I got lost talking to strangers on the internet
Who probably could have cared less
I just needed a place to not be myself
Cause I’d be better if I was someone else

It’s so hard trying to find good friends
And faking joy and happiness

I don’t wanna reinvent the wheel
To protect you from how you feel
Let me listen in on your stupid spiels

A vista
spiels with neon
Non-essential conversation repeating
Humanity hovers at the entrance
In this shopping centre every need seems urgent
Mouths pause their chatter
To sip at coffee or chow down burger
Gestures are reinforced with nail polish,
jewellery on many fingers
and small change passing across counter tops

In here the weather is neither warm nor cool
and everything seems designed to stimulate my mediocrity

Reflection in the shop-front is on sale at bargain price
but today I cannot afford to buy on impulse

I turn away to blend
With colourful  blah


MChallis © 2009 (reworked 2014)

Crackling. Rocking. Crackling. Creaking and oscillating, a century old **Mahogany Wood seceded to the paSsage of time.
Particles of sand, confounded by the Peninsula’s chaotic, blasting breeze now revealed a shade of burnt tar.
   Outside of the second floor Maissonette, sways the rocking chair once warmed by Grandpa.
A Tactless, impatient, rhythmic Requiem Bashes near the wiNdow pane as the sunset falls Under the frame.  
                                                        ­    Empty Folklore presides like the Residue of a once lambent effigy…                                               SwOosh. Hush!
           Cocktails were a Preamble to lunch like diabetes to Nephropathy.
Corrosive Rhetoric seeped in to expose the ego of a Sommelier.
     A smile would Parachute down when you needed it like Nicotine to remind that no Precedent had been set, just an Anomaly.
                     Cutthroat beginnings, this was no Analog man.
        In grade school his Cosmos found Zion and “The world to come”.
        This baby’s Cradle, abandoned High atop a mountain was blown by a Chinook towards the Atlantic.
                “I was found swallowed in a stained Table cloth by Balkan children on a treasure hunt, with no Guarantee and no resignatIon. "
                     The boTtle narrates these chronicles and a smile parachutes down when you need it like nicotine.
                                          Dionysus Crafted his accounts while most Garnered his spiels with Snide.                               As they witnessed dream remembrance; he thought his memory was Presumably accurate, and although his tales were triFling to the gathering audience, they became his Heliocentric history.
            Calling me a young Galleon and handing me a map, Grandpa scanned his hand across the vast land
       guaranteeing trEasure would be found if I had no resignation.
               This Asinine assertion to my teenage sister Symbolized the Barring of her unheeding imagination by time and then a smile parachuted down just when she needed it like nicotine.


_TRF

Waking in darkness to brainstorming moments
Warm under covers on this freezing morn,
Recalling the instants of yesterday’s sequences,
How they developed and how they were born……

“Moving with grace in a form fitting garment,
Curves in the shadow light tauntingly near,
Beautiful lines in a moment of weakness
Titillate senses erotically clear.”

“Watching the mouth of the bigoted warbler,
Watching him spout his idolatry spiels,
Rhetoric of mind bending, **** licking garbage
Image of self is the place that he kneels.”

“Urgency now with insurances deadline
Making provision for payments now due,
Juggle the baksheesh for paying the piper
Or the cruelty of bankers will cauterise you!”

“Laughter arouses the happiest moments
Merriment opens the faces so well,
Emotively gracious the giving of laughter
Contagiously, wonderfully ringing the bell.”

"Uncomfortably caught in the midst of an untruth
Unconscionably really, can’t call it a lie,
Got caught in momentum of tale in the telling
Upsetting me now to the point where I cry.”

"Can’t recall why, but I know there’s a matter,
Ripping my britches to try to recall….
Something importantly, now to be dealt with
Frustratingly lost in the fog of it all.”

"Harmonies rise like a mist in the temple
Delicate cadences rise and they fall,
I wonder why God allows this unbeliever
To sing with the Angels in his Holy hall?”

“Running my fingertips over her curvature
Feeling the ***** line plummet to fall
Knowing the thrill of elicit collusion
Anticipate promise of wanting it all.”

Sudden alarm in the midst of a waking
Urgency calls at the dawn of the day,
Heaving my soul into frost waiting fingers
Leaving my dreams in the warmth where they lay.

Marshalg
“Pukehana Paradise”
Auckland NZ.
22 June 2013

Ambiguously, he was boggled, beguiled by garbled goggles while giggling out the squiggles, to wiggle the signals free.

Deliberately dallying in the Plato piety of proprietary philosophies, he, dastardly deemed, disaster to be, damaging, to the laughter in the chatter of the baggage handlers to another plane.

Manhandler of a plastered paradise, partly in slices, of silly little vices of sacrifices, that shall suffice with vice grips on the lips of the negative with the spices of nicety.

Lavished in lividly living uP the misgivings of lesserly lessons, blessing the blasphemy, in passionate tuck ins, snuck in, upon drunken hunkering in the bunkers of spunkier spiels.

Languid longevity's of luscious lettering, lest will we, count our kills, never ever to leave a life festering in lectured structuring, besting the busy debuts, of flukless frugality, lucidly, counting the calories of calamity, and randomly rhyming without reason in season-less rain clouds, only allowed to put the umbrella away, and fade in play to the part, where we impart patience on the persona from the coma of commonality.

Immaculately conceived, perceived as a ***** who adores hollow hearts, as we, haphazardly heap on the hilarity, in hepatidal waves, through fazes of the common wealth.

Smile in stealth, love no one else, but self and end up in health, at a lonely age in staged stimuli, reminding me why i'm alive, and not allowed to die, while on rewind through the hard times, to smile on the last lines of laser driven lifelines, laughing at the fragile signs on the finer wines, as they break on the bowes of holy boats in bouts against the sea.

Spewing randomly, he, finds satisfactory solutions to the strengthening of his constitution in loosened blue spells, to dispel his ruthless tendrils from your ears.

The fears fueling the finality in his fractured mentality of maniacal travesties laughing at me.

Its just me, unjustly adjusting for the combustion of the build.

Its lovely here.

Laughing in the lashes.

Signing my entrapment's.

Lapsing out the masses and forming from the ashes of smashed happiness, as it unclasps before my eyes.

Sometimes

It just feels right to be alive.

Ambiguously, he was boggled, beguiled by garbled goggles while giggling out the squiggles, to wiggle the signals free.

Deliberately dallying in the Plato piety of proprietary philosophies, he, dastardly deemed, disaster to be, damaging, to the laughter in the chatter of the baggage handlers to another plane.

Manhandler of a plastered paradise, partly in slices, of silly little vices of sacrifices, that shall suffice with vice grips on the lips of the negative with the spices of nicety.

Lavished in lividly living uP the misgivings of lesserly lessons, blessing the blasphemy, in passionate tuck ins, snuck in, upon drunken hunkering in the bunkers of spunkier spiels.

Languid longevity's of luscious lettering, lest will we, count our kills, never ever to leave a life festering in lectured structuring, besting the busy debuts, of flukless frugality, lucidly, counting the calories of calamity, and randomly rhyming without reason in season-less rain clouds, only allowed to put the umbrella away, and fade in play to the part, where we impart patience on the persona from the coma of commonality.

Immaculately conceived, perceived as a ***** who adores hollow hearts, as we, haphazardly heap on the hilarity, in hepatidal waves, through fazes of the common wealth.

Smile in stealth, love no one else, but self and end up in health, at a lonely age in staged stimuli, reminding me why i'm alive, and not allowed to die, while on rewind through the hard times, to smile on the last lines of laser driven lifelines, laughing at the fragile signs on the finer wines, as they break on the bowes of holy boats in bouts against the sea.

Spewing randomly, he, finds satisfactory solutions to the strengthening of his constitution in loosened blue spells, to dispel his ruthless tendrils from your ears.

The fears fueling the finality in his fractured mentality of maniacal travesties laughing at me.

Its just me, unjustly adjusting for the combustion of the build.

Its lovely here.

Laughing in the lashes.

Signing my entrapment's.

Lapsing out the masses and forming from the ashes of smashed happiness, as it unclasps before my eyes.

Sometimes

It just feels right to be alive.

this is how the imagination is made:

your tiny origami world gets torn;
then, yer mememe death comes by way of small paper cuts;
from the periphery of this rip, you swim upstream, again,
till you see the fēniks wing glinting like a finger ring careening off the sun.

hmm's and err's now populate yer thinky time
like never before, here in Cleverly Folded Paper World.

t h e r e you are;
mmm, you feel the feels even more,
and the refresh bubbles up from the torn.

but still the big cut creeps back ---
x out old you; new document, anew anew, stares, blinking, waiting.

edits forever bloom steely wutabtme? iridium spiels around edges
of tattooed white petals, elegant writs fell; wilting; seeding...

this world, too, must be cut to fit:
if you wish to have a home for the iNGkē worm
that sillily dreams of one day winning its wings.

I fell, hapless, when our souls first met
Just how it happened, oh I will never forget

That wicked one, he worked his charm
Barging into my life, without an alarm

Returned to my senses, when broke, that spell
Trapped as guinea pig, I was, I could tell

His everlasting embrace, it chained my soul
Battered, shattered, half from whole

He left me all alone, but he left me strong
Oh wait, I left him; to say he did, would be wrong

He was but a voice, a frail one, in my head
But I was so affected by all that he said

"You try, you fail, you'll never be good enough
You love, you're hurt, life will always be this rough"

But then I heard my soul so meek
"May I?", he hesitated; I enthused, "sure, speak!"

"You feel like you're dead inside, but look how alive
you sound as you respond with zeal, like you're only about five"

And there released a giggle, a tear
'I found her again, but will I lose her?' I feared

"No, woman, no! The little girl will always be alive"
He said with such credence, "I know she will survive!"

I was falling again, this time, to rise
I turned around to say goodbye, to the one I despise

That voice in my head, refuses to leave
But now, his balderdash, I refuse to believe

He talks, he jabbers, often on mute
I'm lost in sweet spiels, of this new beaut

Now listen, carefully, my stranger friend
If that spiteful voice finds you, shift the trend

Rush out, reach out, to YOU, your soul
protect it from him, maintain your whole

Arduous, it may be, but that voice, do seek to find
For that's true love, not the demeaning voice in your mind

where  what is
(left)
to do (right):
this
expectant journey;
this between
the dawn yellow;
before the violet nights?

except, construct
innocuous
inconsequentially
Rubic cube spiels,
send
myself off  into
eternity.

(unto) the
mausoleum;
dig my grave:
before my last breath?
The autonomous;
casket maker:
asks?

clear light skin
dark hair with big curls
he resembled a kid we used to babysit
slight in stature
humble in posture
a look of shock and disbelief
deep seated in his baby face
and bubble eyes
his demeanor saying
“I don’t belong here”
a soft peach colored long sleeved shirt
clean, pressed and tucked in
with pants pulled up
no gangbangers’ stereotype
a picture of innocence
clearly a child
being tried as an adult

I kept close watch
during jury’s selection
with the miracle of real-time captioning
listening with my eyes
darting from screen
to arena’s drama
back to screen
observing potential jurors’ interaction with
defending and prosecuting mouthpieces
body language says so much
trumpeting the seriousness

with capital punishment looming
jurors absorbed spiels
the presumption of innocence
the credibility of evidence
the ability to objectively choose death

I would tell myself
the defendant didn’t just do this
to the decedent
I would tell myself
the defendant did this to himself
I would tell myself
it’s not my job to decide
if he lives or dies
I would tell myself
only to decide
if the crime defines death’s statute
all personal feelings aside
but I’d also tell myself
this is just a kid

thank God
I wasn’t selected

Am I really here, or even real?
Are the people around me just glittering spiels?

Bending and yawning as an aching willow
Opening and weeping on splayed soft pillows

Fluffy and delicate, once never to shed
By and by warm an unkept withered bed

Vowed never to have been slept in
But a lowly spirit swelled within

What once was lost, could never be found
The root sprouted from trodden ground

A dwindling, pebbled little path
Swept away in a minute flash

Gone goes the summer and the sparrow groans
Never again is that reverence to be known
Perhaps a love misplayed might cease to be shown

The woods know nothing of your great ordeal
The light leads you to the place you are bound
And in the end, all of the wounds will heal.

From trees, the leaves, fall to the Earth and conceal
Which lay in wait upon the laden ground
The woods know nothing of your great ordeal,

Each bird's sweet song will only help you deal
With that which was what made your heart feel drowned
And in the end, all of the wounds will heal.

It’s not a simple thing a poet spiels
At once you have a sense that you are found
The woods know nothing of your great ordeal,

The world around will have a certain appeal
Your feet lead you towards that which will astound
And in the end, all of the wounds will heal.

It’s hard to have a past that you must seal
But nature will help you feel quite unbound
The woods know nothing of your great ordeal,
And in the end all of the wounds will heal.

Under the haze of reality
"You're lazy"
Echoes in your ears
When everyday
You're worse for wear
Toiling the lands
With your coarse hands,
The callouses so thick
Still you remain meek
Against the landlords
With their noose
Around your neck
Tightening
Gripping
Clenching
Until you can't breathe
Gasping for air


The blood, the sweat
The tears as your eyes wet
They can't see
The struggle
How you juggle
Taking care of the lands
And of the family you left home


When will it be your turn
To be taken care of
By the mother you love so
By the brothers in the capital
Saying we're all equals
As they fool people
With their jargon
With their orders and sections
Rules and regulations
Disguising their intentions
Schemes so evil
People end in peril


When will they give you
Time to rest
Time to voice your distress
Time to stand up for your rights
And finally see the light
Of day
The day you become equal
Not only in mere words
Or campaign spiels
Or posters and flyers
Decaying as they hold power
For years and years
As if you're just a stone
They've stepped on

Dear child, it's time
Time to say enough
Time to call out their bluff
Time to not be afraid
Time to stand up and fight
Dear child, fight for your rights.

I’m no longer needed so why am I here?
Lingering in this judgmental sphere

Of haughty loud whispers veiled with eloquence
Trinkets of murmuring hold me on a sequin fence

Clacking heels, dramatic spiels, alcohol flowing on staircase wheels

Jolly old folks and careless times
While my worries angle upward dives

Pivotal remembrance lies in waiting sharp turns
Hidden longing like Chardonnay burns

as the drumline spiels his deal,
his baseless accusations ring
the bell behind your eyes! sing!
mimic his air! your cacophonous snare
shouts like an °astronaut° on a •space-walk•

promise! never let the cold take hold
of your reptile brain; you're half unsaid!
why must you let the louder half spread
his legs in ecstasy? you deal in chastity!
who are you? some [ sci-fi ***** ]?

you can't be saved from your retroflex grave,
so dare to live where the rhyme scheme toes
the line of ~ cosmically acceptable ~ prose,
see? nothing matters!  - this jawless chatter
asks "who are you? some cerebral *****?"

"an ugly *****!!!" you might retort
but self-awareness does not absolve
the sins of online vanity; dissolvvve
me, untrue - drown in pixels green and blue
or wake up
                     in the nothingness
                                                     ­  of the space-walk