only music can give more love than a broken heart At the long last memory Upon such grim glee A coloured slit dove wait To decide if the sea comes up too early Or if it doth cames down too late first jazzy breasts the first sight and feel tides in June occasionally when I am not asleep and just like rock I will remember your face better than the moon in the old folks home quite soon Bethlehem boys Swedish girls Luer needles love venom her image gets younger lifes memorial behind Nelsons eye my first poem in colour felt velvet blue orgasmic but was devil and sea red violet cruelty stutters not to speak so eloquent tender O earthling souls hell bent airborne drift upon year another cherry blossom tear and falling leaves from trees and other of natures catastrophes I like most to stand on an empty beach to listen to my own life passing with the lapping of the water to attempt to be in harmony with all the beauty that is around me the little in the here and now and the vast reservoir of my privileged past like a beautiful aria sung of love and loss death as the inevitable outcome of life being an outcast for ones individuality and unwillingness to conform to convention the commitment to use ones intelligence to go wherever and I repeat wherever reason takes us and damn the consequences to love honestly and without any thought of the likely outcome to love big to love with everything a broken heart can give - and only music can give more love than a broken heart He poked his books back onto the bookshelf after dusting as if they were potentially dangerous lions in a circus cage and realizing this he desisted and poked more as if stoking up a fire and on realizing this he shoved at them as if defending himself from them which indeed he was Harlequin the Hornpipe damn and blast his time curse those rosy coloured flakes of brandy vine we were all waiting for you to come back soon now I lay ever sleeping every afternoon for I was Andpom the Pierrot fighting off all that frightened warding off all that did drear glistening all that did brighten in the dead of night brushing up the dead mans tear well iz is the devil this woke up this morning blue yea I iz the devil this woke up this morning blue I walk like a shadow but now iz is hid in Wednesdays draw I walk like a shadow but now iz is hid in Wednesdays draw I got a face like a black of spade say my shadow in that draw heart like a diamond that lie dead on a reddening floor sky chains standstill kiss the drowning sea herself a goodbye shadow emergency face contortions regret pain final diary entry a simple candle spluttering out all over my dream of you Bethlehem boys Swedish girls Luer needles love venom her image gets younger lifes memorial behind Nelsons eye my first poem in colour felt velvet blue orgasmic but was devil and sea red violet cruelty silver scorpion even death would have turned its head away – to tell the truth ole promise you a better life fingers crossed behind His back will he ever rob Peter to pay Simon back? all change they say cure shrink fishy morals got a wise crack suspicious damn well come think about it come what may be will be ever day ever nakedness hid under her dress though Id like to be sure He poked his books back onto the bookshelf after dusting as if they were potentially dangerous lions in a circus cage and realizing this he desisted and poked more as if stoking up a fire and on realizing this he shoved at them as if defending himself from them which indeed he was stutters not to speak so eloquent tender O earthling souls hell bent airborne drift upon year another cherry blossom tear and falling leaves from trees and other of natures catastrophes Harlequin the Hornpipe damn and blast his time curse those rosy coloured flakes of brandy vine we were all waiting for you to come back soon now I lay ever sleeping every afternoon for I was Andpom the Pierrot fighting off all that frightened warding off all that did drear glistening all that did brighten in the dead of night brushing up the dead mans tear walks around with blue print in her hand leaning on her memory more than a little bit knowing how important is holding back earth and brick quickly gathers up her hair puts in a poppy coloured bow then turns around slowly lets it cascade wonder fall all down spins around fast surprised like but makes sure she catches your eye sly let the puddles free air and sun start it all up to grow gives you an estimate in guineas says she has to go everlasting Peter frown thy self inflicted aqueducts hippy green sparkles and sofa sat rooftop views look over your shoulder for solid pink ink Peter left a thimbleful of blood called it a plate of fresh fish tails looking up nostalgias skirts judge a book by its cover and you might just get the measure of the ink inside we killed ourselves spittle aint really necessary Lil we went our young day away we killed ourselves strung out strangers street we killed ourselves churches were out to nail her but could never get to her with an emergency in time pulling out the public from her johnny come lately mouth by the fact I did not see the sun You were in my eyes in my mind we often danced again Poems really matter for three reasons no one has yet come up with: I am not a poet I write poems all the same some see such writing as grandeur I see it as shame yellow star up in the air like a morning alarm you descended to land upon my arm I went in search of God found a star rising up slowly from the sea IN THE SAME UNIVERSE of all the atoms which will be us when we’re done and dusted wherever our ash gets laid and when in all the memories left we are not remembered we will still be connected no matter when the Earth burns-up no matter how far space gets strung out how empty and cold it gets we will still have been in time together My name is Dying One I am the One and Only Bleeding One Believe in Me before the Night is Done Id like a woman who is thin with skin and oranges two croissants would be nice roses velvet purple red squashy long knobs of butter petals smell nice and wide aluminium chairs for breakfast with blue straws to suck the juice inside Not one for excuses Not any old song would do – that is true But just once – clouds turned blue Even at a drop of a hat She would stand blow her note bend one leg She could sing em like that He’d lived through that summer not sure what to think Wrote about how strawberries could be written in ink The sawing a woman in half trick I am innocent of all guilt well, at least ways how can you prove it? I was not even there at the time of your misconceptions about me I was busy serving time for the last frame-up shall I step outside the poem and tell you the only secret you would be wise to know? reflections on courtship wooing etc. soul sister I am torn into shreds ritual of words touch and then thrust beautiful women their necks so breakable – long like that of loyal swans yet all women swapped my bouquet of love for their gift of agony how I think of them as butchers of my heart their ornaments sag and upon some others chest I died in so many ways in such opinion of me if I could do great wickedness upon them O how I think so long and hard upon such judgements as I would make would it all be Walt Disney if I had such power as Solomon to cut them in half at the very least? pink Cind bloomed balmy then milk out of her reddened sail goldfish bowl wait and see juice marine green metropolis artists did queue echo rain upon rain they came again and again just for me she once made the sea go all wavy I did see it with my own eye smile she had always for the night scruffiest sea pine urchin blueberry midnight she sang raggeldy taggle higgledy tiggledy curse those petals of pink Cind left ‘em chained to their pain dandelion frock rock fey as now under flagstones she lay not so full wide her legs I learned her a way to smelt Schumanns wrist silvered sovereignty off her remove forever that smell of him I could not abide I stole the judge’s wardrobe that night I can tell you
Posted on: Thu, 03 Jul 2014 02:48:52 +0000
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