horns
and shadows.
No more people.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
I stole your poem ..yes it's true
I didn't do it... to make you blue..
I didn't need your... broken words
although that may be...what you heard
The scattered thoughts....
you left undone...I tried to make them
become one.........and all
but they were so tattered..so torn asunder
was it worth the grief
I began to wonder
After all the wishy wash
from certain mish mash
I finally threw it........... all in the trash
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
'She walks in beauty' as 'a phantom of delight,'
The one evicted from his darkest night,
Her' raven' hair draped around her shoulders,
Laying next to him in 'silken tent',
Wanted just 'a slice of wedding cake'
Her beautiful spirit captured,
Sent to early sorrows death by 'solitary reaper',
Taken on' May- day',
She was the' light of living days',
Before tragically taking her 'survivor's leave'
He left her for another,
Took another younger lover,
It was their wedding cake,
She so desired,
It was to be their wedding day,
Before her heart he did thou break,
Her life was stolen,
Tragically by own fair hand,
As her sweetheart whom she'd trusted,
Greeted' the chorus of the newly dead'
The sun rising before she flew away,
Back to night realms,
To rest in peace.
Used poetry titles from classic works to create this poem.
Lord Byron, William Wordsworth, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Lee Frost,Robert Graves, Wordsworth,Ralph Waldron Emerson,Thomas Moore, Charles Causley, John Dunne and Edwin Muir. Thank you for reading.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
This is a bit of a mish mash, but it was quite fun
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
Hot house flower by nature. By nurture she.took the hype hook to sinker.
All I see when I look at baby is power.
Habnero tiempo.
Warm to hot.
Spaaniard, coated with Ibo.slathered with india injected with a pulsating
Congas....mish mosh. Black as the ace of spades,mocha smooth ,
blond and blue,fiery red.
Magic in the hips.
Rat-a tat-tat spray lingo on one full breath.
Just ran down your program from A to Z.
Just want to grip your hips mami.
Synch up your vibe. Turn that growl your emitten
To purrr like a kitten. Ahh... eso..Asi.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
MMMMmmmmmm......
MMMMmmmmm.......
MMMMMmmmmmmelancholy melodies of misery, Mish-mashing memoirs in my mind.
MMMMmmmmmmmmistakes of my mademoiselle misshapen maladies, messing with my mental mire.
MMMmmmmmomentous man might made minute by mammary marching miseries.....
MMMmmmmmy oh my – my many marching miseries.
MMMmmmmmakes me miss the mystery in meeting..... Months of magical moonlighting...... .....mind you masterful mating!!
Mmmmmindlessly meshing membranes of moderately matching mettle.
MMMMmmmembering my moods and modes........messy and mostly misty as my mind makes it mildewed mould.
MMMMMmmmissed OH SO MADLY, if I may........ is the mercilessly milked MEANINGFULNESS in the mentioned misbegotten mismatches....
MMMMmmmmind you.....my merry moot mistakes.
MMMeeeee??? Meh!!! maniacally meek....moreover......momentarily MAD.....
MMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmm.......
5-03-2010.
Apr 8, 2012
Apr 8, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
All I came up here to do was to make a poem and to get some extra credit now with that said I guess I really should earn it.
Now I don’t know what kind of poem you really want, but that really doesn’t matter since your already here and have already given your two dollars to Japan and my job Is pretty much already over before it even began.
Now I could do some Dr. Seussish stuff and just rhyme words with wish and ish that would make a mish and then you would find a magic cat fish, but that would be kindergarten repeatin-ish.
Now this may not be fitting with what you planned, but I’ve already told you that I don’t care what you want I’ve doing this for me, Te he.
Now that Dr. Seuss is out of the way maybe there’s something greater that I would like to say.
Now two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth; oh wait I’m sorry that’s not my poem. Hmm I’m stealing other people’s stuff I guess you guys aren’t getting your money’s worth tonight.
Now I don’t know what I could really bring up that isn’t ****** up, but maybe you could rejoice since you get to hear this magical lyrical voice.
Now this has pretty much been off the top of my head and hopefully you haven’t been wishing you were dead, but hey I think it’s been pretty okay. Now that you’ve heard this and have planned to leave your seat I would like to convince you that you shouldn’t stand to your feet.
Now this has made me feel like the man I do hope that you’ve understood the sarcasm and jokes since this wasn’t only made for young folks.
Now since this little fling is almost over I would like to get yo numba, but who am I kidding you didn’t like this part of the show so I’ll just go, but before I go I would gladly like you to know…that there is no refunds.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 2:08 AM UTC
Never saw Cinderella, Sleeping beauty, or whats-her-face from "The King and I"
break up their love over a fight
Happily ever after, is that 'bout right?
but the prince never cheat, yell, or lie
The Beast never had Belle bruised or beat
But these girls were the fairest of them all
Now-a-days with all these **** stars running around hows one to compete?
Never saw the Prince get jealous or even bat an eye lash
when Snow White lived with 7 other dudes
I guess reality and fairy tales don't mish-mash
but here's to beer, *** and cash!
May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 5:10 PM UTC
25 years into life on this planet. A quarter of a ******* century. I've attended more friend's funerals than weddings, a sad typicality of the generation I arose in beautiful concert with.
This strange fact reminds me of the opening lines from Allen Ginsberg's Howl:
"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the ***** streets at dawn looking for an angry fix."
I too sought this same angry fix, but removed myself from the clutter once death stalked the corners of my own addled streets. I too was destroyed by this madness, but given the gift of a second chance upon which to reform... and the guilt that stretches its legs so cavalierly, so callously, across the resting stool of my mind reminds me of this every day I do not practice sobriety as a dogma (just as I simultaneously recognize I should never accept it--or anything else--as dogma).
It's been two strange years since Anton passed, and he still haunts me as the interpersonal ghost of the relationship we had together which, with his death, has become embodied as said ghost sans the need for either of our particular presence. Perhaps this felt phantom of our collective essence will continue to waft throughout our globular strangeness we call the Earth until all observation becomes impossible for lack of any remaining observers. I loved you once, and I will love you always, and thus will always love you until "always" becomes as relative as "once upon a time."
"Early 17th century: from Greek exēgēsis, from exēgeisthai ‘interpret’, from ex- ‘out of’ + hēgeisthai ‘to guide, lead’."
I read myself and "it's" or "him's" reality like others read scripture itself.
I am neither hetero nor homosexual. I am bisexual, and many (even within the tight 'gay' community) do not understand this when I give an attempt towards a definition of a monogamous relationship, despite it's polyamorous-ness in its long-term oprative-ness, ability, and identity.
A monogo(mish) identity. Something which proves it's loyalty and is only taken in as an operative contingent of oneself thereof. Couldn't be more favor in their flavor, so this is simply a translation of my multiplicity of romances in my monetary destitution (not that anyone has to pay me for anything lol).
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 12:41 AM UTC
So you’re looking to find a way in;
But a labyrinth lies beneath my skin.
Plus the whole of my heart is a maze;
A mish-mash of mishaps and misleading ways.
And my brain is one big ***** trap;
Full of illusions and calamitous cracks.
‘Cause you see even I’m lost in me;
So please – give up, get out and be free,
Whilst you’ve got this opportunity.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 9:56 AM UTC
a
mish
mash
of
absolute trash
my
poems
or
any
thing
that
gives me pause
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 2:30 AM UTC
Flicking through old photos
Since forever stashed under my bed
Mum points at one of me
Little, laughing
And my brothers
In colourful winter hats,
Climbing white trees,
A one of a kind cold day
The brown leaves sing
"Weren't you so cute?"
To think Christmas is wasted on me now
And I lie lamenting the happiness of someone long past
My throat hurts at the effort of not just bursting out
Crying
Like a baby as I lose control
In front of my own mother
That wasn't me on that fence
The little face swinging upside-down
That was someone pure
Locked inside me
That was light on a piece of card
I don't feel
Like a person
Anymore
I'm a mish-mash
Of random
Things
I am a split second
That's almost gone
I am traits, emotions, chemicals, hormones, electricity, fear, love, friendships
Fading into a maelstrom of humanness
Mounds of recycled carbon
Made-up meaning
Lost in fog
Where I begin and end fades
Into everything and nothing
I'm the dirt in the ground
The stars in the sky
Something words can't describe
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 8:33 AM UTC
I find myself
I'm dead in an ink page
Hostage in your photos
I'm sorry, sad I find living up to myself a scary ideal
But really, all I am is the clacking of teeth
And those who don't hesitate to remind me
Aren't nice, aren't my friends really,
'cus friends don't talk philosophy
I'm looking for what I see as me
I'm tired - worn raggish
I'm hopeless and bored
And fickle in the words I write
Ink paint is tinted blood
Water colour is see-through meaning
Mish, mash, mosh
Nice to meet what you see as me
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
a composer to be sure, "one who puts together."
Appropriate much?
I should think so
sitting in a place where i should be able to say what i want
but my mind can't create words right now.
Ugh I need to stop listening to this song.
New song: not much of a better choice but it's a gooden.
I have no intention of letting you read this.
mish-mashed together.
musings without my muse.
i didn't think it was possible.
it really was that song.
keep composing
you put-er together-er of things.
compose your way to my heart
put me together.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
I don’t want to feel!
I’m fearing the changes in life that are inevitable.
I want to be brave with a nonchalant shrug and a smile on my face.
I don’t want to be drowned in a river of irrelevancy-
That may be only apparent to me in my thought’s captivity.
I want to be content with what I have- feeling no need to compete.
I don’t want to let life’s struggles drag and flail me as they see fit.
Becoming someone unrecognizable to myself.
I want to have strength to show myself that I can be tough.
But nights like these where silent tears roll~
I’m frozen in the same spot as life’s failure tease without mercy or control.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 4:07 AM UTC
But I know…
this blending of a warped (time) continuum,
the future resting on shaky table legs,
errors of habitual inconsistency,
one on top of a prior, on top of…
we pursue regrets, misdeeds, theorizing
that we can fix the wobbly mess we instigated,
that can we smooth the ruckus that
the unknown in surety is bonded to be
surly serve up buffet style,
we help ourselves to troubles so attractive,
like rice thrown at a wedding, dead seeds of
messes yet to come
*old regrets freshly regretted, for we waste
not even
what we wanted then
even now!
for we do not proper value the passing of each momentary,
but weep and mourn the entirety of years corrupted by
wrong-headed mish-mash of longings,
swift stupid inexcusable acts of impulsive weaknesses permitted,
so that we dust
the dust encasing artificial flowers,
that are so faded that the dust mispermits one
to fool themselves
that they were once ,
burnt orange vibrant,*
like the optimism of a sunny day gone and hoped for
just once more
yes, I know why…
<><> <>
**Burnt Norton by T.S.Eliot
**
“Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
All time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.
My words echo
,
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
<><><><>>
postscript
the rushing to my ever nearer demise
the dust suffocates,
the regrettables
have no half life,
and I dust,
I know
if I do not,
I choke…
Dec 30, 2023
Dec 30, 2023 at 8:39 AM UTC
Forever flowing towards me,
then out beyond
the open sea and
the
river,
sullen, sluggishly
takes on another life
and we believe
it's only man
who plans to execute
a will.
Hyperbole,
they said,
(a million times)
will be the death of me,
another will or won't you
try
to be
the river
strolling to the sea.
And the meaning
does not mean the end.
The exodus
never included nor
excluded us.
we became or we become and
some became
becalmed, some
Self-harmed and others
upped and went.
To all intents, it seemed a good idea,
dam the rivers
free up the land,
man's not content to have his fingers in
the cookie jar
he's got to have a hand in there.
Another mish-mash of my thoughts
to think on when I've
'bought the farm'
I wonder if Maggie really cares.
if I go to work or not.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
HI DUDES
I WOULD LOVE TO GET INTO HOLLYWOOD, BUT I HAVE TO SETTLE WITH WHAT I AM DOING
WHICH IS PLAYS WITH MENTAL HEALTH, NOW, DON’T GET ME WRONG, I LOVE THIS A LOT
YA SEE, I HOPE WE ARE STILL RIGHT TO GET FUNDING FOR NEXT YEAR, CAUSE THIS IS
MAKING ME BE ONE OF THE FAMOUS PEOPLE, YEAH I AM GOING TO DRAMA THIS YEAR, 2015
I AM LEARNING CHARACTERS, BUT I WOULD LOVE TO BRING MY CHARACTERS OUT TO THE
OPEN STREET, I HAVE BOUGHT TOPSY THE CLOWN TO GORMAN HOUSE, AND I WOULD LOVE
TO READ MY POEMS ON THE RADIO, OR START A NEW SHOW ON MAYBE, ADELAIDES CHANNELL 44
YA SEE PERHAPS, I CAN START A NEW POEM READING SHOW, AND I CAN SHOW SOME OF ADELAIDES
FAVE NIGHT SPOTS, THAT IS WHY I PUT MY FAKE IMAGINARY TV STATION TO YOUTUBE, TO GIVE
THE TV BOSSES IDEAS, OF HOW THEY CAN USE ME, ON THEIR SHOWS, YA SEE I CAN HELP IN
NEW MORNING SHOWS, I AM WILLING TO LEARN MORE JOKES, NO SUSIE AND MARCO WERE
CHARACTERS, BROUGHT ON TO SHOW MY COMMITMENT TO GETTING UP TO LIVE TV
AND IT SHOWS THAT EVEN IF I READING, THEY CAN FIND A WAY, I WILL WORK WELL LIKE THIS
YOU DIDN’T SEE MY MISH MASH VARIETY NIGHT SHOW IN FULL, BUT IT SHOWS, I AM JUST
ABOUT AS FUN AS THE TV PEOPLE, OK, WELL I DON’T READ, BUT I CAN READ, AND WE NEED
TO SHOW THESE TV PEOPLE, THAT I CAN DOM SHOWS LIKE
BREAKFAST SHOWS ON COMMUNITY CHANNELS, REFERENCE AAA YOUTUBE TV AND AARON CLAYTON
PARTY SHOWS FOCUSING ON NIGHT SPOTS, BRINGING FUN FAMILY LIFE TO THESE NIGHT SPOTS
LIKE PLAYING DRINKING GAMES YOU WOULD HEAR AT HOME PARTIES, USE YA IMAGINATION
I WOULD LOVE AN RELATIVELY EASY BUT HIGH PAID ROLE IN MUSICALS
I HAVE STORIES THAT PEOPLE LOVE TO ACT OUT
YOUNG PEOPLE IN CANBERRA HAVE ALREADY ACTED OUT ONE OF MY ROLES
POETRY SHOWS ON CHANNELL 44 ADELAIDE, WHERE WE CAN FIND OUT HOW MANY POETS
ARE ABLE TO SHARE THEIR POEMS, ON A SHOW,
I NEED TO GET MY NAME OUT THERE, OK, I NEED TO FEEL PART OF THE WORLD
I DON’T READ, BUT I CAN ACT AND ENTERTAIN,
I AM A YOUTUBE ****** ONN AAA YOUTUBE TV AND AARON CLAYTON
I AM JOHNNY GEORGIE BROWN ON HELLO POETRY
I AM WRITER JOE ON WRITERSCAFE
I AM BRIAN ALLAN ON ART COLONY
GO TO THE MENTAL HEALTH TV FACEBOOK PAGE AND READ BRIAN ALLAN
I WANT TO BE FAMOUS, I DID ART THERAPY IN BELCONNEN
AND I AM TRYING TO BRING THEM TO ACT IT FOR THE COMMUNITY IN 2015
I AM AN INTERNET CELEBRITY
I AM XFACTOR GIANT ON ART 3000.COM
I CAN CHANGE THE WORLD’S THOUGHTS, PLEASE GIVE ME A GO
I KNOW I AM 45, AND NOT A YOUNG PERSON
BUT, I AM TELLING YOU WHAT I WANT TO ACCOMPLISH
PLEASE ONE DAY HELP ME, GAIN ME ENOUGH MONEY
SO I CAN GET AT LEAST ONE HOMELESS HOTEL IN THE WORLD BEFORE
I GO TO MY NEXT LIFE, I AM TRAINING FOR STARDOM AS WE SPEAK
THROUGH MENTAL HEALTH
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC