O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting

            fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked

thee
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy

      beauty       .how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and

buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
        (but
true

to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover

          thou answerest


them only with

                          spring)

I was six when I first saw kittens drown.
Dan Taggart pitched them, 'the scraggy wee *****',
Into a bucket; a frail metal sound,

Soft paws scraping like mad. But their tiny din
Was soon ******. They were slung on the snout
Of the pump and the water pumped in.

'Sure, isn't it better for them now?' Dan said.
Like wet gloves they bobbed and shone till he sluiced
Them out on the dunghill, glossy and dead.

Suddenly frightened, for days I sadly hung
Round the yard, watching the three sogged remains
Turn mealy and crisp as old summer dung

Until I forgot them. But the fear came back
When Dan trapped big rats, snared rabbits, shot crows
Or, with a sickening tug, pulled old hens' necks.

Still, living displaces false sentiments
And now, when shrill pups are prodded to drown
I just shrug, '****** pups'. It makes sense:

'Prevention of cruelty' talk cuts ice in town
Where they consider death unnatural
But on well-run farms pests have to be kept down.

Young women know all about style -
how to fix the decimal point
between them and their mothers
differentiate themselves
from Special K over 40s wanna bees
mini skirted and high heeled
trying to catch their husband’s eye

Yummy mummies in their 30’s
are separated from the new stock
by firm elastic flattened midriffs
no bulge or wobble
unlined skin taut sometimes
navel peirced or *******
their legs wear the 4” heels again
on winklepicker pointed toes
for a mid century crop
of bunioned feet.

No scraggy necks or waddle
no tea tray arses only
plump peaches
in the bend over show
of skimpy, lacy thongs
of ****** floss

So, **** femme fatale is cool
body object the thing to be
flouncing and  preening
flirting and *******
random hook-ups on the run
in the alleys of time on the net
in the warp of space
Killer !  Whatever !
Wicked ! Yeah feral !

I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is your thoughts, my upset energies, and nightly turbulence.
Sleep provokes night and life and darkness prevailing in us.
When we wake up we are gone as our night precedes dawn
It is always the other way, bottom up and spaces spread.
At times we hear the police van’s shrieks, in night’s iron grill.

I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is not always the stick beating the road in rhythmic silence
And olive-green overcoat with flapped pockets and heavy boots
And six months old large-sized memories of a Himalayan home
With black-lined large dove’s eyes flitting among coal fires
Their smoke towering over the pines in snow-bound peaks.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is the turbulence we are speaking of, in the foggy sea we are
Or on the peaks where everything is bound in fuzzy snow
At the mountain passes where vehicles duly pass oiled by hot tea
Or in the mist-filled airports where aircrafts do not take off
Of politicians who decide mankind’s future in the apocalypse.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is my dreams as they were and the neighbor’s dreams
In the straw-roof, in the banyan trees with glints in their eyes
And much fine-powdered dust on their thick –coated leaves,
In lonely watchmen’s houses on the bleak stony spaces
And lonely watchmen keeping vigilant eyes on boulders
Strewn in brown spaces and scraggy bushes with strange lizards.


I ask that you be heard, tossed about and dreamed of.
It is the towering tombs and the trees that enveloped them
The children playing cricket in flying bats and stone stumps
Outside the vaults where kings and queens lay dead for ages
Their cold breath felt on the broken glass of Time’s windows.
I ask that you, I and women play a game of kabaddi in the trees
When it is still not dark enough in the minarets in the west
And children are still hitting ***** visible in the green of the trees.

A razor is my nemesis, because the blades do not behave
Gouging cuts into my skin, that is the path they pave
But it is unavoidable, I have become a bathroom slave
To rid myself of excess hair, from a shave that I don't crave

Ever since the birth of man, it goes back many years
A growth around your lip and chin, extending to your ears
It may go down particularly well, among the bents and queers !
I'd rather have a smoother face, to avoid Ducky's and Dears

Why do men want ****** hair, why do they want a beard
Bits of stubble sticking out, a design that's rough and weird
A Goatee isn't very good, it's cattle that's not reared
You wouldn't get tickled or scratched, if beards had not appeared

Okay some guys might look alright, when they are neat and trim
Scruffy ones they just look bad, and some are rather grim
I don't want hairs growing on my legs, or any other limb
Nice smooth skin is my preference, and it's not a passing whim

There is just one problem, something I would love to ditch
Hair removal is a pain, and it's an evolution glitch
When the morning comes along, I have that same old itch
Having to shave is immanent, and a *******

How many ****** shaves, does a man have to endure
Eventually your skin goes dry, from this old daily chore
You get cut far too often, I don't want it anymore
Razor blades no longer work, and that's a shaving flaw

Girls complain about their periods, it must be so frustrating
With all that blood just seeping out, when you are menstruating
You wouldn't like it daily, there is a period of waiting
It only happens once a month, so it's not as irritating

I'd rather shave twelve times a year, without anymore hair traces
No cuts and grazes for a month, in many different places
Unscrupulous razor companies, would have no more hairs and graces
Hairy smiles would be wiped off, from their stupid corporate faces

A close shave does not exist, I think it's a fare bet
That manufactures cut your throat, with electric dry and wet
All the claims of the best, that a man can get
Sharp shavers are a fabrication, and that includes Gillette

The cheaper brands are just as bad, shops own brand or BIC
You may as well tape a knife, to a piece of stick
Are potato peelers any sharper, would they be a valid pick
Would chipped skin be as bad, or just get on your wick

One shave is not sufficient, you have to do it twice
There's always bits left behind, which isn't very nice
I would've tried the No No, an expensive hair device
Razor blades and shavers, have such a high tagged price

It makes me cross and angry, because there is no reward
When buying beauty products, which they say you can afford
Why cant you have a body switch, or a desired level cord
So you can turn of your hair, and sod Wilkinson Sword

Excess hair I do not want, except for on my head
Is stress the cause of going thin, when it begins to shed
Would it not be better, coming of your face instead
Shaving would then be reduced, and not something to dread

Many men go through the curse, of losing it on top
The older that you become, your head hairs for the chop
A full crown is all I want, why take away my mop
I didn't want a bad harvest, by losing half my crop

The only place I wanted it, I've lost my style and flair
Why does a bald patch appear, why does your bonce go bare
Is it my comeuppance, with the creation of a glare
All I want from follicles, is my head full of hair

If you want to have a beard, then that is fare enough
Don't be mistaken for a *****, by looking like a scruff
I don't want a hairy face, or stubble that is rough
Or a weird beard with scraggy parts, or any yuk *** fluff

Some men just let beards grow, and maybe that's just crazy
It's not as though they look sweet, or as pretty as a daisy
Personal hygiene may not count, if they are always lazy
To me it isn't fashionable, it makes you look old and hazy

Who wants to be a yeti, but perhaps it is too late
And wild men roaming in the woods, is evolutions own cruel fate
No matter how much I shave, it's the scratchy bits I hate
Wasted shaves when hair returns, why does it lay in wait

How much has man evolved, how much as man progressed
Personally I think the state of hair, has radically regressed
It's based on my own experience, so perhaps I am obsessed ?
Who wants a hairy monkey, when your naked and undressed ?

There is a smooth advantage, when you are misbehaving
A kiss feels much more sensual, without the crazy paving
This is all that drives me, although it is enslaving
Even with the nice things, I'm not craving for a shaving

Being called a ****** is something I don’t mind
In fact it's really okay and it's rather kind
I don't think it is offensive or even a sick joke
What’s a man supposed to do without a **** to poke
Okay he could stick his **** between two bits of Spam
But he really needs a hot moist **** to be a real man
If her *****'s on the blob he could settle for an ****
The ******* of both these holes simply is pure class

There are guys who prefer a **** and like a manly ***
A tighter hole maybe prefered to make those fellows ***
To **** a bloke if you're straight is an equivalent to a slum
Or even a taboo ****** act like ******* your own mum.

Manly ***** and dangly parts are really not for me
I don't bend to hairy **** it's not where I would be
Girly ***** and smoother bums is what I want to see
I'd rather **** my own **** than **** a guys jacksy

Pulling a huge Horses Plonker only fools like Rodney Trotter
Or Blind Wizards with broken glasses like Harry ******* Potter
Don't **** on your **** to hard you may just *** a cropper
Especially if you ***** up in a helmet belonging to a copper.

I would never bash the bishop what would the churches say
To find me with a spunky hat and that their faiths turned gay
We don't want ***** clergymen who **** on the silver tray
Vicars ******* choir boys keep those cassock fanciers at bay

I would'nt choke the chicken because I don't think I could
But the staff at Kentucky Fried Chicken they probably would.
They would lick your ***** up because its finger licking good.
And use their special wipe up towel to clean up your manhood.
With its lemon fragrance you will have good smelling wood.
Around your shaft and helmet and beneath your ******* hood.

Would I ever yank my plank like the pirates of the seas
The extention of my log when I'm on my ******* knees
My hand around my fishing rod and giving it a squeeze
Using a hand action to squeeze out my cream cheese
*** is flowing down my shaft like honey from the bees
I'll keep pumping on my rod and creaming in the breeze

Have you ever seen those fellows praying down at the synagogue ?
From their own expressions they've been flogging their own log
Take a look at their robes the bottom stained with their eggnog
Either that or they have been ******* some old scruffy dog
I don't think that they bothered their heads are in a fog
With all that ******* worship they would **** a big fat hog

So I'm slowly warming to it but maybe when I'm ******
And I can't get no ***** and its the last thing on my list
I may take myself in hand my **** clutched in my fist
Then I may consider having a swift one of the wrist
If you end up watching then please excuse the mist
I'll carry on with the hope that my **** gets kissed

Because Wanking is an activity that in all honesty all men do
Something that comes to hand when you can't get a good *****
When your **** gets harder and we think of god knows who
We grab our piece of man meat and imagine that *** stew

I'll  have to keep on wanking I can never get enough
Off all that lovely ***** because finding it is tough
Nothing is more satisfying than diving in the ****
Legs open wide will always be something I will stuff
Instead of wanking I would rather stick it up your chuff
But I'll probably end up looking  a bit scraggy and ruff

So I will keep on going until my **** is old and worn
With all that ******* wanking whenever I get the horn
Popping my sweet cornels just like children of the corn
Watching ****'s and ******* or granny ******* ****

yonder wave wants to come on in
can't make it go away
try so hard to chase away
steel reserve



1.
don't come cryin' on yo broken shins
who dat talkin' ova der?
yo muvva just ain't home rite now
take ya scraggy bags
and vamoose outta here

pick up dem rings 'round yo trappin' eyes
      and lasso 'em round dat red fin
tackle yo chapped lips
      afore dem ships fall in yo calyx-cracks
quit dat naggin' *****-mouth
      here, have dis apple, ma piggie
and dems eyes o' yours dat shine so brite
       might as well switch off dat lite
hide dem leather-hands dat look like dry branches
      wat, even da desert don't win dis contest
pack dat stupid head in a box
      der ain't nuttin' inside a see-through noggin
hide dem silly hopes under a hevvy sea
      or bury it under da soles of yo crazi hart
take yo blasted treadin' to some udder place
      some dark mine where dey can use yo help
and all dem purty words on pages yo just lurve a-spewin'
      ain't no party here for fools no more


2.
den, der some funny rhydm 'gainst ma door
pushin' dat big wave
pushin' dat big wave
I'm a-pushing back jest as hard
but dat wrestlin' wave jest a-growin'
keeps a-knockin'
always rockin'
gonna come crashin' rite in

ain't no good wishing, ma beloved darlin'
so many fine dreams
running silent
in dem luvverly veins under yo kick-startin' tongue


yah, yonder waves gonna make a breakthrough
some day...
(mebbe)*




S T, 21 augury 2013

The easy road always leads to Nowhere.

I knew it before. My momma had warned me of it, of what I would see. I had two roads to choose from when it was time for me to go, when I would have to leave the comfort of my red bricked cottage.  

I saw in front of me two roads diverged in a yellow wood.

Momma warned me about that easy road. "It leads to Nowhere," she always said.

Yet it was so attractive with its lush scenery and spacious roads. An entrance, painted bright blue. “Welcome to Anywhere!" In fact, many stayed awhile on these roads and gathered among themselves in trivial conversation. There was no need to hurry, no place to be over there in Anywhere.

Laughter could be heard from miles away.

The road so simple could always be seen from the road so hard, sending down envy into the very stomachs of those brave enough to enter it.

The hard road was absolutely terrible.

It took too many sacrifices and short-lived enjoyments. No pretty signs welcomed me in. Only a caution to the cowardly lay hidden among scraggy thorns.

The entrance was vile, a landscape unpleasant to my eyes.

Pain and sadness waited often on the sidewalk there. No mercy for those who slipped and showed a bit of weakness. The roads were bumpy and tumultuous. One cannot simply count on their fingers how many times they would trip on this road.

The hard road was less traveled and therefore extremely lonely. No person in sight. No sound could be heard except for the eerie laughter echoing from the roads of Anywhere.


..But, boy, let me tell you. I have come to the end of that road, calloused and bruised

and my joy lay in the knowledge of the fact that Somewhere was waiting for me.

The hard road leads to Somewhere.

When I reached it that was when I knew:

Somewhere is so much more better than Nowhere.

Even better than Anywhere

Somewhere is worth it.

And to see it on the horizon, at the end of the long road of hardship..

when there were no more pebbles to step on

or pain lurking in the shadows to be afraid of

I knew right there and then

Somewhere was deserved by me

Somewhere was mine

and that has made all the difference.

I write this little narrative
and shall endevour to be brief,
for events that I unburden
may never gain of true belief.
I put to you dear reader
that tomorrow I shall die
for the events that so destroyed me
but with this wording I will try.

As a child I was so happy
and being of good disposition.
I had a fondness for all creatures,
so to care for was my mission.
With my pets as my companions
that such a pleasure is the truth.
I cared, fed and caressed them,
this was the model of my youth.

Into manhood I was pleasant.
A woman sent from God above.
Such a bride that shared my passion
of such animals I love.
Love flourished inside our home life
Our demeanour was one of that,
so we puchased gold fish and a rabbit,
a small monkey and black cat.

'Pluto' purred a lovely song,
readilly did steel my heart.
He was large, soft and so loving
and from my side was hard to part.
This large black cat worried my wife
as superstitions do so cast.
Though it slackened seriousness
as ancient ideals do not last.

Seven years we were intent
until my character did start to change.
Temperament was quick to follow,
my personality grew strange.
The demon drink was now a worry
when my wife would feel my knuckle.
For one moment I was raged
and the other I would chuckle.

One night upon my return
witha drunken mans' complexion.
Pluto wanting nothing from me
felt irate of rough connection.
Reluctantly he beared down his claw
as from my grasp he tried to fly
and as my blood did slowly trickle
I removed my knife and then his eye.

As the daylight light gave its shine
from the excesses of last eve's gin.
I from remorse supped in excess
Trying to drown this evil sin.
I was weak and so un-trying
lashing out at one and all.
No longer in control of
it seemed my destiny to fall.

Pluto recovered this ordeal,
though eye-less socket was my gift.
I could not be so surprised,
as on my approach he would fly swift.
No longer was he my ally.
No longer was he my friend.
No longer did I drink the *****
but this avoidance would soon end.

He still attended this abode
Wandering with one eyed navigation
Although I felt the pangs of grief
Grief soon changed to irritation.
One morning I did slip a noose
Around poor Pluto's scraggy throat
I hung him from a tree outside
drinking a bottle whilst I gloat.

Against the laws of God I ******
In satisfaction I do wallow
Excuse is this intrusive substance
My own forgiveness do I swallow.
Evil, horror and unkind
Depravity is what I think
These thoughts float freely around my mind
All conjured up from Demon drink.

That night such cruel deed had been done
for something happened so unfair.
As I awoke, my home in flames.
My wealth all gone I felt despair.
On visiting the smouldering ashes
that once I could call my address.
I found almost complete destruction
as i surveyed this total mess.

I came upon just one exception.
The wall where once had stood my bed
A crowd had gathered for some reason,
suprise to me it must be said.
Curiosity drew me closer
To see what they gazed at
and as if graven in bas relief
the figure of a gigantic cat.

Such accuracy it must be said
Stood proudly within the wreck
Above where my head used to rest
A rope about the creature's neck.
When I beheld this apparition,
for scarcely could I regard it less.
feeling terror to the extreme,
drew upon me such untold stress.

I came to think about that night
When fires rage was at its most
That someone must of free'd the feline
Cut it down from hanging post.
Perhaps then thrown through open window
With view to raising me from sleep
Compressed my **** fresh in new plaster
a burnt portrait for me to keep.

Such great impression on my mind.
Phantasms thought could not forget.
feeling such insincere remorse
I chose to search for similar pet.
Whilst I frequented vile haunts
with painstaking examination,
decided cat should be of similar look.
I did not want emancipation.

In a den of vile infamy
Half stupified I sat
When something claimed of my attention
In the form of a black cat.
Hazily I reeled in shock
Was this Pluto in my sight
Until after greater examining
I noticed a splodge of white.

I thought for just one moment
My mind was setting me a test
For Pluto was as black as soot
But this **** wore a white breast.
He came to me immediately
Upon me he did laize
I purchased him right there and then
I smothered him with love and praise.

My wife did so adore this cat.
But for myself after some time
Much love did turn again to loathing
and its presence cringed my spine.
The reason came the next day on
as Inhebriated I was no more
I saw that he had just one eye.
So shocked was I, I think I swore.

My wife was in a happy state
Thinking that my life had changed
Back to my old and wanted ways
Before my life became deranged.
The white mark upon the felines breast
over time appeared to define
Into a picture so distintive.
A Gallows was this eerie sign.

My sanity was in unsolid state
This creature soon to be bereft
Supporting a badge of owners crime
over its Agony and Death.
This brute of similar attribute
To he I had once destroyed,
tormented and most worried me.
My vengeance would not be denied.

My temperence was as a beast
With furious tempers flare
I almost abandoned all this strife
without so much as single care.
One day on household errand
on my brow this cat shone tax.
Whilst in the cellar with the *****
I tried to **** it with an axe.

Guarded by my faithfull wife,
I still remember what she said
Leave this poor dumb creature be.
I left the axe inside her head.
Such ****** was not deliberate
I could not resolve that this be real
but after contemplative time
I knew this crime I must conceal.

I pondered long what course to take
I could not move her by day or night,
must be accomplished down below
to keep this body far from sight.
Encasing her behind the wall
as monks once did in bygone age.
Surrounded now with morter and brick
it was the most solid of cage.

Before the last brick was replaced
I searched the house for Pluto's clone.
No sign was found of one eyed tom,
my persecutor had gone to roam.
I looked with pride at job well done.
Such rendering was no disgrace,
nothing toward had happened here
with everything nicely in its place.

I searched again to find the beast
he that to me did not impress.
Although I'd killed I slept so tranquil.
My mood did qualm and I felt fresh.
Second and third days came and went
But feline never made a show
He must of truly read my mind
Decided safer he should go.

The fourth day after assassination,
Police came around this place to delve.
After a most intense exploration,
suspiscion they decide to shelve.
In my triumph I did take on pride,
I pointed out this house so stout
and taking up my wooden cane
I gave the wall a hearty clout.

May the lord deliver me
from the fangs of acrid friend.
For squeeling came from beyond that wall
leaving my secret at an end.
In my haste to hide my sin,
I hid the corpse and cleared the room
It seems the brute had never gone
Instead it hid inside the tomb.

Here I stand in readiness
these gallows wanting company
and with this rope around my neck
it seems my wife I will soon see.
If only ego had refrained
and with that cane I'd caused no fuss,
perhaps they may never of heard
the reply from that old black ****

I'm downright parchy when you're icy
Slammin' wet when you're dulcet
So glum...lolled...you're nowhere onboard
Alacrity is farced as simpers scarce
Prolix spells ahead as your radiance effaced
Stunning silence!
Shan't be scraggy better be scoutty
Lame ruse meeds its match...

Struggling is pointless, as I am chained by myself.
With these weary scraggy arms, I threw the key as far as I can.
I didn't know what got into me but all I knew was I am "trapped".
I long hid under the shadowed wings of someone elses sweet lies,
Spoiling my innocent mind.
Torturing me gently with their alluring soft whispers.
All the while, without me in my conscience,
They're taking away everything that is mine.
Grabbing all that they can have
While I was enjoying the fact of being blind to their tricky traps.
I don't feel that I am already paralyzed
Because it felt like I am in the fullest of my beautiful sleep.
But when I woke up, I can do nothing about it at all,
Either will I get back all my belongings,
For I had been cheated.

I want to sit on the stoop with the good old boys
A scraggy old hound sat by my feet
To Chinwag about the good old days
When in the noonday sun we'd sleep
Of walking in the mountains
Of drinking from fresh streams
Not worried about the deer ****
But just living out our dream
Those days are now but memories
Just long held distant dreams
Now we just sit and reminisce
With my old dog at our feet

I’m at an (outdoor) dinner, with Peter, some of his doctoral-student friends, professors and their spouses, to kick-off the Fall semester and Peter’s second year in the doctoral program.

“So, what impressions did you take away from your time at the Large Hadron Collider?”
A 60-ish professor asked Peter. In this setting, as a student pursuing his doctorate, Peter’s comments will probably be noted and there’s a watching anticipation.

Peter is a tall, pale, scraggy, 25-year-old with unruly, deep-cove-blue, almost-black hair. Tonight, he’s dressed in a brown, distressed Italian lambskin leather blazer that I got him in Paris, as a fall semester present and his usual, dark, neutral shades of brown. To break those sleepy colors up I also gave him a soft-caramel-brown tie, inlaid with tiny, yellow, rubber ducks.  

“Two impressions, really,” Peter begins, “First, the Higgs Boson particle was discovered a decade ago - but since then we haven’t seen any notable results - the particles we expected, when we expected them. Of course, “no results” is an important part of the scientific process,” he continued, “and those researchers still deserve their doctorates, but it isn’t ****, and it won’t win any Nobel prizes.” He has the room’s attention.

“Secondly,” he says, looking around for reassuring eye-contact, “experimental particle physics is a very expensive business.” This observation generates nods, toasts and laughter all around.

When the reaction dies down, he gets another question.
“Why do you think we aren’t seeing better results?” another professor asks him.

“I think the problem,” Peter twists his head as he turns serious and begins his reply - and by the way, he looks adorable in the soft light of the dancing Japanese lanterns - “is the lag between the theories and our ability to experiment. It takes so long to build a collider, that theories out-evolve them. The apparatuses we have now - like the Hadron Collider - were designed based on theories from 30 years ago.” Again, there are nods and thoughtful looks before the professors move their questioning to the next student.

Later, we’re in the common room of my dorm suite, huddled together, talking hushedly on an overstuffed loveseat while others watch TV or read. “OH!” I say, still in a whisper voice, like I’ve just remembered something interesting, “You know what I heard - about the doctoral physics program?”

“What?” Peter says, I have his unblinking attention now. After all, I was talking with professors and their wives and shards of information are precious, not unlike atom particles, so he’s openly curious, his head tilted in focus.

“I was told, I say slowly and earnestly, “by a reliable source,” I begin playing with one of his shirt buttons, “that doctoral students,” I pause for maximum effect, to indicate this is important, “have equipment that’s 25 to 30 years OLD - outDATED equipment..”

He’s on to me now, and he starts to lean into me and grin. “that might not be able to get the JOB done!” I finished, busting out laughing as he caught my underarms with tickle fingers. I shrieked with delight at my own joke and his reaction.

“We’ll SEE about THAT!” He says while playing my ribs like accordions, producing newer and louder squeals and mutual giggles.

“Hey!” Anna said, turning as she paused her “Better Call Saul” finale.
“Get a ROOM!” Leong suggested, sarcastically, in mid-popcorn scoop.
Lisa eyed us annoyedly over her Chemistry book.
Sophy rolled her eyes, smiling and blood-thirsty Sunny barked “Get ‘er!”

Legs entwined break free,
As Sol beckoned over Korik Hill.
Their stomachs still warm,
With last night's ****.

Dusty flecks played like,
A million shards of garnet.
Watching over her head,
In beams of light, russet.

Unwilling to break
Meek, fleeting dreams,
He closed all space, between
Them were no seams.

Ruefully she moved,
Even in slumber.
One cannot erase,
The skin of a lover.

'Agaroth'
Whispered moan, from bit lips.
'Namna', his head on
Her ***** is where happiness is.

'We should go'
Said she, as Solara rose.
The sky warm with both,
Under two suns, they awoke.

--

A scraggy shore,
Rocks, lichen and moss.
Lake of silence,
No sound would cross

Twas her kingdom,
Her Majesty a thousandfold.
Within walls of green,
Ochre, yellow and gold.

She stood waist deep,
Soft back to him, a statue.
As she overlooked the fishes
Passing by in a hundred hues.

Bathing in rainbows,
Her form bare, open.
A liquid pearl glowing,
In an endless ocean.

Soon she emerged,
Onto the heavy bank.
His arms covering her modesty,
His honour in her hands.

--

Solum now emerged,
The wind cool on bent figures.
Harvest of their fruit,
This year was bigger.

Mud stained bodies,
In sound of labor.
As both pulled fruit and flower,
Of ethereal flavors.

He plucked one,
A plump pompous citric.
Tasted the fruit slowly,
It's effect electric.

An offer made to her,
Politely subdued.
Held his hands,
Expression bemused.

'Come here' beckoned Namna,
Agaroth obeyed.
The fruit she tasted,
Was from his mouth that day.

Violet stained her neck,
Godly juice.
He tasted just enough,
Skin and fruit suffused.

--

Solara began her descent,
The sky, blood on topaz.
Cool though it happened to be,
The wind was sad.

Under the shadow of
The siblings, Solum and Sol,
Sat a fire now hungry,
Devouring mushrooms and stalk.

Warm, Namna spoke of home,
To him, a child before her.
Eyes wide, he waited,
For her words, to devour.

'It was beautiful', she told him,
Of the lands and seas and crests.
Of Men, Machine and
Many Deaths.

--

Her voice was nectar,
Soon he drifted in a haze.
Sweet, soft and dear,
Lying still in her gaze.

He dreamed of that night,
Invaded by the SkyFolk.
The night of her arrival,
Amidst a sea of iron and smoke.

Thirty and two times
The Sun siblings had since,
Risen and fallen with them,
As they shared their sins.

He had discovered,
She spoke, a delight.
But not his tongue,
To his surprise.

She was built as him,
But he could see.
The difference twixt;
The Man and Goddess clearly.

Sole inhabitant of a far
Cosmic reduce unwanted.
A wish he never thought of,
Here, before him, granted.

He came to, and,
Looked at her firelit face.
Spoke of love in his tongue,
As he watched her drift into space.

--

Lunox presently hung,
Suspended, a pyramid.
And before it reached its peak,
The world was silverlit.

A glorious change,
To the world, this light.
Somber companionship,
Would last through the night.

Gentle nudges brought,
Namna to him.
He signaled at the moon,
Which was now moving.

Faceted at impossible
Edges, Lunox spat color.
Iridescent, layered,
Their world in a fervor.

Her eyes studied him
A gem in nocturnal light.
Ruby, emerald, sapphire,
Blazing dark and bright.

Star painted, they
Walked home together.
Her hand in his own,
Light as a feather.

--

Deep, internal hum,
Escaped from her, loud
As he kissed her lips,
The ones not on her mouth.

His hair clutched,
Tangled in her fingers.
Pulling him inwards,
Many feelings triggered.

Rose over the valley,
Of shy legs.
His head beside hers,
Their waists connect.

All of Agaroth
Pulsing, yearning.
Inside Namna,
Inside her fire, burning.

Warmer than the Suns,
Cooler than the lake.
Sweet, ignorant and in peace
Love they did make.

Furs sprawled,
The sheets in a mess.
The other's skin was their
Only dress.

--

On a small bed,
In a small room.
They talked of life,
Of despair and doom.

Each simply speaking,
Not mindful of comprehension.
When touch is louder than voice,
No bar rests on communication.

Much comfort there was,
In time they discovered.
In sharing a life,
Over the galaxy, scattered.

Escapee from,
a dying Earth.
Inhabitant of,
A deceased world.

A longing for what is,
Now gone past.
Traces of two souls,
Here in Xalta shall last.

Of all cosmic variables,
The most improbable.
Yet brought together,
In an interstellar fable.

--

Sitting together cross legged
Our naked bodies just inches away
Lungs breathing in the same stale air
Hearts beating at a slightly erratic pace
Mine vehemently moving forward
Determined foolishly to make the most
Of the possible slipping final days

Looking up
My eyes gaze upon his body
One I believed to be the epitome of beauty
Stopping finally at his face
I sigh with resign
A lone tear making its way down my scarred cheeks
It’s not fair I think
This possibly being our last time
For I doubt I’d let him stay once it was over

So I look back at that face
With a determined promise
Memorizing every line and curve
From the soft yet strangely spikey hair
Wild eyebrows that tell stories of his travels
Warm eyes overflowing with love
For a foolish dying girl
A nose with a shadow of a joker
Hiding in its contours
Deep dark lips that whisper my name
A prayer for him to hope for more time

This face with its sleepless dark circles
Warm browness and scraggy beard
I hold in my weak spidery fingers
I want this to be last memory
Before the darkness engulfs me
So when I open my eyes each day
You’ll be by my side no matter what
I think with a childish hope

My words become incoherent
As weakness seeps swiftly into my body
Reducing my strong resolve to dust
I fall back into an ocean of tears
On your arms cannot pull me out of
They take you away and strap me in
Only the cold pinch of a needle
Having the power to soothe my wrecked soul

With a struggle I open my eyes
Barely managing it for a few moments
Disappointed with plane whiteness
I give in to the awaiting darkness
They wheel me out to my doom
The decision had been made
The papers signed in finality
With a stroke of ink they had decided my fate

Wheeling me out to sterile cruelty
I drift away helplessly
As inhuman white beings surround me
Slicing my body open
Now finally with inked permits
To take away a part of my soul
Stealing all the colours and faces from me
And subjecting me to an infinite depth of black

My body survived
The cancer had finally died
Yet I felt no proud survivor’s strength
Only the hollow emptiness of this new dark world
I could think of
Voices called out of the dark
Warm arms reaching out to hold me
But their faces no longer could appear
They all were the same to my darkness

Until I heard him walk in again
His quiet orders for others to leave
Rang through my ever inquisitive ears
His soft rustles confused my mind
Until I felt his warm body engulf me
His lips whispering his prayer
Calling my fiery soul back from the depths

My sightless eyes felt a surprising wet
And from the dark depths a face appeared
One I feared had forever left me
With a cry my spidery fingers held on
Drinking in thirstily his warmth
My mind now singing into the darkness
He’s back
And in that terrified moment
I knew it was not the end

With a determined ****
I pushed my body off the comforts of my bed
Arm reaching out uncertainly for a support
With my weak hands engulfed in his
Legs gingerly touching the bare tiled floors
I jumped off
And took my first step
Towards a renewed life

When they spoke, I could not believe,
They are racists,
They hate Mugabe,
Nonsensical propaganda,
I went there and I could not believe,
They are all dark in complexion,
As if the sun only burns in their region,
They are scraggy and unhealthy,
As if they are mechanized skeletons,
They all look like they were born of the same mother,
A child cried piteously in one village,  
Like a lazy mouse,
In fact she, battled to cry,
The poor mother just looked at her with deep sadness,
Shaking her tiny head,
She could not help,
The child was dying of hunger,
And the mother just watched as the little girl died,
I cried,
She died,
The mother had no strength to cry,
She collapsed,
I cried another cry,
So much I saw, it is unbelievable,
Thereafter, I hated Mugabe with a passion,
And everyday I cry for all of them,
And I cry with them all.
**** Mugabe.

in the scraggy grass
beside the shearer's quarters
plovers made their nests

Riding out
away from neon half-assed action
the lights of cars ahead
blur in the distance
Driving out
out
out
Past all of it
to the ghetto
in the back country
I feel sick
like a stick's stuck in my throat
and a goldfish is swimming around inside my stomach
We get there
just in time
We turn down a dirt road
and we're amongst
banged-up crooked trailors
and parked SUVs with their doors open and lights on
I immediately open my door to *****
I watch people through wet eyes
congregate around the cars
some moving from car to car dealing
Deep bass sounds coming muffled out of bad stereos
Far-away fake laughter
but faces with no sign of joy on them
It's a hot night
We're nestled in the night
under a low scraggy treeline
in this little clearing
in a little hole in the wilderness
We pray for a chance
to survive
and to go on
surviving

Who is this scraggy scruffy person
This woe begone urchin of words
This so called writer of poetry
Who cannot write for pregnant toffee
Who always thought of riches in pocket
But now has to eat those wastely words
No good will ever become of this work
Let penaltypitstop ride her nonsense

Who is this , I'm it penaltypitstop
Well I may indeed very well truthfully say
It is me !

Let them say alarmed by my soul's quiescent invisible riot
you heard my despondent deafening silent shout
and rather than cast aspersions upon my scraggy idiosyncrasy
without doubt you lent me wings of optimism to float
for yours were arms that took me in when the world kicked me out
Let them say you walked with me till the end of the road
perspiring, dusty, fatigued yet still endured the load
let them say you tottered with me past my dusk to dawn
they didn't have to ask whether you were truly my own
for you searched piece by piece until you found all my heart
stitched them together to hold my world from drifting apart
that you saw me through to ocean from spring and river
and I moved on from my rough past because you were my lever
Let them say you saw me to Tuxedo from tattered pants
and even when waves of coercing constrains hit you still gave us a chance
that you weaved an intricate basket of forever out of every now
and as such we crossed even the most shaky of bridges we never knew how
Ultimately, let them say you were my best story, one never ceased writing...

"We meet again Little Bear..
not so brave today
are we"....



With one lumbering movement
it.. dragon .. steps forward
it's arm raised
ready to strike

swiftly i step out of it's path
and into the center of the room
where upon i realise
it's manipulation
and my mistake

dragon now blocks
and seals
my only exit

it's eyes find me again
tracking my every move
circling me
isolating me

i turn in time
keeping it in view
and i watch helplessly
as it stalks me

round and around


round and around

"I knew it would come to thisss...
just you and I"* it hisses

I hold my sword
and stand my ground

but the weight
makes my wrists tremble
my grip tightens
but my fingers are weak
and i cannot help but painfully
lower my weapon

it's eyes flit to my hands
and then instantly
back to watching me
it sees my struggle
and finds delight
in my weakness

"You are no match for me Little Bear
no match at all.."
dragon laughs wickedly

"You are not even fair game..
this is all too easy"
it scratches it's scraggy chin
with a long bony claw

"run for me Little Bear

run...

so i can catch you"
the words slaver from it's lips

"I won't run for you...
or from you"
but my voice trembles
betraying my words

"Oh...? but i think you will"
it's face grins wide
and it's tongue
licks it's teeth

It's eyes never leave mine
as it clicks it's fingers

and a child stumbles out
blind and bound
from the darkness behind.



part one
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1731376/brave-little-bear/

part two
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1733751/dragons-prey-part-2/

I want to write your name,
in the cliffs,
so when ships drive by,
they know I'm telling you this.

Sketch your face,
upon the path,
perfect jaw,
in scraggy grass.

paint your lips,
with the leaves,
as the tumble down,
kiss my cheek.

encapsulate your eyes,
in the drops of the fish pond,
when I fall in-
love we will bond.

Your heart freezes it over,
even snowflakes split,
water turns to splinters,
hard empty pit.

your initials have eroded,
your features worn with time,
the world seems to take,
all that should be mine.

I see a woman in the woods
sitting by her hut kneading dough.
She is bonny, sultry and country-side,
her face radiant with a glorious glow,
like the sky bleeding crimson with a tranquil halo.
Only the trees in the backdrop are bit scraggy.

But what is she doing alone in the wilderness ?
No woman of our time in her right mind
would go to the woods, let alone live there.
Maybe this is why,
Its for good that she is in a painting
hung on the wall in my room --not real nor alive,
luckier than those who were ***** last fortnight,
and their bodies left to rot here in the forest.

Who is gonna paint those women in the woods ?

Fisherman's intro, from "The Floral War."

FISHERMAN
            Well well, what have we here? Some field of view:                      
            The turquoise circle of the dazzling sea
            Blazes her setting of bright-banded sands,
            Where on this first, chill morning of the year,
            Our sun arises to peruse his course,
            And I, to tease my living from the deeps.
            Come, gilded fishes, hither to my net,
            You shimmering schools of perch, soft octopi,
            White-shingled shad, and jade-scaled terrapins,
            Plump, krill-fed dwellers of the pickling brine,
            Come now to me. To pray you have no fear
            Would shuffle with the truth, as I intend
            To angle for your lives, yet spoil me,
            For I who come to act unneighbourly
            Am poor, and strapped, and only bother you
            Compelled by leaky-seamed necessity.
            I have my wife’s own hatchery at home,
            And you, my friends, must make their maintenance.
            So, rush my meshes and forgive my faults.
            Whoa there! What vision’s this? Green goddess, say,
            What monstrous marvels wander on your face?
            This cannot be! I am awake, and sane,
            Yet seem to see a wading range of hills,
            A chain of dizzy-peaked and scraggy steeps
            Whose groundworks bob like buoys in the surf.
            Yet now this restless reef flows closer still,
            Resolving as spray-freighted citadels,
            Wave-buttressed towers romping on the breakers,
            Their canvas banners snapping at the breeze,
            Whose men wing down from ropes to pace the decks,
            And screen their eyes as if to locate me.
            I’ll hustle to my chieftains with this news,
            And let their cry of ominous novelty
            Alert each ear from here to Mexico.
            My life thus far was bright and fancy-free.
            Oh, why must change then come to quiet me?                        Exit.

Bob Dylan lives across the road from me,

I see him every night,

His scraggy hair and lived in face.

illuminated by the street lights.


His tree top image is of Black & White,

like Che Guevara in full flight.

  Clustered leaves make hollowed out eyes,

a question eyebrow raised.


Two branch's drop to form a nose,

others crisscross , in jaws , to pose.

His Gypsy face , my mind's eye shows.

But soon that face will be no more.


As Autumnal winds begin to blow,

I wonder will he bloom again in Spring.  ?

or will this just be the end ?

The answer my friend, is blowing in the Wind.

The answer is blowing in the Wind.


  By Holly Barrett

Globs of scraggy oogle blorck
Cracked in ebbs of nibble naps

Scrapped in cork and oggled mek

Gorged of mega noogle neck.

The door swung open, revealing trees hung full of over compensating colour and the ground buzzed with windfall apples. The grass was long, unkempt and scraggy. There was an old and empty swimming pool, decayed with it's once blue tiles, bleached white with the sun. An ornamental bird bath razed to the ground, an over grown pergola groaned and a leaning outhouse lay lazily about the garden. This place once held a family in his care. The rusted swing stood, like a sentry, waiting. The air was chilled and the weeds violently twisted in throngs of green and yellow. But it was the mound of roughly dug earth, six feet by three, that made Miller's heart falter.
“Looks like we got ourselves a crime scene...” Abbie looked on, hands in her pockets.
“****, I hope not...” Miller opened his phone.