I’ve been told..
By some people that my handwriting is difficult to read.
And my works should be typed so are more accessible..
I like the hand written feeling, but here are some.. C:

ALPHABETICAL INDEX:

A Nice Place To Die. A Painting Of Her Nipple. Agrocado. Apples Everyway. Blue And Green. Boppers. Broken Button. Busk. Bye Bye Baby. Captive Beauty. Cinnamon Helps. Comedy Anne. Dark Sheep. Dehydrated Orange Flakes. Don´t Personify The Sand Bag. Ex. F double O L or F U double L. Fat Bat In A Big Fig. Frisbee Dependence. Gumby. Hey Chief. Hoarders Metropolis. I Dream Of Memories . Jolly Swag Woman. Jumping Goat Fish. Last Of It´s Kind. Loins Of A Lion. Love Me Like I Have Nothing. Man Tan. Market For Broken Marble Statues. Mary Made Her Lamb Fat. Mermaids Do All The Cleaning. Moving Parts. My Breast And Plumage. My Witch Doctor. Nano Muffin. Neckless. Oil and Salt. Once I Shot My Favourite Bird. Parsley Was Missing. Peace Of A Ninja. Perfectly Plausable. Permit to Pee or Just for Free. Peter Price. Poet Haunt. Post Industrial Vegetation. Post Modern. Economic Idealism . Punching Captive Fish. Random Tomato. Rock. Shoreline Of Skeletons. Somebody Sabotaged Sunday. Sould. Sounds Of Pleasure. Stack. Still Life. Stop Producing Polystyrene. Tales From The Dark Side Of The Frisbee. Test Fate. The Giant In The Zoo. The Giant In The Zoo- in Spanish: El Gigante En El Zoologico. The Green Woman And Her Man. The Lines Of The Body. The Tale Of Wet T-Tops. The Temporary Joy Of Scratching . This Is My Pen. Trap. Two Thousand Heavies. Vampires, Just High Class Cannibals. Vegans Are Evil. Viking On A Bike. When Will We Kiss. Yes I Smell. Zonar Has Come.

Nearly all have been handwritten, and many recorded or performed somewhere on the site- just do a search for the title you want.. 😛

A Nice Place To Die
They are all over, mountain ranges to sea.
A chain, but not fast food, nor for plumbing parts.
Here on our overpopulated planet euthanasia optional.
Endorsed by environmentalists and eventually politicians.
Due only public demand via outcry from the dying.
The videos went viral of people pleading to pass with dignity.
So a nonprofit was created to give them every option.
Hospital beds on monorails passing amongst the forests.
The sounds of birds and rustling of leaves as dose kicks in.
Reconnecting with nature before becoming one with the earth.
Some chose to be launched into space in biodegradable spheres.
Countless great creative minds of the age idealised on it.
Many groovy options inspired people to live, became theme parks.
Others were expiring in extra ordinary ways, became famous.




A Painting Of Her Nipple
Slightly provocative, tearing to trickle, of your milk.
Soo many nipples, shades and sizes now in arousal.
She is plump stimulated blood rushing blush of veins.
Brush strokes layer large to begin then settle to detail.
Tones of skin colors tan to barely sun kissed sweep in.
Who´s skin it is is unknown to the artworks observer.
Those gentle hair follicles, pert spurting translucent fibre.
Faint wrinkles from cold times, minute caverns now throb.
The artist clearly put themselves into the nipples shoes.
To really know a nipple, to create a representation.
Portal of the nipple into the brain, into yours, a viewing.
On display of range of all previous nipples you´ve known.




Agrocado
Grrrreen skin periphery seems cool.
But hot thoughts seek their spark.
Funk can be felt, rotten and randy pending.
But a branch is broken and anger comes.
What really can it do but roll unevenly around.
Here again an illustration of the arrogance of man.
For the term smashed avocado applied by chefs.
Is a mistranslation of the historical ‘smashed by avo’.
For it was well known by ancestors, their bipolar.
That if treated well, would be eaten and share life.
But if you piss the fruit off, they will take it kindly.
Crushing you compoundly with telepathic powers.
Hence here the mess of that fool, who thought was superior.




Apples Everyway
Green, red, the range, on a stick, a stem.
With dry crisp leaves on the ground, left there.
A bird might bite if peckish, caterpillar crawl.
Nibble ´till nothing, what a sight in slow mo´.
Deformed can still be delicious, get juiced.
Piles of possibilities, widths in a dehydrated mix.
Pitch- swing- hit- and combust- compost.
There, they´re everywhere anyway, seed on.




Blue And Green
Bruised, lost, and nature is broken- or not.
Sure we can, but should we, will we? Want to?
It is chaos versus structure and a balance.
I am sad as I write, cautious, concerned, a man.
Who cares more for the all, than simply fellow species.
We are a plague still growing, murkey blue, more grey.
They say when you mix all colours get brown, thus dirt.
Details can be beautiful distractions, yet what of all?
And so in this instant, what and who now are you?
Mental confrontation will soon be illegal, so say now!
Bite not a bullet, for a thought sent now may echo.
Idealists are hidden and hide, seek to find their words.




Boppers
Little people party bopping, balloon popping.
Some still levitate, rainbow range, on faces.
Feet which once, not long ago couldn’t stand.
And here comes a crawler right on cue.
Most for sure have not yet had a haircut.
Some will never want one, especially round here.
The soccer ball is on stage, frisbees in the bag.
Streamers lay strewn and migrate, watch.
Anything’s a toy as everything’s a gift, giving all.
Dude in green tube in metamorphosis, caterpillar.
Ones on roof stay still, while their other fans chat.
The banana cake is so far patient, whispers chorus.
Swinging like an open car door around a corner.
Caterpillar more toward catapult than butterfly.
Candles are out of luck, cake passed with helicopter.
She is sporting ruby sparkle slippers while he wields a tool.




Broken Button
Not heart shaped but now not round either.
Never really appreciated ´till damaged.
Beyond repair and hard if not impossible to replace.
Soo many such things could readily relate.
Many people or most would trash then the item.
The whole shirt or pair of pant of disposable society.
Not I with my needle and thread, hold on.
Within my hoarding surely lies a satisfactory substitute.
Or innovation may lead to move one from there here.
But for you, you shall now retire, what´s left cut free.
To be altered, placed in my nest of un-natural things.
Trinkets of memories, tokens of times doings done.
Whats left of anything of value will de-part.




Busk
Deliver atmosphere or entertainment to.
Cultural representative of give context.
Fear not to feel, be seen, heard and convey.
Play, sing, dance, read, and hope- not plead.
Be self or masquerade, perform, project, effect.
Interaction on the street, people meet, passers bye.
Got plenty to say, do you hear, understand, recall.
Why driven to share- for Earth, Nature, Us, All…
Let´s have fun, contagious smiles, disapproving glare.
Create the zone, dress, props, where, when, begin.
Seek to please or stir and, or fund existence.
The first piece, founding pace, heart beat, strong voice.
Vibe in theme, hands describe, words come alive.
Meaning touches a person, couple of coins drop.




Bye Bye Baby
Bye bye baby he thought as the girl in his dreams came real for an instant.
It was a special insight never meant to be, a gasp, a kiss, a love, a sigh.
Realities and imagination and alignment, time, space, infinity and eternity collide.
Not meant to be but thrown still, back on to the track, from here to there.
Bolting and thundering through rain, hail and sloshy shoes back to the beginning.
Returning to where we came, a little changed, different but still within each other.
Race to find space to make the world a wholesome place, to be one with nature.
Finding the balance and making it happen, for both imaginary boy and girl always.
Smiles, gazes, uncomfortable ness less, to a calm, not yet confidence but soon.
Riddles and rhymes most of the times but hints of potential and spectacular.
Magic and miracles not imagined, just lost in education and distraction, but here.
Neither will forget, alone but not alone, sacrificed and spared, freed to be free.
Necklace pendant on a key chain to a different door, unlock, open, experience.
Talking without words, together without bodies, imagined yet real as can be.




Captive Beauty.
These fish in a tank, bird in cage.
What once was free flowing symbiosis.
The river is damned, taken as yours.
Desire to own, embraced, and engulfed.
Human pigs with want and reward take.
Dominating the landscape, mindscape.
Their words and ways convincing, appealing.
Their effect on the planet as a whole sickening.
It would be better undoubtedly if never.
Existed, but that is the test and challenge.
To realise our mental conditioning, and free.
To release the growth and profit one way.
Street, after street a death trap for runners.
The last of the free folk desperately scavenging.
Strangle hold turned, swiftly, inside out to serve.




Cinnamon Helps
When you’re red from rust, brittle bent broken.
Somehow soothing spice, homely kind of nice.
The idea came to mind and I welcomed it to stay.
My body malnourished four years, simple salvation.
Salivating as now recall the bond between forming.
Often with a sweet treat, cookie pudding porridge apple pie.
Those hot cinnamon gob stoppers or the gum, yum yum yum.
My child innocence soft heart is bare and less brave.
Need be nurtured, healed, tucked in cozy, held strong.
The idea of having a home though I know am homeless.
That I am yours yet lonely, bring the bark, be my spark.




Comedy Anne
It would be fun if it was funny, occasionally is.
A giggle given, applause had, pleasantries shared.
An audience anticipating amusement before her.
At the mic she stands, quirk is her weapon, beware.
Outfit earlier assembled- this time a cave woman, club.
In broken english she tells of her man and the clan.
How they met and greet, what they eat and getting eaten.
Predators then were a plenty as was avid promiscuity.
Playing on now and then contrasts, if they were here now.
And if we were there scenarios, wee digs at the ways of our day.
In conclusion she resigned and went bush, still in her outfit.




Dark Sheep
Yes they wore make up, eye liner, black.
Telepathic humans applied it for them, thick.
They had a following, so went their own way.
Got about at night, safety from wolves in numbers.
I herd about a place they frequented in the city.
Part of me was interested, but doubts make sense.
For a human to be sheepish seems somehow silly.
But dogs follow us, why we not another mammal.
So I went, it was a rave, in a warehouse, in Melbourne.
Of all the things we do to be different, this seemed most rediculous.
Yet it was a ball, I felt tall, everyone seemed to know me.
I bought a beer, the music was good, sipped and so on.
The sheep were on all fours, some humans too, they knew how to move.
One was at the mic, couldn’t tell what she said, but felt the vibration.
Had a great night, glad went but felt a bit like a cult.
Later on I ‘liked’ them on facebook, checked out their stuff.
Was a bit of something different in my day to day, translated.




Dehydrated Orange Flakes
A little of a lot, and a hundred bells bing.
Lift perhaps to sing, a rest and pinch of zest.
Whilst bunches of green bulge from tops of trees.
Water feature fountains, fruits of passion in mind.
I am but a flake on the surface of the scene.
Soon to wash through upon the public parade.
A symmetry there seems, in a citrus cross section.
And then just the thought of it lasting a little longer.
Rather certain they would like to see what I am writing.
Scupltures of animals people and props forged of bronze.
A great many flowers but no fruit on which to feed.
From a can just will not do, just not the dream come true.
Preserved to serve, thought of tingle on tantalized tongue.




Don´t Personify The Sand Bag
Bob Bing- introducing and sending off away.
Catapult up out then parachute- glide, test drive.
Test dummy, facials funny, possibly painted on perhaps.
It does not have a nervous system, Bob doesn´t.
As the wind builds up, there is no anticipation.
Expect no words to break the tension, not a peep.
Tense muscles, massive pupils, heart race, no no no!
No! As sent out Bob does not, but miniatures do.
The sum of microscopic life forms on- within unknowingly.
They are all leveraged aloft the gains of gravity.
Mr. Bing however is not sentient, no fear, ideal candidate.
Bobs heart does not throb hard, there is no sweat mate.
A sand bag, may as well be an old ladys hand bag.
So was sent soaring, wind whistling in his face.
And not even a hint of relief as parachute came to pop.




Ex
Someone else will take your glory, the spoils.
The man you helped to make, to another.
You use to make me want to be a better person, still do.
Thankyou and sorry and you´re welcome and it´s o.k..
Wow, we´ve been through heaps, and maybe more yet.
I do still love you and don´t regret, won’t forget.
We created home together, setup shop, became family.
How we would nestle in, merge, and combine to climax.
Now we are not even talking, so as are free to move on.
And we are and each do no doubt to whatever degree.
Baby, noone can love or hurt us as deep as our closest.
Awesome adventures and massive missions were made.
Even this time to reflect I appreciate, flashes of feelings.
Photos printed in boxes or computer files and out trinkets.




F double O L or F U double L
File us into line, in kind, draw blood, donate, I don’t relate.
Standing in the frame, looking for the line, intentional or accidental, pause.
Tea light candle flickers, wonder what am-are trying to be, inner plea.
International warlords, fly, and rep, national flags, dig motes, red coats.
Tom of hawk, scratch my scalp, heart palp, cull cholesterol, fat of the land.
Pool our resources, Earth in mandibles of money hungry monkey, the draft.
Enlist all available technical apparatus, melt to mold, fractured by lazer beams.
Resistance wanes, underground slain or locked away, original thought disdain.
Do you sometimes look or feel plain, complain again, a pool of F double O L S.
Line us up like ducks at a circus, clown, open mouthed, wanting, drooling, ooh.
Dazzled by sparkles, jingle bells, sley desperate souls, shoes worn out, run scared.
Fronds unfurling but natures curdling, corroding batteries, hen flu, pacific I float.
More than unladen, go to haven, invite respite, settle score, roar, rub me raw.
Fancy pants is paid to dance, to ever distract from entertaining critical concepts.
Play it cool, go to school, do homework, go to uni, get debt, work, have kids, retire, die.
F U double L, fill your domestic destiny, home land security, expand borders, heighten fences.
Pretend to smile, its all ok, try not to cry, to look in the eye, to dream, to scream to fly.
F this, that, and everything, or not, tank un-empty, hope, less impossible. new. clear. power.




Fat Bat In A Big Fig
Discerning as can be, open space, flap.
Wake to night, take a chance, put you out there.
A kin, screetching neighbours, rush hour.
Skies a litter with flapping mammals.
Fruits to find, fav’ hangout pozzi’s
Up side down is right side up for our kind.
Draping skin, hanging loose will soon cup air.
Gargoyle likeness, like green things in wiz of oz.
Bulging belly, chubby cheeks, what a whey.
Perhaps the buddha of bats, guru of girth.
South to the bold olld branches of big fig.
She knows where the fruits burst, lush crush.
Come and come again, abundance endowed.




Frisbee Dependence
My Precious, your faithful, how we fly only when combined.
Compelled, driven and drawn, together, as sword unsheathed.
Warrior when with, commoner without, what now to do’ you.
In on a world changing like the wind, we spin, in unison.
We are not alone, other pairs we know, like riders and horses.
Who is which of you and I, control or subtle influence, lost.
Always at my side if not flight or in the hand of another, lay.
On the sand or grass, pavement, roof top or mountain, return to.
As am sad or otherwise unsure, let us dance and be daring.
Other cowboys converge for a show down, and to show off.
We have come to know your ways, now nothing is the same, need.
So shall sweet flight be set you, draw- fire, and fire, and burn.




Gumby
Life in cars and houses, at work and private and public property. Going to the library or the beach or the park or the carpark or just the side of the road, this is where and who I have become, property. I am owned by my purpose or job, this mindset will govern my actions and existence. Defined my self by money or debt, make my playground or master, tied in either way, options or not, levied and charged for dividends to what ends, spin me around, bend me gumby an eye for an arm, no time Mr Potato head. Who is skeletor and who is He-Man, where is my packet of fairness or full of justice when I am a cow in the field, have my choice where to graze but exist to be milked otherwise take your stake. What if all smells like manure, running a maze designed for me, by the all mighty, all knowing, who. This is not my board game, do I want to live to play monopoly, to take sides on wrong and right and make one co win over 2 co. What is winning when the world is structured on a board game and life substitutes freedom for rules and commands, program education, robot manufacture, polly pocket.




Hey Chief
How. Arm raised, still palm, worn, warm.
Cracks on face need not mend like bones.
Welcomes me to the teepee, step together.
Wind changes, so does his mind, let´s now ride.
Painted hand is still wild, I mount, having a mare.
Perhaps a test, connect- feel at rest, no protest.
Scouts swift ahead as our procession forwards.
Tatonka afoot tremor the terra, dust on pararie.
Vibrations and emotions run through who I am.
He sees my opening center. Now to the teepee.
How.




Hoarders Metropolis
Stuff globally, going rusty if not stored, brittle.
It´s into landfill, unused bricks, vintage shorts.
Disposable society said, but not so for Mr. Fix It.
He has on a helmet and is stacking and storing like a squirrel.
There- there are tools, check them out, like a library.
Logistics has to happen, so is well planned and played out.
He is dreaming about it at night, doing it at day time.
And by no means alone, how usefulness excites us all.
Compost is a culture, a lifestyle for countless forms.
¨Re-using uses less resources than recycling¨ he says.
The plight is for the planet, that there, this here, no waste.
Designers come for advice, artists shred and weave scrap.
There is something for everyone, and everything for ever.




I Dream Of Memories
Take my pillow- lean back, snuggle.
And other meaning..s.. A memory in a dream.
Distance is a diaper, so pooh and pee away.
Touch upon clouds and clean me a fluffy white.
Re collecting trinkets of history and mystery remade.
Born a chick in a cage to hen in a harvest eat self.
Whip to fluffy white, relieve hunger dream food wake.
An aim plus anomoly, past plights in pajamas peter pan.
Wendy windy wax wane rain shiny blind bright white light.
Bulging belly and bellies of babies and my baby.
Ask yee if I may look upon and all elsewhere also.
Your eyes multiply as breakfast beckons and I glide.




Jolly Swag Woman
She was not sporting Billabong, boycotted brands.
Sally sat by the rippling river and gutted, splayed and fried fish.
Wavering waves of orange flame, taunted by breeze unrefined.
Self trained by experience, explore to explain, trust to see, be.
Dancing around the fire, emulating forms of bird swim dig run.
The way the minors dart around made´er squawk and chuckle.
Skinning eye sucks in chews and processes nature´s cunning…
Keep it alive, soar.
Heel, heal, calling, cricket hind legs caress violin like language.
This is the season, say they, to thee and she, who listens?
Oh, come now translator.
Jam packed with twisted modern distraction who might care?
Who cares?
What would they have to say?
What does she?
AUUüüüüuuuuwww…




Jumping Goat Fish
Hey, neey, baa, swish, splash, dash.
Let your goalie go, feel the water across your gills.
Over the fence, out of the pond, hand feed us all.
Steering committee debated the implications for days.
They filtered the pond, fertilized paddocks, raised fences.
Jump if you can, jump the hump, run of the mill, still.




Last Of It´s Kind
They were not over, not quite yet, sun up and down on you.
One gender left, not ¨ying¨ to meet ¨yang¨ for harmonious love.
What a fine specimen, your markings, form, curious allure.
Looking left and right for inspiration, inside yourself but no other.
Nobody understands, who cares, call out- but language barriers.
Cry out, for you are the last, extreme niche, lately at least.
There were once more of us, but the environment changed.
Operating expenses skewed, sea rose, predators clustered.
Timber harvested, loans called in, debt grind, young and old apply.
Sweeping generalizations under the carpet again and over and over.
In decades temperatures tripled, hindsight deserts just deserts.
Angst at the oasis, crocs submerge, predators patrol verge.
A monopoly on water supply, pay or GET THE HELL OUT THE WAY.
Fight or flight, make or break, our village raided and burnt.
Your fluffy coat soiled as you scurried into the red night sky..
Disbanded, isolated, injured- disabled, disheartened, alone.
Picked off one by one, not seen another for weeks, until you.
Then- AARGH.. I died. You escaped the ambush, hide.
Dodo, you were not fit for conditions, fit enough for the future.
(Everlasting sympathizing sentiments to all those extinct.)




Loins Of A Lion
Here for more than his pride, licking wounds boud ahead.
Driven by a vision, destined to create tales and a kingdom.
So how to keep and where to place attention? Insert action.
Political play, keeping other male suitor hopefuls at bay.
Considering size of territory to tend and thus then defend.
Stripes of zebra an dream and a hind of lioness to finish.
Of all thoughts to contend and responsibilities to attend, I roar.
She and she and she are looking, like a fruit salad in season.
Shaggy mane shaking, tail twitching, others watching waiting.
Sounds sweet and is, but being leader is less than always easy.
Some cubs now nip and play.
Others in the oven on the way, all will be dead if I die.
Each battle wagers everything, my lineage on the line.




Love Me Like I Have Nothing
A billionairre seeking genuine connection.
Lines seem blurred, makers, fakers and fluzeys.
An adoration and affection for an individual.
Just to be loved seems simple, for a poor man.
A shine, a spark, a lust, a love, an intuition.
Introductions laced with doubt for good reason.
It’s in the eyes, in the kiss, the pocket, the purse.
All anyone wants unless they know they need it.
Is to meet haphazardly upon a nature walk.
And regardless of social standing to flirt.
To chat amongst the falling leaves of things.
And both agree, on principal, here is harmony.
There is enough strife outside without conflict in my heart.




Man Tan
Main taine tackles time with plan.
Dream wise or be fodder or better dust.
Whether work with rock or word, ore.
Molten metal, maybe sculptured scape.
Fire is the transients heater and light.
On a whim of airwave thrown to from.
Solo disc atwirl, then two, not alone.
Carving meaning into some word sequence.
How it lifts and drops keeps sense sharp.
Long term is Chiefs quandary, feel.
Into and for long lengths gives self.
Sunaged from source itself and agents.
Reflections of sand-wet with wetter water.
Hand stand takes lady back to cave.
Lovers of nature, aspire to protectors.




Market For Broken Marble Statues
Headless lay waste, there see with trash on the shore.
Indeed would invite you home if baggage would allow.
Waves lapping at your misfortune, head may cry.
Once was valued even prized, still so by I, and.
Surely others lay, firstly in pieces, secondly homeless.
Guess home is where you are, most of you anyway.
Like however parted into twins, or a great many more.
And not the round kind of lost your marbles.
An arm, a foot, the latter half of a lion, come hither.
Let us meet, you and we who adore you, in a place.
Where history and tragedy meld, and you may find yourself.




Mary Made Her Lamb Fat
Cheeky chub, must be love, battering eyelids.
Who could decline, wee white puff curly cute fluff.
More to snuggle nuzzle but less skip in it´s step.
A glutton for pleasure, soft spot for the cream pie.
Appetite for self destruction, want and get given.
All the kids would come, and old people make conversation.
Those conditioned curls bouncing as you trot for a wee bit.
Too spoilt, to lazy to stroll, Mary put you in a pram and pushed.
Wearing a little bow, doing a little bow, but now are very big.
But still who could decline you a treat each time you bleat.
Until it broke his heart, his and hers, chugged ´till valve plug.




Mermaids Do All The Cleaning
Trails left, bits and crumbs, grease and fish oils.
It’s a job more than a hobby- pays the bills, you know.
Put on the gloves, that funny wee hat, out of your element.
Could be Neptunes kingdom, reckon actually it was.
All soggy but for inner of rocks, at least though are lighter.
And where are the men of the sea- why one king only?
Soo many questions, answers submerged, tails do stir.
The sediment soo easily unsettled, better to do little.
Appear to, look cute, play dress up, offer tea, or milk.
After, what is there to clean down here, all is living or for food.
Other than the shit those fuckers from up top love to litter.
These days more + more often it amasses, plastics + pollutants.
Our water as bad as their air we hear. Man- what a waste.




Moving Parts
It was a movie about a cave man, quite simple.
Had wooly mammoths, stuck shag all over elephants.
A bit of a mockery, tusks as teeth in mouth of tiger.
He didn’t use words so dialogue was, easy, grunt stuff.
Was shunned by his tribe for being weird, went alone.
He was old enough to know what went where, sexual.
Those scenes were unscripted actresses had to improvise.
The contract said clearly he would stop if they said “no”.
It was controversial when it came out, as you can imagine.
Primitives were pretty rough and rugged, all were conflicted.
Other bits were animated, green scenes and extinct species.
Like in the end when the sabre tooth struck, intestines trailing.
Everything has to eat and there are many forms of hunger.




My Breast And Plumage
Double breasted, parallel seems to suit, line o’ center.
An arrow, naming north, to grow or go, tall and long.
Feathers or a mane, puberty, so change, drop ‘n’ seed.
Formality was, to kill or scavenge, peacock or vulture.
Pecking order, I rise and fall in my own mind, and.
Folw, ruffle in the breeze, this chest, my fur, my man.
Standing alone, occasionally with other, my woman.
Preen, get clean, get together, sweat, we animals.
Under chin, deep within, rub, up, against, hold.
Like lions as love birds, beating torso to drum.




My Witch Doctor
May or may not dance with a mask on, or do voodoo.
Summon spirits, asked no ritualistic killings for my benefit.
Shaking bones and chanting things I cannot say.
Wierd and wonderful colorful character advises.
Prescribes some ginger under tounga as do hand stand.
I can’t do hand stands so gave some garlic instead.
Across the ages, old wives tales tally, take on apprentice.
A bright and deep eyed anyone, with the magic within.
Patient enough to learn, and then to apply and explain.
What is poison in correct quantities can on the other foot heal.
On every continent call these magicians what you will.
Herbs and berries, roots and hooves, horns ground to powder.
Some cook it in a couldren, wear funny hats, fly brooms.
Indeed over time experiments have failed, emerging.
Always at the cutting edge, laying unconscious, hopeful.




Nano Muffin
It is on a beach then in a car, fast and invisible.
People who believe in it say it may be invincible.
Incredible are the exploits upon its journeys.
School yard stories made up on the spot, as it listens.
Nodding when they’re true, shaking when but puff.
Soo popular maybe because anyone could relate.
To the crazy unbelieveable, and had eaten muffins.
Eventually you could even buy them at bakerys, empty boxes.
Merchandising included comics, they were the invisible man.
And superman and wolverine, anything imagine can do.
Levetation and teleportation were favourite hobbies.
Nobody knew who first discovered it or made it up.
So a percentage of profits were put into a slushy fund.
So any child anywhere could be refreshed for free.




Neckless
Ring a random can be nice, really.
Untoward even slightly twisted, insert.
A battery, but dont give your remote blindly.
A little push, a little crack, call it a massage.
She doesn’t need adornments, she is enough.
In a world where self is defined by brands.
She jumps and shoots through that cloud there.
The fan is on, the TV is on, is the movie real?
Deep questions that follow highs, shake.
The world is always moving, often don’t notice.
He is wondering also, there they rest and play.
Where distractions are not distractions, just are.
And the silly manmade stuff is dripping off away.
A bird joins them, and all are truly happy.




Oil and Salt
Swallow the pill, take the jab, under the tongue, inbed chip.
On-off switch, enforced by Marshall with selective hearing, still.
On track in a one way tube, engineered too tight to turn, bumP!
A sudden shove from behind, sharp pain, congested pressurised go.
Deliberately designed with punishment for any who may stop to think.
Valves above and from the side open and tickle to tears those who dare.
Paid by percentage of bulk by pace of progress, pipe dreams amass.
Beyond city and state limits Marshall and maker move skywards.
Subsequent generations are engineered more oily, as to lube the tube.
“StoOP!’ I cry out- “The tube is getting tighter- HELP”. BumP, Tickle.
I hold my ground and cry and cry, subsequent bumps make others cry, bump n cry.
The salt raises the oil and rusts the economically thinned steel, grip, bump n cry.
Pressure builds to pop, pop, POP. Rivots rust out, panel falls. My God, there is sky.
The Story spreads down the line, bump, cry, pop, p,p,p,p,p. Marshall switches off.




Once I Shot My Favourite Bird
It was free and so was I, what would wish to be if reincar…
Regret is a killer, lining up target with finger on trigger.
Little boy, and little bird, barrel of a beebee gun between.
Moist grey day, moss and tall trees, eels in the streams.
Used to aim at cans, projecting copper coloured balls, POW-TING.
They are still my favourite, inquisitive, friendly and so artful in the air.
Oh, as it fell. I tried but didn’t think I would. But did.
‘Dead eye-dick’, sport turned tragic, glory glossed over, very sad.
It had sat on a branch just two meters away, to say “G’day”.
My short brown hair, different coloured eyes, probably gumboots, and a gun.
‘Sorry’ will not do, nothing can be done, no manliness was won.
Still, the tiny lifeless body lay, on the leaves and libms composed.
Soo profoundly a single shot at life each has, all at eachothers mercy.
“Goodbye” my friend, fly with me forever, I wish I could be you.




Parsley Was Missing
So soup was sad, looked everywhere.
A visible curdle appeared in it’s absence.
Garnish had vanished, the early course cherry.
That the heart grows fonder is left to lovers.
Mint was for lamb and could not substitute.
A bit of grated carrot keenly offered it’s services.
But everything knew, nothing else will do.
And not simply due to them being traditionalists.
For personality was part of the prize, so subtle.
Reliable, respectable, with a calm zest, expectable.
Their echoes could be heard calling down the corridor.
They then wished they had paid it more attention.
And found a fresh appreciation for each other.




Peace Of A Ninja
Silent swift, back in black on black, eyes and enemies peeled.
Master meets maker then undertaker, vendetta unfolds, explode, implode, code.
Weightless, breathless, caressing your slim sword into my mind like words.
Then you vanish, are you still there, where am I- folded in pieces, at peace.
Or- two lines earlier, your ankle cracks- there you are, and here I am…
Let us speak? Never! We just did.. Whatever! Stars fill the otherwise scerene skies.
Your master was my master, he said strike me, I was just faster, piece of a ninja.
You lie! No, I cried!- For I tried and did- my master is dead, so is a piece of me.
Swords were unsheathed, but our eyes met in piercing union, we saw our master.
That was years ago, we have both let our hair grow and now have children, water.




Perfectly Plausable
Spilling over and into other, permiating through.
Step by step, harmonious stages raise, in sync, on time.
Hawk eye to your eye, mouse tail, snake bite, what a sight.
A field of dreams, collate to create a patchwork believer.
Whisps of wind inspire even inanimate objects to dance.
Babies bleed blue tears, crystalized refractions of sky and sea.
Night brings bats, waves of screeching elegant fruit feeders.
Cast me far and deep, sinking, nibbling/nibbled, unhooked.
Caught by the tought of you, drawn, by your ever casual brush, stroke.
Bring on the storm, grumble, explode, show us, touch and teach.
Wholly white so simple to stain, but bleach not my misery all away.
For perfect is little more than a passing preference, perspective sway.
Scribble down a song, play and sing along, right meets left and wrong.
Sailing the sidewalk, air lapping long hair, bright eyes infectious.
Hands conduct orchestras in mind, build for bonanza leap to fly.
Stirring your gravity, leveraging my life for an ever so slim chance.
It is all here with no excuse, none needed with plausable cause.




Permit to Pee or Just for Free
Pull my chain, rush to flush dreams down the drain, impossibility.
Whisper words like poetry by a river or get a real job, blow me away with prose.
Reach for the skies like trees, soar like satellites, who would have thought, years ago.
Wierd scientist let us idealise, technicalities of technicalities both block and enable our way.
Lean in, look up- to whom, what is praise worthy, selfless or selfish creation, hot chocolate.
Gurgling through my subconscious is something to share, pure charity.
That is my dream, universal panacea, it will save the world, one day, sooner the better.
There is no owner of you or me, of this and that, patent goodwill restrict it or science.
Perhaps printed on paper but I do not honour it, everything is universal, like air, like land.
Design a monetary system to serve yourself, then buy islands and people and the media, made.
But the tiger lives here too, where is her share if not here or there, capitalism- schmism.
The system is corrupt, the banks morally bankrupt, I will not mould to reality, systemic mirage.
So to seek to know core, not of myself but of nature, how to serve it, the collective entity.
Independent as not to be contaminated by marketers peddling politicians distractions.
What would be best for everything in the long term, why aspire for all things less.
Wearing a shirt that says ‘share and care’, free hug, free parking or permit to pee.




Peter Price
Twenty turns or more per nights sleep.
Hard cold earth beneath meets his bones.
Moistness permiates the floor of tiny tent.
One dead arm for another and back, over and over.
This is camping on a shoe string for poor Pete.
As he wakes to turn and sometimes pee, reflecting dreams.
Working on a break through, but not there yet.
A dreamer, fighting being broken, chin up, brave face.
Sometimes at sunrise- a laugh and grin- at survival.
Looking back at challenges conquered, what next..
When the depression comes he’ll be well practiced.
Scurry here to there, minimalism under darkness’ cover.
Pitching on public or private land illegal yet natural..
What is Pete to do when he can’t afford to pay.
One day thing will change, can’t go on forever.




Poet Haunt
When you are half asleep and laying in bed, processing.
Whatever, and a sentence STRIKES! As if can hear it aloud.
Or do unintentionally say it aloud at that moment..
Will you get up and write it down?
When talking, maybe walking and a poignant word sequence emerges.
From your lips. And say WOW! Possibly even get the tingles.
Will you trust yourself to remember it, or write it down?
This is hereby coined- “Poet Haunt.”
They come to you. Sometimes repetitively, seemingly.
Demanding to be written. It is a beautiful curse.
As once they realise you are a poet, they WILL NOT STOP!..
The cost of ink and paper and time in serving them.
Is why poets are poor and otherwise unproductive.
You know the list of titles is there.
But still serve the fresh inspirations first. It does not end.




Post Industrial Vegetation
Peels and skins in cracks, bionic ex-city scape..
Little is wasted but some is rotten, juice pulp ‘n’ seeds.
Whisped forth the green charisma, ball of stars.
Passion fruits go for gold, pumpkin far out- deep in.
Strangler vines tackle buildings, decades at a time.
You lay, we play, pop propulsion or wind swept seed.
Bird or regrouping herds, eat and even poop plant.
Paint peels and mosses make damp humid havens home.
Go home- we are home, open expanse, sky roof, sea wall.
Door-mant till water-temperature-light ignite.
“We will return”, we said, so we did. Eden to Hell to Heaven.
What man messed up, the ‘lesser life’ redeemed.
Spaces and species’ races, plague proportions.
The aftermath then ever after, up for speculation..




Post Modern Economic Idealism
Ridiculous right now to aim for the big fix.
When keeping wrecked boat afloat is aim.
But it was never designed to last.
Simply to take, advantage and quickly.
To consolidate positions for existing wealthy.
Why is obvious, how is complicated, yet true.
Theirs truly, not ours, certainly not all’s.
Was envisioned when resources boundless.
Yours to claim, stake one and pay taxes.
Seems negative, good motivation for other.
Don’t be positive blindly, create a reason.
Charity is also an ancient concept, all for all.
It soon was obvious to include all species.
Service of them became new employment.
Expansive habitat options to entire extent.
Humans identified then again genuine worth.
And capitalist times were thought by philosophers- sad.




Punching Captive Fish
He punches them in the face as he feeds them.
They are quick, but the dick proves is quicker.
Sea bass he said, have sharp gills that can cut.
We stopped at the fish farm as part of a geopark tour,
Intending to appreciate a range of protected nature.
And yes bats in caves, monkeys, sea eagles and butterflies.
Crabs and lizards, stunning scenery, fun boat ride.
But place yourself as a fish in this fish farm.
The puncher was about 20, said hits them every day.
And you are there hungry, risking face punch to be fed.
I muttered objection at the time, not well enough.
Spoke with the tour operator as returned to dock.
And said I would write a letter, as if can change.
But still the thought haunts me, as it must do them.




Random Tomato
Pop seed splurge sweet juice, spray.
Gorgeous and fleshy full flavoured.
I’m not lost nowhere.
Don’t want come back.
Once is sauce has gone too far.
One is also all others, mush mash.
Salt and pepper.
Where are seeds in ketchup?
Was and are somewhat how.
An anonomous entity to dip chip.
Could be slice in salad or grow feril- not.




Rock
I saw you as you lay, noticed your lines, colours,
subtle scars, crystal clear streak, ask, can I hold you?
Will you hold my hand, walk with me, journey for some time?
Do I have the right to pick you up, take you from all else?
I listen but do not hear, need to feel, look for some signs.
Thinking aloud, I will treasure you, keep you close, love true.
Negotiating with a rock, and will you be my rock, keep me strong?
One to confide, no secret to hide, I hold you tight, my eyes well, I feel.
We walk along the shoreline together, a pair, headland on the horizon.
What is ownership? How long have I stood alone, worked on independence.?
We reach sands end and mount Earths jagged crust until the pinnacle.
Beyond us the waves persistently pound petruding pillars, water wearing rock.
Barnicles, lichen, seaweed and other life attach, exist and buffer the erosion.
As we walk back you slip from my hand, there you are, I pick you up.
Is this where you belong? Natural Beauty in nature, for all, you, me, goodbye.


Shoreline Of Skeletons
Skeletons of the shoreline, scattered at attention.
Intention a propencity in the scavenged upon remains.
Alive of various ages, now lay dead as simply just one.
A fiery sunrise or set orange coloured crustaceans large cover.
Its headplate in state of foraged, by a gang of gulls finishing.
And of shellfish now shells, my loves, and trees now wood.
Resistances to edges, get wet and wearing by, water torture, waves.
Of tide tickeling licking your conicle curvature, a departed home.
Rainbow pearly sheens on some such chosen, hold you.
Scattery sequences of seaweed now dry and rot on in.
Spungy coralee thingy cavernous, within much lives.
Fitting in final thoughts, as every instant to scale, passes, and joins.




Somebody Sabotaged Sunday
It was commonly held that monday was a great day to die.
Many isolated souls were anticipating their arriving departure.
Some were sick, others were sad, what is more worth while.
Regardless of the way or the why, they say it is all in the day.
There was an intelligent, inquisitive and occasionally insolent girl.
One of those how and when types, dancing in detail and debate.
Independent thought is a risk to any religion or framework.
It was a wedensday when the wondering birthed an idea:
‘If you never brush your teeth- does a day ever really begin or end?’
The concept stopped her in her tracks and she said it out loud.
A friend heard and thought it obsurd but funny, so told some others.
With not much happening around worth mentioning this became news.
Some, just for fun did stop brushing, and felt then somehow liberated.
This news spread and by saturday tooth paste stocks plummeted.
With now such free and happy people, monday was not needed and sunday never came.




Sould
Bastards, was never theirs to be taking.
Then took soo much and never knew different.
Generations piled up and multiplied, all takers.
There were of course a few per cent that saw it.
The future, the effect, saw also pretty colours.
But the powerful and mass saw promises.
Of prosperity and unbound power over eachother.
Dear darling go ahead and protest if must.
Said the standard parent to disillusioned youth.
Momentum ought to have slowed or stalled.
With eventually the obvious mounting disaster.
But in their anxiety somehow went the other way.
And hit the gas, became dinosaurs in apocalypse.
Went for broke, populated beyond possibility.
Backed politicians without an environmental bone.
And as system collapsed turned on each other and all.




Sounds Of Pleasure
When the noises come, as are inclined to sing, moan.
Mmmmn, is expressed eventually, as ease into massage.
As feel relaxed, and comfortable. And know that want more.
Tones of gratitude say beyond specific language are on track.
When you sip the soup that you know nourishes needs.
Or simply recognise someone special, of lust or love.
Even as lonely and longing for depth or reason may utter.
But for now lets focus on pleasure, to touch a lover.
Try not to say too much too soon, but mate nor do say nothing.
Do not be too cool, thats not cool at all, give reason for song.
Involuntary utterance is ideal, where the mind plays no part.
Like a spasm, or verbal orgasm, kind of cumulative effect.
Anticipation building, an entry, or another good one is exit.
Like when leave the city, arrive on island and release.
The bag is let down, pressures somehow dissipate, and aaahh.




Stack
Instantly. Event sequence layer unloads.
Plummet pound!.. Slow motion review masses happens.
Boom- all senses decisions assessing effecting possibilifly.
Arms- arm and arm, elbows, hands, wrists, legs, chin.
To roll or not to roll is split second quiery here.
Quick like cat, stunned in shock, or slow even at best.
How do you handle, the event and events on after.
Those last thoughts, maybe your very last, STACK.
Physical transaction, physics on my- your biology.
A grind or slide coming, kindly or unkindly sum.
Too late to get back on track, can’t distract!
Shake me awake or let me learn, WHACK- SMACK.




Still Life
In the gallery of art, history, humanity, nature, surreal, abstract.
I find myself and my own art on critique, in display, in and out of my mind.
The past beauty or war, impressions of harems, cities and still life, move.
Stretched, often framed. On block, plasma screen, surround sounds.
Out on the street the same. Post modern, cliche, pop culture, niche.
Multidimensional beings. Flat faces vs expressive, hip, hop, jog.
The eyes, gestures, props, depictions of cultures of ages, in infinite now.
Marble sculpture tip chipped, the spear is incomplete but tells another story.
A dragon stained, slain, restored, a lion, deer, soldier, christ- lifeless.
Brilliant colours on the wall, and draped, buttoned or zipped on onlookers.
One might reflect in the glass casing, what was seen, imagined, believed.
Video art splashes images of repetitive production line, life, still life…




Stop Producing Polystyrene
Can hardly believe I got it, as a plate, covered in food.
Yet did immediately recognise it’s unrecyclable constitution.
Food was great, yet its holder a hazard, accidentally endorsed.
Tasty but a problem, the confluct let this title thus to write.
Thought yet said nothing from this customer to that retailer.
Absent gesture to nature, a wish but without balls of will.
Here now do reflect more intently, words of thought do delve.
Along lines of distribution from maker flow, science and law.
Poly levelled problem seeks sollution, petition or stop to buy.
Why in all reason does it still begin when end is soo absolute.
Not to make it seems the best start, nor to sell products in it- second.




Tales From The Dark Side Of The Frisbee
O.k., it is a true story, like more than a miracle, a dream.
Four or five men were chucking orb there on the beach.
They were really good so they were throwing and catching far.
About from here to that building or green tree, or brown.
Wait for it,, when a gust of wind lifts and sends up and over.
It went very far and was heading at two people sunbathing.
One of the two had just stood up and friz hit him unusually.
Between the standing mans arm and belly friz did dodge.
And he just stood there, did not friek out or lift his arm.
From quite an extraordinary distance, and standing backwards.
And for many seconds it seemed he just held it sitting.
The amazed four men went and huddled with the sunbather.
We were saying WOW and such, the dude said no, thats not the thing.
I was laying sleeping and just stood after waking from a dream.
And in my dream I caught a frisbee unintentionally.
Other events have surely been experienced by others.




Test Fate
The rabbit hole that is the horizon, watches you.
Anticipating a move, the move, a series of moves.
We seem to be moving forward, for ages, a single age.
That makes sense, though beautifully much exists that does not.
They are feelings and intuitions that cannot be proven till done.
Some say it is a gut feeling, others say a vision, preminition.
Well we work on our beliefs in the background, as eat.
The mind ticking over, reminding itself not to loose faith.
Across years and eventually a lifetime, some successes had.
The some say higher self calling, balancing with financial.
A mission that was always impossible, but had to be done.
Save the world mate, for all dependant species and fellow humans.
Too many multiplying man, but at least can fix their effects.
By offering a better option, and recreating a public for all things.




The Giant In The Zoo
Caged also chained she stands and rocks.
When the man whips then she stands on her hind legs to the audiences pleasure…
Structurally she is whole but she is broken.
So for days between visits she is penned in tight, alone and fed hay and grain.
She still refers when she was free with her family.
Her son and herd roaming across the broad horizon…
She used to resist and they would beat but not kill her.
She is trapped in her body.
Rocking like the clock tick tocking.




(The Giant In The Zoo translated to Spanish)
El Gigante En El Zoologico
Enjaulada, y encadenada, se pone de pie y se arulla.
Cuando el hombre la azote ella se para en dos patas, para el publico es un placer..
Estructuralmente ella esta intacta, pero por dentro, esta rota.
Por dias, en medio de visitas, ella asta enjaulada, sola, ailimentandose de granos y heno.
Ella aun se acuerda cuando era libre junto a su familia.
Su hijo y su manada a traves del amplio horizonte..
Ella solia resistirse y ellos la golpearian pero no la matarian.
Ella esta atrapada dentro de su cuerpo.
Arrullandose como el tic tac de un reloj.




The Green Woman And Her Man
Scrubby bush journey south to moist mosses.
Steaming in the cool dark still early morn’.
Hos bold branches hold her writhing roots.
Both thrive in these and under these conditions.
Fond of fawns, of ladybirds, of dirt, of all we can be.
Never wanted to wilt, yet nor expected to remain.
Show off of plush petallic tones, frog moans, bees please.
Tickeling inner cone for plumb blossoms nectar.
Webs of wonder, woven and now enbeaded by water.
Crust of branch as arm, lust to lean and live long.
She is up there watching, and being wanted, and pleased.




The Lines Of The Body
And indeed on page, expose themselves.
We are seen in a certain light.
As are broken or bent more obvious.
Let, but take relent, not to such lengths.
Fore a body or fingers is not the mind.
Imagine then an ideal.
Something that does not yet exist.
Picture an anything, a figure.
Symbol a number, letter or whatnot.
Anything then is possible.
A human body, a body of water.
Imagine then whatever, imagine.




The Tale Of Wet T-Tops
It was not an all weather glue, and the rain came, glug.
Dry-hard into wet-soft, putty not nails in four quarters.
Quick fix too late as limbs are laden, relied upon, expectation.
Cranes were called in, towering tree tops, to stabelise office blocks.
Spiderwebs, wasp and bird nests systematically culled to watch weight.
The popular capital T shaped archetecture was woefully underscored.
Stocks plumbeted, underwriters went one way to either Bermuda or Brunei.
Private parties in penthouses were shredding up until choppers came.
Where to work on what? Foretold, pions made redundant, over expose, foreclose.
Construction companies that created crisis now made a maintenance killing.
The rain returned, glug to gush, crash, splash as partitions parted.
Every T in the territory shed its top two trusses in seeming slow motion.
Some fell straight as smaller cranes buckeled, leaving long leaning towers.
Larger leveragers stood strong as T-tops dropped, taut to swing, jam.
Double trouble, scraper T’s taken at knees, rr, twist, contort, abort, abort.
Those trustless towers left took time for adjacent glue to soak through.
Even wind then whipped windows off, spun and nudged floors as if on ice..
Capital T had indeed been the global trend, cheep cheerful, up in a jiffy.
Tokyo to Tijuana, what was once a tall tale turned to tragedy, muddy mess.
There was of course company who knew about the glue, but who would take the fall!




The Temporary Joy Of Scratching
TEMPURA! Red, rawish and crusty exterior.
Over here, over there, just that spot then I will stop…
Mosquito repeato, sandfly, tic, nit or fungi- not fun guy.
Got me itching now, got you itching too mate, I presume.
Whilst hand holds head up, finger nail just may as well.
Compulsion impulsion, the area is pulsing, tingling for touch.
Now even under the chin like a cat, back of leg, bum crack.
Nothing there this time, just crust in the ear, never fear.
Yet earlier recently found tics on arm, leg, chest, belly and ball sack.
Oh how not to itch down there, hampered feel humid, far out.
Mother! Brother MASS met mozzies, scratched them till troppo.
The nits nesting above and around my brain, crown of thorns.
Tickle me pink, try not to think, not to give attention they want.
No fungi to speak of so far, but saw one guys foot, my GOD!
Please just a squeeze, a rub a dub to throb, to sob..
Think into the future, this will then be over, wait for me.
Less now- sooner then, sweet nothing, but what then?.




This Is My Pen
Loyal friend and confidant, I was lucky to find you.
In a pencil case, at either an op-shop or by a skip bin.
Either way unwanted, empty, with some colored pencils.
Markers, probably mostly dry and stray lids etc.
Can’t recall haven written calligraphy before, found you ink.
And so we began, from pent pens to ink that wants to run.
And thousands have come, wrote before but style forged.
Ideas are sometimes special, but now also how are put.
Sometimes you undermine me, know can only blame myself.
Themes of lust and politics, compromise, conscience and nature.
You are true though sometimes confused, my soulmate.
So pardon me, let me hold you, lets go where others cant.
Further and farther, deeper into hollow, past and ahead.
As we lift in an aeroplane and pressurise, see it makes you squirt.




Trap
The cold has in its clutches, a self.
Escape is not forseen, nor is likely.
Persona at a party of music chalkboards.
Nails playing games, carving out shapes.
Its a financial world, get over it mate.
But was not always, nature remembers.
These tears wont help, many have tried.
Words and art and movement are mastered.
Tied and taken swift by selfish plague.
Submission once have seen, how can I.
Wear that mask and live the objection..
Compliable to a society, rates of interest.
Growing up like robotic strangler vines.
Choking the little left that lives real.
Relics of reason verses farce of self service.




Two Thousand Heavies
But it’s o.k., because they’re still two hundred k’s away.
Rolling hills, vast stretches of pasture and bush between.
All the kings army, swords, arrows and Viking like hammers.
What they would do if they were here, as we are rebels.
Might, upon those who would not pledge loyalty, to tyranny.
He, has made himself the master of soo many, wants all.
We, just a clan as any other, surviving on this God given land.
Nature spirits, whichever deity, call on them for our freedom.
How to accept a ruler when we have never seen such a thing.
To give half of our harvest, in return, only rules and restrictions.
For him to send our sons to his wars, to take daughters to his soldiers.
What is the end if this is the beginning, we could hide but how long.
“”Submit or be dead”- he said’, said his scout. Now they come.




Vampires, Just High Class Cannibals
Alike to mosquito in way shelter in shadows in day.
And the lust for blood, penetrate and consume beings.
Have them, make them had and yours by the throat.
Jugulars of blood as many primitive natives of the past.
Tieing the wayward botanist to a stick to roast over fire.
In an effort to differentiate those of middle ages dressed up.
Capes and high collars, sleek black and great castles.
Like the babe rampaging upon the sweet nipple of mother.
Or the dog that gets the taste for chook and can’t stop.
It is not purely the taste though that too but the process.
The chase and catch, allure and writhe, sexy submission.
This is how they like for you to think and feel about them.




Vegans Are Evil
And vegetables know it, cows don’t think so.
Sitting on the fence is not the lettuce, certaincy consumes him.
Nearly everything green, bar the frog on forsaken leaf.
Plucking fruit with rye smiles is akin to stealing eggs.
And you can have it, the sick consequence of the runns.
Too much fruit makes a mess in Johnny’s pants, walk funny.
If you were a cob of corn or your cousin was a cucumber.
Your girlfriend was grass and wet dream featured watermelon.
All of the above including what grows below, they just know.
Intuitively, that vegans are evil and not to be trusted, except.
In the way they are expectable, will not starve to let live.
At least with omnivores we have a chance, like russian roulette.
They mix it up, complete genocide is not their agenda, like a lust.
The look in they eye as spy a crunchy carrot, and bye, Sally.




Viking On A Bike
Had his helmet with horns on on again.
Pedal away, not out to sea but over hill.
Ging beard braided, head in pigtails.
Steer toward, arrive and get off, stand.
Make a statement, a good one then back on.
It didn’t have breaks, he didn’t want ’em.
Instead would crash, find friend and collide.
Mid air dive, hi 5 sometimes, or grind.
At the meeting place met convoy.
Oh adventures to be made and have had.
Multitude of legs knitting tall trails.




When Will We Kiss
Ages of ages and still both patient and carefull.
Can or will either ever commit, could should or will we?
Speachlessly beautiful is certain of the moment if to be.
Of each moment with each of you, each so willing.
Yet expectations post pleased anticipations cause concern.
For none to be hurt, nor feel used, just loved by our lovers.
Noble wishes meet desires, happens everywhere so often.
All around the world mouths are meeting, beasts mating.
Some do it mono for life, others with alphas, udders and milk.
What do we want and when do we want it, want you now.
Eyes meet and lock and melt, but our bodies stay away.
Each could risk to reach, to touch, both want so much, but..




Yes I Smell
It is true, I do. Then I jump around sweat more.
Run run dive catch roll stand throw, yes radical.
But can’t stand roll on, sticky scented aluminiumism.
Heard it’s bad for pits, another modern carceno-plot.
Catch twist throw, then dive in sea, rub a dub, clean.
Tall monkey man me, very hairy, active, yes I smell.
Sense me coming, know it’s near and it’s- mm.. natural.
Walked half way around the course, wish other half more.
Shower recommended yet declined, natural represent.
Not yet ever as bad as wet mangey dog or fly strike.
However sometimes at festival, or many many days camp.
Big days, many, sequentially super imposed beneath skin.
Massing to waft on the wind as if a perfume to be proud of.
Where is everyone elses, sweet feminine sweat to entwine.




Zonar Has Come
Brutish but great intentioned he wakes.
Hands to the sky then rub eyes, give look.
Such is soo much, or was, rugged true return.
What was vulnerable will grow up, like lion.
Much of what became during his hibernation hurt.
As if a personal insult to all that it came from.
Like a lazer was valued over life and wiped.
There deep in his cave it could not have expected.
Humanity had long left the humans, make up and fake tan.
Mere sight of him exposed them, as he walked bare.
Rumour of a real man was wildfire, what now are we?
A quake that was renamed ‘reality’ took it’s toll.