The Glassblowers Apprentice
puff to enlarge
sold it for four thousand dollars,
what a bit of hot air does.
The American Revolution
Democrats came out fighting in 2012
war chest of the Republicans emptied
bloodshed on the streets of Chicago
rising of the gangs on the streets of LA
when Red beat White and vice versa
days when the star spangled banner
burnt on the avenues of Washington DC
Commandments forgotten in Holydom.
back waters of Kentucky and Tennessee
of the days of the feuds, refueled
stills of Louisiana spill their firewater
fuel riots on the plaza’s of Houston and El
American Revolution caused by foreign wars
outside with the neglect for life within,
ladies of the Auxiliary Christian Martyrs
sex to stop their mindless men warring.
Space Needle in Seattle
spins red, white and blue
to show some sense prevails, normalcy
neath it’s height gangs of GOP and Dem’s clash
Wall Street Journal mirrors a plummeting dollar
an even more plummeting stock market, bonds
to each side to fight their campaign,
Great Lakes lined with the Mediterranean Fleet,
Pacific Fleet off San Diego and San Francisco,
beat of the drum on Virginia and North Dakota
of returned fire on the plains of Missouri
vast deserts of Arizona, Nevada, and Texas,
carnivals on the Rue of Saint Louis, New Orleans
tornados of death rampant on the pastures of Ohio
Utah the Mormons sit and pray, their only ally
thousand hippies of Montana, heads raised,
sudden demise of order on the New York boardwalks.
the demise of the American way, stopped
it failed to heed the world and the world bit back
World roared, sold America out from under
the very powerbase it had followed for too long
the Bear from the North, the Cougar from within
the Sioux dancing, the Arapaho riding
the Dolphin of Peace, the Orca of Death
the fighters within, the Iraq Vet, lost (again).
beware, we’re watching you.
The Life of A Poor Man in Armistice Avenue.
footpath his domain
wall his bedstead
stop seat, his bed
and booze, sleeping tablet .
name once was Jerry Falwell, an effluent ne’er do well. From a family which
held respect and standing in the neighbourhood. All the sons (five in all) successful,
scholars, businessmen, a preacher.
through his long coat
the Bible, prays
the page anywhere
a scripture by heart
lifeblood of a step down.
went through seminary, passed with flying colours, given a parish in Lower
Brooklyn, the place a haven for all the street dwellers escaping the law.
It was his demeanour to help the low life’s, though he never
thought of them that way, life’s lost minds.
brush in his right pocket
to fluff down the sleeping areas
lint and dust and unwanted leaves
used to paint life’s sorrow
the brush is in bed, ready.
it hard to follow the teachings. So much hypocrisy, so much not to be understood,
yet people would recite it verbatim or read between the lines, to each their own. Unfortunately
in charge, he’d argue.
state of the Nation
that was their business
to the passing cars)
dog from 1st and 40th peed
always did, near his bed.
again at the Bible, knew which Psalm to say for his peace, which passage of Genesis to appease. Still even on a cold street corner the words were too much to take in.
down from life
to walk the streets
to the “lowlifers” – bowed
to them at their level
preacher and believer – just.
paint on the seat was a rustic brown, sort of earth tones meant to give the city a little life. The fire Hydrant next to it a shiny Yellow, the bus stop sign red and ready. The police haven’t been for days now, they usually move him on daily.
courtesy of the Food Bank
a shelter around the corner
street folk to come in and shower
their toileting needs,
ex padre runs the joint.
key date was 11th September 2001
the madness hit the Twin Towers, when his parish was inundated
with grief and morbidity. Wives and children of Firefighters, the dust coated
urchins choking to death, the poor lucky to survive.
the street, Subway
from the bin interesting fare,
daylight hides it’s flashing sign
the well to do clientele
of paying for their meal.
gave up on money, it never meant anything to him anyway,
just something to burn holes in pockets. His total life, even in the seminary,
geared to pennilessness. He does whistle though, and does it enough throughout
the day to afford a packet of smokes and a bottle of wretched wine.
he’d wake up,
another ten dollar bill
in his greatcoat pocket
donor a complete mystery.
walk to where the Twin Towers stood was lengthy, but necessary, to see why the world had gone
way, he passed several homeless people and asked them what they thought. Most
mentioned they were lucky not to be there, the subterranean carpark a common haunt.
dark of night finds him walking
for the forbidden truth
for a dog to pat
a hand out to humanity
in his demeanour.
Bomb that dropped on Baghdad was beyond his comprehension. Violence should never
begat violence in his mind. If he was punched by the street gangs he’d
cower until the attack was over and move on, licking his wounds.
Teacher, another homeless man
the time of day while walking
speak of nothing in particular
their life is sort of like that,
reaches into their psyches .
Central Park, to feed the birds with scraps from the Subway bin, the peace and solitude a
boon, maybe good does exist he thinks. A female jogger runs well round him, must
be the stench, he’s used to it now, the shunning. The birds are happy though
the pickle gets met with disdain.
people live long
can be homeless all their lives
mostly start after failure
to fit in with society
need to just drop everything and crash.
Dominic from the Catholic church looks after all the central city lost, ministering all the spiritual needs, looking out for
the dying, the doomed, the ones that have given up life totally. There are a
few. Jerry doesn’t exactly trust him, but lets him carry on. Just cause.
story of the Homeless
never ever stops, ceases, ends
time you look and see them
the lives they left behind, help
the time of day if they ask.
Looking under stones
Driving the Decision Making Process
voted onto council today
for you all.
in council, the meeting started
ever ready old councilors
councilors chewing nails
public wanting to see it work.
“Objection” I interjected
mayor nearly fell of his perch
‘this is going to work’
mayor stares me down
up and announce my manifesto.
all cringe when I say
will be deputy Mayor”
though I’m reasonably new
sprinkling of nervous laughter,
have the skills and the balls”
down, shaking from the effort
see me lasting too long here
I have to drive the decision making process
real issues take precedence
new residential zones.
a savoury pie from my bag
the hot air go on around me,
and munched while the vote was counted
count, I was consigned to the back bench
stay here long enough, I’ll win.
the world needs me now.
The Deer Hunter
movie stuck in mind,
a Wikipedia search
the plots and sub plots
memory now rekindled
and death, near death
spinning chamber of a one bullet gun.
story of brothers in peace
brothers in arms, Saigon
hustle and bustle of a mad war
stifling heat, and voracious enemy
when captured and playing,
Roulette, memories of deer hunts.
movie stuck with me for months
Walken and Robert De Niro
principal actors, lead roles super
rest of the cast dragged along
restless plot that inundates
Streep the love interest
in almighty Pennsylvania.
movie is taxing on your mind
questions you daren't ask,
romanticism of war and peace
by constant action,
dialogue handled well with ease,
one redeeming feature, one dies.
Drying an apron on the hot element
know the feeling
a crock of shit
phone’s been silent for weeks
cat scratches your legs
is all bills
the winning lotto tickets alludes you
your favourite apron on a hot stove
out the house
all the mail
ringing wet from buckets
from the bathroom to the kitchen
neighbours see the smoke
the fire brigade to poop on your party
did they do that, you don’t know them
fire is out when the big red engine
the noisy siren directs attention to your plight
passing races in to clear the house
you standing with your last bucket
burnt rag on the stove
the psychiatric assessment team
you they’re worried about.
mention the bills and the lotto ticket
that will stop the process
firemen assess the damage,
the rag in the closed bin
the element off
to have a private chat with the cop
this is the third time in a few months
psychiatric help needed.
sit in the corner, light a smoke
realising it’s a doobie
cop grasps the weed and tosses it in the bin,
don’t need that where you are going”
are your family
are your friends
happened to the world you knew,
job long gone, too weak to work
policeman sums it up,
a hard few months huh”
stand up and go to the bathroom
another smoke, a real one this time
the window (as you don’t smoke inside)
cop bangs on the door
give him silence
fireman pokes his head in the window
close the window,
good bye to your home
the cop lead you out
all the windows, lock the door
for the third time in your life
lead away to the Ward
from another depression.
Green Grasses Grow Purple
is a series where each stanza increases by one from the previous)
start as a young experimentalist
skills artists ten years your senior
wish they could have produced way back when
and cows colour blind
with a crazed brush
green grass purple
paints on the palette
up a work of art
his wares for a few thousand
to buy another group of colours
splash blotches on canvass
does when in the mood
new sketch adorned with bright orange.
Gardenia Grey art gallery hangs motifs
aftermath of several attempts at portraits
with funny glasses peruse
says that one will sell in the tens of thousands
popularity garner by people with weird tastes
lollypop dark moron on yellow sells best.
pathway to certain success follows no path
meanders as the market sees fit, glowing
reviews that mention your dexterous ability,
thousand for a shoelace print the horror,
juices flow again, another batch of contemporaries
through to the art world, the mind numbingness
follow, the brazen attitude that art mirrors life.
Me the Dreamer?
lady of the house
as a mouse
managed her life
made her my wife
would have it
have to shave yet.
made my day
joyous and gay
for both of us
with love and trust.
with the children
and over again
with our guests
the sunset in the west.
the price of greed
something we neither need
she’s another mother.
the father half the man,
twice as hard now
the yard and pow!!
wake from the dream
a silent scream
made it all up
a coffee from a cup.
the heat pour down my neck
a mark from a kiss peck
is the woman of my thoughts
all good things, come to nought.
For Heavens Sake – A Rant
get a fucken grip
price of a new car is set in stone
priced to do a job
whores on the streets of Seville
to do a service for men.
ten dollars in my wallet
always is, I like that way
you moan when I give you a fifty,
sneer reminiscent of your mother,
put your book away, I know my place.
a car spewing carbon monoxide
coughing diesel, my bike pollution free,
travelling me to my destination, cough
a tunnel that holds fumes, cough, cough
train from the Deep South puffs coal dust.
died BUT I don’t fucken miss them
over it family, they died through age
blaming everyone else for their death
not like that, leastways the way I see it,
blast from the South signifies global cooling.
on that note, a scientist proclaims global warming
as a natural way to end the species,
should surprise, but is there truth in it?
Thatcher took a nation to war
because she thought England ruled the
The Dollar Coin
as currency in a marketplace
payment for a lolly or two,
up in a homeless mans’ pocket
I rattled around with washers and nails
it one day, enough for a bottle
kind man behind the counter gave me back
I’m getting scratched and indented
hopscotch’s down pathways, passed trees
tacky ticker of the stock market increased
same time my value decreased, a quarter now
ended when he threw me down the path
some squirrel ran out and picked me up
I’m growing old in a cavity in a tree
my ass off for the new year to come.
the days of the Cold War,
curtains in a spies home closed.
also a time of mistrust and trust
governments censor the public
to avoid conflict and nay sayers,
Secret Intelligence Service busy.
a time when news is stilted
from the honest truth
papers left handling misbegotten news.
government stifles freedom of speech.
a time when Jesus is a comforter
church sanctuary from the craziness,
religious ready to stand up and cry
for the people, cry for the land, cry for their lives.
a time when moods shifted,
curtains were opened, light came in
now at the hands of the media.
war on terror raises, again, the stigma of a curtain
Curtain, to capture Taliban, Sunni, Shia, Muslim
of desert sands taints American papers,
tainted with the Government propaganda, to fight.
Saudi Oil Dollar paying for stability with US forces
call them the Saudi Mercenary Army, fighting
the peace in the region, to help stop terrorism
the Oil Dollar stay sane, yet it rises, steeply.
now a time for distrust again, for nations to close borders
nations to stymie the press, the nation, the people
when someone walking the streets doing their business
racially abused just for their clothing, remember Red?
made me smile
need to be with me
said yes to my question
I still cherish our time
photo on the wall
A Rose by any other Nomenclature
can be an adulterous beast
and tearing parts asunder
drip of blood melodious tonight
streaks black/white down a street.
on a rudimentary blackberry hedge
by nature to protect, to defend
yellow pollen-laden legs of a bee quiver,
skinheads hold their weekly meeting alone.
sunflower smiles golden yellow teeth
sparrows at speed dart and flash
months of growth - an Oak cedes to autumn
National Front join the KKK for dinner at 6.
small and dainty, opulent in smell
flower petals wide open to catch a look,
bees dabble in the daily pollen game,
Power and the Mongrel Mob fight at Stacey’s.
the luxurious scents from the Lavender,
purple nodules each comprising an odour,
of Saturdays party at 42 still littering,
Stellenbosch Seminary celebrates Mass.
Ice Cream stand on 76th and 10 features,
painting that of a young artist plying his trade
run in/out of the frame, daubed with colour,
Mighty Midgets Softball team glow with a win.
rose that started all this dies and is picked,
on the disused dead flower pile by the gate,
a motive to all deranged meanderings,
the house and move to the desert.
The Empty Road
out the window
the black tarmac
less for months now
food and necessaries provided by trucks
out the window
the clouds and wind
empty of planes
practice poo pooed with no fuel
out the window
steel tracks cold
running twice a day
diesel shared between trucks and trains.
out a window
the erosion of choice
fuel ran low
consequence of a planet that was greedy.
A Day at the Beach.
St Dom’s, windy, cloudy, dreary,
over to the other side of the island
calm, beautiful, and that was the beach
a picnic lunch, dined on the soft warm sand
load happy for the occasion, enjoying the scene,
to the lighthouse high on the fossil reef.
wind started to whip up as we left, sand blowing
back littered with toilet stops and a smoke break
return to drear complete with light showers.
started out a goddess
ate broken glass
went to the toilet
a day, such a bladder does
she was human
to me she’s a pinnacle
melts molten rock
task if one cares to try
looks settle from Fonda
pardoned Marilyn Munroe
she has the right to call them hers
luncheon we just had
us we’re still able
good parents swim.
turns them into viable propositions.
love rides many roads
my favourite Harley.
The Seven Guilty Samurai.
Japan, seventeenth century
Shikoda dance death wishes
Seven Samurai practice
seven dancing doilies.
prize, ten geisha each
playing daydream games.
me a lot about
culture, the Emperor
samurai, the geisha
the Ninja rule the samurai world
black Ghi, the flashing swords
a pointing knife
close action stuff)
they permeate the business world
at every turn,
as cutting swords
as flying stars
as a weakening Yen.
to the seventeenth century
valleys ringing out with killing
samurai falls on his sword
is the way of heraldry
way of the Samurai, clear.
geisha added to a successful harem.
Days when rain makes for a gloomy time.
stadium, rugby being played
run to and fro, saturated
displaying adept skill
the spectators stand drenched.
wives at their Saturday Fair
milling, the throng beating
puts off children playing,
down as the wet continues.
on the lake, rowers ply their trade
muscle to oar, back to the rain
mingling as effort expended
when tedium is broken by hardship.
on a bench top oven chimes
trays of cookies ready for family
outside wrecked by precipitation,
give up the chase at 230kph.
supporters back their team
hail or snow, the flow back and forward
team wrestles with a wet pill,
wife stands transfixed at the door.
jersey is ripped asunder
player pulls it more, for effect
ground erupts in a roar, the rains gone,
referee calls time, we have won, just.
crowd wanders out to a full carpark,
their vehicles, the losers with head bowed,
wearily to the bar for a few quiets,
winners off home to a promised picnic.
Campers and a few Animals to boot.
the camping ground
in the glen
grizzlies feast on
gnats on the way
resorts scamper pests
for devil may care melee
fires a danger to wildlife
a guitar chord for love
your part in relationships
faces glare past the fire
large caribou saunter past
dive into the bush
crackling with their passing
they wander home
away from human life
BMX on the portable TV
another long day,
aplenty for happy campers.
Radiation Burns on Cheap Plants
ovate orange trees
with no horns
in an auditorium
with a smile
chairs on the porch
mind with no thoughts
in the atmosphere
the worlds problems
the world from strife
can such innocuous plants instill so much wastage the world over. The heroin
trade a sad legacy of the Western World, heck maybe even the Eastern World. The misery of addiction, the decay of life, the unwanted dead, all legacies of a small plant in East Asia.
Ramrod belts out another rock song
chords juxtaposed to the screech of electric guitar
other band members high as kites
go through their set,
poison in veins
groupies front row center
heads to and fro,
girl with the Rose tattoo
her head in melodic tempo.
spreads it’s evil wings out of Central America, bound for the markets of rock stadiums and street life in North America and other western territories. The insipid
plant that breeds misery and death, fucked up lives living fucked up life. The
dollar it earns going into illicit bank accounts.
Ramirez of Capital Investments
daily habit worth $200
that he thinks now
an automaton to self destruction
lights in the room flicker
it his mind that bends
sound of commerce outside his door
sound of his sniffing
bar the compulsory cough.
Man’, said Bob Marley, the king of Gunga and Rastafarian, the sweet scent
of Mary Jane as you toke back on another bullet. The sweet sensation of a moderate
high as you take it in deep and hold, to give full effect to the weed. It’s
often home grown so hard to police, but still idiots try their luck and get caught.
give you Kaya now
to give you kaya now
the rain is pouring.”
caravan is steady
smell wafting out one open window
children wait their turn
brother holding back
smoke in the cabin enough
the little ones to get high,
is such a buzz he thinks
thinking he’s ruining fragile minds.
seven today she thinks. Seven Halcyon sleeping tablets. Not trying to get high, just trying to lose memories, before she loses her mind. The most she has taken in one day was twelve, and boy did that knock her out, slept for three days after. Her mind slips back to the rape (again) and the nonsensicalness of it all. Heck, he was her best friend, had been for years. Sure, they’d
both been on crack, but his animalistic attempt at love had killed her.
rule the world
times when days passed
the pain lingered on
nights when high
better than nightmares
days when sleep hurt
seventy dollar shots
to drown the pain.
the world is crazy,
not getting any better
it’s proportional to growth?
Trimaran’s and a Fair Wind
day lay lazily open with a scant nor’wester
boats of the small fleet head towards Charn
Trimaran “Whalesong” leads by a whisker.
wind as they head northward swings south,
to a small gale, up spinnakers, blasting
reaches twenty five knots as white horses dance.
Lady Wigram, the bowsprit of Whalesong, bows
indifference of swells and chop fighting each other,
super schooner Daybreak Lover, takes the lead.
single-hander’s are fighting with each other
miles back now thanks to the big rigs
possess more sail area -the size of the smaller boats.
Charn, one of those insignificant channel islets
the spinnaker and rake open a fresh genoa,
pointed to the wind and swell, pushing for Roget’s.
smaller boats are starting to pull out, the wind is high,
Doctor on the Chase Boat administers to fallen sailors,
“Doctor” that is the Southerly wind increases again.
regains the lead, though another multihulled,
“Black Widow” dives noseward toward
tightens it’s headsail and finds a few more knots.
they round Roget’s, a lighthouse-topped Island
start the tacking duel back to the start line,
clear leaders, both fighting the wind, the sea, and each other.
dropped, engine run up, sails packed away below decks,
waves of appreciation to a gallant loser, and thanks
salt laden decks and sailors soon to be washed down.
The Dormouse cries.
sweet your tears
mouse in the house
men full of beers,
cherished your love
days when ladies dance
sprinkle flowers from above.
glowing flower you are,
drive your new car.
legs they make me sweat
after your fading body
run me into the deck.
my aging darling
love forever cherished
time we’ve shone and mingled
she, doubly blessed.
African animals loiter
around the watering hole,
the same picture unwinds
Antelope and Wildebeest
scampering to and fro,
wallow in muddy rivers
indicative of their portly weight.
Rabbits run from fast Cheetah
machines – Lioness, Hyena
high in tree ready to pounce.
the former circus chimp
in the savannah, inexperienced
seen tailing the Gorillas
the Congo jungles to Kilimanjaro
Baboons pick nits from younguns
Elephants scatter en masse
with swinging trunk,
of the Jungle Quartet
taste foreign to my recollection.
boats jumping about,
the action of tacking again.
long ones on her hands
record a somewhat envious one.
mess ready for mothers
and hang on a line again.
bright red and orange,
chill wind of winter onset cools.
barbeque fired up to hot
taste of fish wanton this time around.
the weight of winter snow
acorns wind up in squirrel burrows.
likes of hugs and cuddles
friends aren’t averse to the actions.