I am the poem that no one wants to read
the bird-shit on the washing on the line
the friend with whom your parents disagreed
the nips and tucks performed by Frankenstein
I am the wet dream junkie’s wishful thought
the stuff in which no human wants to tread Read the rest of this entry »
War, the wanton mascot of a catastrophic aeon;
disfigured, numb, decaying, steeped in slime.
Barely having climbed out from the swamp,
we dumbly think that if we don a suit and tie
we earn the right to peer down our noses at the
cockroaches and flies we claim in all our ersatz glory
to have overtaken long ago and left behind.
But we are worse by far than they will ever be, Read the rest of this entry »
They wanted me to be an arms manufacturer
from when I was just small and made of dough
which everybody thought they had a right
to mould into the image of their choice
(regardless of whatever I may voice or protest
with my body, mind or soul). “You don’t compete Read the rest of this entry »
Forgive me for my passion (but only if you can).
It seems the words which tumble from my lips
are not much heard from mouthings of a man.
Expressions vivid, steeped in deepsome song
and poetised with all delights for which I long.
That may not dovetail with one’s preconceived Read the rest of this entry »
Never mind the thorns or prickles!
To hell with every spine or thistle!
Screw the bristles, points or prongs,
needles, barbs and aculeus, spicules!
Nothing never ever comes for free
and least of all in matters which,
collectively, are known as “love”
to people such as you and me. Read the rest of this entry »