So what's it they have, what's it all about
Work for the bossman.
Use your brawn Earn your pittance,
Then eat, Pub, drink, **** and pay the bills
Go footie, shout and scream, at one with your tribe
then  go sit in front of the telly, play at family
Week is done
Till the morrow when you do it all again

How about a soap opera, you direct and act
Gotta a Royal down the road ripe for the taking
Lets go invade, see how the other halves lives
Come, lets all join and become Kingmakers
Under our ***** thumbs he goes, we pull the strings
Entertainment for the masses, beats our mundane cages

For once, we are the bosses and can pull the strings
Knowledge is Power and its all here in Mao's Red Book
Lies, fabrication, distortions and misinformation
Disinformation, half-truths, slander it ain't no matter
Everything he says will be taken down and used against him
This is control at our finger tips, this is power to play with
He's going through the Red mill, drilled and ground into dust

Look we've got him as the puppet, we destroy all his trappings
So gather round and join the fun, this is us like God
Lights, action, now you do this and this and watch us play him
what do you mean puppet ain't moving or re-acting
OK let's do this, you go there and you do this and do this now
Still no action, OK let's try this, if you go there and say ah
You drive here, you stand there, you watch here, you stand
Nothing still, OK you come here, you put this here
Still nothing, This puppet is NUMB, this puppetting is no fun

They had drawn up the master plan, written their ****** script
The puppet looked and laughed, what a bunch of prime morons
No substance, no value system, no morality or basic sense
Infantile, one track minded sociopaths full of flaws and manure
Go back to your drinking and ******* and your mundanity
The united pack of crooks, ****, racists and the vacuous coerced

Go look after the Leading Lady stuck with rehearsals and scripts
The imagined romantic interest paying debts for UK residency
Waiting for the Prince to come running and tomfoolery begins
The bit part actors are still playing, too stupid to realize
The control is on them, their time energy and effort all a sham
Our Directors are directing making it up as they go along
The supporting actress are still hopping and hoping
The new characters are still buying false scripts and playing
Playing with themselves as Puppet stands and watches it all

They wheel out their demented scribes and brain dead peoters
To write dirges, glooms, ******* and negativities galore
Casting their dark fantasies and the rancid spittles of their dregs
Muds from the festered pools of their putrid minds dresses up
Ready to visit nightmares of their making from their darknesses
Areas thankfully unknown to a mind and soul untainted, unsoiled
As is their bitter lives, valueless breeding and hate and prejudices One ignorance and neurotic existence, the depravities of depraves..

Poor, poor imbeciles, they really don't have much in their lives
Illusions and delusions by the bucket loads, anything would do
To remove them from their sad, miserable sorry realities
Hey its Clockwork orange, we are all stars in our *****
Diversions to their mundane, unrewarding and depressing realities
Their frustrations and powerlessness, their insignificance
At last a vent for their frustrated lives, miseries loves company
A release valve for pains of centuries being underdogs and serfs
A safe playground for psychos, control and pain in abundance
Let's call it Revolution and add Republic to make it more palatable

Down at the palace of Attrition, a blameless man sits and muses
Crazed dogs of war at the gates, salivating insanely, bloodthirsty
Watching Controllers tieing chains to masses and jerking them
Into frenzied hysteria, nothing beats permitted wickedness shared
Dropping poisons and acids into hungry jaws, patting heads
Shouting rallying calls, we got the Bastille of the blinds going on
Scientists please take notes, this is Herd mentality and Groupthink
This is how to manipulate the masses and incite Hate unawares
Majority wins here, this is Democracy, this is people power

Do, you are ******, don't, you are ******, Hate abides all.
Puppet sees injustices but better to play dumb and numb
They can't abide a black do well, hate spews from fear
Hate festered by the unique decency of a successful blackman
Who had all they wished for but could never have or be
Riddled with lust and envy they merely went on to steal his
But that wasn't enough, the bullies and cowards had to ruin.
Under the pretext of them and us, blue versus Red they lied
Rabid racists takes another black man down, green bottle falls

Man proposes, God disposes, UK, KKK now play god
Thy will will be done O'Lord, I am but your servant
It's rather flattering being The Real Deal in this production
Confirmation of differences betwixt Gifted and the Depraves
A Travesty full of sound, false images and fury by the loonies
A Red Racist Production by Idiots and psychos for fools and sociopaths.

Lights, camera, action
Yawn.......................

i hate road rage in canberra because



i hate road rage in canberra because

mostly the road rager is at fault

i hate road rage in canberra because

because my mum was just turning and some dim wit sticks his finger up, how rude

i hate road rage in canberra because

it ****** me off immensely

road rage road rage i hate road rage

cause the road rage person doesn’t know what they are talking about

it’s not just road rage, ya see ya see, it’s everywhere

you say something or do something

and someone sticks their finger up at you

like a good little **** would actually do

road ragw road rage road rage sux

the only rage i like is partying late at night

you see i am a middle aged rager

i rage all day long but when it comes to road rage, na, not for me

i party better than any of these road rage people

the road ragers are just a pack of old stick in the muds

they think they are cool, sticking their fingers up

but in hindsight, they no nothing

you see i hear the loud hey, but that is from people who like road rage

which i ain’t, what is wrong with hating road rage

that is why i don’t drive, i am a kid and the road ragers are old fogie men or women

i have road rage in canberra because, nobody wins, it’s all just a waste of time

i am glad i don’t drive, i am a cool kid mate

An underlying sense of counting down –
A rhythm deep: enteric thuds –
Each another year to fret and frown
About, wading in the claggy muds
Of trial – to here, the blackened life.
A glint of blade had caught a baggy eye,
Sparking thoughts to jump the fence.
Could I grasp the handle – was I shy
Of what I had to do and hence remain
Enshrined in overwhelming strife?
  
The metal winked at me again
To beg the possibility
Of halting once and all the pain
To relish an eternity
Of rested shoulders,
Peace of mind;
So here, my wrist
For ‘quick and kind.’

The demons live with me –
They have their own blankets ready,
So later we would go visit the creeks
And they will push me to the water and let me suffocate,
They will drown me in muds
They will blind me so all I could see is dark.

The demons live with me –
They invite me to our special hideout,
Decaying building and magical asbestos
And they will prepare an empty room full of irons and knives,
They will slit me with them
They will kiss me with them 'till I become numb.

The demons, the demons live with me –
They will celebrate my birthday party,
Their presents are bouquet of blights
And they also give me flaming matches for me to light up an inferno,
They will burn with me, laugh
They will burn every sadness I felt.

The demons live with me.
They are inside, they are calling me.
The demons, demons, demons,
THESE DEMONS,
          Demons,         d e m o n s
                                 are me.

Cheating  Humanity is skill or disaster,
Cheating  in every field and department makes us proud  or shame,
Cheating in relations makes us Gentleman or  fraud person ,
Our Leader's are proud to Cheat  our Country , Nations and World with their Outstanding Cheating Political Skills,
Where does Cheating puts ourself  in Winning World  or Lost Humanity,
Cheating ourselves and others and saying we are clean personality,
We can Cheat Whole World ,Globe ,Universe but we cannot Cheat our Lord God.
We cannot built nations by Cheating  each others.
We cannot built nation by throwing muds on each other's characters.
Leader's of our country are playing magic tragic speeches for winning election's of  CM, PM .
Please Do not Cheat the Nation , Country And World.

Bullace
hedge haematoma
blue-black against the fading,
once young green,
bruising for sharp winter thoughts,
clean frost lines,
untouched snow-blank focus

but before, to swell and drop
in the last pale suns,
feed the field mouse, rabbit
and endure the muds

I would like to bury
all the hating eyes
under the sand somewhere off
the North Atlantic and suffocate
them with the awful sand
and put all their colors to sleep
in that soft smother.
Take the brown eyes of my father,
those gun shots, those mean muds.
Bury them.
Take the blue eyes of my mother,
naked as the sea,
waiting to pull you down
where there is no air, no God.
Bury them.
Take the black eyes of my love,
coal eyes like a cruel hog,
wanting to whip you and laugh.
Bury them.
Take the hating eyes of martyrs,
presidents, bus collectors,
bank managers, soldiers.
Bury them.
Take my eyes, half blind
and falling into the air.
Bury them.
Take your eyes.
I come to the center,
where a shark looks up at death
and thinks of my heart
and squeeze it like a doughnut.
They'd like to take my eyes
and poke a hatpin through
their pupils. Not just to bury
but to stab. As for your eyes,
I fold up in front of them
in a baby ball and you send
them to the State Asylum.
Look! Look! Both those
mice are watching you
from behind the kind bars.

When the yellow day coppers to dusk
I paint my weary eyes dreams.

They nudely wade the crabhole muds
for marks of the great marksman
climb up the chunks going into tides
tiptoe through the needle roots
sniff a wind that smells of stripes
thrilled
death if comes
would be a momentary stir
a dangling cloth
resting on the trail of blood, marking,
someone ventured.

Wet and cold
driving dirt roads
rain pouring down
onto the ground

Water standing in the tracks
and running down every crack
begin to slip and to skid
turn into it in a bid

To regain some traction
it works but only for a fraction
of a second, so I turn the ****
the mud begins to spray in globs

Now in 4 wheel drive I proceed
should be enough to do the deed
of getting me on down the road
so the truck still I goad

Forward into the muck
hopefully and with some luck
we make it to the end
then my frayed nerves may mend

But then the bad news sinks in
we have to turn around and do it again
the cow tracks look like tiny lakes
now out of the truck each step I take

My foot sinks an inch or three
so I step to the side under a tree
try to walk on grass and roots
getting taller as mud sticks to my boots

Almost there I see the door
of the mud I want no more
into the deer stand I climb and sit
a reprieve from the mud for a bit

Three hours later constant rain
back out into the cold mud pain
tripping and sliding back to the truck
for the trip back in the mud and muck

The muds not deep it’s just real slick
depending on the route I pick
halfway back, spin sideways
not into cactus or a tree I praise

Slipping and sliding is great fun
but right now I long for the sun
you see the truck I drive is not my own
father in law’s out on loan

So get it stuck or bang it around
I will never live it down.
back to the gate no incident
onto the road no fender dents

This is day one of the hunt you see
so three days left of this for me
100% forecast of more rain
and those **** dirt tracks don’t drain

Three months old in my mother’s womb
Whispers I heard outside,
A man persuading mum
To destroy me
Because he doubted I was his.
I heard mum cried,
And felt her tears
Falling to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
A thunderous sound
That struck my universe
Almost tearing it apart.


The man talking to another man,
A professional killer of my kind,
I heard about the price of my life,
To destroy me
Worth only ‘$300’.
Mum’s heart beat faster,
Bringing blood like a mighty rushing wave
To my weak, gentle nerves and veins
Almost rapturing them apart.

Mum whispered
I heard while she cried,
“You are a gift and blessing to me,
My child, my beloved one.”
I will keep you,” She promised.
I tried to comfort mum but couldn't.
I conjured up ominous images
Of my shattered body,
My flesh, blood and bone;
It was too painful to bear.
So I stamped my feet
On my bed,
Her stomach bulged,
And I felt mum embraced me,
With her gentle hands.

From the smallest corner of her heart
Next to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
I heard mama interceded with God
For the forgiveness of the sins
And comfort of thousand women
Who aborted their pregnancies
Due to ****, pregnant while breast feeding,
Incestuous affairs, teenage pregnancies
Or on medical conditions
For the physical and emotional pains
They endured and guilt that may have lingered still.

In her bulging stomach,
My bed room, my home,
I waited for my eviction,
Every day.
Then one day, after a long wait,
It rained cats and dogs
With muds of blood
In my bedroom.
I tried to cling to the roof of my bed room,
But was swept away by the natural disaster
Through the channel of life
Into my mother's gentle arms.

From Wilfred Owen to his Mother, France 1918


Fastened frosted muds battle with my being but will these tears mean anything if my resolution has come too late?
Will England’s Green shores ever sigh for me; for those slain here?
The smell of the dew is still sweet on my senseless tongue.
Nothing in this septic land could shave the zest from my skin.

When the gasp of my final breath resounds in silence,
I only hope that I sleep and slip away from the impossibility of understanding what has occurred here.
To fade into my torment and leave the things I love.
Can this be my only contentment when
The canvas I envisioned was so white, the page so blank, so vast?
I only ever pleaded for a chance to fill even the tiniest part.  
I want for now only to be gone from here, Dear Mother…..
God, these tears burn my cheeks in this cold,
As if I have been moved into the sun, and I feel I am helpless.

If only my life were the sonnet form of this uncertainty,
My existence I could abolish with the half-rhyme of my Knowledge.
For it is law that a sonnet of fifteen lines is no longer a sonnet.
Its very existence has been prolonged beyond definition.
A life form sonnet of thirteen lines has been cut too short,
Gunned down by fate before the indulgence of its own conclusion. France is now a pathetic source of melodramatic monologue.
Trapped without the hidden ear of soliloquy,
Within this surreal Garden of Courtly Love, I am alone.
I can no longer feel the brush of your angel wings as they breeze Through No Mans Land,
Or anywhere on this lonely world-wide shore.
For they have been grabbed to the ground with an unassuming thud by the gravitational pull of bile and death.

And so it comes to this.
To never again hold a thing of beauty in my hand;
To press it gently against my anxious heart.
Is this what I’ve become?
Or to fight on and never speak a word of what has occurred here,
For Dante fell too short in revelation and I am no one to amend.
I have no place here or there and,
In limbo, I will probably die here Mother.
Here with nothing but the burning of my fragile heart to remind me. Earth’s sleep has broken.
Irrevocable, irreplaceable, irresponsible.
But nothing happens.

Barry Miller September 2007: Los Angeles, CA.

this is a cry
this is a cry
this is a cry
this is a

parking lot. that is how big this world is. a sad space between the trees, east to a canteen, west to a badminton field. head south, there's a toilet. the way out is in the north.

we are full of cold cars and stranger's sweat. we are full of leaves, branches, fruits that fall anonymously. of raindrops, of muds that stain our clean white shoes. we are full.

come, wind. come and break the trees. come so they can wreck us into scraps.

it is no harm to the living. roots keep them alive. what does that make a human? people are abandoned, fences are mistaken as a protection. the lonely bridge. the raging river. the subject. the unidentified. everything is now an object to the eye

and it wrenches our emotion until we give them all up, of course, until we've got nothing left, of course, until breathing is solved and the lungs unravel

listen
this has been a cry all along

Untold stories, unheard,
Told stories not understood,
Love felt less, laws overrated,
Skies seen, touched ground more,
Made less roads, followed more,
Thought less, views outstanded.

In The lonely aimless road of mine,
A stranger, showed me another way,
Lovely as The Moon herself,
Eyes distant as the road itself,
Hair as the dancing corn fields,
Took my hands and strolled yet,
I was never a good walker I guess.
My unspoken words, or the
Un cried tears, She never heard.

Fingers distancing themselves,
A hand, starting to let go,
The Moon thats setting,
The corn fields losing colour,
The road cracking, huh!
A tear to fall and vaporize.
Head to be pulled straight,
to be Looked back never again,

Though at the end of my roads,
I will rest on a ***** muds,
Hoping the same stranger to
Kiss me a rebirth, The painter
of the cornfields, the craftsman
who would make more roads
for both of us to walk once more...

To speak of my pains is my release from which.
It is not merely my drudgery within the muds of self-wallowing.
It is an awakening when I read my own words and learn who I am in that moment.
It is a point from which to move on, a stepping stone.

the flow
the society's eternal goal
mindless show for senses
enslavement for soul.

splash is all the effort
I use it to crush waves
all becomes trash when there's no escape.
'sider them mundane
you're still on the shelf
breaking out a cliché is a cliché in itself.

we cannot all disperse
we cannot stay in place
reclusive - an evil curse
society's disgraced.

a shame,
the river flows.
I pledge to crash on banks
some will reach the muds and dry
most will stay inside

better die alone with vows
than splash - the river flows.

When it rains it pours
And when it pours it floods
And when it floods theirs death, sliding with the Muds
And after death is sadness
And after sadness sorrow
Light a lonely candle as to have some light tomorrow
Sadness is not followed ,nothing grows in such a soil
You may have a happy feeling but the promises are hollow
And all that's left the ****** as she lay the heroe rest
For his lips forever aching as the fire filled his chest

Toking at the dam around twelve
Listening for rod tip bells
Muds slapping topwater , the hollow ring
of paddle striking boat , a bowed rod , a midnight
fight on a starlit warm Rico night
Connecting the heavens with wondering eyes
Tobacco smoke rising high into the sky
A jigger of peach brandy warmth
A chicken sandwich from the One Stop* ..

I step down into the murky milky mud
Flowers pointed out every which way
Came face to face with the biggest spider
I've ever seen.

We found bones, like they had been forgotten
No remains
A ravine of water
I feared coming across snakes
Spiderwebs long and lean
Mud on my pants
Muds of the earth.

The Vampire rises from his sleeping chambers.
He's not after good red fluids
He fights to thirst on those "bad Bloods"
Battling the actual evil
outside of his After Life Traveled muds
In the towns that once feared him
Watching the vigilante rise and protect
those in which who feared his brothers and sisters
his Creature's Reputation
They were once to it blind
Taking down the pigs of society
The cheer drinks at the village bar with him
The Vampire warrior
Has become the King of Society's Sorority.

Your love for your man was like an ocean
Its getting deeper
Every time you sail to see his wonders
You thought you were safe
You thought you could swim
Until the storm came
The waves came running
Thunders rumbling
It destroyed your boat
You fell
And again you thought you were safe
You thought "I trust him, I will not drown"
But slowly, bit by bit
You didn't know
You were devoured by this love
You thought it was beautiful
You thought there were beautiful corals
You thought there were colorful fishes
But all you saw was thick muds
On the ocean floor
You reached the abyss
Dark crevices hovered around you
You got scared
You swam back
Trying to reach the surface
You swam back
Wishing to breathe again
But his gravity pushed you down
Your body became numb
You can't swim anymore
Your prescence disappeared
Your soul turned into words—"My love, I fought. I tried. But I'm weak and I drowned"

I thought this would get better with time
I thought times will refresh the page of odds
I thought moments will swing pass
But its hurts my pride
To confess this
That I miss you
Like everyday...
And that I need you ..
Always to breath...
Seems life is drown out of me...
Without us been around each other
And the sun had refuses to smile
Since distance made these bridge
I miss you
Like the air I breath
when my nostril seem stuck
With fluffy muds ...
Picking my pieces been so hard
I just ve to keep moving...
But I miss you ... like everyday....  

I know I'm going to survive these...
And this cup shall pass me by..
But in the mean time
I'll like to admit...
Cos denying brings more pain
than admitting does
That I miss you .

The clouds were covered with darkness,
The thunder strikes hard with no kindness,
There comes a great lightning,
People said it was made so by God almighty,

It strikes hard like a renew sword,
I wish I could stop it with my with my words,
Fear encamped me on my bed made of muds,
I was a stick and couldn't move,

It sounds so awful like an empty drum,
It was horrible affecting my ear drum,
It rained like the the time of Noah,
We wish we won't hope for more.

I finally took my linen that is almost torn,
We became friends on the floor,
The I realize that is almost late,
That day was superb and great.

Who are you?
Are you the one inside rock sanctuaries?
Built from pennies without taxes?
Made by white-robe-wearing prisoners?

Who are you?
Are you the one preached by those on the streets?
Those who wear dresses and suits
By those who ask for money without receipts?

Who are you?
Are you the one described by those thick books?
The one who is mighty and all good?
Omniscient and wiped off all those who are rude?

Who are you?
Are you the one who's love is unconditional?
Yet the one who said there's only cold and warm?
The one who denies the existence of something lukewarm?

Who are you?
Are you the one who's perfect?
But you created what everyone called "mistakes"
The one who said those mistakes' feelings are fake?

Who are you?
Are you the ultimate judge?
The one who taught to point out faces with muds
Without first looking in the mirror which is a must?

Who are you?
Everyone is presenting their own clues
Who are you?
Even though they know no one is really a hundred percent true

I believe I know you
Not because of scripts
Or from others' beliefs
I just somehow feel I know you

Others might not believe the 'you' I know
Because they have their 'you' of their own
But I will not shove my 'you' down their throats
Just to reign their 'you' as the ultimate truth

i cannot write for **** anymore.
i have lost my ability to compel.
to even express.
anything and everything i feel is hiding from me
in some part of my body ive never reached
because it knows what i will do if i catch it.
rip out its inside like squishing a blueberry.
just a quick meal until i am off to **** its friends.
i am no tortured artist, just trying to shield.
i cant wait to read this in a year and applaud
for subtle progress, but me and i my friend
are stuck in different muds.

Quiet Easters awake the spirit
in a shiny April dusk.
Where you call him "Baby"
by Mum's purpled hydrangeas.

Crossing many desolate fields
in hopes of finding cheerful Forget-Me-Nots.
You have found sorrowful stories
of holy ghosts arising,
and then falling.

Spilling out
of passing spring dwellings,
with trees holding far too many rings.
Strong and sturdy,
yet knocked down for a pretty penny.

I wish we could be
milled, burnt, and wrote on.
Growing out of muds
like the words on this paper.

Like mother nature,
I've been fooled into thinking
I was more than I am.
But only until man makes me,
something I am not.