edge of the razor,
delicately poised over whiskers
days old from lack of drive.
picture in the mirror
for a better word,
one of ghost stories.
channel between lips
a smile more difficult to bear.
by errant spider
a night dreaming of a gravity-less planet.
years of contact sport
a desire to put my nose first.
a head awashed in gray
melee that is hair folds in supplication.
hair on each ear,
downy substance residue of childhood.
on flickering eyelashes
centuries long by neglect.
twin dungeon that are nostrils
flare with the pain of the blunt razor,
hot air to exhale and burn an upper lip.
the twenty seven year
of red, orange, white and gray,
beneath a mouth dragged down by it’s weight.
gutter it slithers,
to children and other Kerb hoppers,
to automobiles running the gauntlet
to autumnal rain pouring down
svelte channels to drains
hands suddenly jump up at you,
you by the ankle, a scream lost
pelting melee of rain and hail
to the thunder of juggernauts speeding
children never found - near the Drain.
his lurking lair, half wolfhound
residue of bad experiments in places
to change DNA and spit remnants
a hapless sink to who knew where,
cries of a little girl, the horror of sad parents,
howl of wolverine tyres on hot tarmac
showers the creepiest moment for kids
"crack Dance" to avoid the "Drain"
hopscotch on a pavement safer, safer
the dreaded curbside crawlers lair.
into Dry Gulch
trailing his favourite stead
and miles, many miles
of clogging desert dust.
Sees the Gulich
down the road, second right,
veers to the hitching rail
licks his lips - in anticipation.
sour slides down the bar
a gun toting barmen recognises -
sees the tall dark stranger
for a man meaning business
yet seeks his own company.
Men and women squint eyes to
take in everything they need to know -
whether he's friend or foe.
The drink slips down in one gulp
The Gunslinger turns and walks
doors scarred with
old fights and untimely deaths.
Not this time, Danny O'Hares Eatery
beckons, a bean-less
steak and eggs the measure
of a man subjected to days in the saddle.
Double guns left at the door
are the rules of any eatery
don't kill a hungry man
kill the hunger instead.
All to soon, the man and horse
walk down to Gaze's Saddlery
a feed of fresh oats and water
the dust rubbed off and freshened.
back side of both as they trot out of town
no bullets wasted, or wanted
The Gunslinger a man of reaction
as some are drawn to.
A dying cigarette ember the lasting
remnant of a Man and his Horse
as the dust ridden
enshroud both to memory.
The Two Dead Girls
sees it all
he's a man mountain
not a murderer,
more suited to the supernatural
and the goings on with God
Sees the girls slaughtered
the man running from the farmhouse
Coffey "tried to make it better"
"tried to make it go away"
the murders the last thing they hang on him
the electric chair awaiting his saving
The law in Tennessee in 1927
for blood on your hands
the investigation says "pick the Black Man"
and "He's huge, must have done it"
Mile knows different,
two dead girls from another's hands.
good hide in
knife lessons main
on poems quince
sagely through upper
wailing yodels x-ray
another browny car deserves
fighting growl hidden inside.
shapes, all colours,
scented to give ambience to a room.
to use the candles
mainly, not a good thing.
never use the Violet ones,
to do with church
the ignominy of self.
knew their special scent,
from sniffing the wax,
knew their smoking smell.
I can't find a candle shop
violet candles allude me
I was a sinner of the worst kind.
The Song of Susannah
and wheelchair bound
dark bitch, hot hound
the lady gunslinger draws her piece
and fires salvos to enemy spread,
Sweetheart of Dear Eddie
the crack freak from 1995
not her time, she was a little later
but beaus they
became, 'neath others stares.
She sang her homie song
the sound of souls singing in Sunday church
of bullets flying,
the dreaded lobstrosities.
The Song of Susannah is lasting,
as lasting as her part in the
as lasting as the death she deals
as lasting as her relationship, he'll die.
The wheelchair not an encumbrance
rather a weapon of war, peace
and pieces of eight in a bargaining round,
the sound of Wolves of the Calla reaping.
Sadly though, things move on
people live, people and other things die
the mournful song of Susannah gone
gone as the breezeless Lud.
The Gunslinger places a plaque
places it to lean against a gun
to lean against
a broken wheelchair
to lean against the heart of Eddie.
flower, cross pollinated
and human DNA
a new path to bud
hint to necessitate love
of Ruby Reddish Pink
of green snot in a single nostril
plant in a flower bed
back door, sunless.
apparitions of midnight moon
walks the backyard searching
for a mate
asexual' you moan
I know, go fuck yourself
the sun never shines
the moon touches with soft brushstrokes,
the cats and dogs leave messages
others that roam the neighbourhood.
the drift flower, leave your droppings too
the back yard and go sniff backyards
down the street
down the neighbourhood
down Moonbeams flashing
a new asexually derived plant/man
and the whole thing can continue.
The Market day – a dairy exercise.
Dear Dairy - Entry One
Market opened as usual
goods placed on a slanted table
food of the Pacific
for longing ex-pats,
gates thrown Open
of Pacifica a
sarong, the phone booth
with last nights tags,
always is market day.
Dear Diary Entry Two
graffiti on Maceys’ Mad Butcher Shop
of a young Dali
another, a rampant Picasso
law needs to capture these hounds
nurture them in some upmarket gallery.
Lighting’s front roller security door
to some struggling Mila Otto
great Samoan artist, shells on beaches
on leeches, lechers and has-beens,
right to reply in the form of a four gallon
of British Paints White Topcoat acrylic.
Dear Dairy Entry Three
trains that stand still near Otara
the same way by the same graffiti artists
mark seen the country over as they travel
known and largely unknown
Dear Dairy Entry Four
myself in Otara, a bit after six p.m.
day long gone of foreign fare
peoples with ‘now’ futures, the kids imagining
they can draw if they stole cans of aerosol
the lives that live in Otara and surrounding areas,
and see a gang car cruise by, young boys looking for life gangsters live,
into a shadow, hiding, but also to blot the bright light, that shines on unwelcome vagrants,
scurries past my feet, looking for leftovers, spillovers, over flows,
heading to the police booth locked for a secure night, gone home pick pocketers captured and release, like a fishing trip
in a sea of brown.
Dear Dairy Entry Five
hear the hiss, the kiss
graffiti mapping an old wall
the roller doors
artist a half an hour away from being a crim,
suburbia, suburban, superbly dressed.
Heart of the Heather
free, lowlands green
heart of the stag beating,
of milk bucket
aloud - the Highlands
the Master to hunt.
free, the roar of the beast
arch grey wheat fields
roar of a jet flying overhead
gunshot, the stag lays dead.
in a fire, bones in the heather
of the stag to change the weather,
stout Scotlanders stand and chat.
of the red, rub of the green
maidens and rampant dreams
scream of the soldier
action of a mother,
lowland woman loses a brother.
of the wind, sin of the brusher
Scotland free of the Usher
sage old English visiting Owl.
Ketchup with the Cat
Ketchup, Heinz Ketchup
dual tongued pussycat meowed,
lifeline for burger lovers
with sausages to dip
flavour, aroma, sensual
direction of the sauce
red purred the cat
more bottles for me.
a conscious thought/decision
the Heinz Ketchup to the mum,
a red mess all over my plate
frankfurters and roasted buns
love affair joined together, enticing
a mammoth mouth and sending the lot
the hatch, fill the stomach
the taste- gotta love Heinz Ketchup-
salad watches jealously.
Grasp an Ideal
you got that yearning
a bottle of Heinz Ketchup
you got the gumption to spill some
bun with ham and eggs.
you got the inclination
the bottle and pour
a dinner beckoning
you got sex on the mind
handling a bottle of Heinz Ketchup
aftertaste sweet and yummy
it all too much to admit
wins the day.
Aggravation in a Case of Hissy Fits and Spasms
between the lines
message unclear till paper burnt
settling on an eyeball not used to reading,
fire of Wordiness in Flight
potato chips on an open hearth
day red rover signed out of a bowling trip,
the traditional day
fireflies espouse the Bible pages
rhetoric into cor-blimey huge manifestations,
Adrianna sucks men’s pencils
to imbibe knowledge from afar
scar on her back says whipping girl, sadly
the blur of vision
just don’t gel into reality
day the Bible reaches to me to read and intake,
sways in a Roman wind
freely on history’s path forever,
at the base of a Cross tap out a followers rhythm.
the story of the Holocaust
the hell it has to do with this poem
belief, if the holocaust was true, so be it,
and news reels from the time
lie, they settle a raging truth, unreality
choice of the viewer to read and digest inwardly,
settles on the shoulders
that play Playstation murder games
of their life likened to Columbine, rest in peace.
again, why Saturday
have some affiliation to that day
it just the way this poem wends it’s way,
Saturday. not Sunday,
Day Adventists ply their trade then,
the streets most other days looking for converts.
Day after Friday too,
day I spend all the huge amount of
and nonsense to assure I still live, another day.
A Plane flew overhead just now,
me I wanted to fly once, before -
I realised the hair on my body wasn’t feathers.
just went by, clickety clack,
long procession of carriages once again
me of cattletrucks filled with Jews of Europe.
car drives by, another shooting
year old girl murdered by last week,
madness of gangs and drugs and guns/weapons.
days of the maniac, short
for the power of recovery and acceptance
need to feel life again in a way normal folks do.
Devourness the Mind Devil
all normalcy parties and eats
the stuff that keep people on an even keel.
day, shortened by apathy
the common denominator,
the time on your watch reminiscent of days passed.
A few thoughts to ponder.
other pesky insects floating nearby,
event more specific
a child with asthma choking
girl or dead insects,
cans go in the rubbish.
more to this girl than meets the eye
baby at birth, revived
months, years, eons of struggle
a mother ill equipped for tragedy,
the only common denominator
at seven they said,
her seventeenth birthday with her
Middle East, we know
keg of indifference
a pity Palestinians dance with death
of celebrating life with their foes,
a pity Israel doesn’t stop the shootings-
powder keg – who backs them?
province of Kashmir
Hindu/Sikh Meets Islam
Hindi’s/Moslems of the Hindu Kush
to another war
peace is all that is asked of.
inability for the average Joe
commonsense ahead of ability,
from the university of life.
ladies with twink for erasers
mesmerizing dots on screens
the boss they know what they can do,
cotton clothes in case of fire
picks anything that makes her sexy
that fact that the UV rays go through it
burn second degree.
sexually innuendo, when girls tease
for a married man to chastise,
man to swoon with the compliment.
age separates and commonsense prevails.
closed eyelids speak whispering
love of darting web spinner, web maker
lady of the love triangle running back up.
alters the words in Word 2000, just to be sure.
man, well older man really,
away at keys all day long trying her love
to emulate her self styled explorations and likes,
tangle over what education has to offer.
Scariest things on the planet.
guns in the wrong hands,
biting in the wrong lake,
snakes in an extending desert,
Pointer sharks in their domain.
four things to be feared,
scariest the man or woman
steals a child’s mind
sibling that has no fear,
writing in the local paper
know, at the back, A-Z,
name, you wonder,
the wrong reason.
tie two and two
six, such is life,
too much into reality,
a winter’s fire.
Father that got done
doing more than teach
choir boys to sing.
kept an eye out for Geoffrey Darmer?
hands dirty with dried blood and victims,
that have no names, such is notoriety.
The Love of my Life
said she was as sweet as candy?
said she’d outlive me?
said her body language spoke separation?
tasted sweet sensation,
in her glory,
because she polished me the right way.
would have been or 21st wedding anniversary,
sheen still glows wildly,
separate we did - had to,
illness versus a special needs child.
looks sad now, a life ruined by my Bipolar
sings - rampant obsessive/compulsive,
need to spend borrowed money,
need to have sex with prostitutes,
need to get more from a marriage,
she had to give,
signs she saw but couldn’t act on,
need for me to see someone,
could I refuse – I did though.
shine still lingers,
Ill never have
could replace her,
wear our ring,
too, dangling from her neck,
we still have mutual ties,
don’t know all the questions,
will do one day,
old enough to know,
The Pilot Light
way two dancers
on a battle ground
features lap dance pure
shape of night in bed sublime
corsetry wrapped in a laced bunch
sound of sex pulsing to humping beat,
process of lust smashing gold plates
messes from the dining suite
not enough to meld love
those copulate myth
sound of grunting
end - BOOM!
Rock of Ages (in a bed sense)
hard brittle explosion
to cool from volcanic up thrust.
like an orgasm that dampens sheets
cool to go crusty and awkward.
on this is deviant cooks spoil the crusty broth.
of layering on seabed’s foreign
rock soft and brittle
capable of building large hills
wear away over above water time.
is like not washing the sheets
layering new ones on old ones.
the bed topples.
sandstone with other nutrients involved
under and over seas
fossils and the likes
and plant residue.
look into that stacked bed you’ll find underwear.
everything until it becomes Mountains
movement of the tectonic plates
large rocks in small boulders
eventually stones and pebbles.
like compressing the bed and it’s many sheets
the weight of time and eventually one mass.
finding anything it’s now one large bed boulder.
Time Journey – the trip of David.
The life of a vagrant is often mingled with near crime and breaking the law, though there
are times they receive accolades for keeping the street clean. David’s been this way for some time now
I stand neath the Capital Bell
for the chimes to announce
coming of a new order.
of crowd gathers
time rung out for all but the police
searching for an errant bag snatcher
snatching snippets of praise and phrase to see why dogs leave their droppings where feet
tread. The Goatherd on Mt Sinai signals a new day with the waving of goatherd
as the time when Christians
religion from the Hebrews,
the Muslims hailed Allah,
goatherd, Eli abn Diazo
on his timekeeping skills
mountain that amounted
much the same as Jennifer Bainbridge in an apartment in New York brushed 9/11 dust from her windowsill, an attempt to pay her homage in a rather
noxious event. Her alarm clock buzzed eight a.m. to remind her she was one hour away from work and another mundane day on
the keyboard processing tax files,
the tools carpenters and cabinet makers
to hone creations from bare hands
shape of a cabinet
throw of a rug
a carving of Michelangelo
Greek notations meant to confuse
as confused as anyone walking the Grand Canyon finding a large lake, maybe a nuclear bomb
gone wrong, and now a large lake shimmering neath a gothic steeple in Moccasin AZ. The
town’s crier, a hangover from the old English days checks his watch
watch that cries Hear Ye, Hear Ye
time now is twelve past eight
new lake looks great
chick in my house
to listen to this atonement, reverie
the same reverie now suffered by a New
Zealand timekeeper, cum vagabond cum vagrant. David
stepped down from his perch in the Square and made for his refuge at Shepherds Rest on Andrew Young Street. Alone again in his
room, the replay of the strange journey he had just been on resounding around his mind.
Checked the pockets, nope no drugs, yet an interesting trip nonetheless.
your weary head
journey you have just been on
the walking of the time dead,
matter of actions attempted
true in what you saw
up off that deathbed
scramble out the door.