rain in the summer
is always the best
because
the wet doesn't make you
cold.
instead,
the humidity is like
a blanket engulfing you,
hugging you close
all warm and safe
just like
your lover does
while he kisses the top
of your head
*plip plip plip plip

You see,
I seem to have caught
the deathly hug of hubris
I know everything
But what does it all mean?
The pleasures of life go right above my head
And time drips from my fingertips
Plip, plop, plip
I am a blip
And this hug,
Why does it make everything so sad?

My daddy used to say to my mum
How are you going plip
And also called her mooey
And called me boo or booey
And called my brother croo
Or crust or crustophagus
He said those names in a very
Friendly nice voice
Hi plip hi plip
Mooey is around
I miss dad I know he is in his next life
But I miss him none the less
In these terrible times of the coronavirus
I need dads nice voice calling me boo
Or calling mum plip or mooey
But I don’t want to hear it in my head
I loved my dad
I miss my dad
He would’ve hated these times
Because he liked going to coffee shops to have coffee
Now he is stuck at his east Sydney home as Betty Campbell
Doing things to entertain his new family
Dad would hate those fools
Who steal 500 pkts of toilet rolls
Dad was nice
I miss him
I wish dad was still my dad
As opposed to being in his next life
Because our family is a loving family
And dad made it more lovely
With his cute names he gave us
Boo booey mooey plip croo crustophergus
You might not understand me
But dad was a very nice dad
He helped me have a good entertainment system and computer system
I don’t know much about computers much back then
But now I do thanks to my loving father
He was a great provider
And he was a loving father
Those names he called us was
Close to our names
It showed that my family is a loving family
He hated me being ******* by spirits
And he tried to keep me with the families
As I heard his voice which was in my head of dad saying
Stay with the families Brian
And dad put voices in my head making kids say
Stay with the kids Brian
Because the kids and families
Are the safe shelter for everyone
And a sign that I shouldn’t get into
Fights because dad showed me
To never ever fight anyone
Dad would cope with all the lockdowns with coronavirus
And dad would now break the law
Dad was great
I love my dad
I will stay with the families and the kids because it is a nice atmosphere for me
Dad was nice

Plip plop
Raindrop
Sliding down the window pane

Time doesn't stop
As it meets the blacktop
This liquid substance we call rain

The minutes they pass
Life's funny like that
How the world just keeps on turning

The moments, they don't last
Regardless of their impact
The clock keeps ticking, this I'm learning

A poem by my friend Stan Blackberg (the total ******)

There are flowers standing proudly, one for each whose loved ones mourn,
Speaking out so clear and loudly, for that fateful treacherous morn,
When the aircrafts bashed them up and all their flesh got burnt & torn!

Do we honour them with killing, taking up arms to spill more blood,
Or take lesson if we’re willing, a bitter pill for common good,
Or sit unbeguiled with our faces stuffed with fattening food?

There’s no god would take such action, justify such murderous deed,
Those insane within such factions, find posthumously they heed,
It's upon such wickedosity that our nostrils froth and bleed.

Hear the painful hard earned lesson, lest their names we desecrate,
Take not slaughter as your banner making killing escalate,
And by no means forget to have a mutual *******!

Place our sentries all united, shed thee not another drop,
Silence now all angry gunfire, when’s the killing ever stop.
And the blood falls from above with a loudish plip and plop.

I.
AM.
A.
*******.

Here's how i roll.
I plop the excrement, directly in the pool.
I **** on chairs,
This is where i place stool.

Plip plob drop loads,
Crenated blood cells and lymphatic drool.
Hurt my kidneys in a fight with truth the other night.
7 brutal, flooring uppercuts to the Latisimus dorsi....

I am > "this girl"
That one that's taken more hits in the face than Tyson.
The one that makes Jenna and Sunni Leone look like pre-school dropouts of ****.

Guys say.
"She"
"got the,"
"best head."

She has nothing in it though.
Her brain's finished by the time words leave her lips whole.
thats as far as it gets
the words pass her **** then she falls, grab her hips.

Prepare the sword for the stone.
The one with the baby whole in her dome.

She's not good, much else.
Her black hair and wisdom lines go bout as deep as her shirt.
Depending on the day.
Pervert.

Lets do ANOTHER line.
"Oh My GOD!" "We did so much *******...."
Coke in cans.
Filled with whiskey flask-hand.

"This night's gunna be one to remember",
if his member is inside, that's my gender,
Blend it with all the worst intentions,
Use the worst intentions.
Stab the heart of conviction.
Tear it to tethers with tension.
Rip the strings of friendship.
Tease the knots of frayed linen,
Like its the only thing ya got.

"I am so high right now."
I forgot what earth looks like.
Probably like my town.

Only place I've been.
I'm 17 ya see.

Its the only thing you got.
You don't deserve roses, flowers, Laurels.
No trees.
No dime bags, no speed, no crying hag.

I can sure **** 25 yearolds.

Saying your better never sounded more like a lie.
Worst thing is you have that prevarication internalized.

I have a god complex...
Wanna save em all...
Can't save a ******* one...

I did lie once...
It was...
When I told you that you weren't...
A *******...

the tree didn’t weep

it did sag deep down and fall to the grass tips of the lawn

the drops dripping, plip plip plop, from the tree branches to the green blades

into the ground, with the worms and bugs

that climb back up through their dug hole

and climb up the willow

to see the sun coming up that morning

on a thursday where the clouds were blue, the sky was white…

The P inside lifts to shallow pools of thirst and moving pictures.
P is purpose, personality car crashes to park the private Idaho.
A sign of the cross, will not stop P.
Prove it to the pin drop puncture of ****** on heat,
insecure to many tongues dripped in keroscene pantomine.
P is pretty. P is pop. P is pandamonium. P is plucky. P is pink.
Patter, panky, pips, puddle, paraquet, puncuation.
Property is theft Parker, pity, purity, punt, plunder, *****.
Past, paint, pander, pringle, puppy, pesky, pest,
petrol, patrol, pamper, pastel, plunder, pongo, plip plop.
P.................

You see dad is still mucking with my mum

you see as mum travelled to sydney on friday

dads next earth body took her first plane trip

i don’t know where, but they travelled together

you see i know this isn’t normal, well it is, it is

dad still has been sending his spirit to the campbells

to make sure on his lastlifes birthday

both him and her twin brother and their parents david and lisa

flew off on a plane trip to god knows where

david had richard to take over his role on the show

and took billy and betty on a trip to end all trips

you see dad was singing i am a tickle tickle tum tum robot

i am sending my earth body on a plane yeah this is cool man

i wanted my sons, voice right out of my other sons head, because

i don’t want anymore problems for plip, no more problems for plip

and if brian writes this, i will say your like me and mummy brian

because i don’t think they like you in that way anymore

you see as mum goes on her holiday, dad is still keeping his spirit to keep her safe

or maybe just maybe, he is trying to give his new earth body betty  a chance to go on a aeroplane

you see my dad is flying over the country with my mum

singing the john denver, i am flying on a jet plane, don’t know where i will be back again

i want me and betty and leo to have a fun time, and if they want make sure the allan’s are safe

and john denver came to dad and took his song away from him

and then dad said pardon me boys, it’s the chattanooga chop choo, oh yeah

ya see dad is mucking with mum, oh yeah, they are still best friends

pardon me boys, it is the chattanooga choo choo

and as i am remembering the days when i was fat

and my mate went out with this mate while complaining about him

dad felt it was his duty to make sure, that i don’t run into any strife

and john denver said, why should you just protect the allan’s

we need to protect everyone on this land

so when your journey as betty on that jet plane of life ends

and who knows when that will be, just sit tight mrs betty campbell

and dad is back home, as usual, as betty

I after-taste like french fries,
I here-now taste like gum
All minty-fresh and sparkling,
Going plip-plop on my tongue.

The fries were nice and hot,
With a crispy outer skin.
The burned my mouth a lot,
But I kept shoveling 'em right on in!

Now my tongue it kind of hates me,
And my mouth it is real sore.
So I'll get a Wendy's frosty,
'Cuz soft-serve chocolate's insta-cure!

It's hard to see the point in it!
(Perhaps it's me)

A dismal afternoon of rain,
A flask of tea.

Beside this murky river now
They sit and wait,

So statuesque and silent
Clutching tins of bait.

All week in offices they sweat
With just one wish -

For Saturday come along
So they can fish.

And now beneath the willows' fringe
They bait their hooks,

Comparing rods and reels and lines
With envious looks.

The lines that fly from whizzing reels
Fall with a plip

And drift upon the surface
Where they bob and dip.

Till, with a ****, a wriggling jewel
Is winched ashore

To have its ****** brains bashed out
Upon the floor.

Plip, plip, plop,
Drip, drip, drop
over and over
it never did stop
From the top of the tap
To the top of the bath
It tippled and drippled
And every drop dripped
It landed in ripples
Rising up to the top
Reaching the lip
The over it lopped
A Cascading flood
From a little drip drop

Windy is the day and cordial are clouds
Drifting through the sky in the month of May
The sun hides behind the dark shroud

Blazingly hot been the noon but as
Crawls it away the blues of heaven
Dimmed and wind plays like a carefree lass

Soft summer skies send their showers
****** the rain-drops dance and drizzle
Pitter patter, plip plop songs of the hour

Freshen the heavens awash all dust and heat
Soon the sun gold-drenched smiles and winks
Gentle like a kiss the air blows nippy and sweet

Me with myself swaying with summer zephyr
Sleepy thoughts drift away with woolly packs
Inner desires replenished by Mother Nature

I am impulsive and unsure
I wonder how to wander more
I hear colors, loud and bright
I see sounds, colorful and light

I want serenity
I pretend I’m calm
I worry I’m not good enough
I cry when I am wrong

I am from the eye of a storm
I dream of the day the rain will stop
I scream to heaven, constantly mourn
I will not miss the rains’ ‘plip plop’

I whisper ‘I think I found a cure’
I am impuslive and unsure

Tears roll down his face
Plip
Plop
They splatter on the ground
Crushed
Just like his hopes,
for an "us"

What a palava

Plip plop drop
the bomb has popped

Bim bam boom
the paint tin looms

Two three four
bonus at my door

Push mush gush
what a rush

Next stage for me yaay !
On I go, wait for my mates
to unlock the next gate
And to Give me a Life ...
Oh, how ironic .. bahahahaha ...

While clouds darken the sky
All the lights in the sky take refuge in our eyes
See, how nicely an eye-beam bridge arises between you and me
Monsoon sings outside our room in its splash... plip plop plip plop
In our rooms it is lub dub lub dub
The birds are restless
Come, let us raise a few haiku on the bends in the bridge

After the sudden
sun shower

the leaves gossip
amongst themselves

"...pl....pL. . .PL!"
stutters a rather big leaf

"...op...oP. . .OP!"
another finishes its sentence.

"...pl....pL. . .PL!"
stammers a little leaf

"...op...oP. . .OP!"
proclaims its companion.

I listen to the plip & plop
of it all

as it slithers from one
vowel to the other

waiting for it to "st...
:OP!"

It's raining outside
Somewhere in the depths
I feel the vibrations
Of raindrops
The plip plop
Of nature's tears

And with them
Come ghost hands
Fingers trailing
Up my sides
Scaling my skin
And then they're gone

Oh, to be alone

Is it a splat or a plip when a drop of water hits the ground?
The pavement is glistening and glittering
The colour of the chipped yellow on the curb is so yellow it's gold
The drops are so thick I can see the crown that forms when the water collides with the ground
The downpour sounds like crumpled parchment paper
And it smells of faded fluorite
The wind is cool and the sun is warm
My face feeling fresh and my back feeling comforted
Soles scrape along the pavement
The water adds sharpness to each step
A small ravine has formed between sidewalk slab and curb
The plops of water especially grand when they sink into the cushion of this curb ravine
And waves along the cigarette bud rafts that ride the tide
February is never this kind or warm
Bare knees and open coats are everywhere to be seen
Valentines day has gifted to all
Not just the love birds
Though they all tweet in the rays of the sun
That cast glare on my palette upon which I compose this small ode
It is a precious day to see the winter fade so quickly we can watch as it decomposes

Cloud cloud and only cloud
No smile let alone cool touch
Top to toe in tight control
Tight lid on all bowls

No rain drops
For the keen crops
Close to the hilltops
Just cloud like rocks

Almost a dam
A rock of refusal
To release even some grass for a lamb
Gives a **** to who I am

But then it is impossible
No **** is absolute
They are usually vulnerable
To the calls of a dark flute

Last night took place
An earthquake
Along with a depression
In the Atlantic ocean

The grip loosened
A few cool drops on the thirsty floor
Plip plop sound
In the lungs petrichor

Then followed torrential rain
Devastating passion
Rare opportunity to drown your pain
In golden dissolution

Summer will come
Summer will go
The dissolution handsome
Will ever glow

The impact of a loved one ripples outward
The wind has changed direction
The ripples are now waves
White capped knuckles of grief
Memories escape cradled in saline
Slipping out of the heart
Tear drop ripples echo back
            Plip
                      Plop
Adding to the turbulent beauty
A lifetime shared
A moment of forever
Time slows to weightlessness
Hanging on the cresting inhale of the heart

Drop, drap, drip, plop.
Droop, plip, dlop, plit.
Pitter, patter, plotter, potter.
I didn’t bring my coat.
My hair is wet.

My senses are on fire
Now,  how do I explain?
You see I never tire
from listening to the rain.

The gentle fall of every little drop
plopping gladly on my windowsill.
It is the splash,  the plip and the plop
and the dark of the clouds perfectly still.

The fresh smell it brings revives
Each and every living thing.
It is that makes the garden survive
and allows my heart to sing.

would you rather--

wake up lazily,
dark clouds rolling above the hills outside,
soft plip-plip of the rain pattering against the window,
leaving the warmth of your nest,
you head to the kitchen to grab a *** of scorching coffee,
and it's bitter and home and complete, just like you like it.
and as you're swallowing, humming an old tune to yourself,
you realize.
it's gone.
you don't know where you left it.
where it is now.
but it's gone. dear god, dear god, it's gone.
you rush to the corners of your mind
pillaging memories and experiences
because where did it go?
you had it--you had it, I know you had it--but now you don't
you can picture it, so clearly, in your smile, in your eyes and--
now it's missing.
and you empty and discard those boxes you'd so neatly stacked up
and exhume those bodies you'd so categorically buried
and--and--it's not there. or here. or anywhere.
overnight, it disappeared.
like the memory of sitting in your grandpa's lap.
or those french revolution dates you memorized not long ago.
it's gone and you're not sure how
but everything feels kind of numb
and it feels like...this is it.
snap.
the end.

wake up with a pounding in front of your eyes,
he's lying next to you but the blankets are cold,
and his freckles seem dimmer; his eyes more brown than green
neither of you is smiling,
and the dishes are piled up in the sink,
and it's been like this for a while.
the hugs turned into lingering gazes,
the lingering gazes into cold awkward tension.
you couldn't name it for the life of you;
that acidic pit at the bottom of your stomach
that numbness around your twined fingers
the dialogue that dies as soon as it leaves your mouths
like a joke taken too far or a poem meant for another day.
it's a slow death.
the i love yous' absence is so strong you constantly hear it in your ear
buzzing, ringing, reminding you of a feeling that once was.
in the middle of a crowd, your eyes don't go to his anymore,
no more shared grins, eyebrow lifts, mouthed words.
dancing, and waltzing, and spinning around the truth
because it's gone.
it hurts (or maybe, it's supposed to)
and, either way, it's gone.
and now, you're just waiting for the crows to pick at your corpse,
pick at it and declare it dead.
because someone has to.