Parents assembled
cameras at the ready
the graduates march
with mortarboards tassled.

Faculty tributes
ever glowing praises
but graduates listen
with an eye to the prize.

Pomp and Circumstance
playing throughout the gym
while graduates ignore
with hopes for a cupcake.

Kindergarten bites.

You keep shaking at the branches
just like money grows on trees.
I been dealing in these cheap clichés
just like they'll help me leave someday.
And--easy! Easy! Easy.--
We can't let 'em hear us scheming
at the bottom of their hill
while their victories are streaming.

I can still remember days
when sane folks always laid bets on us.
With our mortarboards tilted all smart
and God left sorting filters,
we tilted, tipped all windmills
and we smoked through all opponents.

You'll tell me I once loved you.
I'll reply that, once, I could.
And we'll keep on telling stories
'til our voices clear the woods
and drift on up their hill
and through their windows
to their ears.

I'll tell you you were beautiful.
You were! I ******* swear!
So tell me I was beautiful
and that we can repair
this broken clumsy story
that ****** us all up and brought us here.

Up there atop their hill,
those thieving ******* sip their wine,
while below them, our white facepaint runs.
We plan ahead for better times.

I keep shaking at the branches
as if friendship grows on trees.
Just as though they might accept me,
when the dollars fall with Autumn leaves.
And you been dealing hard in hollow hopes
and flimsy dreams.

But I still think you're beautiful.
So tell me that I'm beautiful.
And then let's clip their flimsy wings.

Those ******* 'crost the town
are eating **** and grinning.
               Cackling,
               orgasming,
while counting out their winnings.

But their music plays too loud
and soon their eardrums will be bleeding.
If they can't hear us breathing, babe,
they'll never hear us scheming.

Wall Of Words



This is all a poem is,

                   prose and rows of

letters in groups with

                    gaps and spaces

between each course.

               Every now and then

one might need to

                insert a long phrase,

these are the lentils

                             of literature.

The only difference

                    between masons

and poets is their

         composition techniques.

Bricklayers tend to

                  construct from the

bottom up and they

             don’t use punctuation

marks, whereas

           lyricists do the inverse.

But mortarboards are

                not the sole domain

of intellectuals.

       Their completed creations

have a visible symbiosis,

                             works of art.

That is until some low

                 case rascal graffiti’s

it with

         B      L       O     C      K  


C     A     P     I     T     A     L     S.




Finn. 29th April Greece.




Dedicated to Roger Waters

of Pink Floyd author of

Another Brick In The Wall.

The lyrics were a reaction

to his time at Cambridgeshire

High School where teachers

were of the impression that

children were homogeneous.

Hence the term just another

brick in the wall.

                 <>

I’m an autistic dyslexic expelled

from school because the system

failed me. The poem which is in

toothing format is attempting to

draw a comparison between the

poet and bricklayer who may have

actually been in the same class

at school. But what is more

important is how the author got

to show the poets frustration

and gave him a schizophrenic

delinquent character bringing him

to deface what he had created.


What is also worth noting is that the

poem was formatted in with is known

in wall construction as  “ Toothing “.

That is when bricks are left with gaps

where the mason can pick it up later.

This of course is a metaphor for the

poet and his everlasting expectation

that which caused his mental inertia

all his life, will any time now pass.


But this is an innocent naivety, the

wall will never be completed, it can’t,

because the poet never did or will

achieve notoriety, thus, he will never

get a mortar board from which to

trowel the jointing material to finish.

In life, we can, and all do, get
our chance to be overturned.

Refugees escaping, full of hope,
only to be foiled by a tidal wave.

I was cap-sized early, at school,
dyslexic, wore the Dunces Hat.

But remember, even well fitting
mortarboards can flip in the wind.

If the cap fits, but remember,
mortarboards flip in the wind.

In life we can and all do, get
Our chance to be overturned.

Refugees escaping, full of hope
only to be foiled by a tidal wave.

I was capsized early, at school,
Dyslexic, wore the Dunces hat.