Possibilities
Feed not your ego with self-encouragement
In an artificial world, if given the chance
To ineptly spout, however impotently,
And cull not vanity, but bide your ignorance.
Imagine not a yarn where perched on a throne,
Stomping your foot signifying authority,
Salivating on things you could change but won’t,
Is seedy attention-getting and foolhardy.
Clothe not in disguise your greedy ambitions,
Justified by half-wit pride and intelligence;
Ashamed, you’re not a beauty of consequence;
Shun the crowd in persecution of innocence.
Dream of possibilities placed before you,
Exploring adventurously and witnessing truth.
Choose friends keenly, filtering out cynicism;
Be yourself, reaching for the stars and succeeding.
To the barbaric knobs who made the call
to cull our Brumbies, down you’ll fall.
Such a horrible death, with so much pain
what you’ve done is rotten - insane.
You murderous pricks, this won’t be forgot
shooting our Brumbies, I hope you rot.
So UnAustralian, sickening to the core
such filthy liars, corrupt and more.
You’ll pay for your crimes, the fights just begun
the helicopters will turn, so you’d better run.
People are awake and asking why
you murdered such beauty from ground and sky.
The blood that shed is on your hands
it’s you who’ve destroyed our precious lands.
Not the horses so spirited, wild and true
but gutless people who haven’t a clue.
These Horses are cherished by many world wide
they roam Kosciuszko with peace & pride.
Shame on the Government - soulless hypocrites
the world is watching, you total Dimwits!
Part of our history is being erased that’s clear
these majestic beauties now run in fear.
So united we stand, Justice we seek
we are the voices, for horses we speak.
Why is it such a big deal to be an avaricious & pernicious alligator and just steal from every creator use all our data and turn even the meek & mild into a wild hater...
"How do we stop the lavatorial plop plop of AI slop
Cull the new crop an arch oligarch march to the top
No behavioural fop to an algorithm making you strop
Don’t be a sop to a pack who hijack a stack on the hop
Pander to your dander by knowing how you do shop
When you gander…. propaganda & slander they drop
This laboratory of hateful oratory is what we all cop
Cohorts sport.. escorts all sorts.. come on chop chop
All about the economy give woke folks a lobotomy op
Forgotten besotten rotten dot com bubble did pop
Impropriety no jobs swap entirety of society will flop
Social media greedier needier seedier stronger gallop
So how do we stay dry of sh*t from on high this AI slop
To stop bottom feeder sly lie then no longer be the mop"
Hop a train
steam far away
from the zig jagged insane.
Dream far, far away from the media blitz
the mass hysteria
that devilish jab
the mask hysteria
of pure delirium.
billions to be raked in
from
the jab
the kits
the masks
the disinfectants
one-way hospital stays.
Gates
wants to jab us to death
force us to eat his shriveled meat
In so many words, he wants to cull the herd.
Gates
is blotting out the sun
thinning our bones
slowly turning us to dust.
Hells Gates
has stage 4 God complex
but God never sported an STD.
Hop a train to a faraway place.
Stepping away from the insane.
Rubbing elbows with the homeless and hobo.
AT least they're real.
Gather and recalibrate a lost spirit.
Meditate, go deep underground.
Into the twin mirror of self and selfless.
Slide away from their plastic charms.
Sliding away from all of them.
Becoming like an earthworm.
Emirati Glitterati…sold their soul
All for an arty farty party so dull
Each troll got a very simple goal
Going for gold their Faustian role
Befriend astro knoll on pretend atoll
Look at me vanity but never a lull
Narcissist fantasy look like a doll
Maybe botox detox don't annul
Tax free captivity in goldfish bowl
Not like before well war takes its toll
Rakes get the shakes out of control
Save me plea on every single scroll
Fakes & flakes on the make must cull
Hard not to laugh at whole rigmarole
Tragic they chose their Arabic hellhole
Goodbye to Dubai magic back to Hull
Mull over becoming a prole on the dole
If there was a poll would say Tres Drole
Or on insular influencer peninsula "LOL"
The Maple tree has gone,
the storm broke it,
then it was chopped to pieces.
For decades it stood
as a gold-leafed palace that graced
our commonplace cull-de-sac,
now it has been carried away
upon overladen truck-beds.
Late in this graying October
a few curling leaves linger
around its bosky stump.
A burnished copper, a tawny russet,
and a powdering of old gold
have leached out
from its deep-set roots.
A slow pyre of Fall colors
has emerged there
where no fire flickers.
yet it forms a last memorial
autumnal wreath.
Gradually, teacups of illumination
seep from a darkening horizon,
a sinking light now rakes only mist,
yet occasionally at sunset,
a maple palace for a moment shimmers,
a gold glittering
to greet our colorless eyes.
Kowtow & kapow..the Bazball supernova
They think it’s all over…well wow it is now
Cool cat merriment to cricket’s detriment
Down tools school for fools experiment
Mules without rules serious impediment
Flunk their funk mission to debunk tradition
Teach each Baz monk flair pizzazz edition
Preach razmattazz and all that jazz sedition
Slam dunk sunk kerplunk fans in remission
Shan’t exult this odd bod Bazball adult cult
Can’t halt Starc’s hefty lefty catapult assault
Another hilarious result and nefarious insult
Inquests as Aussie test conquests take their toll
Pat patrol in control Ben’s men droll rigmarole
Stole our soul so gonna give them some vitriol
Banished to a grassy knole the Bazball totem pole
Farce whole brassy class vanished up their ar*ehole
No need to mull it is time for a cull heads must roll
Cos in Oz they Can’t bat Can’t field and Can’t bowl
Since humans surfaced from the slime,
our art has always turned on time,
on measurement, and not on rhyme –
so Solon says (I’m with him):
the heart of art is rhythm.
You want to waltz? You need three-four.
And verse that’s truly free’s a bore!
The drumkit forms rock music’s core,
and Rhapsody in Blue has
wrought classical anew (jazz).
Our architecture, uninspired,
was looking – feeling – somewhat tired.
Then Frank Lloyd Wright, completely wired,
transformed it, not for profit
– have you seen his soffits?
The painter had become a monkey,
just reproducing portraits (clunky)
and soulless seascapes. Things got funky:
what stirred the stiff Sargasso?
A samba called Picasso!
Those Western movies grew so dull,
the steers were ready for a cull:
Italians dispelled the lull,
while Hollywood said, smugly,
“no-one wants good, bad, ugly!”
So, whether you sculpt or you sing,
you groove to The Beatles or Bing,
you think Nat or Elvis is King,
it don’t mean a thing
if it ain’t got that swing!
Winter withers all the meadow’s flowers,
and the frozen hours
paint the woodlands pale:
as the snowfalls thicken,
lindens cast their stricken
branches stark against the season’s whiteness.
Yet I mourn this barrenness less sadly
than I grieve how badly
Shame and Honor fail:
Honor’s stream runs shallow,
Virtue’s field lies fallow,
no heart seeks to cull the rose of rightness.
The spring restores the leaves and petals to the flowers on the thorn-hedge,
but the man whom wickedness has taken
and who has forsaken
Honor’s holy pledge
walks a path of sorrows,
nor can face tomorrow’s
gleaming dawn secure in manhood’s brightness.
— translated from the Middle High German
---------------------------------------------------------------
We're all tinged by whole dull whinge binge
Cringe impinged by that losing cull twinge
Singed fans on fringe mull know does hinge
On our soul & sole syringe of flaming ginge
Alright still gobsmacked how we were
Attacked..hacked..hijacked...whacked
Ransacked cracked shellacked poleaxed
By his relaxed Rat packed knack maxed
So here's a witty ditty ode to Travis
No ifs or buts can't tut tut... annul it or cull it
Straight out of the hut a classy brassy strut
Gung ho have a go heave ho maestro Mullet
Slaying & flaying.. no rut just a glorious glut
Left a stark dark smut.. every bowler's a mutt
Like some flirty dirty sl*t playing with the nut
Hard not to swoon at the boon of the loon
Croon at Travis's off his Head buffoon tune
Stubby not chubby tad tubby like David Boon
Us staunch fans of the promising paunch gasping
Can't snub or sub.. like a lad down the pub or club
Another out of whack attack does launch rasping
Rogue's Bogan brogue.. flashes his blade like Shogun
Wizard of Oz as loved as X men's Logan or Paul Hogan
Dashes and lashes.."Taches win Ashes" the Travis slogan
I’m like, “Yo!”,
and he’s like, “Woh!”,
and I’m like, “Good to meet,”
and he’s like, “Yeah, real neat,”
and I’m like, “Jungle sucks,”
and he’s like, “It’s big bucks,”
and I’m like, “It’s the pits,”
and he’s like, “What a ditz!”,
and I’m like, “Where’s the beer?”,
and he’s like, “Why you here?”,
and I’m like, “I got sent,”
and he’s like, “Excellent!”,
and I’m like, “Let’s shoot pool,”
and he’s like, “That’s way cool,”
and he’s like, “You from Alaska?”,
and I’m like, “Nah – Nebraska”,
and he’s like, “Go Huskers!”,
and I’m like, “No tuskers?”
and he’s like, “Had a cull, for food”,
and I’m like, “Radical, dude
walls of waters crash
whirpools cull and pull within ~
stilly smiles the sea
They say your words are forged in flame,
in halls where angels speak your name;
From vaults of time, from storm and night,
you cull the shadows, summon light.
You walk through fire and make it sing,
you crown the humble, make a king;
Your word bends law, yet keeps its grace,
a prophet’s truth in mortal place.
The sea will part, the skies will clear,
when such a voice the world can hear;
And still, when all the trumpets fade,
and all the crowns are put away
You speak as if to one old friend,
whose hand you’ll hold until the end.
Another HooDoo
I Know You're Very Serious
Following Your Plan
But I Don't Seem To Play-Right
Any Way I Can.
I'm Just Another HooDoo
Picking Up A Scar!
Inviting 'Sober Mines' To Ask:
"HooDoo You Think You Are?"
I'm This I'm That
I'm Everything
I'm Nothing,
If Not Odd.
I Run The Range
I Ride The Slopes
I Saw The Face Of God.
But Anger Will Seduce Me
And Slicing Through With Guilt,
Will Wipe It's Blade In
Sad Charade,
Then Stuff It To
The Hilt.
Our Thoughts Can Come From Anywhere,
But, Mostly Not From You.
I Don't Share All Your Sympathy,
I Don't Care If You Do.
The Beasts Will Soon Arrive Again...
So I'm Off To Explore.
No I Won't Let It "Hit My Ass'"
As I Walk Out The Door.
I Cannot Cull Your Anger,
You've Bought It From Afar.
But I Still LOVE That Question:
"HooDoo You Think You Are?"
-Gray Squirrel
05-25-2025
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