She's a woman of integrity,
She recognises her beauty,
And her specialty.
Knowing she's not perfect,
She reflects before she can react,
She may not be every mans desire,
But that doesn't matter because its not something to require,
Love and total attention from one is enough,
Lots of times she laughs,
At times she even bluffs,
When life gets rough,
She gets tough,
She's a survivor,
Her familys reviver.
She's a woman,
A woman of integrity.

These Great Reviver’s wild reforms
Now sound like all Hot Air,
Narendra Modi’s new India
Still bogged down in despair.
Shinzo Abe’s revised Japan
Still wallows to stagnate
And China’s Xi Jinping’s grand scheme
Continues to deflate.
Collectively they stumble
In their plans to stimulate
Asia’s great economies…..
But have failed to shut the gate
On the Shadow Banking industry,
Their vague structural reform
And the fossilized grey politics
Which resemble, now, the norm.
Rhetoric is their keynote here
Real action’s in decline
With their mandate clearly squandered
There’s A BIG CRASH DOWN THE LINE!

M.
Auckland
23 August 2014

Race fast, safe car.
A Toyota's a Toyota
Racecar
stolen one lots

Was it a car or a cat I saw?
Was it a bar or a bat I saw?
A man, a plan, a canal: Panama.
A dog, a plan, a canal: Pagoda
A car, a man, a maraca.
Oh, cameras are macho.
So many dynamos!

Desserts, I stressed
No lemons, no melon.
No sir! Away! A papaya war is on.

Dr. Awkward!
No Madam, I'm Adam
Sir, I’m Iris.
Sir, I demand, I am a maid named Iris.
Ned, I am a maiden.
Bob Bob Bob

"Not New York" Roy went on.
Not so, Boston
A **** nixes *** in Tulsa.
Avid Diva
Party boobytrap.
Solo gigolos.
As I ***, sir, I see Pisa!
Amore, Roma.
Yawn a more Roman way.

Amy, must I jujitsu my ma?

Some men interpret nine memos.
"Do nine men interpret?" "Nine men," I nod.
*** aware era waxes
a **** tuba
test tube **** set
He did, eh?
I did, did I?
doom mood
rise to vote, sir
Art, name no tub time. Emit but one mantra.
Cigar? Toss it in a can. It is so tragic.
******, I’m mad!
Lager, sir, is regal.

mom
Ma is a madam, as I am.
dad
Pa's a sap.
hannah
Anna
Neil, an alien.
Oh no! Don **!
A lad named E. Mandala
Kay, a red ****, peeped under a yak.
La, Mr. O'Neill, lie normal.
Otto made Ned a motto.
Poor Dan is in a droop.

deified
reviver
radar
stats
redivider
testset
solos


Drab as a fool, aloof as a bard
Live not on Evil
Cain: a maniac
Live on evasions? No, I save no evil.
Eve, mad Adam, Eve!
Dennis, Eve saw Eden if as a fine dew, as Eve sinned.
Devil never even lived.
Do, O God, no evil deed! Live on! Do good!
Live, O Devil, revel ever! Live! Do evil!
Evil, a sin, is alive.
Evil did I dwell, lewd I did live.
Ma is as selfless as I am.
Name not one man.
O, stone, be not so.
Rot a renegade, wed a generator.

stack cats
taco cat
Senile felines.
So, cat tacos!
step on no pets
ten animals I slam into a net

Egad! An adage!
A relic, Odin. I'm a mini, docile Ra.
A peg at lovely Tsar - a style voltage, pa.
Are we not drawn onward, we few, drawn onward to new era?
Bombard a drab mob.
Borrow or Rob?
No, it never propagates if I set a gap or prevention
We few,
We panic in a pew,
We sew,
Ye boil! I obey!

In words, drown I.Revered now, I live on. O did I do no evil, I wonder, ever?
Is it I? It is I!
I'm am a fool; aloof am I.
Now I won.
“***… ***…” I murmur.

Sleepwalking through life.
Sleepwalking through strife.
Daydreaming about happier times,
Then you came into my life.

I've never known this joy
Stemmed from the love of a boy,
Who holds me close and makes me smile--
My heart he won't destroy.

Stay in my life. Keep me awake.
My heart is yours; it's yours to take.

My reviver-- that's what you are.
My awakener-- brighter than any star.

Sleepwalking is no more because of who you are.

my feet are extremely sore
this afternoon
as I've been on them
well before noon
standing on a cement floor
which hasn't any give
has made my feet feel
like they haven't long to live

I've just put them up
for a reviver and rest
and in about three hours
they'll be full of zest
the arches of my feet
is where the discomfort lies
I've just heard them
let out one or two sighs

it is hoped that I can stand
to cook my dinner tonight
for if I can't I'll know my feet
have given up the fight
so often my webbed feet
do harangue me no old end
it's as thought their telling me
we're not your friends

It's funny, those mirror images. Small bracelets of macaroni-turned jewels,
Costly and pointless. Plastic race cars that mom and dad bought me
Zooming around and breaking vases that once
Held cigarette ash. Flowers wrote an essay on lung cancer,
A peer who, on a high night, was put into the vase.
Flora lungs are surreal.
Imagine a flower the shape of me: my blue hair and eyes the petals and bud,
My body a stem and lungs are the leaves,
Ripped out of my sternum and strewn into the antigravity that surrounds me.
A mirror image in another world,
But somehow not the same. Like nuns and ****** both
Screaming to God as their **** are groped and abused.
Collisions with the coffee table tip the coughing flower and let sailors tug on the ropes,
Sailing on the sea of liquid ash and sing "yo-no yo-**" all the way to the white carpet.
A memorial. To the woman who was saved hereby flashing lights and muffled sirens,
The drugs were too heavy.

And then we sit playing scrabble and watching the news. Oh that poor girl.
It doesn't matter though. It is far enough away to only think of palindromes to click in the
Plastic squares, a perfect fit for a triple word score.
But the score doesn't matter. It is what the word represents.
Reviver: one who brings back.
A necromancer? The zombified critters under the stairs because you felt bad about killing them.
They ate your food, but you conducted a mass ****** with that sweet poison that crystallizes
Their blood. Their parallel selves are still alive aren't they? The realms are separated by a thread,
Nothing more, so why must they be dead?

Why must they be characters in a movie? Everything is a lie, even the
Letters laid on the game board.
The words we speak is a made up language, the god most believe in
Is a figment of imagination. And so is mine. They are just creatures
Written in a book by drunken sailors, man himself,
Or warped versions of a goddess created by hags, high of of the leaves
Vining in their flowerbeds. Clouds came down because of the warm brandy and
Smoke from their pipes, polluted and *****.
Fog does not belong here, this Christmas, but at least it will mask the brick wall that
Everyone seems to crash into.
It is a theory of course; people with glass skulls and hollow brains won't live through it,
But it is worth a shot. No one knows whether you will be crushed, or the wall.
On the other side, the other half of the world, the mirrored side,
Exactly the same as the one behind. Nothing new, but everything to see. You haven't looked until
You've seen the opposite of yourself.

you box it silly, until you get to speak to it...
you box, box, box box it into pretty, you box it into
something resembling a francis bacon...
can you even imagine, feeling this much?
and then get to write about it all, by way of treating it
a mush? i'm sure that hardly
resembles the sitter, but that hardly
matters... look at that masterpiece of a
boxed face? looks blurry, i admit...
but that keeps it as art, and i find that to be...
most necessary... for i find the most recurrent
theme as: just ordinary;
everything just being as numerous
and countless, and reproducible as the
phenomenon of spring,
    that frail thing that needs to bloom
and later die... what a horrid escapade
to give it a metaphor akin to vivaldi...
sparrows... sparrows? seriously?!
   it's just that autumn, and its scents,
and its fruits... that auburn, that khaki:
if ever orff met vivaldi, he would call
autumn: the reviver!
spring is something that exists in th realm
of dr. seuss... i.e. mainly children...
or that great dumb joy of dogs...
   same ****, different cover.
- i listen to what could be best described
as neo-**** music (nietzsche did that,
introduced the hyphen at the beginning
of a paragraph, within the realm of the paragraph,
that seriously needs to be deploit within
poetry, with no paragraph, as a
whimsical call to changing the subject,
and retaining the object form, and repressing
psychiatric investment in, what they
later call a: "person". so i guess that's
- - - - - and me somehow closing the bracket
like i might keep to that romeo & juliet phrase
of palms and monks and kiss kiss moosh?
  ****...                         d'uh.               )
because i'm the one with testicles...
and how world war ii taught be something...
that i wasn't too keen to learn about in the first place...
maybe the celt in you feels i should
have shut-up and sailed on a titanic
failure...
        yeah, like that ship...
     or how ᚠ and ᚦ.... and how θ and φ
are almost identical,
revisionists with a care to revive the latin
grapheme of æ... should look toward anywhere
but here... like that grand mythical
marriage of Adam and Eve... that gave
us umlaut and macron?
how could life, if that alone, but merely dialogue
with someone become simple,
after a father wrote something akin to finnegans wake
to a daughter? it's my ex-girfriend,
she calls me up while i'm doing an industrial-sized roof
(tar, felt, slabs, *******)
and comes up with: i'm hearing voices! i'm hearing voices!
you're not going to read proust, that's for sure;
and historically speaking, that was a movement,
not something done solo...
literally a bunch of squaters that mattered
in the birth of the 20th century.
        - me neither give, nor have a bother;
we already presume to have had it sideways
with the colon and the |... whatever that represents.
          but aren't the ᚠ and ᚦ... θ and φ
identical concerns?
  you wait and watch something else encoded
having this tenacity to suddenly implode...
you'll be left wishing a moustache is
about all you could ever grow...
                   therion thermometer.. philo...
thinker, phlegm... what's with wh and why
isn't it... doing anything?
the combination of t h and p h is
too, well... bewildering to me...
thermometer, pharmacy...
ph, th... v / d -e point...
               i once called language something
that could well be mistaken to imply
approximation...  phantom, pantomine,
tantilising, infantile, in that... d d do duplex
done...
              we know the myth that philosophers
are doers and not thinkers,
we know the best ones are not exactly literate,
or if they are, they don't bother the sophism
of implosion... they just explode onto the world
and are like: hey man!
but can someone please explain to me why
ᚠθᚦφ exists? i must have just written F, four times...
and read about fifty slang terms on the internet
to say:
really?! y.h.w.h. is just a ghetto acronym written
on a brick wall? like the internet?
         ᚠθᚦφ is probably just the same,
the way people keep making an oath, or adding
the emphasis as if they spotted a comet...
      it's just fe fe, fe fe -
or ef ef, ef ef          depending which copernican
side of it you come from to congregate
in the land of the "setting sun".
                l e f t t o r i g h t
                  t f e l o t t h g i r
they meet somewhere, and sprechen lingua franco...
perhaps like Sicily, in the times of
that liberty magnet that was Fredrick II
from the Hahenschtaufen haus...
i have to do it... akin to       n
                                         w      e
                                              s... look at that...
what a beautiful acronym...
  it's not even a case of being ignorant...
  but it seems to be the general idea of a compass
these days...
                 and to think, to have the sheer
concern to make the effort to read...
which is the only reason why i resort to having
the same effort to write,
  or where two roads meet...
or what's called the fork... funny that...
three arms and a leg to stand on...
                                                     ᚠ
                                              ᚦ           θ
                                                     φ
i reduce modern vulgarity for not enough
fucky-fucky... some reduce it to the tourism
of Taiwan...
   and how Taiwan is perfectly adaptable for
a heretical christian revival, or the confused pronoun
case of almost parasitical invitation...
you hear it all the time in england,
english men going to taiwan and looking for
pretty clay, behemoths...
      right now i wish i was listening to the news
in poland... ****! at least it would be easier
******* from conservative catholic grannies
than this oddity, that really needs a second david bowie...
i can't do it... i see paying for the absurdity of ***
is fine... walking into a shop
    and buying chewing gum... a ******* would
buy more things than i ever could...
or care to want...
               a woman might go and buy perfume...
all i need is some water, and soap...
  just as rare as finding a keen reader of kraszewski,
or a tatarkiewicz... too many people read marx,
it's starting to eat me up...
         i'm starting to see a work by marx like
i might see a bench pressing corner in a gym...
                          or a crucifix; get all vampiric
and angry goo that constantly seems to recoil into
siesmic fits of violence, always minding
the lord of mosquitos... and never... Beelzebub...
bled on the cross, talked wine-to-blood
at the last supper, didn't he? so he's not
                                     the lord of mosquitos?
the wars we had because of it...
    thankfully... to inact progress...
               as all hell is blamed for doing:
or rather imroving... oh don't mind me, i'll have
to wait 2000 years for someone to recognise me,
as i did, j. c. nazareth, lord of mosquitos and
countless wars to finally freeze chickens
                      and ice-cream; cabbage? fresh!

our world is strung together by vanity
held up by they raptures of insanity
at any moment it could tumble down
leaving behind the faded of a cloud
of dust
built up by mistrust
torn down by the realization
that we are a broken nation
hiding in the shadows of our corrupt sanction
watching with a distorted sight
becoming blind as we see the light
turning away as the walls deteriorate
triggered by our impule to differentiate
untill all that we know is lost in oblivion
leaving us alone with our heart's broken rythm
for a moment it stops
the zig zags take a leap of faith and drop
but our individuality kicks in
acting as a reviver
its safe to say
we are society's survivers

We were born into this world
Naked
Weak
Afraid
Cold
Starving
Crying
In need of saving
Don't you dare lie
Because you know it's the truth

We were born into this world
Unable to do anything
Alone
Hearts cold as stone
Barely even human
Wrapped in evil
Sinking in
Breathing in
Drowning in
Living in
Sin
And you know it's the truth.

We were born into this world
Falling short
Of the glory
And surely
Living but not alive
Seeing with closed eyes
Not knowing
Not even wanting
What we were truly needing

Healing from a healer
Love from a lover
Life from a reviver

Saving
From a savior.

Because if you look into
The deepest part of your soul
You will find
A child.
A broken, bleeding child
In need of rescue.

Because no matter what you say
No matter what you do
No matter what you think
Don't lie
Because you know it's the truth.
Child,
You don't know your hero
And heck,
You act like you don't need your hero
But, child,
Your hero already bled for you.

Não dá pra reviver coisas mortas,
Eu não consigo pensar na hipótese
De te ter de volta...
É impossível esquecer tanta mágoa,
Não dá pra pensar que,
Logo agora,
Algo
Você me valha.

São sonhos impossíveis,
Desejos em vão,
Eu te disse: vem!
Mas deixa teu coração.
Pois, a minha nobre alma,
Não comporta nada,
Além de vazio,
**** e outras claras madrugadas.

I sat in the shelter
as the sunset flared

In my steel thermos
is hot freeze-dried coffee
instant, not ground
but
a sure reviver

Tea served up to the masses;
cannot function without it.
Tea, the reviver of mankind.

I took my shot and kissed her on her energizing lips.
She revived me and gave me a new break of dawn delight.
My reviver, my rejuvenater, my warmly come alive romancer.
Flow thru me and shine on me thru my coldest of days.
By your glimmering light I awake. All greatful for a new day. The rising sun. - Swoo

Surely we're better than this,
scurrying about like **** ants
as if we've got to big for our short pants

tell me it's so.

I need a reviver
someone comes over
with
a Cuba libre
just what I need a
rush to the head,

rain, beautiful water, thirst quencher, flower reviver, green maker,
the snuggling in excuse for creatures, the put on hold garden plans,
a time of skies calling the shots.