qweeble

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'maware, 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.

Mr Knock Knock

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.

independence day

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 English countryside

A sensual being
rides the mist over heather
with purple days and pollen nights
the skies, transformed
a mix of hell weeping green ghosts
night owls and bat seeks
unshaven angles of mountainsides
hills and meadows divided high
cut with walls
appals my mind
for this, the English countryside.
I hover over a canvass
with oil dripping from trays
my hand is a spectrum tattooed
with colours of the evening
serene, the scene
I try to cultivate like the plants
laugh, like Sylvia Plath could not
who are you black shoe,
I am but the eye
for this, the English countryside.
Rub my knuckles in the dirt
and wash upon the white
mix the trouble, of the skies setting
the oils and water from natural springs
birds and underground voles
moles, squeaks and sings
they must of course bow
with baton in paws
and confide
to the orchestra
for this, the English countryside.
I fell asleep on downs of spring like
encased in leaves all brown and hue
inspired by autumn,spring and summer
winter dreams the gales blew through
yet still I painted this mercy of trouble
to mount one day in a hall applied
be framed for all to look upon
this, for all to stand in awe
our grandeur
English
countryside.