"Immolation"
I move into you
like a roaring Queensland Summer
You’re overtaken by heat, yet think I’m unobtainable
I’m too far away
A grown-arsed man
owns the footsteps he walks in
travels his world
scared of a woman
gone
grown-arsed girl
“Man Oh Man
she’s so not safe,
she’s so non-linear”
I move into you
like a roaring Queensland Summer
You think I’m unobtainable
I’m too far away
The fuel is laid
Sparks lit
communication is at least laid
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“Three simple rules in life: If you do not go after what you want, you'll never have it. If you do not ask, the answer will always be no. If you do not step forward, you will always be in the same place.”
"I tore myself away from the safe comfort of certainties through my love for truth - and truth rewarded me."Simone de Beauvoir
Passionless lies turns to unmoved bigots thoughts
with emotionless half arsed hearts consumed by hate
splitting hairs we all know fact from fiction
Try to claim killing the unborn is care giving
then this retro bias claims a man has no right to speak
equality speaks from the soul without division
Where each son has a mother who protects who
when lines are drawn in the sand this is not about gender
This is not about women having the right to kill
Or even twisted sinners of men who live on cloud coo coo
Time waits on no man or woman to love and cherish each living heartbeat
we are brothers and sisters of the one God
His words have impact in those whom truly believe
Whilst arching in a turtle-neck
A breeze blew softly by,
Too young to have a nosebleed,
Instead I made it cry.
‘What have you seen, where do you go?’
I wondered up aloud.
‘I’m off to see the Nondle,’
It answered like a cloud.
‘What kind of ventivness is that?’
I arsed as it rolled by.
‘The kind that twickers from the lisp,
And giggles from the eye.’
‘Will there be tea and room for me
Aboard your merry bus?
I’d love to see a Nondle
I’d really make a fuss.’
‘Your snoggling at its finery
Is something to behold.
A notion filled with butterscotch.
A whimsy- ready rolled.’
The breeze, who doubled at the chin,
Continued on its wabe,
Declaring as it gathered speed,
‘Oh, joyous in the dabe!’
And so, with charm and common flare
We followed like a stump.
Growing ever after
To see the Nondles hump.
I Have a Serious Case Of... (how the title SUPPOSED to look!!!)
Boredom.
Ennui.
Tedium.
Apathy.
Disinterest.
Indifference.
Lethargy.
Monotony.
Dullness.
Lassitude.
Listlessness.
Repetitiveness (repetitiveness).
Incuriosity.
Jadedness.
Disregard.
Immobility.
Unfocussed.
Distraction.
Disinclination.
Aversion.
Avoidance.
Discontentment…
… or just plain “cannot be arsed”!
What I've become I really despise
My life compiled of deceit & lies
Empty words lacking truth
A deceptive nature stemmed from youth
No feelings of guilt nor remorse felt
Lying with ease not a moment dwelt
Exceptionally tangled web weaved
Ensuring stories are concise and believed
People see my potential which Will inevitably die
I will be the one in which all could rely
There's no spark left; the excitement’s gone
The first felt enthusiasm decreased to none
The more trust I obtain, the less praise I receive
I battle the instincts that want to deceive
Trust is earned and once this is reached ;
that gained trust will soon be breached
expectations not met; excused by deceit
I long for my recreational retreat.
I could say I am sorry but it is always lie
I cant be arsed anymore, why should I try
If I was to be avoided, it should be like the plague.
Many things in life are done by half measures,
half heartedly and half arsed.
If I was, let's say for arguments sake, homosexual,
I would definitely wish to be flamboyant and raging,
not just a little bit of a fruit.
If I was a motorised vehicle, because car is not correct,
I would not wish to have any blank dash spaces.
I need all the buttons to function.
If I was a human being, I do try hard to be,
I would reach out to others and stroke their heads,
that is after all where the driver sits.
Have no pity for the overweight,
the out of breath at the garden gate,
the struggling in and out of cars,
cnsumer of syrup and chocolate bars.
Walking sticks and mobility scooters,
the difficult bras encasing hooters.
Red faced men and lard arsed women,
their promise of tomorrow slimming.
Condemn me now, I'm for the blaming,
in this campaign, this body shaming.
So many things beyond control,
my ugly skin and shallow soul,
but when I walk I leave no hole.
People say I'm out of touch,
I think that we accept too much,
fat piggy people should disgust.
Their need,
selfish
greed,
want,
desire,
gluttony,
feed,
pig,
and
opinionated.
Big is beautiful,
big and proud.
And all the while,
the dying sound,
cry of starvation,
die of starvation,
you,
You lie of starvation!
because the pudding was not chocolaty enough!
because there is no ice cream left,
if your wanting mouth needs to consume,
feast on torment of starving children,
drink only tears of broken mothers.
They warm,
midwinter’s summer days.
And,
by thinning blood in thickening veins,
for lustful and immodest reasons,
cause men to think,
against god’s odds,
they’ve managed to reverse the seasons.
We dumb-arsed, head-f***ed, simple sods.
VOYAGE
we got to the shore
with a common goal to score
who sees us through the vast?
the lot was cast
it fell on goat
to paddle the boat afloat
never was such a story told
but who could be bold
to question the rat-arsed gods
whose empty heads are wisdom
pods
yea the gods were too wise
never to have thought twice
to know a goat can't
concentrate
when a bag of grain is a
boatmate
deep in the water's deep
all passengers left to weep
the grains. o the grain
got goat's sight drained
the water gave a wink
we were about to sink
anytime the water frowned
goat sat down for a human
compatriot to drown
insane goat leading poor souls
towards a common goal
left some souls to perish
for mere maize to flourish
the journey. dreadful journey
was to the island of honey
we started long ago
but not even a fourth way thro
to save maize is goat's aim
forgetting the reason why we
came
we were deceived
we were deceived
our fathers thought on seeing
the gods we've seen the
Supreme Being
the Supreme Being never lies
He, the Almighty One never dies
the deceitful gods lie
the mortal gods die!
How busy, busy is the life
Fat-arsed but Oh so humble Bumble Bee
He has no worries. What a simple life
Unhappy. How can he be?
He trundles round my garden where my roses grow
He is so gentle and slow
He always checks each blossom missing none
He drinks the nectar. Even stops to hum
Not like his cousin the Honey Bee
Which dashes here and there Shaped like a wasp
and therefore most carefully watched
Is safe in his hive and lasts the winter through. From cold he is free
The temperature tumbles
Alas the Bumbles
No hive as such
The Queen her Workers and the independent Drones
Will die
Mind you, the drones live high wide and handsome
Once hatched they leave the nest in mid summer
Their only function is to fertilise the Queen who bids them welcome
The baby Queens live with their mother
Only the newly mated Queens will live
And start the cycle off again
nine torn kimonos
man sits staring out window---
bare arsed slacker
*a stitch in time saves 9
I hate you even more-er now
No I hate you mostest
You slimy evil fat arsed cow
That’s why I keep you closest
I wrote this much earlier today.... I guess I was psychic.....
"Am I Here?"
Been a crazy arsed day,
Spinning head, I start to sway...
Let me know when I get here....
Cause there's one thing I really fear....
If it ain't me....
And I can't see....
Who do I be???
Am I behind door number three?
Is this now?????
Little Miss Tough Squit,
Was downing a "shot",
When some jive-arsed turkey...
Parked his butt right next to her spot...
He oogled Miss Tough Squit...
Thought he might have a chance...
Asked her if she'd like to dance...
She looked him over with great contempt,
His clothes not clean, his hair unkempt..
"Buzz Off Bozo!!" she barked at him...
He got all red, his patience grew thin...
He was about to say what he ought not,
But she preempted him,
With a clean chin shot...
My dreaming suns tapered into groves
Of mandrake plants and roots of cleft shadows,
When the bootstrapped heels of tramping dusk
Kicked my reveries that they dissolved to dust and husk,
Bowling in a spiral down a nightshade path,
Fracturing against the moon-stained tombs epitaph,
Dispersing among the graveyard grasses,
Flying bat-like against chapel window glasses,
Evaporating around the puritan wood pews,
Resting on the turning of infinite screws,
Laying on the altars of burgundy and stone,
Sacrificed for a knick-knack of crystal and bone.
Such is the duplicitous heart of the dark side,
Outer limits of a rat arsed world split wide,
Where the edges and meanings blur like smoke,
And white-eyed girls blow kisses for a joke
To settle like ghosts upon frosted blue lips,
Until time reverses, trips, flips and slips
A drunken stutter of moonwalk proportions,
A flock of masochistic temporal distortions,
And dreams, or truth, whichever is preferred
Become the children of yore, seen but not heard.
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