The artist is absent, i guess i killed her off. Built her, just to break her- like a ceramic cup in the decor. A sway and the pieces fall, broken down in chunks of her pain. In the story of everything, the art suffers- tight ship, bad weather- nothing helps. There's no shore to go to. You stay with the wind, flock with the waves like a clueless bird, hoping someday you'll reach a comfort of a place you get to call home. I didn't feed her soul- with words full of love, hate, sad, happy- all she can feel is a hole, in her life where the content used to be. Where the quill-and-ink rested along with a page, ready to be scribbled, ready to be filled with her mind's rage. The ink bleeds once or not at all. It's tiring, having to walk in the spring season, fresh air, new hopes different dreams and yet feeling like the fall.
Every step she takes, every mistake she makes, all the roadblocks that make her feel nothing at all. Carnations over her gazettes, no scriptures, no memories to recall. It has faded into nothing yet she bleeds it somehow. The writer is absent, I think I've killed her off. Clueless in her own world somehow.
The cat killed the mourning dove
The cat killed the mourning dove
The cat killed the mourning dove
and ate it with her kittens
and ate it with her kittens
Nothing but feathers here and there
once was a winged bird with a pair
Now its gone and disappeared
into the cats tummy, oh dear
Oh dear Oh dear Oh Oh dear
the cat killed the mourning dove
the cat killed the mourning dove
the cat killed the mourning dove
and ate it with her kittens
and ate it with her kittens
The other doves are now afraid
to scared to land since cats foray
They fly around in tree tops stay
mourning the one the cat slayed
The cat killed the mourning dove
The cat killed the mourning dove
The cat killed the mourning dove
and ate it with her kittens
and ate it with her kittens
Meeeeeowl!
Ode to my neighbor’s horrible cat
Disgusting behavior that little turd
Emphatically speaking I say that
Teary eyed for he killed my bird
One understands it is nature’s way
Couldn’t have let my parakeet live
All I could do was purple pray
That a dog will give him his
Teedee was our bird’s nickname
What a horrible death in vain
Ode to a crazy cat insane
"Sometimes there are No words just feelings that talk very loud." By Poet
I was a young child,
about four years old.
My doggie blackie was killed,
dad's car ran him over.
I pondered why,
then God sent me Wheatie.
In school,
I pondered why kids are so mean?
Maybe one day they will grow out of it.
In my teens the boys were selfish,
I pondered then dated graduates.
I have spent many hours pondering about things,
then the answer comes as clear as day.
Why are so many Scientists—
Falling—without a Sound—
As if the Mind—once kindled—
Were Treason—when unbound—
They walked among Equations—
Like Gardeners of the Truth—
Yet Something in the Silence—
Has marked their Passage—through—
No Thunder—announces Ruin—
No Banner—bears the Blame—
But Ash collects on Notebooks—
And Dust forgets each Name—
Perhaps—’tis not their Bodies—
But what they dared to See—
A Lantern—held to Darkness—
Invites—Hostility—
Or Knowledge—like a Fever—
Unsettles those at Ease—
And so the Cure—is Quiet—
Administered—by Degrees—
Yet still—amid the Vanishing—
A stubborn Spark remains—
For Thought—cannot be buried—
It blossoms—in their Brain’s —
defamatory accusations
not one sliver of truth
it took a huge bite out of his reputation
crippling his bid to become district court judge
his disappointment was tumultuous
he never knew the rumors were initiated by his mother
a small-minded, evil wicked woman
They shoved Lady Justice to the ground.
He tried to help her up.
He warned them not to touch her.
And in his last breath,
he asked her if she was okay.
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
They said he brandished a gun,
but everyone could see it was a phone.
They said he was a violent terrorist.
officers attempted to disarm him.
Why won’t they release that video?
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
His extrajudicial execution?
The way they pinned him to the ground?
The way they pumped ten bullets
into his mortal form even after he lay lifeless?
How should we remember Alex Jeffrey Pretti?
An American intensive care nurse,
working for the Dept of Veterans Affairs,
living a life devoted to the care of others.
or a friendly neighbor always helping
those in need?
How should we remember him?
I will remember how he gave his life to help
Lady Justice to her feet.
Those BazBull bro’s kills what they said they'd save
Chill pill drills ho’s cheap thrills all traditions waive
Rave it's their fave the oldest format what they crave
Pretend that cricket lite ..might a bright future pave
Defend rascals debacles in Oz really was a close shave
Righto was sh*te say goodnight barmy tsunami wave
Did cave in hosts through thick & thin everything gave
So goodbye to the superfly lie cheerio the final wave
All a slave to T20 noble sort of this global sport a knave
Can't stave off woes depraved way they did play.. behave
Smarmy army hell bent heaven sent Tests to their grave
the eyes of evil
blankly stare with hate and rage
the eyes of evil
judged then passed a death sentence
upon humanities fate
across sundays sand
happy laughter turned to screams
across sundays sand
the innocent cried tears red
as the golden glow darkened
the tidal current
swirled with hatred and despise
the tidal current
flowed with the abysses darkness
to an enmity innate
the innocent died
to the dark hands of hatred
the innocent died
to the crackles echoing
as they cut the sabbaths dusk
the shattered moments
when all society mourns
the shattered moments
the white doves of peace tears fall
now, the pressure cooker boils
Who killed human more in the land,
The pandemic, the wars, the nature,
Who is biggest destroyer on the land.
Dictators irrigated land with blood manure,
for the blood massacre was a frolic play.
Street dogs, jackals enjoyed along vulture.
Pandemic played with human cat and mouse,
Villages to villages, all villagers eaten,
The Streets were haunted and all house.
The land, the water and the mountain,
All made the villages and cities barren,
Human faced everyday nature’s disdain.
But human killed more human and more,
In the name religion, in the name of nation,
In the battles, in the courts and in the war
An album once a year – a cushy job!
They toured to flog the disc. It’s called ‘promotion’.
From Paul McCartney’s Wings to Billy Ocean,
they did their vids to earn a couple of bob.
In those days, Stayin’ Alive was not a prob,
since every Aucklander, each Nova Scotian
aspired (was wired) to do the locomotion.
Though Patty Hearst could steal, she could not rob.
Today it all occurs on Spotify.
No videos are made now. People ‘stream’.
Epocs of plenty pass. The pendulum swings,
and groups who don’t play live are groups who die.
There are no Doobey Brothers, Canned Heat, Cream.
The truth? I’d rather hear the Gypsy Kings.
You had to be there. Literally, there.
Just hearing it removes the third dimension.
Necessity's the mother of invention?
Idea-whose-time-has-come must be the père.
But how can you replace the footlights' glare,
the acrobats' contrived, but visceral, tension?
You can't. So much is lost in a mere mention,
that wings its way to us through colourless air.
They once were princes. Now reduced to strugglers.
What use is wireless to ventriloquists?
Where did their future go? There are no answers.
The dole can never compensate the jugglers,
or anyone whose acumen consists
in sleight of hand - snake charmers or tap dancers.
Why is the silence
Like a deafening roar
I still cringe when someone
Knocks on our door
I wait for your chorus
Your lion like bark
But the silence is blinding
Like a nuke in the dark
I wake up to barking
And half asleep
I automatically go
Check outside for a creep
I wake in the night
And sneak out of bed
So I don't disturb you
Then I remember your dead
Why would the world
Steal you like that
I couldn't tell you I loved you
And send you off with a pat
The world didn't deserve
An angel like you
And wherever you are
I'll always love you my boo
I left the kettle hissing,
A blue serpent coiling in the kitchen.
The window’s breath was winter—
It kissed me cold, a mother I never had.
I was a bone in the mouth of the world,
Gnawed down to a pale thought.
The mirror grew teeth—
It ate my face
The room was quiet as paper,
Holding its breath for the pen.
Ink pooled in the corners
Like milk left too long.
The hours no longer spoke—
They only stared,
Thin and pale as candles
Waiting for a match.
My hands folded themselves
As if in prayer,
But the prayer was a stone,
And it would not float.
Some doors open inward,
Others open nowhere.
I found the one
That would not close again.
Killed life
Killed lives
Psycholgy
Kills lives
God is life
His laws
Eternal
No psychology
Makes false people
No children
Psychology
Killed lives
I am a human
Created by God
I don’t need psychology
In my life
I am a creature of God
I don’t want psychology
I don’t want this mentality
Psychology
In my
Life
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