I'm home and I want to show you things I have been doing. Here are some poems I have written.
Peace, Love, Justice, Jews, Edmund Kean, William and other Holidays.
One, two, three,
Aee, Bee, Cee,
Children Raise your arms to me and prey.
For I am dire for you beat beat beat
When will you understand that television is true,
And the wars are going on outside the box,
With the table and chairs and great white boards, you things.
These fingers, ah the simile for dexterity
Eagle spraying it's bombs in celebration
its cee lab orb ate tion
You great children holding action men toward the night sky
and pedestrian crossings stars and stripes.
England listen to your people
When is the bowl going to flow over and remember itself.
Eat it yourself injustice, William was right.
And the sun rose again the next morning and the cats were on the roofs stroking at the moon.
Manana
Between the crossing
Lay a carcus, pink of feathers.
As it picked itself up
And lay back down,
Again one fell from the ground.
It bounced and the ground
was solid beneath the recent fall.
I picked up my rifle
my fingers pink in the cold,
A smile for the dying.
It's beak opened and
It was the angle,
that said the most
about aviation.
Between the crossing
it bounced and the ground
was solid beneath the recent fall.
Tired.
About the bum that lay sleeping on the western front
In rival position from the lemonade,
And whore, tattered boldly holding their hands out,
A whisper in the wind through hair,
Whist bible pushers sign
the papers.
'Let's break up!' - and get over the times we hate it
scared from the bold looks scolding
all approaching from the western front.
'Let's make war and pillage the silage heaps from
the Irish troops that left us.'
Let us semantically twist romantically and forget.
We died.
Lets smile to lakes and lie
when now we have probing lights to destroy online.
Let's make love and oh tired tried tested blated
relations gifts at christ mass christ church belched a h a hah aha ha.
A Review of Happiness in the 'Emotional' section of a trashy magazine
He smiles and all too soon we
can realize that he and
everyone in the room is happy.
Happy with the world
happy with dried fruit stealing husband
Happy to give
Happy to contribute to the word-
His smile grows heavier on his face, squinting his eyes.
Happy to laugh in comfort
Laugh at anything painful
"Ghosts out there"
Happy to bite,
Expensive marketing schemes
The trumpets are devine with a thick custard
The gravely voice is happy to say
How happy it is and we should be
-the mans face folds in on itself
and his eyes shut
and his mouth opens
and his happiness comes out in a cry
a weep
a pathetic weep of happiness.
"Cat comes home as Hitler"
Wonderfully happy world
Lightly cracking the
Skulls of sadness.
Put a smile on
Because we must all be happy.
Convenient and happy
Signing with a five star rating
Of anything that requires me
Shock me
Shock me
"Poem shocks to sadness"
The saddest happiness of all.
(Villanelle) - Grandpa is a Razor Clam
Must I grasp this soft, sponge hand?
When outside grass fields wake
and rise like clams when salt washes over sand.
It smells awful as I stand
With a straight back/ beep/ that lines steady shake-
Why must I grasp this soft, sponge hand?
Up and in, the moist lungs struggle to expand
As we disagree about those pills you must take
and rise like clams as salt washes over sand.
Beep, beep, beep, like the metronome so bland,
and how quiet you played the radio. Lake
-lap and grasp this soft sponge hand.
"Ain't nothing but a hound dog, hey Grandpa?"
That poor spine, there is no medicine in this ache
"Don't rise like clams when salt washes over sand
I'll make my own sandwich this time Grandpa.
I'll make it for your wife, Grandmas sake."
Why must I grasp this soft, sponge hand
and rise like clams when salt washes over sand.
More to come soon folks. Some sketches I have been doing are scattered between the poems.
