Sentinel sentiment.

A cardinal scared and petrified
in a rock of roll and religion
peaked hat to forgive and emulsify
to climb above
and reach so high.
A priest of putrid sewage of language
spouted in abnormal times
embedded of a page
boy how did this look
in the middle, central eye.
Sir I will, and leave as a testament
a sentinel sentiment
a soldier to protect God in a thousand year myth
how dare you try
to dismiss this.
Layers so intertwined
I just lost interest in this rhyme
it is easy to dismiss this purified myth
I hope you all take the point of this.

I miss her

I miss her,
especially with the frosting's here on in
the English countryside bled white
ice and degrees zero
no longer heroes
blond haired and actual
I miss her
with the tree mounted and decorated
tinsel tasseled as a scarf
craved to be part of a family gone
away, torched in brandy
I miss her.
The empty bed, solo no glow anymore
I crave her delicate voice and thoughts
sounds only
throats obscured, insecure, fused and melted
I miss her.
tantamount climbing a face
again and again in my head
slipped, somewhere amongst the ascent
decent, too fast, lost my legs
I miss her.

X M A S T I M E xxx

Tis that time of year once again
when children glow amongst the lights on pine
awaiting Santa to descend down chimney pots
amongst the mince pies and alcohol beset to dine.
Whispers amongst parents, heard under pillows
a thousand secrets over years of time
will he, or wont he, am I good or bad?
the charades of anticipation in the noel bribed rhyme.
The glow of a nose guiding a sledge of truth
without Jesus nor God, just the red and the white
the snow it may tumble on the cards of the past
the decadent minced on pies of cartwheels delight.
Even the non believer can not stare into the eyes
into the son or the daughter and melt like the snow
with the history of pillow cases filled with gifts and no regrets
the dimmest cynical lights can illuminate and glow.
And so this is Christmas, beyond childhood pain
lets make it a new one, beyond the history we once knew
and gather a promise, amongst shadows of snow
this is glad tidings with white over blue.
So parents relax, within a knowledge of the myth
just as there ma and pa did on one winters eve
although we claimed, we would never do this
the power of Christmas forced us all to believe.

Cherubs we can not see

Cherubs faces etched in a stone plinth
ready to cry in a rain fueled mind
moss gathered on the cheeks of angels
Botticelli engraved, marbled to find.
Dry side against the rain scoured east
the back of the hand rubbed and imbibed
friction of forensics lighting the timber
persecuting the jurisdiction written subscribed.
An ornamental, committed to the wards
nurses and doctors caressing the cells
angels of non believers, hallowed the grave
tramping on meadows, orienteering the fells.
Clouds lined with the silk of distrust and grey
of dust powdered like rouge on the buttocks so spanked
a pure voice of echos singing in a storm
a leader of men gathered, divided, and flanked.
Heaven allows him to divide and beset
to gather amongst the underworld in a fire of lava and rock
the dearest of the family held hands and clenched
we looked towards the sky unbelieving, no longer the angels mock.
The cherubs sang in a sarcastic tone
and the blood gathered all around me
next decades will be better
we pronounced in nebula we can not see.

The bridge, go forth.

I wished to be decadent in a decade a plethora of miles away
where a silver glow slid on slides of mountains
and her eye lashes brushed against my heart
the end of a Hollywood film drowned with me in a siren of fountains.
The car stripped on a boulevard, whisky flows and never tires
sparkling wine of a valley in a feather boa wrapped around the neck
a waxed moustache tweaked and manicured in a flame of coal fires Christmas morn
we climbed and bid the captain hello, on the nineteen thirties deck.
spitfires and hurricanes fighting abroad,
a sword driven into a dress that flowed in a dance
I closed my eyes and dreamed of a place that is so far beyond
in a world that caressed the only things I became and dalliance.
golden haired and beyond a punishment
ivory and white tapping on polished floors
no more regrets, no more resentments.
Lets end the rules that made us stand and lay be out
bravado obrevado, I thank you and try to relax
be an observer, so enticed, I can only flout.
the cable cars conductor announced the tax
To the both of us I pay the ticket
Just to move on and give in I sway
San Fransisco bays and announces love
the golden gate bridge, go forth, and play.

Lost Muse

A poet needs a muse, and without one, in the short term, one can draw upon the loss and anguish as an inspiration, but after a while, it is more difficult. I lost my muse, my inspiration, I wish it could change but apparently it can not be so. Sunsets and full moons, rolling landscapes, family and friends, can only deal so many hands as a contribution for a poet. A muse is an irreplaceable gap. I have taught myself to be strong in the past, and I will do the same in the future, but it does not stop me missing the challenge to impress the one person you wish to impress most of all. I miss you, I will not be the same, but perhaps I will be different in another way.

Ta Da

A rancid ranch in which a cowboy falls
stalls and extinguishes his cigarillo
the ghost of the sand in which he trod
on his way to the prostitutes and the purple silk of a bordello.
Whisky on rye in a sodden glass
holster lowered a little lower than yesterday
threatened by the maddest part of an insane man
a coyote cries yet does not bay.
I watched her from a distance and grew to fall
fell in love with a silk worm dressed in a enigma
threw down at the first challenge and re addressed myself
ta da.
A bullet in the side of me
she scattered as I bled
don't mess with a cowboy inner self
do not touch the grey cells of a Yankees head.
There is a monument dedicated to my grandfather
it lies on a hill a thousand miles away
a bearded portrait is all I hold of him
yet amongst his grave I feel I lay.

Burning embers

The spiders web sites a discovery on a dew dusk morning
Magellan straits and narrow his aim for the heart beats of scorning
discovery of a new passion and lesions, on a bare naked back
the touch of your lips sharpen then relax.
We tumble and fumble in a tog of goose feathers quilt
dug and hug in a passion of silt
I enter you and share the heart of my life in a cello of candid expression
a life time of anguish exposed in a neanderthal repression.
Yet it is all I know how to do for you,
without money of offers and gold digging true
the raw animal instinct that I hid for so long
the words I wrote to entice, the melody of a nineteenth century song.
Share the rest of your life with me
hold my hand and let us see what we were meant to see
I will chop the wood for the fire we craved
the burning embers of the passion
saved.

The town of Independence bleeds

The sun set and I, smiled
through the relief and the reprimand that no longer
enticed me to dance
I wear a tuxedo with bow tie let loose around my bearded neck
drinking a complicated mixture of Tabasco and tomato
in a tall glass of exposure.
The lunar girl grabbed me by the hand and smiled
she invited me to the bedroom and we made love
the sun heated in appreciation
the night sky transformed, into orange and purple blues.
The cafe table of our life was set with coffee and sugar
sweet and black with a thousand adventures to discover
our very own waiter craved a tip in his hand
a silver service charge for leading this depression, through the a la carte land.
Then the jazz man hobo, sitting alone in the street, smiled a toothless smile
I held your hand closer, realising how lucky we are
I throw him a nickle, and his grin grows wider
my heart shrinks into the red, my thoughts grow milder.
So we sit by the river, watching the ships with lights sail by
I grasp you closer to me, afraid of letting the love drown
the body heat is all the insulation we need
on the banks of anonymous, the town of independence
bleeds.

One hundred years old

So I reach a century and am decrepit
yet in my mind I dance on tap shoes and scream
amongst the cells locked in my mind I see
The trenches and incomprehension's
of a place I craved of peace serene.
I have reached the branch of life that has wilted
falling leaves of everyday I no longer want to gather
My fight was fought a half century ago
the children passed me by
I have no enemies left, I have no longer a foe.
Wheel me out to the piano bar and leave me
a statue of history who can not clean his own arse
grey follicles on a head of non descriptive imagination
I can no longer abide
this is my station.
Would you like me to guide you through the map that is life
circumnavigate through oceans of feelings
circumvent your emotion and ignore lust and love
evacuate the city of humanity
exist in the depth and not in the town of above.
For apparently I am one hundred years old
they asked me to tell the story of a triumphant life
I can not, I do not care
Look at me all you wish and crave and like
my soul is yours, to dissect and bare.

Aldus Phillies and his Amazing Victorian tunneling worm!

The worm was forced to tunnel
through the blackness
heading toward the west coast
driven on
the only direction,
darkness down
ridden hard
to its destination.
The Congo no longer
a real invitation
after captures screams, the raptures
Serene, forced upon
to hold the beast, celebrates it capture.
Victorian circus whipped and slithered
amongst its cream of blood
humongous muscles that dived
through the clay and mud.
The worm dug the tracks, and im afraid it bled
the tunnel, Aldus Phillies cried
must be built in simply decades
the workers feared and died.
Towards the states united
the beast,
he was driven delved so frightened
yet his fortitude beyond redemption
Aldus remained enlightened.
He rode upon His back and swore
Give me the African river beast
I travelled south to tame Him
I order his sweat for now at least.
So the worm swam through the clay fields
heading towards the American shore
with a bleeding head of virtue
with Phillies wanting more.
The Victorian tracks did follow
as the engineer, he had planned
that nineteenth century connection
across the Atlantic dream expand.
The Congo worm, tamed, reigned and exhausted
never saw light at tunnels end
yet the train ran through to daylight
the English man would remain your friend.
Yet not to the captured Congo eel
although a promise had been made
with a grasping of a human hand
The worms fingers had been splayed
and doubted Oroonoko style
a promise to a prince extinguished
the railway and the bile
a life had been relinquished.
For the Congo one died in its passage
yet the tunnel from east to west
was made on the back of emptiness
and the African did its best.
So Aldus was rewarded
for the tunnel from Victorias land
and yet the five hundred thousand year old worm
died as it was born
in ancient sand.

Quantum Gravity, My little theory.

I know very little about quantum mechanics, and even less about quantum gravity, having just watched a BBC documentary does not leave me anymore enlightened, apparently however, black holes are hard to explain, also, why or how the universe is expanding is also hard to figure out, and it is not from lack of trying. I have a theory, i have no idea if it could be in any way correct, but its fun to try. so here goes, What if we are in a black hole? What if the universe is not expanding but our own galaxy is shrinking, making the universe appears to be moving away from us, when in fact we are moving away from it, into a black hole that has been consuming us for, well, a long time. Maybe we cant see black holes, because we are in one, and the light from the outer universe we observe is dissapearing as we get pulled in to the mouth of our black hole, there is apparantly a black hole at the center of every galaxy, but we cant find ours, what if its because we are in it?
This can probably be dismissed mathematically, and scientifically in seconds, but sometimes I just like to apply my non academic imagination to a very academic situation and come up with a theory, you know, just for a bit of a giggle.
Please, if you know any quantum physicist's , or good will hunting type mathematicians who care to ponder this, ridicule it, and then dump a bucket of cold scorn on to it, please show them and let me know, I'm a great believer in constructive criticism, especially in subjects I know nothing about. Ta.

Abused again.

I thought she would have stood by me
through the thick and thin
the cause and cave she invited me in
dark and shiver, alone
a stone, thrown in a puddle
with ripples, stripped, bare
I craved another
heart beat, pulses
imp
minute in a minute
of time driven and drawn
on a sketch padded feet
able to climb the trunk driven tree.
Quiver, in a hole protecting
abjecting an absailing
down side of the house
I showed you a mouse and yet
you were not that much impressed.
I digressed, did not progress
confused
I believe my mind has been abused
again.

Foreign land impossible.

The creation of the melting pot
a nineteen twenty southern home
my grandmama baking a cake
for the Lords sake
I needed to exit stage right, right?
Called up to fight
Over to a European war of what and because
And I is black not white this cause
cigar smoking in a trench jazz room
not yet invented, instigate, faculty
see a million times, the Hun of time
I cried his name out,
I teared his throat, and shout
vocal
Local, other brothers
scattering in a french trench
gramophone on a scratch
like the one on my cheek
record
drive through the ford
and cross, arms raised
above the head
the rifle, this black cheek
buried
shot.
. . . . .
shot.
and buried
in a white sand on foreign land
unmarked
impossible.

Sweet corn

I met him in a cornfield
he did not announce or even insinuate
his name or history
yet I knew him already
his smile was a warmth on a bitter banjo morning
his hair was flailing in an invisible wind
the tears were sopping his cheeks
blankets moist in a eye brow scorning
questions you
and I dared to run
amongst the cob and lob the answer
in His face, golden,
disgrace the lord
in my scare crow mind
flight
beyond my sight
the tears in the plowed
corn.

The little Gothic girl

Dressed in the dark
purposely, on a back of rebellions horse
careering through our walls of life
mascara running faster than we can
down the eyelids shut and she cried
yet we stood by her and decisions
made in a plaster scene background
of glitter and dresses serene
in catalogues of teenage life
tattoo do you
hair of a ravens wing
flying pale against the sun that
continually sets in a dark place
Oh little Gothic girl
blankets to cover the face
skulls and a crossed bone
depressed yet i
the hairy monster of the mountings
pictured on a wall, nailed, straight
look back, not down on you
a photograph
oh little Gothic girl
do be true.

Medic!

Drown the thoughts in a glass of insomnia
kicking
screaming amongst a perspex
plastic
birds circling in degrees
obtrusive language only Grandma would appreciate
be cause of the second world war
the falling on beaches and peaches rouged
on cheeks in irrespective
dis respective
alto ego played on a double
bass
caught on a line hung in a river
drown to the sound of a tank
shivered its turrets
syndrome of a mind i caught at ninety ninety years old
fidgeting in an armchair
despair he did
since the gut was sixteen and lied
volunteered
feared the god who told him to do this
be blissed in a apprehensive
amongst the trench and tackle
double back to save my one legged friend
send in a medic
a dog collar wearer
Dr point if my view fits
sits
anaesthetic
Medic
Medic

Aztecnology

aztechnology
ancient stones gathered
on shoulders of giants
wind pipes dressed in llamas tricolor skin
rhythm beating of the still heart
trom bones
vulture coiffure rotting in a dessert
ice cream melting
smelting
the irons of life together
pyramids bleeding triangular
singular reason
scat mans boogie
on ancient landing
pad
insomniac feeding on vestibules
globules gathering on a leaf
sad
perhaps and collapse
relive and relapse the past
faces of the visitor in the sand
pyramid
aztechnology
alien being on earth we know
we draw on the inside of the wall
feeding the child that lives in the inside
abide by the rules they dictate
suffocate to satisfy
there is a new law to abide by bye.
released
escsped.

I west coast of Africa

An African post
stamped, on my heart, like
Oroonoko, dragged, against the sand and
desert slavery held in a hand
a prince. a giant
forced and raped with muscles
flexed
a princess Imoinda
complex
allow the man to grow, show
that the united states west Indians flow
against the rivers of the
tom tom drum, and bow
and arrow against
the confederate
infiltrate
remember the African King
fight against the native Siberians
Russian against the bearing
straight
Inuit
and then the white.
from the east of us, Spanish, English
against the all of the us
U s
a
i say
feeling poorer against
the east men, with pale faces
races against the east of
Atlantic and
where we came from, on slave ships
slipped and died on decks
to compete with Eastern Asians
who travelled within
one long longitude
we evolved from the same place
middle Africa
we sought each other out
for that is the sin
it is not all that far
this place
the being
West
Africa.

In the town of New Orleans

The eruption of a volcanic
satanic
operatic
pause.
a Faustian deal made
three devils
kidneys, displayed
heat, on a babies sheet
talcum powder
cheeks.
We cried on the new Orleans street
death marched in
with the sin and cause
with the trombone because
we never wanted horns to play better
the leading lady dressed in black and lace
without a trace of mourning
dawn
double bass
Im dead and glad i am in
the glass case coffin, laughin
shiftin amongst the spiritual cacophony
after the last plane of time symphony
oh when the saints go marching in
i pass onto the after life
and see my family kicking high heels behind me
dressed in noir and night times stars
saxophone, rang, i answered
hello, glad you are there
a thousand light year stare
yet the crab claws are gonna grab me
and deliver
shiver moma
look over me, im down stairs
let it loose
hullaballo
let it loose
and i will catch you on the flip side of life
i lived as an infant
i grew up in my teens
i existed amongst the gutters
in the town of New Orleans.

Insipid mama

emotional void
bleeding tar pits of sweat
no scent to cover the cultural seeping
angry at the are of the you are
pirates of sailed regression
and I say this Michael
I don't a;;ow myself to be happy or sad
good nor bad
i tread on steady waters
non appreciation of genius
the world is not constructed of scaffolds of colours
its an architecture of non desript sketches
cathedrals of couture don't exist to me
play guitars and conscript words
for a war of imagination
I will not appreciate, can not gravitate
I hate to tell you this son
but i'm the black and white mum.

Red inside us all.

my blood on ebony skin
ivory has done this to me again
elephant tusks and complains
severed the beast inside of me
cowed and undiscovered
amid African sand unloved.
Held, meld on to the deck
wake I love, children of my god
gone. tied to a new religion
fellow men entangled in bangles of steel
questioning the reasoning of the vanilla essence
waves of depression, swamp the ship
can a be in
islands
i do not know, alone
plantations
work for nothing
currency of life
coins of sweat
up rise like Oroonoko
King of my homeland, against the fresh mane lion
trying to progress with no hope
i took an axe to the white mans head
he bled
dead
blood
like I do
fool, he is just the same as me
as I see
on the floor
as the other white men, beat
me, killed
me
red
inside
us all.

Lost Poem

I lost a poem I was really proud of
It was a bout of slavery, and I was a black man
In it, because in words I can
Be anyone, but it disappeared from view
fickle words diluted into digression
over hanging like a stalactites repression
I lost a poem
in the realm of technology
And this one does not make up for it.

Thank you Mam.

twenties quick step
moonshine a flowing in underground
bars me, and a smile
pin striped in glory
tell me a story of repression
aggression and do la do la do la do la
on a sidewalk of treats and treason
and trickles on the apple citation line
pulled over, stop on a nova star
by far, we rode on the keys and progressed
I digress, she taught me the words
to the cha cha change of my inside
in the nineteen twenties
foxtrot, I'm becoming cliched
flick my heels and see
dance on sidewalks of apprehension
I try to be clever, but would rather
be someone else
so I will, hum it baby
this maybe my first love song
casually i will go, jumping in puddles
what rhymes with puddles?
fuddles
duddles
i will muddle
through this
Bing bang
alekazam
thank you mam.

Triple Billed

sun sets, triple billled
duck and behold the morning
swan dive in the apparition
of orange haze
destitute under a bridge
beg to please
anything goes, suck you off
feed the child
umbilical cord ripped
heroine
jabbed in the vein
of hope
no blood to bleed
constitute the amendment
fifth, I do not talk
pillaged and progression
sins ten fold suggestion
prostitute of preemptive presumption
it it your assumption that lead me to a bed
this child needs to be fed
Mistress of a mattress
to follow blindly, extraordinary
high and hugging
sly and drugging
the world
of mine
digging on the coal face
babies cold face
resuscitate, destination filled
orange sunset
triple billed.

Draw

approach me, come on approach me
on the dead leaves of fall, stand up and be counted
draw that pistol, sketch that leather saddle and you will die
if that's what you wish
i shall take and introduce you to the after life
but you go on and blame me, for the stupidity
the insanity, its all caused by a mid morning sunset
you called out my name, in the saloon
you decided that I was too old to do this again
well, I'm a going prove you wrong
just one last time young un
my middle finger is a twitching on the pearl handle
stare into my eyes, and see i mean what i say
turn around, walk away
i give you one more chance,
don't make me kill another son again
don't you do it, ain't no ladies going to respect you more
a corpse don't marry, nor have young uns
i will put that bullet in the middle of you
straight through you son, i am that hired gun
i may be sixty, but i ain't lost my touch
back away, i pray, back away.


Draw.
I walk, good night son,
sleep well.
just right there in the dirt
where you fell.
,

When I were out walking

When I were out walking but a few days ago
I met a man from the east side, a genius don't you know
he smiled through teeth of anguish, chess pieces on his brain
intense blackened eyes, like his king queen bishop insane.
When I were out walking on the pier of New York
I met a man selling shell fish, fresh from the east side of the coast
his head was all grizzled. gnarled with knowledge and age
he talked of wars and sacrifices, he was a seaman of sage.
When I were out walking on the coast of Delaware Bay
I smelt the essence of history upon a cockle shop day
passing octogenarian couples, white haired commitments delight
not forgetting the immigrants, recalling the fights.
When I were out walking, but a few days ago
a red lobster, face scaring the children as I go
the bottle of booze, wrapped in brown paper
this hobo a travelling, in the midst of the later.
I sat on the east coast, having made it by rail from the west
just a skinny old man dressed in slacks and a vest
seeking others just like me, a family I never did know
the calling of ancestry, that allowed me to delve oh so low.
When I were out walking I stumbled and fell
in the high tide of the east coast, no more time for this drunkard to dwell
I am here for a reason, to wash all the pain away
salt water of the east side, it is the end of my day.

The death March, April, May.

Bare shoulders
laid on a slab board
kneading of manipulation and massages
messengers and fortification
defences, tensed
high fenced
do not touch me there.
spine tingling, bringing
a death march, April, may
allow you to invade
a blade, of precision, cuts the meat
in two and diced
double sixes
gamble, that they never find you
only, perhaps the tissue
that you cried upon
ligaments and fissure
a passing passion of the issue
I published
for the hunters to follow and find.
they did
bars me from doing the insane thing again
in the marsh lands I spread
the horror
now locked up in the corridor of the row
and the light will go out
I have a sponge upon my head
the priest reads the rights
the contemplation of the last meal
is truly, eaten, fed
cackle with a laughter
of electricity, of the darkened mourning
tis night time of horror
tis the right time for the dead.

Kite to the moon

The point of riding the back of a kite
is to travel to the moon
with the thread let loose
aim for the Crater
on a dark side of earth
the point of riding the back of a kite
ribbons flailing in the inexhaustible air
no atmosphere
yet I peer at the end of the string tied
satisfied I guided it
lunar ticks inside of me
cast out with the fly on the end
beyond sight
the point of flying a kite.

Mr Knock Knock

knock, knock
who's there
its the angel of death
what do you want, I'm six years old
knock knock
i answered the door Mr knock angel
your parents
what about mummy and daddy
they died tonight.
Is this the babysitter telling me?
In a car crash across the river bridge to home
no, I'm seven years old
grandaddy says you don't exist
knock knock i do
I live the life within you
you can't, i have no life in me anymore
my life died on the bridge
knock knock
i chose that for you, i always have
not anymore you bastard saint
you allowed them to drown
did I
you did
knock knock
its a joke no more.
knock knock
who's there?
the river was shallow, they survived
angel of death
you lied
that's what i do
to disturb and provoke you
Honey we are home
eight years old
continue.
Drowned faces found again
nine years old
sea the weed in me
nurture me to suck on the teet
you are too old
I'm not, you took them away,
we are here baby
that nasty old knock knock has gone away
really? mommy, really
No its me,
I love to see the pain on your face
teens
and pronounce i can without doubt
college years spread on campus
no more dread
fall in love with the girl I met
so pretty, i want to marry
I want to evolve
knock knock!
No, go away, I'm happy now, i don't need you
yes you do, I'm Mr knock knock
inside of your head
you should have been in the car that night
I will never go away
My friends call me guilt
here's my card
I'm thirty years old
I don't care, tap, tap, tap
I'M HERE TO STAY WITH YOU FOREVER AND ANOTHER DAY,
I have a two year old child, you are dead
KNOCK KNOCK
No
KNOCK KNOCK
No
KNock Knock
NO
no, no!
I have a three year old baby, you can't control me anymore.
I can and will,
Goodbye Mr knock knock.
Dont leave me
i need you,
im nothing without you
I'm
knock knock
who's there...........
no one at all.

Early morning kill.

I sat on snails glistening shell like
during processions of midnight
gatherings
remembering them
amongst stars of yesteryear's forgotten
dew a hearing
on early morning web sites
transparent globules of gathered
water
droplets, calm and hanging.
An ancient log recorded, a
hundred years and rotten still
alive, with dawn
colours erupting on the lines
the musk smell of the dear
beloved, carried on the wind
the scent.
suddenly my pupils copulate together
focus on cross eyed hairs
rifle through drawers mind,
cease are, all hail
trigger the fuel and fire.
One shot
on purple heathers back
she fell
roe roe roe we gloat
gently down redeem
merrily drunk and high on life
i wish it was all
a dream.

Retarded Atheists

I'm tired of this, jump on the band wagon syndrome, I hate God, I hate people who love God, I dislike people who hold out for the afterlife, just accept that after we die their is nothing but dust and darkness. Screw you, if you apply your intellect to scaremonger amongst people who have chosen religion as a way to calm themselves, go in to a kids playground, and punch a five year old in the face, then tell his parent you did it because you could. It takes the same amount of arrogance to proclaim you are an atheist without original arguments, as it does to proclaim you have found God, ooo, look at me, i have quotes from,,,,,from who, other retarded atheists, who find it easier to dismiss religion than accept, big wow, step down, who do you think you are?
I can argue with the simple kid in class, does that make me better than them, No.
If they want to argue their cause, their belief with me, does that make them wrong? No
If i give them gravitates and cause, reason, and ammunition, does that make me retarded? Yes.
If you claim to be intelligent, shut up, Atheism is not a religion that needs to be spread, it is an intellect of automatic acceptance, it does not need a label, a badge, a reason, it is a step of evolution, do not brag you have thumbs, simply use them.

speaking in tongues

Du bis meiene libe
du bist meine liben
du bist so schoen
ich vollen de gehaen
hand on hand
fur immfurt
ich liebe dicht
ich stets vil
meine austvistz
graspen entezvzl fur das nicht
bon marche a la trepidiarese
avez las odivideosa
real a concubine
trippleadore
el fuse ce core
tre
bien, la duutticcelotti
massa cor e toure
du bis meine libe
du bis mein liber
du bis so schoen.
a full stop here
a comma there
a word divided
i was not
appreciate
duutticcelotti
the chimes
the songs
i speak as good in
manipulate around rte
tongues.

confusion

I never felt the material of felt against the rub
of Arabic tents, red light candles in midnight
sub scarfes wrapped against the sumer cold
red eyes leering against a bar begin to fold
arabic scripture, imagine you
, dessert
afterwards, in towel, silk,
maricach market, incence me
you will,
i plat against i8n a milliojbn e times
i feel my fingers platy io bn;, ghca nnnn onot control
i trty
i really f do
as fast a bv s i can
the guitar settkles
because i
an the one that rtry s rto translatge atg some one point o
forgifve3 m,e mpl,eaese in the Arabic of
i realy try to undersaanli8bnd it
this interpreta77ion betwen cultoooooures
i am beginning to
i have begun to
cough
i aplogise#
i apologise
i mat mat may realiseeeee
realise
begin to
understan
d
coloni
ial
and conquor
accep
t
of breath
of breath
and breath, again
as
mat i
c
do u
???????????

Trying to think and questioning???

Why are you entitled
to stroke my stomach
like a turtle, upturned
vulnerable to the sun
burning.
i am capable of poetic words
it does not mean i have nothing to say
on my two way radio
flapping sapping the sap out of me
like a dying tree
underneath a capitulating Caucasian dream
flip side me, so i show my shell again
hard edges of desperation
separation from the sea side shore
I'm not sure, obscure witless anger
dice the apple ate i on core
pips displaying
raw
not needed to create the new tilled soil
grasp the earth
i am done with that
disarm
unarmed
no longer a farmer.

Butterflies dont fall in love with me

I lied to you,
told you I could dance on tables
that i could sing, the lyrics to,
i don't get around much anymore
play tenor sax,
I lied to you
to impress, saying sculpture were easy for me
portraits were a natural art
i could sew you a petty coat
i could captain a boat
wave goodbye to a crowd
i lied to you
i do not know Latin, nor Greek
i cant do calculus or
streak rainbows in the sky
for a child that is not mine
i lied
but be damned by it
i lied for a reason
its simple
i told tales
because i needed you
apologise i do
i can not see the shadows on the moon
nor can i draw down the flames of the sun
i tried to, believe me i did
the sweat was real, the perspire
butterflies don't fall in love with me
thats real.
I am not a liar.

Drink diving into the abyss

As i tyre
depressed grip
on the road of life
i swerve
to avoid another connection to somewhere
deflated
insulated, why did i create
this curator, again of rubber illusion
fusion, on the highway
not used to high
ways
ever
i always seem to dread the
cords ripped
stripped, and flipped like an egg
on the hub cap heated
unbuckled on the back seat
brake
take the given
of
last nights
beer
sorry baby
forever severing
your neck from the back seat
tension
the prison sentence.

Master Bates, slave trader,power

There for master
said it all in a whip lash
told me so
again and again and again
said it once and twice before
i ain't saying, he was a he after all,
he did to me
bled on the outside, and internally.
drove me,
to the edge of the field,
drove me through the night
drove me to the edge of my mind
i saw it it in his eyes, absolute delight
i is trying, master
i is dying master
i is falling, bastard
fell, bleeding again
insane this, I'm human master
ain't no donkey ass
I'm bleeding master
seething through my teeth
master, disaster of you,
take me home,
no boats to sail me east
no Africa on the horizon for me
I'm here to stay
master
bates,
you all must get off,
on this power
of this.

Tap

Tap
underneath the ice cap
tap
I cant breath anymore
tap
let the ice break, please
I swam
tap
i need to find the
tap
to
tap
to
tap
tip toe pressuring on the
tap
i am underneath the ice cap
tap
its right, no left, no north,
life flashing before your eyes
my love
my child
tap
breathless now
sink below
i tried
horrified
no answer to the
tap.

Yesterday was my birthday

yesterday was my birthday
it came to me and went away
like a kaleidoscope of colours
i feel enhanced and set to stray.
multitude of a thousand destinations
caught in a web of destitute Brazilian
prostitutes, whoaring, i pimped
sizzling, fizzing.
As if goose fat on potato's
creating, roasted
my brain on fire, thinking
toasting.
BBQ, you, are cooked on the outside
yet raw in the middle
I play on bow strings of the double bass
i fiddle upon the fiddle.
Treacle me, absorb the sauce
flailing one fine way
cook my age in absorbent times
yesterday was my birthday.

Ever glades end

Everglades
eyes, of alligators
creole of soul
on rye bread
fed
too much, and as such
teeth embedded, shredded, just because he said it
snapped to, hover boat
down his throat and staid
rotten too long
too many words can get caught
in the mouth of the speaker
end it while you can
end it while you
end it while
end it
end.

My skinny arms quiver
shiver, to the pain
on an axe, hard, Viking chisseled
do not detest
fester upon
flamenco
spanish tamborine
combine with nordic serene
horns on head
matador
boats sailed
to the north Atlantic
discovered faro and islands
paprika on orange sails
medditerainen
piillaged

• 
  

tuber
closes
psychosis
play
mind
find
it
in
you
breathing
heavenly
pump
heavy
chest
discovered
under
milk
wood
mine
sublime
covered
to
preserve
serve
your
master
disaster
faster
faster
fa st er
f a st er
f a s t e r
f a slow down
syndrome

A new jazz song, because, i can can

There is a dawn
breaking
A sunshine taking
a breath out of me.

A gamble
roulette
told you Mr saxophone
double bass
My mad embrace

A hold on me
for a million times
chipping at the gold face
save yours first.

A gamble
roulette
told you Mr saxophone
double bass
My mad embrace

i tripped in the street light
thinking of your touch
i wish to tell you, how love
does the such and such

I cant be the oppressor
not anymore
your eyes wink me awake
opens my closed mind some more

A gamble
roulette
I told you Mr saxophone
double bass
My mad embrace.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2009/aug/13/readers-recommend-unlikely-covers?commentpage=2

Just copy and paste the link, and youtube some of the suggestions, some quite brilliant renditions and translations of some real classics, I love it when music is heard through different ears and played with other peoples mouths.

Average, original quotes.

If you aim for the stars, by the time you reach them, you would be too exhausted to enjoy.


Who wants to be a millionaire, I wouldn't mind being a milliner, people need hats.


If you think of average, Burt Reynolds films are average, and we all know of Burt Reynolds, right?


The definition of success, your real friends have already left you, and the ones that are left only love your coat tails.


Someone asked me to be a motivational speaker, but I couldn't be bothered.


The main problem with aiming high, is you quite often miss a head shot, aim low, just use a high caliber.


In order to be remembered as a success, it appears you have to die, i have chosen to remain anonymous and live forever.


The day i become so successful i feel i need bodyguards, shoot me.


If your car has tinted windows, you really must have succeeded at something, mainly it's being a prick.

Pirates it is afterall

A vast amount of sky to breathe in.
Inhale and exhaust
mothers sunday
She cried, left us all and multiplied
against the grain.
A mast on the sail of a ten gallon ship
monkey hands and legs that gripped
caught on timber time
fine and sublime couture
ribbed back strapped lure
torture whipped.
sniff the tobacco of the vapor
when we lull, insecure
dive on the uneven deck
cards dealt, smelt on iron
fired on cannons east side
open windows,shadows gathered
with no conscience
i loved you
gallion sailed
watch tower
hailed to you
pirates failed in my heart
cut out with cutlasses
one eye patch to eradicate
fate?
i guess, are, it is.
Deck me
please me
cease me
no other ocean would i rather swim
and drown
a vast me hearties
sin.

Qweebles

So tell me about the Qweeble.
The Qweeble is so much easier to describe than the non Qweeble, which of course is ridiculous in color and smells of nectarines.
So tell me about the Qweeble.
Its a preferred non entity of mass non identification that its brother, the non Qweeble habitates in ferocity and hibernates amongst blind infuriating winter gales, telling chilling tales amongst gatherings of the non Qweeble family.
So tell me about the Qweeble.
Its daughters dance in passionate wheezes, trying to attract the lesser Qweebles from under growth, that at most, hide in another beings shadow, feeling, i guess, i don't exactly know, but feeble.
So tell me about the Qweeble.
I'm unable to tell you about them. I don't know the prognosis, but I'm aware, they stare at you from under the bushes, the hedges, the fences, the hences of, they hate us, they hate you, the ridicule.
QWEEBLE.
Oh, qweebles, yes, sorry if I felt the need to resist, Qweebles you say, I apologise, should have just gotten straight to the point, hope it was not missed,
Queebles, don't exist.

There is a moth

There is a moth
banging its head, against the light bulb in my mind, that said, I wouldn't want it to go away, stray, to another light source, stay, with me, please, keep tapping, rapping that rhythmic melody. Its fandango, tango, amuses me, the flapping of its wings, inspire, the choir of voices, to sing to me. A cathedral of echoes, i don't fully understand, comprehend, admittance, of the shrink wrapped sustenance. Fed. rally, and gather the forces, causes, petition and gist.
There is a moth
eating at my, sloth, slug, like, and yet angry, hungry and destructive, reconstructive, markings, its path with rainbow piss. Follow it, I dare you to, skid in it, drown in it, circumvent your it in it.
This is a children's story
There are no folk in the far away tree anymore. They grew up and began to explore the land above the clouds, that shrouds them now. They drew new pictures in their heads, when they were not forced, the historical ideals of a passing, ancient, yesteryear.
They witnessed nature in action, the transaction, of a caterpillar, eating, to form a cocoon, a nest, a hiber nation, sensation, to explore beyond, the naive teachings of under developed imaginations, and scientific explanations, developed and written amongst the humans evolved and creative cloth.
There is a moth.

none of the above by the strawheads.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Np45InnCR4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pHO5KWIMZUo

Every word I say.

I'm dumb
founded
by an orientation
of,
for,
relapse and contemplate
collapse and spastic ate
cerebral relax and fornicate
if you wish
if you abide
dare to tango and trip
the lightning fantabolous
wear the cape and announce the
legend within
the hovel of the poor man
sin.
Drive the Oldsmobile
through a shopping mall
smile at the camera
enlightened, enthrall.
A licence to byways
my ways
a billion dollar sigh
ways
contemplate
regurgitate
and puke
dispute
every word that i say.

Elephant tusks, refined and played.

Ivory, danced on by, patellas
Elbows, launched, skywards,
Knees, and all
because, it's the picture in my mind.
falling on to elephant tusks, carved
along side ebony,
white
elaborate, we won't starve
this music clears my mind
in the southern part of Indiana
I found the reason i became
in the sprawls of Indianapolis
the psychiatrist called my name.
I shot ,a thousand loads of reason
a bullett loaded with treason
yet I survived
and existed.
Lived along side a new family
the face, so open
I never knew
beauty could arrive
and never leave.
played on elephant tusks
dead and yet so alive
vibrations reverberate
through decades played, inside my mind
ivory.
I heed to the mighty beast
culled for
Tusks
speared for no other cause.
fallen on patellas
a hollow ghost
I played upon.

Cerebral Omelette

I recently fell in love. I wasn't planning to, it wasn't an event on my horizon, it sort of crept up on me, it wasn't diarised, I was single, thinking existence was peachy, no gaps needed filling, and then, bam, there she was, creating a gap that i didn't know needed filling!. Yet she was right.
I have only been in love once before, when i was but a child at the age of 18, but this is a mature love, it shrouds me in a cloud of security.I wear it every day. I rub my hands together in satisfaction and glee. I'm a poet, I make no apologies for that, she has made that make sense, no longer a teenage fantasy, I'm a 33 year old, adult male, and she is a constant tapping on my brain, whisking the yolk of my cerebral omelette.
A writer needs a muse, that's what I heard, in lyric absurd, see i am doing it already, a steady beat, tip tap, dum dum, tip tap, dum dum, it is a pulse in my head, fed.
I forgot how love felt.
I could describe it, i could tell you, the reader, how it is. I could compose a sonnet, I could describe my imagination, the torments of dreams, that's easy, it's what I do. Yet to allow you to glide, inside, that's more difficult.
I am not intentionally being patronising nor condescending, I hate people like me. So why am I doing this?
Just to provide an answer of some descript. It can happen.
My mind has been scrambled for some time now. I could have given in. I didn't. I made a cerebral omelette instead. She came in. and ate.
Don't hate me for this. I fell in love, and will prove, through my writings, that it was worth it.

Drown the Witch

Seers can predict the future, apparently, fortune tellers, tarot readers, horoscope writers, palmists, you get the gist, all future predictors. I am pretty much convinced that you can not, in any way, shape, or form, predict the future. Yet, for some bizarre reason, with the back up of millions of pounds of technological equipment, including satellite images etc, weather people, still claim, that they, the modern day witch, can, in fact, predict the future!. And not only can they do this, they convince millions of people around the world, that they can do it as well. Can I let you into a little secret, they can't, they are the prince of bullshitters.
Perhaps, at a stretch, they can tell you how tomorrow may turn out(although this is so often wrong), but they have the audacity, the sheer cheek, to try to tell us what will happen at the weekend, or the next week, or, the most laughable of all, how the summer is going to turn out. They attempt to tell us the direction of tornado's, the likelihood of a tsunami, where there may be an earthquake etc, etc. YOU CAN NOT PREDICT NATURE YOU BUNCH OF OVER EDUCATED, TOO WELL FUNDED, IMBECILES!!
As you may be able to tell with the tone of my capital letters, i don't like the weather people,(perhaps it is because I'm British) I'm sure if you bask in a mediterranean, sub Saharan, mid Australian, Bedouin, aboriginal, fly infested, no water within 100 miles, kind of place, you may think the weather guys are pretty accurate, to quote from the British TV series, The Fast Show,"El Scorchio"!. However if you live anywhere where the weather is interchangeable, where you actually have seasons, where mother nature can simply change her mind, it is completely unpredictable. No matter what equipment you are using, an earthquake can happen at any moment!, a tornado can touchdown anywhere! It can rain tomorrow!
Do me a favour, don't try to predict long term weather, just don't do it. Its irritating, you are not seers, your equipment is no where near sophisticated enough to determine the future. And for those wishing to know the weather, look out the window, that's what it's like, but expect it to change, at any moment, because that's what it does. Oh, and if you are one of those Bedouin, Aborigines, living under a permanently blue sky, praying for rain, SWAP, because here in the UK, our summers last but for mere days!!!, even I can predict that!

You instigated an investigation in to my identification

You caused me to seek
and destroy.
To regress from being the unhappy man
to the smiling boy.
You caused me to awake in the morning
and not wish to die.
You allow me to fall from the bridge
but this time I want to fly.
I am wrapped inside the barrel, Niagara falls with hope
so many times i have wanted to escape
this time i plunged and coped.
the essence
the presence
you instill within me
i will travel over oceans,
you allow me to be free.
You instigated an investigation in to my identification
I will no longer be the falsification
that has been my life
for too long now.
I see the world through untainted spectacles
it is no longer unachievable
no disrespect but respectable.
you make me,
give me edges
a point to prod and survive
i smell the freshness of your essence
and i am glad that I'm alive.

Delight and illuminate

i left
because it was not right
i swerved
because it was not straight
i gained
because i was behind
i developed
because the picture needed
i raised
because the walls hindered me
i told the truth
because the lies inhibited me
i became sane
because insanity drove me inside
i found a reason
because not doing so denied it
i crashed the fence
i instigated
i propagated
i proposed
i supposed
i disposed
i left
because it wasn't right
fight
i implore you.
fight
delight
and illuminate.

Faking the lunar landings......really?

Lets think about this, just for a minute or two. Its been forty years since Messrs Armstrong and Aldrin set foot on the moon, since Neil uttered those now famous words, "this is one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind", I always suspected that was a verbal error, and recently Armstrong confirmed it, it should have been, "this is one small step for A man" which makes much more sense! Anyway, 40 years.....40 long years. And still in all those four decades, some people out there, have continued to insist, the moon landings were staged, a 1969 production, filmed somewhere in some dessert, back in the states, so that the U.S got one up on there old adversaries the USSR. That, over the last forty years, not one individual has come forward and said, to anyone, and i mean anyone, not just a member of the press, but even a member of their own family,"you know what, you are right, it was a fake, oh, that is one sweet relief, all these years living a lie, we were in Arizona, can you believe that, in fact Armstrong, he is fake too, and Aldrin, both made out of balloons and squirrel fur, yup, and the pictures you saw, not real at all, oh and the equipment that's still on the moon, its not really there at all, in fact the moon's not real, that big old ball in the sky, we made that".
One thing, (apart from the overwhelming evidence for the positive argument, and the fact that most of the conspiracy theorists tend to come across as being a tad, well, menta)l, that convinces me the moon landings were genuine, is, if they were not, why stop there. Why not fake a Mars landing? If the Americans had been able to mock the moon landings and keep the story covered up for forty years, why not, using the unbelievably brilliant effects we see employed today in the movies, make up a Mars touchdown. Imagine if you will, The Americans pull Peter Jackson to one side(Lord of the rings, King Kong etc) and say, Pete, here's a bit of an idea for you!!
The Americans could fake a Mars landing, and even better than that, they could create a budget for the real thing, Billions of dollars, making space exploration become a reality, the tax payer wouldn't mind that, its a positive step, NASA can do it, select a crew of American heroes, throw in a Brit and a homosexual, in fact no, a trans gender, and a north Korean and an Iranian, and Nelson Mandela, and fly those dudes to Mars, Whoohoo, old Pete Jackson, now so beyond those poxy Oscars, sits in his workshop, masturbating over his new film, project 'red planet' and within five years, oh my, touchdown "this, is, another stepping stone, for mans continuing exploration, of our imagination, and of our technological capabilities" or some such shit.

President Obama, within the next few days i am told, will be making a pledge to send man to Mars, to go back to the moon, and use it as a launchpad for continuing exploration. He has the vision that Kennedy had, he sees that us, humans of all creed, need a distraction, away from the continuous, mouse trap on the nipples, news, we seem to wake up to every morning. We need a shiny object to follow so we don't notice whats really going on with all the other underhanded, falsities, perpetrated by our governments. Damn it, we need hope. Is Mars that hope, you bet your house(while you still have it) it is.
And when it happens, will it be an animated pixar version we will be watching on our TV screens, or will they have actually achieved the glorious beginnings of mans natural propensity to explore and conquer. Well, just like the moon, i guess only time will tell.

The plinth

On tuesday night at 8pm, our programme manager will be on the fourth plinth in Londons Trafalgar square, broadcasting live, for Sheffield Live!, you can here it on the radio or on the web@http://www.sheffieldlive.org/ you can also watch live @http://www.oneandother.co.uk/, so have a look and a listen, I wont be able to attend will be watching Alan do his stuff, Good luck mate!

yesterdays show

http://www.canstream.co.uk/sheffieldlive/index.php?id=17409

Radio show

So as any of my twitter pals will know, i have now started presenting on a local radio station.
http://www.sheffieldlive.org/

Monday mornings 7am till 9am, and Friday afternoons 12pm till 1pm.

Just means I may be a little bit busier, but should also mean i have new material for the blog, so listen if you can, and keep on reading,(the music on the breakfast show is great, with a lot of new, debut songs from local artists.)

The below was contributed to the UK brights discussion group, i personally loved reading it. comment or discuss below the piece. And visit the link, thanks.

What does it mean to be open minded? writers link below.

A green table behind a door is physically possible. A whale drinking tea and talking to a geranium while both orbit Mars is not physically possible.

We use belief in the first instance because both absence and presence are possible.

"I believe there is a table behind the door"

"I believe there is not a green table behind the door"

are both acceptable statements.

We use knowledge in the second case because our knowledge of the physical universe is that it is impossible.

"I know there is no whale drinking tea and talking to a geranium while orbiting Mars"
It would be absurd to say "I don't know if there is a whale drinking tea and talking to a geranium while orbiting Mars, so I can only say that I think / I believe there is no whale drinking...."

God is physically impossible. This is not a metaphysical or philosophical trick. It's a statement of fact.

We know that the Jewish-Christian-Muslim God cannot exist because omnipotence, omniscience and infinite compassion cancel each other out.

The only other possibility is a God that started the universe working and then sat back to see how it turned out. If such a God exists - and there are very strong arguments* that suggest it doesn't exist - then that form of supernatural consciousness is so remote from our own lives as to have no meaning or relevance. And the whole point of God is that he/she/it is relevant to humanity. If God is not relevant, God is not God.

God - a supernatural consciousness that created the universe and is interested in / involved in human lives cannot exist. And because God cannot exist, God does not exist. And that makes the statement "I know God doesn't exist" the only description possible by a rational individual.

Non-believers who say "I don't know if God exists" or "I don't believe God exists" or "I believe God doesn't exist" are simply refusing to take the discussion to its logical conclusion.

Martin

www.godwouldbeanatheist.com

* I'd say that the arguments = proof that the non-involved supernatural consciousness doesn't exist, but it would make this post too long.

The Abyss

I fell,
into the void i swore
to avoid.
I intended, to swerve against,
deflect the evidence,
but its forces were so immense,
I fell.
It enraptured me
a quilt of togs
bogs me down
soggy,
yet i would have it
no other way.
I fell,
She engulfs my mind,
my heart, stroked
attacked
she resuscitates,
massages back
to life
this lifeless
reason to be.
I fell
listless
unable to defeat
I cave, without mercy
or regret
I fell
in love
in to
the abyss.

Swine flu? A stealth tax?

Swine flu, is it a coincidence it became apparent in the middle of a financial crisis? If you believe that our governments are capable of being a part, ney, the instigators, of 9/11 or 7/7, in order to justify the billions of $/£ spent on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan,(oil and heroin by the way, we truly dont give a fuck about democracy) surely they can create a flu pandemic in order to tax the citizens of the world.
Swine flu is a government, Media driven scaremongering tactic. A non entity, gathering force and followers, where only mass TV coverage can. more people have died this year from toaster related deaths than have died from Swine flu. Should we ban toasters?
There is nothing like a Pandemic of epic disproportionates to fuel a tax we can not help but to contribute to. A stealth tax we have to fund. A flu, that started in Mexico and then died out, but miracleously made its way into the US and across the Atlantic into Europe, and, apparanty, is spreading like wildfire, into all our homes!
Check the stats, number of deaths? its all bullshit. unless of course you wish to raise the premium of health insurance, or in the UK, have to pay for your perscriptions. Swine flu? oh no, i hear thats a killer! the health secretary in the UK recently announced that up to 100000 people per day, by the end of August will have contracted the disease, what he failed to mention is this pandemic(as now classed by some medical board we have only recently acknowledged) does not kill you, it is a minor flu, a little less agressive than the common cold, the 'killer' of, so far, a bunch of people with pre determined medical conditions, complications that related to swine flu, contributing to their deaths.
I hate this. Its is simply a tax. They will make us pay our way out of their financial fuck ups by taxing us invisably.
We already have bailed out the banks, but at least we all are share holders now, bollocks we are.
what else can we do to bleed these imbeciles of there hard earned cash, shit, im not sure, oh, no, hold on, why dont we create a magical disease, and charge the dumb fucks with the privalage of immunisation?
Dont think they could think of it?
I did, and im just a dumb pleb who used to believe in our medical board, the one sponsored by our governments, who are controlled by the billionaire media, struggling in the current climates, which, by the way, they invented to add dollar to the price of everything.
Believe it or not, i am not a conspiracy theorist, so, until they catch up, sleep well.

My father died, Tick Tock.

All in to reality
beyond the fearless
scope the surface of sensuality
check out the breast
of life
scape
inescapable
palpable
tense
tenable
weirdness
Arabic
where the brick
that will build,
the house of pain,
where the Hell, of the insane
membrane
tap in to the
world of the perhaps
of the inebriate
associate with
all that you will
left to the grandchild,
on the windowsill
because of who you are
drive the car
left to who
in the right view
mirrors tissue
fabricator
of lives
and lies
of monumental
abdicated
remove the man
and the emancipator
of the balls of testicular cancer
of his bones
that only go so far
do not ever question the answer
for the surprise is around the corner
it will hit you square in the face
like beating on the law
and receiving the mace
a good sense of tumour
is all that we have
so accept and involve
with savvy and save
we are bigger than that
when it comes to the father
the mother and sons
it will set with peace and anguish
the bigger man wears the hat
of discontentment
of discontinue
i will draw together
forever
the noose around the blood tie
why?
because i have to
that is where
part of the pi
equation
persuasion
to that god we don't believe in
part of the sin
that punished
my father land
to this
He will not fall in
the bin of life
and be taken away
on my damn watch
not here
not today
so with will
and the power
we will un cuff the handcuff
and release the wrist
why?
because I
god damn insist
that my children will enter
and he will see their chubby face
it don't matter what breed with
don't matter what race
it is all inconsequential
part of the colour jigsaw
like a giant bird swooping down
catching prey with its claw
to feed its young ones
the family
to teach
to explore
My daddy will live
he will teach sponsors of mine
fuck the diseases within him
address and rewind
I slap the face of God
and remind him of why
He will not be able to judge
this passage of mine
for i grant me
this judges wig
for its my fathers land
that will wilt amongst the cotton
that will last grip my hand
dare not let him go
not without my permission
enslavement
of needles
without the
indecision's, incision's
he, is more towering than I
because of all he has been through
his blood may be black
but he hums all so true
i often wish that i go before him
that's selfish i realise, that's part of the sin
in confession to a priest
behind the red curtain
I openly admit
that is the part of the certain
I will not bury my daddy
before i am buried myself
I will sacrifice my life, my will, my health
yet i will also fight
to be the solid rock
that the blood
that is my father
will out live
the tick, tock.


Dad died, i felt useless. m j martin

The Jackson conspiracy theory

RIP Michael Jackson, or is it? I'm taking a light hearted look at the death of Jackson, is he really dead. I don't think so. I think his recent life in Dubai is a tantalising perspective as to where he may actually have 'retired' to. Imagine and suspend rational thought for one minute( pretend you are devoutly religious for instance), A burka, jacksons eyes. That's it, constant sustained immunity. Still able to walk freely on the streets, in a place where wealth is simply the norm, big cars, shadowy figures, unbelievable wealth. For a man so in debt, whose career was on the ropes, Dubai is like butlins for the poor. A holiday camp for anonymity.
You imagine if you had just enough cash to sustain yourself in the lap of luxury, but not enough to continue for the next 30 years without the embarrassment of bankruptcy and more court proceedings(something Jackson would avoid at all costs) A burka to the outside world(after all terrorists are us, have been using the technique for decades) it is possible!
Plus, add to that record sales(top 40 songs in the top 40) and record royalties (its a fact dead artists make even more cash than the living ones), well, who is to say this couldn't happen.
If the Jackson family do gain the rights to Michael's estate, and all future earnings, well, every ones a winner. Of course you could pay for the cover up, especially with the Kin, Michael has been the bread winner in that family for 40 years, why stop now!
Its just a thought, and i am not the first to suspect, well, no foul play.
He would never have been able to do the 50 dates at the o2 arena, but as cover stories (yes, used in context, as in, multiple layers of a story!) it is plausible, a wave of publicity, before, Bam, dead, the stress, the pressure, the fitness regime, it killed him don't you know.
Money is a funny thing, it can buy you anything, including, loyalty, on a scale we mere mortals will never be able to purchase(unless you include a Labrador)
I would do it, you maybe, would do it. All your life in the public eye, the last 10 years in a negative way to many.
Q of the day, so Michael here's your options, We are going to pin you to a wall, you over spent, and now you have to pay it back, every cent you make from now on until you die, will, I'm afraid, be ours, any future sales, concerts, albums, etc, will go towards paying your debts, or, and here is a real seller, you disappear, it's not as if you are not used to living a hermits life, existing in the shadows, think of 'your' kids, they would be able to be free, and so will you, what do you think Michael?
It would take one hell of a contribution from his inner circle, but if you love someone enough, let them be free.
It's just a thought, maybe I'm bad, I am bad, I know it.

There is a realisation
where a wet wipe begins to seep
no matter what meadow
the shadow does weep.
waves, tide us over
and the ocean drags us down
into the sea seems introductions
upon my loved ones ball gown.
There is a jazz, played over saxophone
that allows me to weep every night,
I see your face, shining on roof tops
you disarm me, weak wristed the fight.
Castrate me, i dare you,
take away the essence,
a thousand desperate are do's
or the mathematics that lessens.
My heart, involved
I dont even know how to conduct
the orchestra any more
my blood i never allowed, vampire lover, sucked.
inhale
and regurgitate
fake and facilitate.
i will lie here against the willow tree
i will lye here against the family belief
i will fly here against my lowly be
hold me, this once, hold me.
and if you do, i know that its right
its all so correct
mimic the wind and fly up the kite
the bows on the string, resurrect.