"mucked" poems
.
1
death dirges
Frogs in distance sing . . .
Foxes, herons, join in too,
. . . A round of croaking.
2
love gifts
Her gift of flowers . . .
Came at night without garden,
. . . Were picked in bedroom.
3
twins demure
Full moon and she . . .
Beauties without crescent smile,
. . . Naked in starlight.
4
light music
Before even sun . . .
Gleam opens to paint each day,
. . . Beauty in birdsong.
5
iridescent
After sun showers . . .
Sparkle of rainbow colours,
. . . Busy hummingbirds
6
chilling
Hollow sound through trees,
Naked and bare branches sway,
. . . Old winter creeping.
7
flirting
She wanted a child . . .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
. . . Clock set to maybe.
8
super villain
Truth once singular . . .
Mucked all up with politics,
. . . In cowl of falsehoods.
9
casualties
Blood spills in gardens . . .
Naïve worms torn from loose grounds,
. . . Red robins, green lawns.
10
stigmata
Each spring miracle . . .
Trees blessed by caterpillars gifts,
. . . Holey hands of leaves.
11
consecrations
Ripples lead to bows . . .
After fish breaks the water,
. . . A kingfisher dives.
12
constancy
Steadfast as always . . .
Wildflower in sun and rain,
. . . Showing true colours.
13
roommates
Chaste lovers wonder . . .
How bodies weather the cold,
. . . Never knowing touch.
14
swept away
Suddenly we kissed . . .
At beach as tides rolling in,
. . . Drowning by ocean.
15
seductress
Her red hair so long . . .
Brushing my face, hiding eyes,
. . . A kind entrapment.
.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
They were the knotted extensions of her soul.
They showed how she twisted the truth
right out the lies she had been told.
Since birth people tried to typecast her role.
Marry a man
Have some babies
Grow old
Her family would say someone mucked up the recipe;
sugar, spice and everything nice. She was
dissimilar to the 3. Her sugar was solitude.
Her spice? Tattoos. Everything nice in her
had been stripped and ******* So the only
thing left of that were the bits of metal in her lips,
nose and ears. "Brush your hair 100 times a day, dear",
Her mother had said for years. And she did
until the day she told her parents she was
a different kind of queer. Then,the tears.
Somewhere between her mother's damnations,
her father's belligerence and her usual
rebuttal of indifference, she began to take interest
in her hair. Those long, straight strands were
nothing like her. The red reflected
her parents rejection. In that moment.
There was clarity in the contorted
version of love she had to incur.
She decided the only expectations
to accept were hers. And just like that
the barrier between her and the world cracked.
She decided to dread her hair and dye it black.
As the years went by, her parents learned
to accept their daughter. And in return
each year she would send them a photo
showing how her hair had gotten longer.
She also added trinkets to the locks and let
the strawberry color grow back.
Yet she kept the tips black to remind herself
no matter what the world wants her to be
the most important thing in life was her self-esteem.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
HATE BEING THE ONE THAT HAS TO BEHAVE
YOU SEE, I KNOW MY BROTHER IS ALLOWED TO SAY WHAT HE WANTS
BUT I HAVE TO WATCH WHAT I SAY, SOMETIMES I AM JUST BEING COOL
I HATE PEOPLE TELLING ME I HAVE TO BE GOOD, LIKE MY PERFECT FAMILY
IT’S HARD TO DISCIPLINED TO, JUST BECAUSE, I MUCKED WITH THE OLD FOGIES
I HATE, HOW PEOPLE TREAT ME LIKE A TOTAL AND UTTER LOSER
YOU SEE, WHY DO PEOPLE TRY AND DISCIPLINE ME, I FIND IT HARD
LIKE I CAN’T HELP IT, IF I HATED DADS DISCIPLINE RULE
I CAN’T HELP IT, IF I AM A NICE PERSON
YOU SEE, IF I GOOF UP, I AM TOLD, I HAVE NO MATES ANYMORE
ALL BECAUSE I SAID SOMETHING OUT OF LINE
I KNOW MY BROTHER HAS A WIFE AND KIDS, AND WAS COOL
AND YOU KNOW WHAT I HATE, PEOPLE ONLY LIKING ME
IF I BEHAVE, CAUSE I AM COOL, MAN, THE COOLEST DUDE IN CANBERRA
I HATE WHEN I HEAR THE VOICES BE LIKE US, WHEN I EXPRESS MYSELF OVER THE WEB
YOU SEE, WHY DO I HAVE TO BE NICE, I AM A COOL AND REGULAR GUY
I DESERVE TO BE LIKED, I DON’T WANT TO BE LIKED FOR BEING PATHETIC, NO WAY
I HAD VOICES FROM THE PARANORMAL, YA SEE I AM A NICE COOL PERSON
WHY CAN’T I ENJOY THINGS, JUST BECAUSE I ****** OFF PEOPLE
I FEEL IF I SEE THESE PEOPLE, THEY WILL SAY TO ME, I WAS WRONG
BUT I HATE BEING DISCIPLINED, PLEASE DON’T DISCIPLINE ME
I AM 45, AND I AIN’T COMMITTING ANY CRIMES, I AM STILL SEEING THESE DUDES
I USED TO GET DRUNK WITH, SOME WERE GOOD BLOKES
IT’S JUST THAT BACK THEN, I WASN’T PREPARED FOR OUR OUTINGS
I LIKE FOOTBALL, AND I LIKE GOING OUT HAVING FUN
AND I DON’T WANT TO BE TOLD TO BEHAVE MYSELF I HATED BEING TREATED LIKE A NICE AND POLITE MAN
WHILE MY MATES CAN BE LEFT ALONE, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE
I HATE THAT MAN KEN, I HAVE TO BEHAVE FOR HIM
I CAN’T STAND BEHAVING FOR ANYONE, BEHAVING IS DUNB AND BEHAVING IS WRONG
I HATE CATHOLIC MORALS, AND I HATE DISCIPLINE, BUT I FEEL ONLY OLD FOGIES HAVE DISCIPLINE MORALS
I TRY AND BE GOOD, WHEN I GO OUT TO EVENTS, BUTB SOMETIMES IT’S HARD TO EXCEPT DISCIPLINE
CAUSE WHY CAN’T I JUST BE ALLOWED TO MAKE A BIT OF NOISE
I AM ON MEDICATION, YA SEE IT’S MY DESTINATION, I WANT TO BE HAPPY, SO I TAKE MEDICATION
I THOUGHT DAD WAS STARTING TO SEE MY WAY OF LIFE, YOU SEE, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A GOOD BOY
BEING A GOOD BOY DOESN’T WORK FOR ME
I WANT TO BE NORMAL, I WANT TO BE LIKED
I SING A SONG, I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BAZ BOY, CAUSE HE TRIED TO JUST THINK I LIKED DISCIPLINE
I HATE BEING TOLD TO SHUT UP, IF YOU WANT ME TO SHUT UP, I WILL NEVER SHUT UP, CAUSE, I FOLLOW MY OWN STYLE
WHICH IS FUN, I BELIEVE IN HAVING FUN WHEREVER I GO OUT INTO THIS WORLD
I CAN’T UNDERSTAND WHY YOU CAN’T REALISE, I HATE DISCIPLINE, I DON’T WANT TO BE TREATED LIKE I AM TOO WOOSEY FOR LIFE
I HATE BEING TOLD I HAVE TO BEHAVE, WHY DON’T YOU BEHAVE, YOU TELL ME TO BEHAVE, YOUR A TOTAL LOSER, BUDDY OLE BOY OLE CHUM OLE PAL
I AM GOING TO THE BOTANIC GARDENS TONIGHT, BUT I DON’T WANT TO HANG WITH DISCIPLINE LOVING NERDS
I DON’T DO BEHAVING, OK I WILL NEVER DO BEHAVING, I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE AN OLD FOGIE
I AM A COOL MIDDLE AGER, WHO LOVES TO PARTY
STOP DISCIPLINING ME, YA ****
OR I WILL NEVER TALK TO YOU AGAIN
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 6:09 PM UTC
my brain is a magnet
attracting itself to you
and my heart is a wrench
fixing the toilet
these incantations to raise
you up
these words to make you holy
have me on my knees
with the piss-mucked tiles
but I wouldn’t change
any of it
no
I’d do anything for you
my soul will split
at the rack before
I ever mutter a word
love
how dare I!
I thought I was better
I thought I could look
without touching
speak without breathing
feel without loving
disaster
fortuitous
storm of color
spray me red
splay me naked
for the world to see
my fingers are inspired
to write a friend
in history
in my heart
forever
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 6:32 PM UTC
.
I am part soul,
I'm here for a kiss.
I grasp at her stars'
photosynthesis.
My long lost Atlantis,
a rose from dead seas.
She shows me the doors,
but hands me no keys.
I'm the fallen columns
all scattered about.
"Twenty thousand leagues!"
I heard someone shout.
She's my chipped chiseled stone
below the mucked mire
that leads me beyond
Calcutta's cold fire.
Ah! Lethargic genius,
there's gathering birds
where dogs lap at the *****
we mistook for your words.
She hides in my veins
while it's raining outside.
She's my universal
osmosis suicide.
She really is...
.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 4:32 AM UTC
She had
Big luscious
**** ******* lips
Scrumptiously
A ***** *****
With tattoos
Across her ****
And an ***
That any man
Would kiss
Despite
The ***
And the ****
Already on it
She had sass
And would *****
On *****
As her mascara ran
But she wasn't sick
Her every ******* tear
Immaculate
She was a submissive
So dismissive
When you hit her
She came
And begged
For another
With her
Bloodied pucker
Of mucked lovers
She was a nasty *****
Leaving lipstick
On rich boys
And Leroy's
And she
Would ****
Or ****
Just about
Anything
To get lit
As she elongated
Her words
Like a *****
Southern ******
Slurring her verbs
With dead birds
In her hand
And fear
In her heart
She fanned
Her flames
And scrubbed
The stains
From predictable
Strangers
Strangling her
While getting ******
From every angle
Dangling her soul
In her mangled holes
She cried
And cried for more
Reap and sow
The *****
From her nose
As every man knows
To blow as she chokes
Such a beautiful throat
And that walk
That walk of a *****
That every man adores
That other girls
Only wished for
And she loved it
The attention
The erections
The affection
The infections
She was addicted
To ****
And knew it
She was a ****
Strutting her stuff
Letting her **** out
Of her blouse
Just to arouse
The curiosity
Of your spouse
And wreck
Your house
She couldn't get enough
She'd eat your girl out
Before getting ******
She was down
For anything
Or anyone
A **** ** bag
That we all
Tagged twice
Once for fun
And once alive
I was her life
She was my wife
She was a
kick in the face
Away from fame
And she would
Say anything
Anything
To get away
Until she
Didn't
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
Religious zeal and explosive prowess make incendiary bedfellows
searing calculating moralism where all fall short and deserve to suffer
self righteous corrupted calumny put forth in a sally of sectarian selectivity
your ilk is heading for Hell and I'm (already there) not
fanatical zealots marginalize intellectuals with their mythical mire of mucked up claptrap and copious lack of a priori specificity
a glorified preposterous plethora of pompous pontificating platitudes
the sins of others they deplore but of themselves they don't keep score
Sunday's best is Sunday's worst
you sanctimonious ******** just can't leave people alone
who elected you to point fingers anyway
Jesus was born in a barn to an unmarried woman
And your mommy got shtuped when you were conceived too
you don't walk on water you insolent impertinent fool
the brain police can't wait for Sunday's
oh the satisfaction of a mutual admiration society
knee-jerk hackneyed pavlovian dog speak
Is anything anymore real if you jump around and shout about it
recipients of adulates get accustomed to sycophants
fawning complacent obsequious kiss ***** and Sunday suck-ups
pass the plate
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
**Rows of stone houses, all back-to-back
lined by the side of streets cobble set
housewives with shopping, segs in their heels
clopping down ginnels with ringing footsteps.
Cast iron lampposts, corporation green
daily were reset by clockwork it seemed
casting more shadow than light which to see
brimstone edged steps, scrubbed 'elbow' clean.
Sweeps on their rounds, in Summer would rush
cleaning the flues with rods and brush
kids in the street, staring in wonder
at soot snowing flurries, from porcupine pots.
Nutty slack in the grate, drawn by the pan
coal smoking stacks, pouring out grime
creels of damp washing, stealing the flame
when years end smog, jaundiced the sky.
A trip to the 'flicks', Saturday morning
'thrupence' for best seats, 'top-a-the-stalls'
rounds of cheers as good-un's were chasing
the bad-un's were boo'd, soon to be caught.
In 'wellies an scruff,' we went to the 'flea-pit'
with 'ha-peth o' cheap spice', soothing the throat
food for thought, all week long
and played them all, the films we saw.
Cowboys and Indians, cap guns held high
annoying the neighbours, 'bye it were grand'
riding the range on imaginary horses
best we ride on, with slap of the hand.
'Play in yer own street', my recallection
and 'geer off mi steps, they've jus-bin-swilled'
yet still we 'mucked out' with die-cast toys
against the 'midden', and on the walls.
No more adventure, making own fun
young-un's today don't know how it's done
cartoon and serial, games of war
we'd launch to the moon, upon the see-saw.**
... ... ...
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 12:05 AM UTC
Truth once singular . . .
Mucked all up with politics,
. . . In cowl of falsehoods.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 8:36 PM UTC
.
1
death dirges
Frogs in distance sing . . .
Foxes, herons, join in too,
. . . A round of croaking.
2
love gifts
Her gift of flowers . . .
Came at night without garden,
. . . Were picked in bedroom.
3
twins demure
Full moon and she . . .
Beauties without crescent smile,
. . . Naked in starlight.
4
light music
Before even sun . . .
Gleam opens to paint each day,
. . . Beauty in birdsong.
5
iridescent
After sun showers . . .
Sparkle of rainbow colours,
. . . Busy hummingbirds
6
chilling
Hollow sound through trees,
Naked and bare branches sway,
. . . Old winter creeping.
7
flirting
She wanted a child . . .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
. . . Clock set to maybe.
8
super villain
Truth once singular . . .
Mucked all up with politics,
. . . In cowl of falsehoods.
9
casualties
Blood spills in gardens . . .
Naïve worms torn from loose grounds,
. . . Red robins, green lawns.
10
stigmata
Each spring miracle . . .
Trees blessed by caterpillars gifts,
. . . Holey hands of leaves.
11
consecrations
Ripples lead to bows . . .
After fish breaks the water,
. . . A kingfisher dives.
12
constancy
Steadfast as always . . .
Wildflower in sun and rain,
. . . Showing true colours.
13
roommates
Chaste lovers wonder . . .
How bodies weather the cold,
. . . Never knowing touch.
14
swept away
Suddenly we kissed . . .
At beach as tides rolling in,
. . . Drowning by ocean.
15
seductress
Her red hair so long . . .
Brushing my face, hiding eyes,
. . . A kind entrapment.
.
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 6:28 PM UTC
Last wish
The old guy lay in hospital, his family round the bed;
listening to his dieing wish
& this is what he said.
“I've always been a farmhand & mucked out barn & stable.
I've done my bit, at shiftin' ****
to put food on the table.
You need to know, before I go, don't let me be cremated.
It's something I've thought long about
– a thought I've always hated.
Bury me by the cowshed, among the old bluebells.
There, let me lay, 'til judgement day,
amid the farmyard smells.
Yes, bury me under the dung-heap,
although it seems absurd.
Far better than cremation
-I wish to be inturd!”
Briz 6/6/13
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Prayers will help, the pastor said.
Hands joined, rest on her stomach,
the blue dress, neat and clean, her
hair set just so. Eyes closed, lips
mouthed prayers. Behind closed eyes
memories stirred, waking giants,
deep feelings woke from dark sleep.
Light from open window warmed
eyelids, skin, hands. She saw behind
lids, shadowy figures, deeds done.
Some other place, other time, all
remembered, recalled. She bit her
lip between teeth. Sensed the smell,
familiar scent, odour more. His not
hers. Side by side, smells, memories,
deeds and music, sensations and
feelings of uncleanness. Just this
once he had said. Just the once.
More after. Each time deeper, more
hurtful. None had known. So said.
Some must have. Time and tide.
She felt sunlight on cheek. Eyes
behind lids moved. Shadows lingered,
dark room brought sweat and damp
beneath armpits. Clothes removed,
by whom? She or another? Where
was Mother? Father lost at sea. No
return, body lost, sea swallowed.
The bed warm, shutters closed, lie
still, said he. There was that candle.
Yes, remembered that. Light moved
in draft’s touch, slight, not overmuch.
She sensed even the now the then’s
feel, the touches, the pains, thrusts.
Bathing brought no cleanness, no
undoing, no removing from mind’s
surface the worms of dark deeds.
Prayers will aid, pastor claimed,
what he didn’t know of, just general
stuff, depression, sadness on skin’s
surface, bags under eyes, weeping
over meals. Dressed such as she did,
plain, no frills or glamour or over
the top colours and patterns. Not
wanting to attract, she clothed dull.
She had been undone, ill used, nightly
mucked, and unknown to Mother, ******
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
we are treating you like a little young dude, when i try and do a raiders show
i can’t help it, if i can’t be confident for the raiders
they never seem to win
i can’t help it, but i can try and do a show about the raiders
but it’ll never workout
i always sing at the end, as we draw the final curtain, and the raiders lost again
and that drives me mad, seeing they were so great back in the late 80s
you are nothing but a hound dog, barking all the time
you have never caught a rabbit and your ain’t no mate of mine
you see i can put my raiders show on, i can celebrate
but what if they lose, i know i shouldn’t worry
who is our best football team, who comes out and tries to win
and who will score a lot of tries, it must be canberra it must be canberra
it must be the might of the canberra team
you see i want to be there for the raiders, but they always seem to lose
and when they do win, it seems to be a fluke
and i play my show, and i am trying not to be a hooligan
because living in canberra, especially in rugby league you feel like a hooligan
when you support you team, it’s the same with the brumbies
but i shouldn’t be ashamed to do my show
but i don’t want to be a hooligan, but in hindsight i know i am trying to show my community spirit
and i want to have fun doing the raiders show, because, it puts me out there
i know, when i was at a arts centre opening, these people really liked what i do
they admire my integrity, i am trying to show my community spirit
and it makes me feel great, when people think i am cool enough
to put my raiders show on, whether they win or lose
pour some sugar on me, the raiders are against the sharks this weekend
rocket, oh yeah, get ready for a rocket baby
the bad and mean green machine, fiersome men from the ACT
don’t try and stop those men in green, or we’ll hit ya hit ya hit ya
and you’ll see green, i wanna do my raiders show, no matter
what my voices say, i know the raiders **** but it’s great to try and get behind them
you see i am going to battle my voices when i put this show on
and i hope, i can do well, cause mate if i wanna be famous
i have to put my raiders show on against my voices
i will conquer them, i hate being treated like a hooligan or a little young dude
who is too shy to put shows on youtube, all because i felt good when
kids mucked with me, saying raiders **** don’t they, man
but it could’ve been a tease because the kid was really partying
and i feel like taking over the party scene, no the raiders aren’t that good, but i wanna be famous
and i am battling my voices whether you guys like it or not
so i will do brumbies night live friday night and the raiders show sunday night
watch it on AAA youtube TV, to see how i entertain
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 6:42 PM UTC
And every eight years i became someone else, it was as though i was a pilot, living vicariously through my-selves, until
one stuck
And began decaying in a foray of dying cells
Mucked
In gray hairs, and ridged nails
Locked thoughts and rituals
Blinding me
Binding me
Writhing in me
From the lights of tomorrow
I tried to find peace, in my reduction to ashes
Soundless peace
Humming me to sleep
In the eve of my memory to the masses
Stashed in caskets and data logs
Crashed in depressive fog
And with time
I'm completely gone
With time
Nations will rise and fall
Land following suit
Giving way to life within a womb of the most delicate of wounds where a flower grew
Where life is born anew
Cycling through the blessings
Hoping something catches
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 2:54 AM UTC
The Saturn Ball, on Saturday June 8th, 2013
You see kids nowadays are having so much fun and these kids
Are inspired by the great Saturn Ball which was started by Peter
Sargent, and Scott McDonald, whose current earth lives are
Enjoying psrying together as well as tying each other up, and
On Saturn, Peter and Scott are having a big party where they
Had dancing girls like Marilyn Monroe and Elizabeth Montgomery
And also Dana Reeves as well,,and Peter Sargent is as *****
As a toad, and he is trying to get in the head of Brian Allan, because
He liked how Brian was nice to him before he died, and to get into
His head in the form of his best friend Patrick, you see Peter
Sargent died to get into Brian's head to make sure he doesn't poo
His pants, because I actually was cool to his point of view
When he saw me in the Page Tavern all the years ago
And it was about that time, when Patricks voice was getting
Into full swing, and it was driving me crazy miss daisy
Before then Scott McDonald died and also got into Brian's head
And he chose Patrick's voice as well, but he was the voice saying
Brian is not like us, Brian is not like us,,Chris used to be like us
When he was really really young, but Brian isn't like us,no way,,no fear
The thing is, Peter and Scott aren't worried how they use these voices
They just want to make Brian be cool to a young dudes point of view
Because, Scott thought Patrick was weird, and didn't want to be
In the same room as him, and despite me trying to talk to him
Scott wanted just to tease me, cause I wanted to be like Patrick
And there was only one opportunity and that was to die and get unti
Brian Allans brain and push Patrick's voice trying to tease him
Scott said, I am not a family person anymore, I want Brian to suffer
So we'll turn Patrick against him by holding our own Saturn ball
And Patricks voice was also Peter Sargent trying to put into Brian 's
Head that Patrick was Joining the young dudes
To tease Brian, I couldn't understand this, and I said
Leave me alone Pat, but his voice was Peter Sargent
Saying to Patrick, you are like us, and Brian Allan is a little shy boy
Who has no known friends, anyway, Patrick is the innocent party
He still likes me, you know it was Peter Sargent who planted his
Voice from the sound of Patricks voice to bug the **** out of Brian
But the main reason was that, Brian had it give up beer
And work on himself, and eventually he will figure it out
Peter Sargent, and Scott McDonald, who got into
Brian's brother Chris's voice in trying to make Chris doing what I did with Patrick
Which means Patrick mucked with Chris as he would muck with me
But hello, it was really Peter Sargent and Scott McDonald
And in the last two days, Peter Sargent and Scott McDonald are
Holding the first ever Saturn Ball, and everyone is partying all night
And Peter Sargent is pushing onto his brain, and the earth life
I somewhere on earth going through a lot of trouble
Peter Sargent cracked open the wine bottle and everyone partied
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
For a summer resort as a teen
I had the job of cleaning latrines,
three months at minimum wage.
Nobody said, “Good job, well done.”
But it was.
I’ve repaired septic tanks from within.
Mucked in mud laying pipe.
Scraped asbestos. Hot-mopped a roof.
Shoveled bat guano.
Nobody gave me a medal.
Just cash.
Be humble. Do your share.
Society will be better. Civilization more civil,
you a stronger you, it’s really true,
more worthy than those fat cats in their mansions
who I dare not name or
they’d send legal thugs to bury me
in lawyer manure.
Forget latrines. Think billionaires.
They bought the news. Congress. Supreme Court.
Learn about salvage, about repair.
Learn to fix rot at the foundation and work toward the top.
Zoning board. Town council. State assembly. Governor.
Step by step go higher.
Then ask what shitwork is.
And let’s get busy.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 5:55 PM UTC
Mr mason was a ****
You see he used a stick
He titled iddy armin and if
Anyone was naughty
He would crack it on our knuckles
Even if we laughed with our friends the stick would whack our knuckles
You see that was his brand of discipline just like a big rich powerful *****
You see some people say that
Discipline like that helps them stay out of trouble but in my personal opinion it forces kids to break laws thinking it is ok to hit other people or it forces you to think it is ok to yell at other adults
You see mr mason started all that
It was his fault that I didn't have a good education because I was always thinking about his precious iddy armin
And how if I mucked up
I would have it whacked across my knuckles
I turned out to be a good man
But no thanks to mr mason
Calling a stick after a famous dictator
You see people have gone through life thinking I never got in trouble but while they were thinking that I thought of iddy armin going across my fucken
****** knuckles **** it ******
Hurt like crazy
Mr mason was a ******** man
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 10:32 PM UTC
I wounded myself, to feel how it felt, razor stripes of my life trickled from my arms, and chest, i tested how it felt, again, how it felt, to hurt, and i lurked, in these tears of trickery until they dried.
I remember looking into hate for a well of ailments, but just layered laments on my fragility, but I still remembered the memories, as they blurred through times passing, fast forwarding right past me, pulsing, flashing.
I Remember the blasts of my friend, as his head cracked on a trunk, six bullets, rolled back eyes, pink foam, and a rasping noise, and all i thought was to catch his breath, one last concept, as it slipped on by.
Not one tear, not one cry, neither him nor I.
And I, still feel the feeling of those wondrous eyes of mine, gasping unto beautiful skies, in the sweet sweet surprise, of something bigger, something so profound, as to drown the world in doubt, of its thinking.
So young, so innocently brilliant.
And I remember sinking pits of regrets, and things i wish i said, as i bled, in tears, before the years stole the deepest emotions ill ever know, and strolled through uncontrollable turmoil, in rolls, and waves, of the tolls, Ive paid, in coils, of hate, all balled up in haste, and chucked at the door, mucked of the core, spilling its guts, on the mudhuts of my humanity.
Humility unborn until true scorn pierced center mass, penetrating my soul, my coal, my face, and my masks, changing me, redirecting my intentions again, to the forbidden zen, of absolutely ******* nothing.
Not a bird chirp, a cricket, or wind.
Not a frown, smile, or squint.
******* nothing.
And i remember my operational function, unplugged and bludgeoned, in the intoxication of girls, that whirled right past me, leaving blood, *** ***** and glass, in my shadow, lifting from the ground, proudly striking down, everything but what mattered, as it shattered my heart, into a million fragmentation's that popped, on every person it came across.
I remember everything, like another's memory, remembering something at the door of knowing, before dying upon its showing, of the path, the caste, the infinite black, staring back from the black, and laid upon me the eyes to look back, and see that it wasn't me, and suddenly ...
I remembered nothing.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
Remember that time,
When we were round our friend's,
It was New Year's eve,
Another year ends.
We fell asleep holding hands,
And I never knew then,
But I do now,
As I hold this pen.
Remember that time,
When you slept round mine,
I wanted to hug you tight,
So you were mine for the night.
It was then I realised,
My feelings for you,
It's all so clear now,
My feelings are true.
Remember that time,
We all took a day trip,
The sweets and the market,
The tea we sipped.
It was a lovely day that day,
With the sky so blue,
I liked being in Salsbury,
But I loved being with you.
Remember that time,
We went to the play park,
It was Pirate themed,
We had to watch out for the shark.
We mucked around,
Like a little kid,
I remember all these things,
That we did.
Remember that time,
We stayed out in a tent,
What I said,
I truly meant.
I never felt cold,
The whole way through,
Because by my side,
There was you.
Remember that time,
We went down to the river,
It was raining hard,
I was cold and tried not to shiver.
We walked back,
You in bare feet,
All I wanted to do,
Was snuggle under the warm sheets.
Remember that time,
We caught the bus down,
To the beautiful place,
Of Christchurch town.
We walked through town,
Looking at stuff,
We walked and walked,
Until we had enough.
Remember that time,
We went to the sea,
I pushed you in,
And laughed with glee.
There was that freaky man,
Watching us play,
I still remember,
To this day.
Remember that time,
When we were together,
I still want to be with you,
Forever and ever.
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 2:15 AM UTC
Innocent eyes staring back at me and my guilty filthy soul.
So mucked up and even deeper a grit I feel, for tainting such a starfull sky beyond which all trains traverse.
Leave me behind,
In the dirt I prefer.
So that I may sow my seeds for yet another blackened blend of months and grow them into years...
All the same.
All in a row.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
I remember when I was a teenager ya know playing sport eating junk food oh yeah
Yes it was fun being a teenager
Being as cool as they come
You see I was a very good worker and I was as fit as well
You see I was a cool teenager
Yes that sounds real cool
We went to see the raiders from Canberra oh yeah
And we waved our flags and yelled out to make sure everyone hears
We celebrated new year at the with some sugar or alcohol
Yes it was fun being a teenager
Yes I was so cool
You see I was in the basketball team and I was very fit
And I was with the bowling team
And at that stage I wasn’t very good but when I got back into it as an adult I became the best I can be
You see it was fun being a teenager you see I was wiling to learn
You see I did bushwalking and I mucked around in school
Getting detentions and ****
I squabbled with another bloke who wanted to show how cool he is but me, being a teenager
I showed him I can be cool too
Yes it was fun being a teenage boy and I had a lot of fun
I had sleepovers with my mates and boy I had a great time
We watched movies ate pizza
Without worrying about our weight and our birthdays we had parties enjoying it yeseree
But it was it was it was fun being a teenager still having fun
Loving life, yeah mate it was fun
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 1:50 AM UTC
elephants have memories
long,
to my way of thinking,
that must be hell!
imagine, remembering
in detail,
fine and complete.
the days of your life.
beginning at number one,
when all slippery,
slimed and mucked,
you were forcibly expelled,
into a world, of hard knocks.
image, each stumbling step
as you grew,
each slur,
each pointed arrow flung your way,
first fall, first hit, first miss
first kiss and all the desperation, set between.
and then,
you hit your teens.
emotionally bruised and battered
and running for the bell
placing 563rd in the
contest of popularity.
trying new styles of clothes, dreams and personalities.
hormones raging, momma texing, paging,
virginity flexing
and all the other
****** bluff...guff....stuff
..."hell yeah i can never get enough"
finally you get to remember,
the grown up stuff.
projects due, bills to pay,
finding somewhere half decent to stay, grocery lists,
other people constantly ******
in a it's all your fault kinda way.
deadlines,
diminishing lifelines, standing in unemployment lines,
waiting to pay a fine lines,
playing mine or yours in
your divorce foray.
and honest to god,
thats just the day to day
k-rap.
living low and *****
until the next pay comes along.
ok, there would be,
indeed some,
remembered joys,
some flowers,
among the weeds.
but thats mere fodder
and seeds,
for a better poem .....
written on a better day.
so finally you are old.
you are so, over it!
all creak and cracks, pills,
bad backs and bengay..
not to mention, the teeth
that sit in water glass smiling away,
all night.
on the table bedside.
that my friend, is just not right.
you are counting down the days, the hours...
watching.....home and away.
til one day,
you make the mortal coil's end...
and your shift is done and dusted.
bucket kicked,
daisies planted,
dirt kissed....
.....recalled.
all that.... and ba-jillion more
memories looking for time
on the elephant's mammoth mind - memory dancefloor.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 4:37 AM UTC