There is a certain lady who's the mother of them all
Although she's only 4 foot she's always standing tall
In a town called Beccles the pose is a good call
When she has a lighted *** the ashes always fall

To her son and daughter she is known as Titch
But her name is Fagioni the boss and the top *****
Her smoking is an art form a craft just like a Witch
If its Cigarettes or roll ups she doesn't mind the switch

You may not even see her through the clouds of smoke
The plumes always surrounds her like a ******* cloak
If she has run out of smokes to her it is no joke
Her **** are her companions she's not like other folk

She is big on **** just like cheese in macaroni
So what I am telling you I'm not telling you baloney
As far as smoking goes she is definitely no phoney
With her tobacco and her **** she is Titch Fagioni

Buildings for the most part are boxes square.
But Pentecost circles and spirals,
they turn and burn wild.

Of those who would tame
and make comprehensible any fire--
apt tongues have gone titch titch
and beautiful catch 'til words and music
and parlor diplomacies fortify
much which is untrue.

Fear has no finish, even in our dying.
The path is a cliff edge.

Let us turn, un-adult-like, and strip ourselves  
of civilized persuasions. Usher
Earth's children into primordial worlds.

Water shall love and receive us, as it always has.
The naked ground will speak up,
into our touching feet.

Listen to the tongues of the wind.
Unhinge the body, which is you.

Let all creation fly.

The funeral was well attended
Nobody came
It was sad in a way
Clashed with the dog passing away
There was a friend with a leg
When I say a leg
I actually mean two
Though he had the flu
The Priest nearly made it
But he passed too
The butcher discussed it with the baker
In the newsagents where the notice was placed
Was it his wife who put it in
Well yes, to begin
Then a black guy called Fred
Placed another, hopefully dead
Followed by Titch
Who looked quite rich
But was really his *****
Not to detract from Simon
Frowned the butcher, calling him pieman
Though, that was simplistic
The florist  cried foul
She had the contract
But just for a while
It was left to the undertaker
Wade
Who had to subcontract
When thieves stole his *****
Joe from the pub
With the maths degree
Discussed the angles
Buried under a tree
Bernadette, at the bookmakers
Had to agree
Rushing off to mass
Father Joe listened with glee
It was a trying day in the village of Dull
The pub was in mourning
There was a definite lull
But one thing was agreed
As they slowly got ******
Rover the dog
Would surely be missed.

I was just a teenager with a blackened past
I could have went off the rails, as I diminished 'o' so fast
Someone heard my tears of pain as I cried myself to sleep
Because they sent me an angel with tiny little feet

It was the birth of my first, wow I was amazed
I couldn't stop touching him, I was truly dazed
This tiny little human, he had just come out of me
The scar on my tummy was worth his life you see

I called that boy Darren, cause I just loved that name
Not sure if he loves it as much, if not that's a shame
He was blonde and blue eyed, just like his mother me
Beautiful skin, and lips you want to kiss, lots he gave to me

Then along came another set of tiny little feet
He too a beautiful baby when him and I did meet
A tuft on his hair, darker than his brother
He looked more like his dad, but also me, his mother

He was a natural birth, with my mother by my side
We both looked at number two and hugged him with pride
Dean I called this angel, for Dean was a name I did love
I was blessed to give birth to them both, sent from the heavens above

The saddest thing of all was that I was 'o' so young
I found it hard at first, but a natural I had begun
I swore I d give up my life for them If ever was needed
Bring them up the right way, and god I have succeeded

I have been so lucky to have brought up two fine men of age
Even when I was depressed and my whole life was a rage
I protected them with every inch of me, no one would bring them harm
I look at them in awe, and think they both have such charm

If I never had them, I would not be here today
Externally I had no words, but inside I did pray
Please let me do this right, for I truly need to find the way
To make right the wrongs that others pushed on me each day

Guided by unseen forces I did what I needed to do
I fought all the battles, to bring up my two
I survived my depression which tried to **** my heart
But each day I loved them, made each day a new start

I love them with such passion, I love them ever more
I love my kisses and cuddles each time they go out the door
I love how they joke with me, and even call me titch
I may not have the money, but with their love.. I AM RICH

once upon a clock
my house was but a pile
of cards
dealt badly to me
or so i thought
but as time rolled by
riding a mossless rock
i was inclined to think
i could rebuild my deck
using a straighter arrow
and some crazy glue
and make a  cosy nook to
theorize and dissertate
on the new and better
portion, for to sit on
my plate.
for as the wind blows
it can bring fortunate things
of gilded dust and dedelian
wings.
sonetimes it is the choice that matters.
and somtimes it is ok
to just sit on the dock
and watch it all blow away
but don't watch kettkes.for they are just introvert and shy... now the toaster however
is a pop up kinda guy.
ok so now this garden path is leading somewhere a tad weird
down past the zen all calm and white mountains
to the quirky and a little bezerky secret garden
wall and locked where all the gnomes have ned kelly beards, and the lions are dandy and a titch randy.
the dragon snaps are snippity and the roses
are just **** posers and the camelia's would **** for a good cup of tea.

but enough of the garden tour,
we needs must be giving attention to the
matter at hand tho sleight as it be
we have a house of cards to rebuild

The funeral was well attended
Nobody came
It was sad in a way
Clashed with the dog passing away
There was a friend with a leg
When I say a leg
I actually mean two
Though he had the flu
The Priest nearly made it
But he passed too
The butcher discussed it with the baker
In the newsagents where the notice was placed
Was it his wife who put it in
Well yes, to begin
Then a black guy called Fred
Placed another, hopefully dead
Followed by Titch
Who looked quite rich
But was really his *****
Not to detract from Simon
Frowned the butcher, calling him pieman
Though, that was simplistic
The florist  cried foul
She had the contract
But just for a while
It was left to the undertaker
Wade
Who had to subcontract
When thieves stole his *****
Joe from the pub
With the maths degree
Discussed the angles
Buried under a tree
Bernadette, at the bookmakers
Had to agree
Rushing off to mass
Father Joe listened with glee
It was a trying day in the village of Dull
The pub was in mourning
There was a definite lull
But one thing was agreed
As they slowly got ******
Rover the dog
Would surely be missed?

The sight of jail is beyond frightening.
It's locked doors.
It's watching guards tear our your freedom as if it's nothing.
It's blue outfits you're forced upon your will to wear.
The smell of jail is the smell of the girl ******* her insides out.
It's the smell of half cooked meat, but hey at least it's food.
And it's the smell of musty deodorant.
The sound of jail is the sound of T.V.
It's people yelling.
Guards screaming at you.
The feel of jail is cold sheets and a mattress just a titch too hard to sleep on.
It's the feeling of isolation and depression seeping in.
It's the not so quiet feeling of sadness.
The taste of jail is lemonade that's ever so sour and gross.
It's the taste of blood because you keep biting your nails.
And lastly, it's the taste of your own fingernails. Because it's the only thing you can do to pass the 17 hours you have all 4 lights on.

They knew that the voices told me what to do
so they punished me and
threw away the key,

the voices had already let me know that
I should go and willingly
to Bellevue Chase Infirmary

and that's the way to work the charm
a couple of voices
a bit of self harm
an addiction or two.

I told them
they knew
because they
have to be right
so we spin them a yarn
which makes a bed for the night.

Then a titch of therapy
let them see
you see what's wrong
and before too long
they let you free

see
I knew they never threw away the key.

A ha'penny accosted a Pound
and picks a fight for it was feeling maligned
' you Pound is worthless, you're nothing'
The Pound looked at the ha'penny benignly,
it understands the inferiority complex inherent in ha'pennies
'Who do you think you are ?', continues our irate ha'penny
I am going to degrade you, I will punch you and devalue you'
'That ain't going to happen' say the pound quietly
Wait and see, croaked ha'penny struggling with apoplexy
'I will call out all my mates and we will sort you out'
'Oh dear',  says the Pound in mock horror
how many mates do you have?'
'Over a thousand mates. I tell you big lummox', replied ha'penny
'But titch, says the Pound, with an indulgent smirk,
you'll still be just be a thousand ha'pennies just as I'll still be a pound,
isn't that so?'.
'Yeah! you think you are better than us, but we are more than you'
raged ha'penny, 'there are thousands of us'
BUT, intoned the Pound,' I am worth more than you and will always
be worth more than you.
I am neater, more valuable and more socially adept not to mention
classier and will always be more useful and wanted'.
The pound continued, ' hey! small stuff, even ten thousand of you,
is nothing but an undesired inconvenience and an irrelevant happenstance,
Who in their right mind is welcoming to ten thousand ha'pennies,
they'll just be bagged and lugged away to a safe or Bank
or perhaps to that gambling arcades at Fair grounds.
See what I mean ha'penny, one or ten thousand
just a common ha'penny
With that, the pound tipped his hat and glided away
Red faced and shaking, ha'penny slinked in usual obscurity
muttering
'Come the revolution, just wait, come the revolution'