Coal Face

I fidget
inexcusably
twitching with a nervous kindness
black rocks
shining
like mr coal face
mining on the slate
a thousand years to a diamond
Pressure building in a ring.raped of a distinguished
bunion,  buoyed,
I saw jig jagged
leveled, jeweled
told a year old story,
I proposed and she said yes
the ultimate guess
yet not to posses
at least not yet.
they died in the disaster
crumbled slower then faster
just because you said yes
a commitment for life
to become my trouble and strife
an amen of forever
bridesmaid and ushers
in laws and pushers
a cheap bard a que
Shakespearean speech
coals igniting a hamlet sinew
to the bone
of the marrow
inside the stone
no longer will i be alone
for the diamond spoke
she accepted the proposal
clinging finger
forgiven
the coal pressure.
the rare alone.
smile
the acceptance
the band plays
we dance
on shining shriveled
fingers endowed
with a diamond ring
and the crowd sang
as we clapped and then slowed
allowed the audience to stand and applaud.

butterflies don't 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.

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.

the naivete of childhood

Like a flower growing tentatively towards the rising sun ever upwards craving heat and light, to store when day is done
 believing life is all forgiving, that you're protected until the end that no one is your enemy, every person is your friend
. The naivete of childhood is a hidden paradise, yet innocence is shattered as perceptions grow precise
 you here the hurtful comments and the angers deep inside you feel the heartache and depressions that life had tried to hide
 You build up all your defences, to cope with the attacks the instincts you once harbored, sharpen, not relax
. The naivete of childhood seems a million miles away you are growing older and wiser every passing day
. Time is what you make of it, people are perceived. situations are controllable you grow sensitive to the need
. Develop new emotions, you never knew you had. encourage your sensations nurture good from bad
 the naivete of childhood can develop once again but this time there is no innocence no rose tinted world of pain.
 You know of all the evil things, therefor just be aware
 look out for their arrival, so you may face them you'll be there.
 The world can feel so heavy, balanced on your back
 so share the weight with others, divide the heavy stack.
 Children are naive for they know no other way, but you have seen the shadowed lands the unlit part of day.
 Innocence is a priceless thing,
 that we all lose in the end
 yet the flower will keep on growing and the sun is still your friend.