PROLOGUE

Umpteen billion years
Big Bang, supernova, gas
Brief eclipse of time

Gases swirling, fall
Sun and planets, water, goo
Brief eclipse of time

Another billion
life, amoeba, fishes swim
Brief eclipse of time

Movement, change and flux
slither, crawl, climb, walk and talk
Brief eclipse of time

Ra, Sol, Helios,
Mithra and the Mighty Eye
Brief eclipse of time

Life begins and ends
birth, joy, laugh, cry, death, and dust
Brief eclipse of time

Waves cleave seas, shores, skies
forever folding, pulsing
Brief eclipse of time


            CHRONICLE

The Mighty Eye begins to slip and slowly sink,
(unfocused, stained, diffuse)
while frizzled waves imbibe her searing tears,
with salted languid lips.

The Mighty Eye, now weary, thin,
is gazing through the frozen cracks,
as sundry straying clouds,
bloated,
sidle feebly by
and wax their billowed tracks
upon the heated sky,
and cool the rush of rolling waves
beneath the blotted sky.

The waves
(impaled on time and space inside me),
gently tumbling aging pebbles
and lifeless shells across the shifting sands,
seem unaware
as they once again arise
to greet the Mighty Eye,
to close the Mighty Eye,
to ***** the Mighty Eye.

But then again,
perhaps the waves are well aware indeed,
yet simply unconcerned
and feel no need to care.

For, as the frazzled froth is rushing forward
madly towards the sandy shores beyond,
before retreating slowly,
then careening brashly forth ahead again,
eternally,
it matters little if the Mighty Eye will cast
her blazing glance from high above,
or else retire for the night,
kissed sweetly by the liquid lips
of distant faithless waves
in a brief eclipse of time.

The trees, they hang in time and space around me –
trees, which in time before had swayed,
so gently tugged by ocean breezes,
trees, which in time before were lightly lit
with emerald tinted leaves,
trees, which in time before had reached to space above
with twisted tangled fingers,
grasping fingers,
fingers drenched with golden tears
shed by the Mighty Eye.

The trees, they hang in space and time,
benumbed and frozen motionless around me
chilled with rooted premonitions of the void,
their branches clutching darkness  
and their leaves foreboding doom.

The muted winds begin to whisper tales
of many frightened things,
which, with mournful apprehension
have hunkered down behind the haze
and ceased their joyful play.

And all the while dank shadows gaily dance
a dismal dance,
for their time is soon to come.

The fitful shore lies suddenly still.

Unfeeling stones and hollow shells,
are paused a little,
stalled,
and dropped haphazardly,
midst their mindless random journey,
now abandoned by the sea,

for fickle waves have slipped away
to greet a falling prey.

And as the Mighty Eye droops lower,
laminated molten lips
are pursed and pucker higher,
******* in the sky.

Within a trice the Mighty Eye
submits and squints, distended red,
perhaps tormented by fantastic thoughts
of imminent demise,
or else of being lashed beneath a lid
of distant faithless waves.

And as her dying flash dissolves,
two lurid lips arise,
three ***** lips -
a thousand parted limpid lips
which asudden,
though with little haste,
consume the Mighty Eye.

                   EPILOGUE**

The trees are now but lurking shades
amongst the murky shadows.

Relentless fog slips slowly by -
her floating tongues drip silence
as they slink like snakes in stealth nearby.

The lacerated faithless lips have once again returned
to kiss the vacant vapid shores
in a brief eclipse of time.

From brown eyes to green, the date began
I extend my hand to invite a handshake
We both exchange an “It’s nice to meet you”
We are escorted to our table
Chosen at random by our server, but perfectly selected
For the spot offers a phenomenal view of the coniferous trees below
And the majestic mountains of the North Shore
Our eyes meet again
From brown eyes to green
We sit and start conversing
You are stunningly dressed and I cannot take my eyes off you
Your eyes are locked into mine
You must be really into me just as I am into you
Our server interrupts, we place our orders
Your every move makes my heart flutter,
From how you flip the pages of the menu
To how you rest your elbow on the table with your hand on your chin,
Smiling sweetly at me
I’m having an amazing time
You tell me you are too

Dinner goes by in a flash, the sun has fully set
We drive off through the winding road and into the city traffic
I haven’t kissed you yet
But I want to
After umpteen intersections and two cities
We arrive at your apartment
I walk you to your door
I turn to face you
From brown eyes to green
I lean in for the kiss
A quick gentle one
I wish you a good night
But you want more...
From brown eyes to green
You lean in and kiss me with fervor and passion
You ask me if I want to come in, but I’m hesitant to answer
From green eyes to brown
Your intense, desire-filled gaze pushes me to say yes
Another episode to the evening begins..

You saw Judy on the south wing
of the old folks nursing home
near to Mr Atkinson’s room
carrying towels in her arms

I need to speak to you
you said
what about?
she asked

you playfully bundled her
into Bob Atkinson’s room
(he was either
in the lounge

or out down town
hobbling along
for small items of shopping
or at the second-hand

book shop looking
for boy’s annuals
of yesteryear
which he read

from cover to cover
before cutting out
the pictures
and sticking them

in albums)
what are you doing?
she said
what if Bob comes in?

he won’t
he’s out
you said
but what if he does?

she whispered
well unless I was rogering you
to kingdom come
I don’t think he’d mind

you said
pressing her 5’5’’ body
against the door
and looking into her

grey blue eyes
she gazed
into your eyes
and said

what do you need
to talk to me about?
I think I’m in love with you
you said

she sighed
that’s the umpteen time
you’ve told me that
she said  

she dropped the towels
on Bob’s bed
and put her arms
around your waist

and drew you closer
you moved your left hand
around her back
and your right hand

on her buttocks
and said
that’s because it’s
umpteen times worse

or better depending
how you look at it
she kissed you on the lips
and you sensed

her tongue touch yours
her eyes closed
and you closed yours
the room becoming

a far away place
her perfume blending
into the air about you
the ticktock of Bob’s

old clock on the bedside table
like some metronome
setting the pace
as if it was all part

of some song or some
deep aspect
of a Bruckner symphony
she pushed you away

and said
it’s nearly break time
and people will wonder
why we’re not there

and put one
and one together
ok
you said

removing your hand
from her ****
the warmth still there
her eyes still captured

in your inner self
thank you
for the Chagall postcard
I’ve put it on

my bedside table
along with that photo
you gave me of you
got to go

she said
and opened the door
and walked off
down the passage

you looked around
Bob’s room
at the ticking clock
and the blue

candlewick cover
and the picture
of some boy
cut out of some

old annual
chasing a dog
over a field
and Judy’s lips

and tongue
seemed still
to be there
in your mouth

and her hand enfolding
your waist and back
and Peter in the pants
going all slack.

It doesn’t need
Nth number of words
Just to say
Umpteen men
Stoop low
To violate
Invade
Coerce
Enslave
Trample
Oppress
Women
Over and over again
Mindlessly
Estranging
Nature’s fairer ***

HE PHRASE OUR LITTLE HELPER A THOUGHT FROM MY LITTLE TWEEN CHILDHOOD



YA SEE IN 2001, I GOT SICK OF BEING TREATED LIKE A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE BY MY MATES

SO I DECIDED TO TURN MY LIFE AROUND, LIKE, JOIN THE BELCONNEN MAGPIES TO DO THE BBQ

AND BE A VOLUNTEER AT ST VINCENT DE PAUL, WHERE THEY MADE A SANTA CLAUS SUIT FOR ME TO DRESS

UP AS SANTA, FOR THE NEXT TEN YEARS, AND AT THE END OF THE YEAR, I WENT TO WATSON CANBERRA

TECHNOLOGY PARK, WHERE THEY OPENED A BUILDING CALLED THE RAINBOW, WHERE I WANTED TO SHOW OFF

MY COOKING SKILLS, AND MATE I WAS A ****** COOK THERE, I ALSO REMEMBER, THROWING THE BALL

WITH A MATE, AND THE MAN SAID, GUYS THIS IS A BIT DAFT, YA SEE, EACH TIME I COOKED SAUSAGES AND STEAKS

FOR THE HUNGRY HERD AT THE FOOTY, IT MADE ME FEEL NEEDED LIKE AN ADULT, AND I GOT THIS WEIRD VOICE

FROM MY MUM AND DAD WHEN WE LIVED IN WOODBERRY,SAYING I WAS THERE LITTLE HELPER, CAUSE I SAT BEHIND

THE BBQ ALL DAY, NO MATTER WHERE WE WENT TO, YEAH IT WAS SO MUCH FUN, AND THE KIDS WOULD GET A FREE

SNAG, AND A COKE, YEAH, I WORKED HARD, BUT WELL, AND AT THE RAINBOW, I COOKED MEALS LIKE SPAGHETTI BOLOGNAISE

BEEF STROGANOFF, PIZZAL HEAPS OF DELICIOUS STEWS AND SOUPS, AND I TRIED TO COOK THE BBQ THERE AS WELL,

MAN IT WAS ACE, WE ALSO WENT ON A FEW TRIPS, AND I HELPED COOK AND CLEANED UP, ACTUALLY I ROUGHED IT

BY SLEEPING IN THE TENT, LIKE I WAS LIVING LIFE LIKE IT’S ONE BIG ADVENTURE, SOMETIMES I FELT DAD

REALLY WANTED ME, TO BE NICE TO THEM, BUT IT WAS HARD, CAUSE, I AM AN ADULT, WHO TOOK PRIDE IN HELPING

PEOPLE JUST LIKE ME, AND THEY ARE JUST LIKE ME, DEALING WITH MY ISSUES, BUT MATEY, I REALISE JUST BECAUSE

THEY SHARE MY VIEWS, DOESN’T MEAN THEY WANT TO ADMIT THIS, AND IT DOESN’T MEAN THEY LIKE ME APPOLOGIZING

ALL THE TIME, JUST BECAUSE THEY HATE FOOTBALL EVEN IF I LIKED IT, AND I WAS A TAD CHIRPY, AND EVEN IF NOBODY HATED ME

I STILL THOUGHT TO MYSELF, THAT THIS WAS WEIRD, I AM GIVING THESE DUDES A HOT MEAL, AND THEY SPENT THE WHOLE

TIME WINGING AND WHINING LIKE TWO YEAR OLDS, BUT THAT WAS BECAUSE THEY WERE MENTALLY UNSTABLE, THEY CAN’T BE NICE

CAUSE THE SYSTEM HASN’T BEEN NICE TO THEM, YA SEE, I DON’T BELIEVE IN CHRISTIANITY I AM A BUDDHIST AND DESPITE PEOPLE

TRYING TO SHOVE JESUS DOWN MY THROAT, I PREFER PEOPLE TO KEEP THEIR BELIEFS TO THEMSELVES, IT’S A TOUCHY SUBJECT

RELIGION, BUT THEN AGAIN, I DON’T PREACH BUDDHISM THOUGH, I HELPED AT THE RAINBOW 2001 TO 2004 AND IN 2002, I WENT TO

THE CHRISTMAS PARTY IN MY VINNIES MADE SANTA SUIT, WHERE YOU CAN SEE IT ON AAA YOUTUBE TV AND AARON CLAYTON

ON YOUTUBE, I HEAR THESE WORDS, FROM ALL THE MEN, AS I WAS BEING MY HELPFUL MAN, TO VOLUNTEER WORK, MAKING

A VOICE, FROM MEN SAID, HEY HANG ON, YOUR OUR LITTLE HELPER, I REMEMBERED BOUNCING AROUND ON MUMS BACK

AND MAYBE THE CAMPFIRES WHEN I WAS YOUNG, BROUGHT ON THE HELPING AT THE FOOTY, BECAUSE IT’S A BBQ, AND IT WAS

SORT OF THE OLD FASHIONED WAY, AND I HELPED A LOT, THEY SAID, HANG ON OUR LITTLE HELPER, BUT I MIGHT HAVE BEEN

TRYING TO BE ONE OF THOSE HELPFUL YOUNG DUDES, YA KNOW WORK ALL DAY, WITHOUT ANY PAY, BUT THAT WAS ALRIGHT

CAUSE I ENJOYED WORKING ALL DAY, AND I REMEMBER I HIKED THROUGH THE SNOWY MOUNTAINS IN THONGS AND, YEAH NOTHING

BAD HAPPENED, BUT I DON’T DO THAT NOW, DUDES

YA SEE I DID THE BBQ AT BELCONNEN MAGPIES

I PLAYED SANTA AT VINNIES AND ON YOUTUBE

I HELPED COOK MENTALLY UNSTABLE PEOPLE  A MEAL AT THE RAINBOW

I WAS A CHIRPY FELLOW THERE, TO BRING HAPPINESS TO THAT PLACE

I HELPED OUT AT THE MASTERS GAMES MARQUEE AT THE SOFTBALL

I WAS A TABLE CLEARER

I PICKED UP ******* AT THE KANGA CUP SOCCER

I AM WILLING TO LEARN ALL ASPECTS OF THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY

I BATTLE A VOICE SAYING I AM TOO WOOSEY FOR LIFE, BY OLD MATES

I WORKED AT OCTOBERFEST, PICKING UP *******

THEY TOOK THE MICKEY OUT OF ME, BANGING ON THE TABLE AS I WAS TAKING ******* FROM UNDERNEATH

YEAH, THE VOICE COULD’VE BEEN TRUE, I WAS THE ADULTS LITTLE HELPER

BUT I WAS A BIG HELP, I WAS A HARD WORKING RUN OF THE MILL MAN

I SUFFERED MORE THAN OTHER MEN, BECAUSE I NEVER EARNED THAT MUCH MONEY

I WORKED WELL AT AINSLIE VILLAGE, HELPING THE MENTALLY UNSTABLE YET AGAIN, **** I AM A NICE PERSON

I BATTLE VOICES IN MY HEAD, FOR A LAMOUS CRIME I DID UMPTEEN YEARS AGO

BACK WHEN I FELT MORE POWERFUL THAN DINOSAURS

I DON’T WANT TO BE JUDGED FOR THAT, NO WAY NO HOPE NO FEAR

I WAS CANBERRA’S BIG HELPER BETWEEN THE YEARS 2001 AND 2013

I ALSO PICKED UP ALL THE ******* SPILT OUTSIDE A HOPPER AT KINGSLEYS CHICKEN

AND PUT ‘EM INSIDE THE HOPPER, I AM A GOOD BOY, BETTER THAN MINJAE

NOW I AM READY TO BE AN ENTERTAINER, SO LOOK OUT WORLD HERE COMES SANTA BRIAN ALLAN

OUR BIG HELPER TO CANBERRA, CAUSE I PARTIED IN CLUBS ALL OVER THE PLACE

ON BOWLING WEEKENDS AND WEEKS, I’VE BEEN ALMOST EVERYWHERE

HOBART ADELAIDE SYDNEY MELBOURNE BATEMANS BAY GOLD COAST HERVEY BAY

JERVIS BAY SNOWY MOUNTAINS GRAMPIANS MERIMBULA, SALE GOSFORD NEWCASTLE

MAITLAND PORT STEPHENS ORANGE SCONE DUBBO ILLAWARRA WOLLONGONG

A FEW MORE PLACES, BUT ALL THIS SHOWS, I LIVE MY LIFE LIKE IT’S ONE BIG ADVENTURE

AND THAT IS WHAT I DO, FOR YOU

YA SEE I WAS TRYING TO TAKE DAD OUT OF HIS KID, BUT HE WAS TOO STUBBORN

HE WANTED TO PLAY ALL DAY, NOT WORRY ABOUT THE WORLD

OH YEAH, BOW BOW

Lizbeth holds the dress against her. It's new, her mother had bought it for her. The cloth is smooth and soft, but she doesn't like it. She looks at the dress in the mirror inside the wardrobe. She puts the dress down on the bed and takes off the dress she is wearing and lets it drop to the floor, kicks it out of the way. She picks the new dress off of the bed and put it on and pulls at the hem to pull it down fully. She twirls, looking at the dress and how it looks as she twirls. The colour's all wrong; the hang of it she loathes. It falls beneath her knees; too far below. She lifts the dress until it comes above her knees. She twirls again. If only Benedict was here, see muses, if only his eyes were here looking beside me. She lifts the dress higher and smiles. Mother would never approve of that length. She lets the dress drop to the given length. Boring. The material is old fashioned, she thinks, ******* it, pulling at the hem. The dress she pointed out to her mother while shopping in Midhurst was shorter and more colourful and didn't have silly bows at the back. Her mother didn't like it. It would make you look like a ****, her mother had said, like one of those tarts on that pop music show prancing around semi-dressed. She hadn't thought her mother had watched the 6.5 Special Show, but she had. She twirls again and looks in the mirror for any saving details of the dress, but there aren't any. The dress is drab and she will not wear it; she'll put it at the back of the wardrobe and forget it's there. She takes it off and lets it fall to the floor and stamps on it, then kicks it away. She sighs and gazes at herself in the mirror in underclothes and bra. Where is Benedict when you want him? She muses, putting her hands on her hips. Probably on the farm; working in the milk sheds weighing the milk or clearing out the cowsheds, as he did on weekends or after school. She had managed to get him to this room once while her parents were out, but it was to no avail and nothing happened. Her mother is downstairs preparing lunch; she can hear the pots and pans being used; a radio playing some classical stuff. She picks up her old dress and puts it back on. The new dress she hangs on a hanger and puts it at the back of her wardrobe and shuts the door. The old dress, black with red flowers, is becoming small and tight. It reaches just above her knees now and her mother said it was not decent to wear any more, but she wears it and loves it, even if it is tight and holds her firm. She walks the length of her room like a model, swaying her hips, hand held aloft, head tilted. She flops onto her bed and throws out her arms and looks at the ceiling. To think she had Benedict here on this bed that time and nothing happened; God how frustrating. There is plenty of time to think of boys, her mother had said, you're just thirteen, why when I was your age I was playing with dolls and skipping with a rope. Lizbeth hadn't played with her dolls for years; her skipping rope was at the bottom of the wardrobe unused. She sits up and looks at her room. The record player is on the floor by the window; an LP of the Everly Brothers in on the turntable; the sleeve is on the floor next to a cup and saucer, partially covered by soiled underclothes. She was a lazy girl, her mother said, too lazy for her own good. Her father(when he was home at all) said nothing much except how far he had travelled and how many orders he had managed to obtain. A girl at school( in a higher class) had given her a book with illustrations about *** with orders not to let other see it. She had gone through the book umpteen times(mostly gawking at the photos and illustrations) and trying to put into practice what she had read there. The book is at the bottom of the wardrobe in a brown paper bag tied with string( just in case her mother snooped around.) She wants *** with Benedict. She has tried to get him to perform many times, but he is reluctant, makes excuses. She doesn't want other boys. She wants one boy. Benedict. The book has an illustration what the boy has to do and the girl also. She has studied it so many times it is printed on her mind. There is also other illustrations about other things which she finds a bit distasteful. If her mother ever found the book, there would be hell to pay(providing her mother didn't drop with shock). She sighs. Closes her eyes. Embraces herself. Kisses her arms; pretends it is him, his lips kissing. She opens her eyes and stares; he is not there; he is missing.

BRIANO ALLIANO PERFORMING ON THE SUN




HI DUDES AND NOW, TO HOPEFULLY FREE MY SPIRIT, LET’S SCARE AWAY THESE TERRORISTS

FROME EVER GETTING US, THE FIRST SONG IS I’M A HOOLIGAN, PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS


YOU SEE, WHEN I WAS YOUNG YOU SEE

I WAS A TAD DIFFERENT YA SEE

I HATED WHAT THE WORLD HAD IN STORE FOR ME

SO I DEVELOPED MY NEW BRAND OF HOOLIGAN

YOU SEE, PEOPLE SAY TO ME SILLLY THINGS

LIKE HOOLIGANS TEASE FOR ME

I WENT OUT AND PLAYED COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS NOW

AND I SANG

I AM A HOOLIGAN, PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A YEAH MATE YEAH KID

I SAY I AM A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

BUT REALLY I AM A DIFFERENT KIND OF COOL KID, YEAH

YOU SEE SOME BIG BOZO NICKED MY LUNCH

AND SAID DON’T GET KIDNAPPED BE LIKE US

CAUSE HE WANTED TO PROTECT ME FROM THE HOOLIGANS YEAH

HE SAID, NO DUDE, HOOLIGANS TEASE FOR ME

AND HAVE A NICE HOT CUP OF TEA OR COFFEE

AND PLAY COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS, LIKE A HOOLIGAN

YA SEE, I AM A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

I HATE THE LIFE OF A BORING FAMILY, LIKE MINE WAS AT THE PRESENT

BUT I LIVE IN THE PRESENT, FOR A PRESENT OH DEAR

I AM A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS, WHO JUST WANNA GO TO BED

YOU SEE AS I DO MY TAPESTRY, I SIT THERE SMILING AT YOU

CAUSE YOUR A LITTLE FAMILY KID, WHO PLAYS AROUND WITH MYSELF

BUT I CAN CREATE AN IMAGINARY FAMILY OUT OF ALL THE IMAGES IN MY HEAD

I TRY AND SAY I AM NOT A PHEDAPHILE, I’M A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS ALL DAY LONG

I AM A HOOLIGAM PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

I AM BEING TOLD TO GO TO BED TO MUCK FAMILY FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

MY FEET ARE PLANTED ON THE FLOOR, YA SEE I AM A HOOLIGAN A HOOLIGAN A HOOLIGAN

PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE

YOU SEE, THE VISIONS OF OLD FOGIES YEAH

TREATING ME LIKE A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS, YEAH MATE YEAH

REALLY DUDES, I AM NOT A YEAH MATE YEAH KID ANYMORE, I WAS TRYING TO BE A HOOLIGAN, THIS IS HOW IT GOES

I WAS A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

I DON’T CARE WHAT THEY SAY, I JUST WANTED TO BE A HOOLIGAN

I WAS TOO YOUNG TO UNDERSTAND THE DANGERS OF WHAT HOOLIGANS FACE

I WAS PLAYING, OH PLAYING, YEAH I WAS PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS EVERY DAY


AND NOW HERE IS KIDNAP MY SOUL


I WANT THEV TERRORISTS TO KIDNAP MY SOUL, GET RID OF MY LITTLE YEAH MATE YEAH KID

I WANT TO FACE THEV WORLD ALONE, YEAH I HAVE TO BE CAREFUL YEAH

I DON’T WANT THE TERRORISTS TO REALLY GET ME, I AM NOT STUPID, MAN

BUT I WANT TO RID THIS SILLY VOICE, TRYING TO MAKE ME REMIND ME IM USED TO BE A HOOLIGAN

I KNOW, I WILL BE A TV STAR, OR I HAVE TO DO, I9S PARTY

AND IF I SOUND BORING, YEAH MATE YEAH

I HAVE TO WORK ON MY VOICE

I KNOW, I WAS A HOOLIGAN WHEN I LIVED IN WOODBERRY

BECAUSE, I HAD NO KNOWLEDGE, I HAD NO ENERGY

I WAS JUST ISOLATED IN MY ROOM

I KNOW, ALL I DO NOW IS MY COMPUTER, BUT I CAN BE COOL AS WELL

I GO OUT TO FUN EVENTS, YEAH MATE YEAH I AM COOL

AND I WANT THEM TO COME AND KIDNAP MY SOUL

AND WHISK ME AWAY, OH YEAH, I LIKED BEING A DIFFERENT PERSON

AND UNTILL I LEARNT THE TRUTH, BEING A HOOLIGAN WAS FUN AS WELL

PLEASE UNLEASH MY WOODBERRY SPIRIT, AND ALLOW ME TO WASH AWAY MY SPIRIT OH YEAH

DON’T MAKE ME ALWAYS REGRET, SOME CRIME, I DID UMPTEEN YEARS AGO

I WAS ONLY A HOOLIGAN CAUSE OF LAST 2 HUMAN LIVES KIDNAPPED AND KILLED AT 8

PLEASE, ALLOW ME, TIME TO GET OUT OF THIS LIFE

CAUSE, MY FAMILY THINKS IT’S COOL TO TREAT ME SHY

IF I AM SHY, I AM A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS, WHICH MY FAMILY ARE

YEAH, THEY HAVE FUN, BUT I PREFER THE SHAYTARDS, CAUSE I AM A COOLER FAMILY MAN

YESTERDAY I WAS GIVEN IMAGES OF MY MUM EATING LIKE A SCHITZOPHRENIC

AND, I HAVE WEIRD VIBES, WHEN I SOMETIMES EAT THERE, I CAN’T HELP IT, I JUST WANTED BACK THEN

TO BE A HOOLIGAN, PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS,

COMING TO KIDNAP MY FUCKEN SOUL

I AM DIFFERENT FROM MY FAMILY, CAUSE THEY ARE CHRISTIANS OR NICE TO CHRISTIANS

I TRY AND BE NICE TO ME, CAUSE I AM A BUDDHIST, WHO IS BEING PUSHED DOWN

TO BE A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS EVERY DAY

AND AS I SIT UP HERE ON THE MOON, I SAY, LOOK AT THOSE YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

BEING ****** IN TO FAMILY LIFE, AND I AM TRYING TO GET REFORMED FROM

A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

CAUSE, MY LIFE IS GREAT, BUT STILL I SUFFER

BUT I STILL PREFER TO BE A BUDDHIST ARTIST WRITER AND YOUTUBE ENTERTAINER

THAN A UNEMPLOYED ***, EVERYONE WANTS THE PERFECT LIFE

WHY I CAN’T I BE ONE OF THE FUNLOVERS, DUDES

OR DO YOU WANT ME TO BE A HOOLIGAN PLAYING COOL FOR YEAH MATE YEAH KIDS

WHO GO TO BED SAYING THEY ARE OLD TIME *******

HELLO OLD, I AM BRIAN

I awoke this morning
To a fresh fallen snow
As the world basked in it's beauty
Showered in it's glow
There is nothing more calming
That I have ever known
Than waking up in the morning
To a fresh fallen snow

The children stayed home today
We made angels in the snow
Then all went back inside
For hot chocolate by the stove
No greater time together
In heaven or down below
As the children stayed home today
Making angels in the snow

We went out sledding
All the kids and me
Marveled at the majesty
Icicles hanging from the trees
Nothing could compare
That I have ever seen
As we went out sledding
All the kids and me

4 months later...

It snowed again today
Just like the umpteen days before
In fact it's snowed for four months straight
But hey who's keeping score
It's cold and it's wet
I can't take it anymore
As it snows again today
Just like the umpteen days before

With all of this snow
Not sure if I should flip or fly
Since early September
I've been stuck inside
Go ahead and make your funny comments
If you don't value your life
With all of this snow
Not sure if I should flip or fly

As it keeps on snowing
The kids keep staying home
What I wouldn't give
For one minute of sanity alone
I'm not sure who tops the list
Me or them when it comes to groans
As it keeps on snowing
And the kids keep staying home

It's been one long blizzard
I feel the need to escape
I can think of plenty stronger words
Let's just say snow I hate
I should have moved to Florida
But I'm snowed in and it's to late
With this one long blizzard
And no chance to escape...

It was a beautiful rainy day.The rains showered like blessings from the sky to mother earth.The drops drizzled over several stunning creations of God. The ***** frog winked in fright when the tiny drop thumped on its peeping head which it had kept out from its water world curious to know what's happening outside.The lazy ladybird hides itself in the rug of leaves it hopped and played till then.Little dusty leaves quivered with joy as they rejoiced and celebrated the long waited bath.

      Far aloof,the village looked so spanking new than ever after it was wetted by the light rain.so modest,so composed,the radiating sun put itself out of sight making way to the pompous clouds.Besides all these petite feelings,the livid eagle gaped at the sky sniping for it had missed its daily glide over the rusty mountains.

      All these tiny things shaped out the background,while the main subject remains undescribed yet.The big fat buffalo stands aright in tranquility as if nothing new happened.Its skin so tight,shining so bright,created a beautiful sight as the raindrops tapped on it pitter patter.Its horns like engraved artifacts mirrored each other and stood still amazed at their similarity.The momentary muddy puddle covered up its hooves.

      And now comes the most interesting foreground of the picture. It’s the little cute boy!!! Small dark brown eyes...Umpteen hopes filled in them. He wore the most beautiful jewel on his face....it’s his smile gleaming with merriment. While his tiny hands held tight the wicker, his entire little body hid itself behind the huge gunny he wore to shield against the shower. He hopped over the small puddle creating beautiful waves and exquisite splashes.

      And that forms the most beautiful picture about which my dad told me.The little boy is none other than my dad. :) :) .

she grazes
the soul,
tumult in
her coming,

the pang
of proximity,
dew heavy
over exotic petal,

her absence
bullet-riddled
over umpteen
male faces,

a gnawing
melancholy,
restlessly at
high tide,  

a massacre
of butterflies,
a massacre
of butterflies,

crushed torn
powdered
ash dust
in flight  

a massacre
of butterflies,
a massacre
of butterflies,

Poetry is not frozen.............
Still surged in poetry
A stream stemming from the crux
An energetic reflection
An external of internalized intuitions

The flow of the words
Attuned and harmonized
Umpteen snow, melodic tunes
Visualized dreams mending arts

A bursting imagination
A word behind the beats
A free energy of octaves
Pulses of natural architecture

HP our home of anonymities
Acquainted monikers broadcast
Poetry strum through the universe
The singular tones attached

Poetry a scaffold of true expression
A design encoded to amuse
The beauty silhouette on plinth
Hollowed ice with steaming warmth

Poetry the distributed condenser
Sliding from 126hz to 136hz
The domineering kingship
Posing the echoes in words

**Keep going everyone at HP, you are all beautiful!Lets the words dance

Farmer Jones set out to build a barn
A shelter for his bovine
When the wood started disappearing
A little at a time

The cows were taking it to pasture
On the other side of the dell
Little by little in the middle of night
Hoping Jones wouldn't be able to tell

This plans been festering for ages
At least since some of them were veal
But cows aren't very good at telling time
So how long is really hard to tell

Anyways they know they have a plan
That's what matters when it comes down to it
And what it is they've been planing
Is "Bovine One" The Rocket Ship

This time they're going to the moon
They had a cousin who jumped over it once
But that was so many years ago
And cousin Eddie has long been somebody's lunch

They got the plans out of Science Illustrated
When Carl went in to use the can
The day Farmer Jones stepped out of the house
A little secret the cows are keeping from "The Man"

They know nothing about jet propulsion
So the cows broke down and asked the goat
The smartest of all the farm animals
Another little secret nobody knows

In the process of building they used galvanized nails
The goat said in space regular nails would rust
I never would have thought of that
I guess goats are even smarter than us

When "Bovine One" The Rocket Ship was completed
It was on a Wednesday the count down did fall
The day Farmer Jones noticed his wood was missing
And the authorities were called

As they began to investigate
A bright glow came from over the hill
Still to this day no matter what people say
They don't know what the object was nor ever will

The Rocket Ship is still up there in orbit
With umpteen cows inside
Next time you hear a cow moo, look up cause you too
Could see "Bovine One" as it passes by

Did they ever make it to the moon?
No one around really seems to know
I bet you could get the answer though
If you were to go and ask the goat

When my grandfather passed away, my brothers and I held my dad with slanted eyebrows and stiff, silent upper lips. Because we are young and foolish and still learning. Because we’d never really had to do the holding before and, as far as we knew, this is how men mourn.

We dusted antique left-behinds with delicate, moth-wing hands that fluttered here and there and never stopped trembling -- dead giveaways that within the corridors of our arms our heartbeats went stampeding, arrhythmic. We couldn’t quite bend them into the proper shape for prayer, so instead we ran them, with touch somewhere between float and feel, along every ashtray and age-stained picture album. In that moment I think we each wished that memory read like braille, but no one ever said as much. Because this is how men mourn.

We honored our patriarch with whiskey, hidden away for what must have been twice my age, between the carved out pages of old stacked books.
We drank like secrets. His portrait played witness.

We promised between our teeth with tinged lips tight, keeping words in that might otherwise crumble us like great ancient empires.

We singed and smoldered in a burn that coated our throats, quelling a choke that kept climbing its way up from a chest that never quite stayed sunk. Boys grow up loving the clinking twist of unlocking deadbolts but men peek through keyholes. Because this is how men mourn. Silent and straight with head only slightly slanted.

But when my father betrayed his rigidity with words that clicked clean like unfastening locks, we traded this stale air in for wind laced with the electric taste of thunderstorms. We forgot how men mourn.

When my grandfather passed away, my brothers and I held my dad with lightning behind bleared eyes. Because we are young and foolish and still learning. Because we have umpteen days left to dress in bittersweet vestiges and, as far as we know, this is how men live on.

It happens with old men
Have seen it times umpteen
I’m a boy again
You too sweet sixteen!

You sit with folded knees
Pulling down your skirt
Lest in naughty breeze
Thereto my eyes dart!

As long as it’s your face
Things are hunky dory
Tales of such retrace
Tell you as teatime story!

But often it happens
As the dreams unfurl
I can’t make its sense
Appears another girl!

She may be the one I know
Or a face I have never seen
Crafted in moon’s glow
Carved from days of teen!

Such dreams they quickly abort
When her I embrace
Make with her a rapport
On her neck comes back your face!

Next morn I feel glum
Hide behind newspaper
Teatime I sit mum
Without a story for her!

Inspired by Shelley's quote IF WINTER IS AT HAND CAN SPRING BE FAR BEHIND? I ended the poem on a positive note....

Always complaining of life...
I did not have the zeal to strife...
Lies,betrayal and heart breaks killed me from inside...
But still I had put up a smile on the outside..
Tired I was facing the world's mockery...
All I had witnessed was only treachery...

Life was a game which I couldn't play well...
And from the mountains of ecstasy to paroxysm of sobs I fell...
There were umpteen questions in my mind...
The answers to which i never could find...

WHY did every happiness come drenched with sorrow??
When we never had another heart to borrow..
Many times I wished to die...
When the heart inside did cry..

WHY did relationships end....??
And everytime to the FATE we had to surrend.
Shattered were those sweet dreams..
And all I could hear were screams..

The sweet memories of childhood I missed...
When mother's kiss was a moment of bliss...
With the advent of time, things changed...
And everything around seemed to be more strange..

The excruciating pain I just couldn't bear
And always thought that life wasn't fair.
Why did people break the trust?
When the heart of theirs was itself but a carnival of rust..

There is no point in being sad..
When we know that sometimes life can prove to be bad...
The relentless march of Time is inevitable..
And there comes a day when happiness is totally unmatchable...

The stories of the past are inexplicable..
And there are very few who are dependable..
There are very few whom we treasure..
Just because their mere presence brings pleasure..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~1~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The valiant king rode across
A perilous mountain pass, which
Led to a mystic who could
Dispel the chance of death at war.

He roved along the rough terrain
Through rows of shuddering pine
His journey had no sojourn till
He'd drink the elixir wine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~2~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sage lived in a far flung place
Amidst mountains old as time
In that ancient talismanic cave
He reached his spiritual prime.

No man had ever seen the sage
Yet stories had been told, of those
Who sipped that miracle wine
And rose above their woes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~3~~~~~~~~~~~~
The king kneeled down before the sage
To narrate his woes through prayer
Then said, pour thy mercy, my Lord,
For my nation's in despair.

The gory war's killed umpteen men
My army faces defeat
Bless and save my people, O Lord!
For the enemy won't retreat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~4~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sage looked at the distressed king
Whose heartbeats had sunken low
For only the saint's miracle
Could help him fight the foe.

The sage did cast a magic spell
Pressed the ruler's armour of steel
Then said go back and fight my king
Triumph, and help your nation heal.

Prashant Shaurya ©
All Rights Reserved
17-04-2019

Success & Epic Failures

A quote I got from Mr Rampton on
His twirling Tweet account.
I thought, impressed, amazed,  “A catchy phrase,
I think I’ll write it down and later write it up,
It being just my cup
                                     of tea:
‘Success and Epic Failures’,  
You and me:  
Sporadically, frequently,
Scarcely ever, almost never –
Take your pick.

Who hasn’t had them both?
Betrothed to neither,                                            
One should rise above the two -
******* ‘round with mind and ego as they do,
Never lasting, alternating
Life throughout.

I think I’ll write a song -to-be:
Avail myself of phrase as symbol:
‘Failure and Success’ et al,
With appeal universal,
With potential to sell millions,
With success and epic failures,
Which of us has never been derailed
And won
Ten-umpteen times
In life?

Success & Epic Failures 7.17.2016
Pure Nakedness; Circling Round Reality; Out Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin





Success & Epic Failures 7.17.2016
Pure Nakedness; Circling Round Reality; Out Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin

The poor boy knew Christmas beckoning at the door
He saw every house bright with many a lamp
And streets illumined with colorful lights and stars
But his tiny hut looked dismal n’ dark like a prison camp

With a suppressed sigh, he inhaled the festive air
His little heart grew weary and dim
There has never been a merry Christmas in his life
As the days advanced, he grew moody and glum

He, born into a cheerless, crammed shack
With parents so poor having very little means
To bring up their children and foster a family of seven
At a tender age, saw shattered all his budding dreams

Year after year, he had seen the city in dazzling lights
But never once on Christmas he could feel any glee
While the rest of the world partook of umpteen delights
Never his heart, from sorrowful thoughts, was free

When children of his age feasted on roasted turkey and ham
And their mothers baked Christmas cookies and cakes
He and his siblings had to be content with a meager fare
That left their cheeks wet with saline drops pooled in their eyes

Their house in winter was too damp and cold
No blankets had they to keep themselves warm and snug
They lay huddled together in biting chill
On the wooden floor on a worn out woolen rug

One evening, on a leisurely walk from school
The boy saw a man selling colorful balloons
With the little penny tucked safely in his trouser pocket
He bought a balloon and headed straight to the lagoons

There as he sat on the sprawling silver sands
A strange idea had come upon his little head
To send a letter to Heaven asking for some urgent help
Hoping Jesus would help, he too being born a poor kid

On a white paper he carefully scribbled these lines:
“Merciful God, look upon us, this miserable seven
Here in our humble hovel, we die of hunger and cold
On this Christmas, send us a little cheer up from heaven”

He folded the paper and fastened it to the balloon
Nevertheless he didn’t forget to put his full address
When the wind was strong, he let it go off his hands
And watched it soar high with his earnest plea for redress

Days went by and the awaited Christmas Eve arrived
While the world splurged in all gaiety and merriment
The poor hut remained dull and cheerless as before
The helpless parents were lost in grim bafflement

Abruptly, there halted a Mercedes before the hut
A man, old and graying with a graceful smile
Alighted with his hands loaded with Christmas gifts
Looking for the boy, he had travelled many a mile

It was during one of his daily strolls around the lagoon
That the gentleman saw a balloon suspended on a willow tree
The white paper tied to it made him curious
He took it up and saw an innocent’s earnest plea

The man so rich and kind was moved at heart,
He from his wealth decided to donate a large sum
To support that family of seven in dire straits
And give them the merriest Christmas with no trace of gloom

The little boy believed Jesus had answered his prayer
He came in the guise of a man, he had never before seen
With rising delight, he saw a star in the graying sky
It shone right over his head with a brighter sheen

Guns today run the way we walk the street
Creating a quandary amongst The Den
Tragedy strikes and laws ought be condemned
Twenty-six innocent dead off their feet
A pool of tears puddle from the weep.
The hands of a ****** is where it stemmed
Creating anguish amidst our friends
Hearts of the victims appear to be beat.

A dispute out of view for umpteen years
Is now at our doorsteps like entry mats
Guns wearing make-up are costing a price
Beautifying what is really a rat
Quite frankly the picture is not quite clear
Guns without make-up can justly suffice.

I'd like to begin
by pointing out the color of the walls;
the pink under the plaster,
and the tubes,
red and blue,
that keep my shower water warm.

This is my home,
that some call a temple,
with two brightly lit halves of an attic,
and no trouble keeping them full.

Its windows are always open,
except when the lights go out
and the shutters are pulled closed
and all that's left breathing is the fireplace
and the attic.

the fire place is a grand face
of grout and proud brick
cradling the humblest coals
under his black, stuffy nose
clogged with no longer solid logs.
His breath keeps the attic warm,
with the help of the coals,
who ask for no thanks.

I'd invite you in
if it wasn't for the moss on the threshhold.
That emerald green.
Those gems that seem,
with dew, to gleem  
a blue and gold sheen
of umpteen citrines.
The sun's careen is seen by these
green finger leaves.

When I turn out the lights
and retreat to the attic,
I hear the moss sigh
like some sort of static.
Her breath reaches the crest
of my gentle home's breast.
The ceiling beam shudder
with a reeling like no other;
A sound that makes me cry,
while my cluttered attic comforts me,
and I speak no word but why.

The moss,
she makes me cry.

I'd like to end
by pointing out the color of the windowpanes,
and the gray of the drywall.
The tubes,
red and blue,
still keep my shower water warm.

This is my home,
that some call a temple,
with two brightly lit halves of an attic,
and no trouble keeping them full.

Its windows are rarely open,
except when the lights go out
and the shutters flutter open
and all that's left breathing is the fireplace
and the attic,
and the colors.

When I'd sail upon the moon boat,
I would think of all I have got,
An old dime in my left pocket,
In the right, one gifted locket,
umpteen shades of memory,
from my mind's secret brewery,
my palm drawn upside in space,
upon which once your hand you placed,
twinkling under fair, raining light,
all I have would come to sight,
another pocket, another thing,
a time-old letter that gave me wings,
what else do I do have,
nothing much I could save,
but yes, there's too, this crimson glow
which my heart refuses to show,
it used to unlock in someone's arms,
and I've lost those keys long ago.

Here we are midday
With hunger pangs
That feel they need addressing

They're here to stay
Won't go away
Till I've been taught a lesson

With the fact
Of my missed morning snack
I head down to the kitchen

Swing open the pantry door
Right before
I notice something missing

I should have known
The grape jelly again went rouge
Like umpteen times before

You would think in turn
I would have learned
To lock the pantry door

Still it'll be easy to find
As grape can't keep its lid tight
I follow the droplets in no hurry

Knowing it's in the den
In front of the T.V. stand
Cause grape jelly loves watching Maury

Umpteen years of gentle love,  
touching of souls,  melting hearts.  
Burnt lava nd acid too.

Two of us as one,  in a random epoch of time.
Is God ordained or  a throw of dice?  
A matter of deep speculation is.

Look at this humble Plumeria, Sweet Love,  
a hardy plant it is,  
It's lived through a couple of droughts,
two leaves still shiny,
look forlorn on its gnarled trunk,  
for It's tiny buds long burned by heat,
refuse to sprout any further greens.

A hope in its will to live,
and flower once every year.
What better a symbol of our  connect than
this mute brute of a shrub.

I give this plant to thee my dear,
take good care of it,
water it and watch it live,  
for its life is a symbol of our love..

Do not worry too,  if it dies,  for its only a glyph..

I'll plant another tree for you,
This time a mango,
which will grow big and olive under your tender hands..
to again ikonize a new phase..
One that gives fruit and shade,
to generations of birds and bees,
us in our old age,

and an abode to our Haunted Undead Souls!

First of May.
That peach tree you planted
now blooms, flushes pink,
the cherry ones burst purple.
Umpteen types of daffodil
sprout up to gulp sunlight,
flower beds house seeds,
beans and peas in abundance
in your vegetable garden.
Plum batons of rhubarb
protrude, threaten
your little portion of Devon.
But the finest thing
is the girl, the daughter,
a great blossom skipping
from spring to summer,
beaming like a lighthouse
to guide both of you home.

On a busy roundabout in buzzing Delhi,
Fake wealth smirks & luxury car creeps,
When red light stops,
Fast panting life gets a pause,
Dullness riding on killing air,
Only gloating eyes and putrid thoughts.

Nearby, my eyes halt on a poor, destitute girl,
Sure, I know, not of sweet sixteen
Few heart throb with love and care,
Though number of passers- by is umpteen.

Her ugly eyes embedded in chronic pain,
Gloom abiding on her wrinkled face.
She is ugly, bony & sickly
Tear- ***** flecking ***** cheeks.

Foul smelling with flowing nose,
******* dressed with ragged clothes,
Callous cool breeze shivering her emaciated soul,
No brotherly hand for her rescue & no divine aid to her console.

Delhi engrossed in sensuous talks of love, ***, movies and romance,
No one cares for her real plight,
Why charity and pity in independent India?
Methinks, a graceful life is her genuine right.

When she stretches her wounded hands,
Begging for a loaf of bread,
I cry & weep deep inside,
Losing hope, I feel so SAD.
I wish swapping of my destiny with hers,
Can u please tell?
Am I a bit out of senses or if I have gone totally MAD?

Mukesh Kataria

woo me, untrap me, free me –
         lug me into Woods of Freedom,
              bright and of unhindered green
                    perched on Tree of Life
                         as we chirp lyrics of love
                          wrap me in your arms
                        to coil me in twirls
               of your affection umpteen

                     embed me in the Abode Of Bliss
                            in ambrosial chamber
                              of desire and emotions
                                possess my soul
                                and as pour pearls of bliss
                             release me in the River of Amor
                        in currents of it’s rapturous swirls

                  under the silver allure of moon
                      flames on the Mount of Desire
                             let rise the fire and consume
                                 until come falling within us
                               a million stars exploding
                                    
                  ­          then from the Bed of Stardust
                                    to world let’s arise anew
                                           amid beams of bliss
                                           with a bow   to know
                                    of love’s bounteous bestow

When is Halloween what’s so special about that night
All nights post twelve I lie frozen in utter fright
Prearranged so by design I’m isolated in one room
On my bed alone in all nooks shadows loom!

My hands mustn’t stick out there’re hands to pull
Drag me to a dark well the hands clammy and cool
My feet too mustn’t be stretched beyond bed’s edge
Umpteen things can happen by lurking evils’ rage!

My eyes I keep them shut so as to make me unfound
But my ears are too keen to let go the slightest sound
Of dragging footsteps and whispering voices closing in on me
I lie alone not a soul in the room so ghosts they’ve to be!

But the scariest thing happens and it frightens me the most
When silence is deafening not a trace of any ghost
I ready for a peaceful sleep of which I don’t get much
*Just then the bed moves welcomes me a faint touch!