Fans in stands & beds with heads in their hands
Bazball disbands shredded into dreaded strands
Boycott this lot don't give a jot no one understands
Piss poor bores ignore turnstile roar in hostile lands
Tanned Aussie class brass band was hardly bland
Yelping Stokes blokes giving them a helping hand
Canned the cool fool Bazball brand must be banned
Ivory tower power zen that Baz Bob and Ben wield
Defective ploys annoys but from noise boys shield
What did planning spanning 4 years actually yield
Smote gloat all the chatting not like 86 and Gatting
Bleak Ben does ken Oz not a den for weak men
Joe standing sentry his century show a footnote
For it does seem this time right quote right team
As a hack with that knack way back once wrote
Can't Bat.......Can't bowl ....Can't field!
That illuminated dust ball,
dough faced;
a pie with no filling.
and it seems to have the scent
of a long dead romance.
On the porch my spayed
lays her head in my lap
ignoring the weak wolf calls
of an addled moon
and its piss-poor love songs.
Yet another piss-poor dinner produced
No wonder her sex-life has been reduced
Ava needs something to give her a boost
Eyes the doctor ~
Please prescribe my husband me to seduce
Clink-clink
Black panther eyes peering
thru the concrete canopy
What do they see in the blood-smoke midnight air ...
safari sound waves shocking,
moving the ghetto leaves
What do the tree leopard tar-pitch, onyx ears hear ...
a white rhino with a little horn tooting
Bars and Stripes liberty hypocrisy
Star Spangled dirge played off-key at the trade fair
Clink-clink
Sea Leviathan white whale with the little blowhole,
sending suffocating sounds
leading down to the burning belly of hell
Muzzled lions and lionesses in the dark cargo hold,
chained to the smell drowns
of fear excrement waist-high in a caged cell
400-year journey on a piss-poor promise of equality —
build the racial Wall higher:
says the Tower barker, spitting in the tiny trumpet
Clink-clink
Gold-plated iron ankle bracelets ... slavery jewelry,
place a bid to the auction buyer
Give the seller a pound of the flesh, free-labor sweat
Clink-clink
Don’t think ... run when you hear this
coming calamity chain-pain sound
Head skin deeper into the safe urban jungle,
until the little horn fades
into muted white noise background
NO GLORY FOUND
No glory found and no guilt ever apportioned
For those guiding young men to wars uncautioned,
The chosen too often of colour, unlearned or piss poor.
But true heroes they’ll be winning by force majeure.
Ticker tape parades and medals for those who make home,
For the rest, just a name on some glorious dome.
But see those with the wealth; they don’t give a toss
Knowing their greedy interests will not turn a loss.
Not their sons to die in some foreign land
Let other sons do the marching, so strike up the band.
Take heed you young mothers with sons still so young
Ensure their promise is valued and not into future wars flung.
No glory found, and no guilt ever apportioned
For those guiding young men to wars uncautioned.
John Jurkowski
FRINGE BENEFITS FOR WANTING WHAT I CAN NEVER HAVE
snaggletooth and lonely
hungering for hunger and boney
in my mind, wanting to love you only
when you pass by, i gurgle in honor of you
piss poor and destitute, my shrine of you expresses from a quiet
place on the downlow
hip hurting and shaking for foundations of my body heat, my thoughts of you leave me with sticky icicles
crying like a baby to the open diary of the moon, i daydream in zonules of rocketship anecdotes
i am a pinball wizard rolling caravans of wishful thinking around the many mazes that the stars create
then i pause....become blank....lose focus....become devoid of all thought
i sleep a stiffened steep sleep till morning
then i become the antisocial broken record again buying flowers for all my thoughts of you.....
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