The last drops of rain
trickle down the roof tiles.
The washed morning does not rush,
much like those high-spirited stragglers,
who now and then play their pranks.
The night still struggles in vain.
The first ray of light dips a finger into the puddles—
a signal for the thrushes to strike up their tunes.
A sleepy street sweeper emerges
from an old, shabby gate.
His shoes creak beautifully.
Kate sparks
April 9, 2026
Call me Cassandra—
I said I hear a rumble in the mountain— the beast awakens
The mockingbirds kept singing
the street sweeper kept sweeping
villagers drink coffee from bright tin cups
I said it again, and again a little more loudly,
The Beast Awakens
The dragon
is
Speaking…
Gossipers pass on their secrets while sipping black tea
Villagers start watching the mountain
blackbirds singing on bare branches
mothers keeping their children close
In the heart of the mountain, a quickening pulse
a warning rumble
Villagers complain of the heat
watching the mountain
The dragon
is
singing
Villagers drinking whiskey behind closed doors…
mothers holding restless children
Birds stop chattering
The dragon
is
screaming
Tim Remembers
Tim is a member of the club of life
with all its nonsense vagaries and beauty
pitfalls up-shoots conflicts contradictions
Dismembered or conjoined he has a choice
is privileged to have a working mind
emotions and a quest for wholesome soul
Yet memories become suppressed untold
forgotten where they want to surface
need to unfold for proper understanding
At times what pains the most is necessary
however hard the demons of the past cast
their murky sordid and unwanted challenges
Remembering bethinking recollecting yields
rewards when mere suppression teases
dismisses from consciousness the seed to grow
Freud speaks of mechanisms of defence
Jung wants to harmonise all polar opposites
the street sweeper in Momo’s story knows alike
What Tim wishes to think no more of is what
he has to tackle if only so in order to forgive
where others and he himself have harmed so often
01st October 2018
Oh, March
you pompous windbag
howling in the hollows
of Winters fade.
Scattering Fall’s gold
across warmed mud,
billowing tree bound
plastic bag kites,
hoisting the weightless hawk.
Oh March
you city street sweeper
funneling debris
down tunneled alleys,
tearing at the edges
of flailing flags,
hastening the pace
of lethargy’s malaise.
Oh March
you docile lamb
caressing soft peeking buds,
nurturing the squawk
of nestlings,
nudging idle cocoons
to wakefulness,
warming ophidian
cold blood.
Oh March
you are the hint
of warming’s kiss
titillating Spring’s yawn.
John G. Lawless
©3/1/2018
Syringes in fence palings
condoms on park benches
street sweeper drinks whiskey
at four in the morning
opera house silhouettes
the bridge of dawn
first ferry tugs out
rust and ropes
like stale sex
herald the rising sun
Circular Quay swims
with grey suits
and mid length skirts
dark stocking like
instep, to the beat
of yesterday.
When a poor exposed
His feeling through pen
The crucifix he shouldered
His stomach pain
How does the poem look?
When a farmer tried
To write a poem about how he feels
On how the sun touches his skin
On how he survived every arrow of the clouds
What the poem looks like?
When a carpenter, vendor, street sweeper
Wanted to write a poem about their lives
Their battles and journeys
On how is it to be like them
What do you think?
Definitely, their grammars are full of blames
But who are we?
Are we better poet than they are
Because our grammar is lesser of flaws
Are those people who are
Too good in grammar
Are the only one who have the right
To hold a pen
To be called poets
What matter then
The correct grammar or the meaning?
The correct syntax or the emotion?
The correct spelling or the honest intention?
Not everyone has a gift of education
But everyone has a gift to feel
There is no wrong on expressing
To define life into words
No matter who we are
The feelings that we have
In spite of our shortcomings
That is my belief
8-19-2016
Mysterious Aries
Mind Reaper
The slumber in which you have awaken from
Has got you caught in a world snatched from beyond
Now leave your hands and your feet moving with the beat
But keep it real for the streets cause we got to eat
And draw the heat and if it’s necessary slaughter beef
Pulling teeth if you speak causing muffled speech
Now breach the gap with the gat as we counter act
Rip that right out his pocket ain’t no fear in that
Hold is voice inside his throat with a choke hold
Act bold and suffer the wrath of forty blows
Who knows where I’m going to next stay on your toes
I’m guaranteed to stop lock and trade blows
Your game will fold didn’t listen and you said so
So you boy’s geared up and started to roll
But I aim on, bang on, come meet your keeper
And like the street sweeper call me the mind reaper
Watching your body go limp as you collapse on the speaker
Got everybody in your family asking what were you thinking
In a tunnel under earth, we were given a curse
In this world, we am called reverse
Eager to think and question
These things bring out nothing but aggression
We are one in all and all in one
Sent to the house of the street sweeper
Keep my thoughts from them, ill think deeper
In a subway we find the device
Must show the council word of advice
We are one in all and all in one
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