apparently there's a massive avocado
problem in australia,
flat like belgium,
sea cold as the north sea,
a massive jet-lag the only attraction,
stop-over where the chinese talk
in renminbi, cigarettes cheap (~£10
a carton), you hear the account
but never want to see the pictures,
just the words,
so a massive avocado problem, one avocado
costs $5 australian, a bottle of wine costs under
$3, odd, isn't it? a packet of cigarettes
costs ~$20... and you'd sooner see a koala pouch
and a wallaby... than an aboriginal man...
i guess it's like the story of the american indians...
a zoological curiosity, kept in a zoo that isn't a "zoo",
in some nature reserve dying from alcoholism,
what a pretty ivory face everywhere you turn,
what a pretty ivory face everywhere you turn
in belgian melbourne, a colonial city
with very little attractions except conformity
to the health service... sooner a bonsai kangaroo
(wallaby), or a koala, than an aboriginal man...
ah god's gift to the world, western european
ant-filled-underwear explorers...
what a zoological curiosity to place a koala pouch
above an aboriginal man...
and how debased the once famous teuton women
by roman account of warfare turned from
noble women ready to commit suicide rather than
be *****... ****** their image so often as to
provide the profession of **** actresses...
i'm loving it... i think i'll toast with the aboriginal men
a clear thought and boomerang the koala dead
for supper... or that's one interpretation
of a tourist's experience.
the inbetweeners only went there for butlins
water slides... i wouldn't even go there go there
for the weather... i'd go there to kickbox a kangaroo
and dance with the tasmanian whirlwind:
but all the shamans of the aboriginal folk are long gone,
and all the aboriginal drunks don't do what ivory
european drunks do: gamble and buy up ******...
they just sit on porches... with telepathic powers
igniting the aquaholic eucalyptus trees who from drinking
too much water... leave the sucklings of grass barren
as bush green... which is hue of stagnating green
into brown or yellow;
but the avocados are expensive... no avocado on toast
as the greenwich girl would like it to be...
too posh for baked beans on toast:
she says farting makes her hubby less of a hard-on;
i find that statement completely agreeable;
the biggest cultural shift though?
sushi... 1 piece of sushi oscillating at ~$3...
sushi and dolphins... match-up...
aussie aussie.... ahoy ahoy fuckjoy!

Pyres of cityscapes burn contingently in the distance
ever drunk with blood of a mother, a nurturer who asks
nothing of the morose, self-consumed existence
she cares for. Her brow cocked,
wrinkles descend like
rain that tears down
a window.
Pain.
You're bleeding out! But she'll never put herself
forefront. How could she? Sitting, reflecting.
Tormented by incompetence, her soft
voice silently flutters the leaves.
Drearily an extension of her lips, the words
escape the cusps like a cautious prairie-dog.
Smog obscures
the senses, a haze
darkening the pupils of your celestial eyes.
I still see You
drooping in the rocker under a hard light. Retaining know-
ledge of past and present, through spectacles.
Her deflating ****, secreting
concrete into the sucklings, cementing fate,
as the clock that hangs above her falters. I shutter to think of the
future that's afore. When the one who's raised me is not.
No more.
Your timber limbs look awfully thin. Restless and alone,
she's tired. "Abandoned"
we're all alone,
but your company means more to me than a sustainable
stone.

The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light,
The sciences were sucklings at thy breast;
When all the world was young in pregnant night
Thy slaves toiled at thy monumental best.
Thou ancient treasure-land, thou modern prize,
New peoples marvel at thy pyramids!
The years roll on, thy sphinx of riddle eyes
Watches the mad world with immobile lids.
The Hebrews humbled them at Pharaoh's name.
Cradle of Power! Yet all things were in vain!
Honor and Glory, Arrogance and Fame!
They went. The darkness swallowed thee again.
Thou art the harlot, now thy time is done,
Of all the mighty nations of the sun.

"Don't drink that coffee," my friend shouted at me,
    "That caffeine will **** you!"
    he said impatiently!

Drinking water is bad for your health,
    the feds put fluorine in it
    to **** you by stealth."

Paternally he whispered,

"Whatever you do, don't drink cows' milk.
    the sucklings its made for
    aren't close to our ilk.

The consumption of pigs and animals that ****,
    most certainly will keep you
    from obtaining sweet bliss.

And stay away from creatures that swim in the sea,
    their svelte tasty bodies are filled
    with deadly mercury."

And then he looked aghast at my plate,

"Tell me you're not eating that excrement," he sighed,
    "Do you really want to die...
     from eating french fries?

Don't you know that fried things are the scourge of the planet,
    cooked in hydrogenated fats by
    some woman named Janet?

Avoid eggs, if you can, and by no means eat the yolks,
    your cholesterol will rise,
    that's no funny joke."

Then, with a scowl in his voice he said,

"Avoid plants grown in this country,
    sprayed with pesticides and poisons
    by corporate monkeys.

And stay away from foods grown in the East,
    they're probably fertilized by
    humans, dragons and beasts.

Potatoes, tomatoes have starch and acid,
    that eats up your guts and
    make you grow flaccid.

Lemons and limes will ruin your pretty white teeth,
    making you go snaggle
    right in your sleep."

With a superior air he ended his harangue,

"Beer, wine, and all forms of liquor,
    Can you think of anything that
    will **** you quicker?

Don't eat rich chocolate--it'll make you a ****,
    ******* everything in sight
    like a mad deer in rut.

Cakes, breads and cookies too,
    contain sugars and flours that's
    sooooo baaaaad for you.

                           ~~~

I'm hungry and starving and don't know what to do,
    I want to eat something
    but afraid to give it a chew.

Though all of this leaves me feeling quite uneasy and queasy,
    I'm closing the door and
    doing as I pleasey!

Aug. 14. 1653.

O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth?
So as above the Heavens thy praise to set
Out of the tender mouths of latest bearth,

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou
Hast founded strength because of all thy foes
To stint th’enemy, and slack th’avengers brow
That bends his rage thy providence to oppose.

When I behold thy Heavens, thy Fingers art,
The Moon and Starrs which thou so bright hast set,
In the pure firmament, then saith my heart,
O What is man that thou remembrest yet,

And think’st upon him; or of man begot
That him thou visit’st and of him art found;
Scarce to be less then Gods, thou mad’st his lot,
With honour and with state thou hast him crown’d.

O’re the works of thy hand thou mad’st him Lord,
Thou hast put all under his lordly feet,
All Flocks, and Herds, by thy commanding word,
All beasts that in the field or forrest meet.

Fowl of the Heavens, and Fish that through the wet
Sea-paths in shoals do slide. And know no dearth.
O Jehovah our Lord how wondrous great
And glorious is thy name through all the earth.

This is a subcultural song

Free energy efficient enthusiasts
Replaced the iroquois punk style
Alternatives, noisy *******; ear
Damaging drum bass boxes in da
Clubs. Ravishing rave parties in
Mini skirts, glam glossy brass on
Ecstatic strobe-light synthesis - a
Synthetic mainstream paradise
Submerged to hypnotic sucklings
On the colourful plastic pacifiers
A gummy retreat before waterless
Collaps. A dehidrated dream that
Tried to shut the world off by the
Tendrils of regression resemblance.
Adult babies aboard going back to
The false long forgotten innocence.

There is no subculture in being above
The depth. Superficiality seems a posh
Pose and a good hiding reason for socially
Awkward childish rebels without material
Issues. The sore tissue of contemporary art
Is people don't believe in subjective objective
Selves anymore. What authorities put on the
Shelves there - it has to be good-when on the
Real deal discount. You think im not of such
Kind. Sheepishly blindfolded herd lives some-
where else. I pity them. Mock the socially meek,
Unajust, fat, poor or a greek profile. It has to be
A button hot child candy nose to **** her or to
Call a beauty per se. Per american dream team.

***** are hot untill they have pneumatics, man
Are man if they whirl the banknotes under bank
Accounts. ******* act like man in disguise greedy
For more. I inhabitated all this inherently ugly
Preachy words instead of puking into a labdab
Lavatory and cleanse myself from repulsively
****** cultural intermittent artifacts. And how
Can i not subdue to its overwhelming pressure.
I'm just an indigo child of flower children. Don't
Throw me the bones fueled with the black golden
Marrow. I'm a new alternative peasant, growing
Carrots and celery at bio degradable villages. . .
Its not a contra cultural venture if your socks
Are made out of industrial cannabis, and yet
There's no need to. Think. Love. Play music.
Listen. Breathe. Live life as if yours favourite
subcultural song is repetedly on...going along

O Lord our Lord, how excellent
is thy name in all the earth!
who hast set thy glory above the
heavens.
2 Out of the mouth of babes and
sucklings thou hast ordained strength
because of thine enemies, that thou
mightest still the enemy and the
avenger.
3 When I consider thy heavens,
the work of thy fingers, the moon and
the stars, which thou hast ordained;
4 What is man, that thou art
mindful of him? and the son of man,
that thou visited him?
5 For thou hast made him a little
lower than the angels, and hast
crowned him with glory and honour.
6 Thou madest him to have
dominion over the works of thy hands;
thou hast put all things under his
feet:
7 All sheep and oxen, yea, and
the beasts of the field;
8 The fowl of the air, and the fish
lf the sea, and whatsoever passeth
through the paths of the seas.
9 O Lord our Lord, how excellent
is thy name in all the earth!

1.....His Bearer's Plea.

What would it cost to send a million dogs to war,
Than turn my babes into raging Beasts?

Leave the Boys to grow and revel in age.
Leave them strapped to their mothers *****
until nature run's its course and calls them MEN.
Without guns,rage and War pivoting that stage.

Too many broken Boys parole as Men,
building bridges without appeasing the gods below.
Too many hold life at its helm,
boasting of nothing to risk or gain,
Inflicting Pain to ease their pains.
Too many were sucklings before Wars came,
cruelly snatching them from their mothers breast....
handing them guns when milk was what they needed.

#2...His Lover's Plea

What price COULD I have paid to save my lover's head from being Twisted with tales of war?

the man I once knew now resides in a realm of obscurity
dodging reality, dreading emotions, refusing one ness.
A man with hands now Cold,
my skin forgets the prowess they possessed in the past,
a gloomy present looms.
the man whose weaning I continued, now bites hard till my ******* bleed, the taste of blood he now savours.

Cries of war creased the tenderness off my lovers tongue.

What did i owe the earth to be robbed this way?
What kind of man will my children call father?

Well....What will it cost to send a million dogs to war,than deny our babes the privilege to wean until nature calls them MEN?

©Comfort Amiso Pius
2018-08-29

From the first, the fluid-filled sacs of stars,
The yolk of yellow lightning and oily rain,
Then the placental storm, birth-giver of roads and oxen loads,
Witch towers made from silk hair and the peasant sucklings of plague,
Whelped there by the milk of the river Arno, by turns pacified or stern.

The Dark Ages is a storm nesting in the sky, built by posthumous stares,
Piece by piece, a raven’s birth from eyes and saliva of roads and rivers.
Of the woman who gave birth, the sway of leaves where once fell hair,
Only her lips hover in the air of warm sun,
Like a fountain in the bare palace courtyard
Suspiring, flowing, extolling…

Terra trembles in terror
As she looks upon her form:
Burnt and bruised by greedy children,
Who drink her lifeblood raw.

Even as she spins in despair,
She hopes they will someday care.
But they return with needles
To take more than their share.

Even as her sucklings greedily
draw blood from her depleted *******,
Terra still gives in.
She gives in to their unwanted caress.

Deeper and deeper they go,
Imposing upon her great sorrow.
She looks on as they carve her bones
And extract her golden marrow.

"Terra will soon be gone," I hear them say.
But what of the price?
What of the price
Her children will someday have to pay?

There goes the
terrible and
wicked ones.
Everything about
them is toxic.
Their words are
like needles and
pins piercing
the heart.
It is like
the deadly sharp
poisoned sword
of the assassin.
Like the betrayal
of a brother
so well loved.
It's like a
sour wine filled
with the venom
of the rattle snake.
It is worrisome
to be close
to them in
the dark for
they cannot be
fully trusted.
A danger and
a menace even
to the sucklings.
They don't care
who they trampled
on to climb
up the ladder.
Knowing them is
like the pain
of a broken rib.
Worse than a
man running from
the lion to
rest on a
tree and still
be biting by
a  snake.
Mere hearing of
their name makes
the heart sick.
The faint hearted
pukes as they
perceived their body
odour even from
a distance.
Terrible things happens
to the ones
who don't step
out of their way.
Terrorising the
territory and people
is their way
of life.
Afflicting pain on
others brings
joy to them.
Boiled and barbecued
roasted human flesh
is their delicacies.
Human blood is
their wine.
Misery got company
is their true
identity,
the name of
the demon is
their surname.
Danger is stamped
on their foreheads.
With fire in
their eyes,
they devour the
innocent.
Wickedness is
wrought and wrapped
up in them.
The universe has
rejected and spew
them out.
Even the hades
and hell will
not accept or
accommodate them.
They are the ******.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.