I was HopSkipJumping through a glade
one strangesome Summer’s day when
I ‘lost my marbles’ in the kind of way
which seems to irk straitjacket friends
who revel in their self-appointed roles
to judge the sane as being ‘round the bend’.
They fell covertly from my pocket as I ran
with joy across the desert of this world,
although I was not really disconcerted but Read the rest of this entry »
I see no white, by which
I’m meaning 255 times 3.
I see no black, portrayed as
zero thrice in swatchy RGB.
For those are colours which
would not look right on skin.
(In any case, such outerness
is shallow, surface, paper-thin).
I see a lot of shades of pink Read the rest of this entry »
Dead-hearted, sex-frustrated human counterfeits
(pretended males whose flabby breasts protrude like
shabby tassels on a stripper’s cheapened tartlet tits,
and female impersonators sporting ersatz ‘beards’)
litter the earth like confetti on a bridegroom’s coffin;
ever willing to lick the boots and arses of the nabobs
who imagine they have power given from above.
Every one of them is whirling in a vortex spun by lies,
rejecting counsel and collaboration of the wise,
and void of any semblance of the truth… or love.
The Nazi Reich was seeded here by such as these;
when almost every one espoused the cause or Read the rest of this entry »
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 »