Tuesday, 12 February 2013

liars pants...

I hate fucking liars
those who fan flames
hiding behind false demeanour
as they craft pathetic games.

I hate those fakes
all smiles and light
in reality they bring you a
deadly fight.

I hate those who value my wife,
while trying to
figure out how
to get her out of my life.

I hate those who pretend
to be friend
the ones who would take from me
but not be there at the end.

I am no lover of manipulative
their only real intent
to bring us their harm.

I am no lover of wordsmiths
or poets, hiding behind words
like I don't even know it.

Pretenders to the throne
those all alone
who covet what is out of reach
for them.

The danger of others,
alligator smiles conceal the
bite that smothers.

I hate them all, for being unreal
for lying about what they really feel.
I hate them yes, because that is justice and
I wish they would return to their mothers.


I am not a volleyball
despite what some may think.
I am an honest man, I work hard
and I stink.

I am not some pseudo-man
acting one way
while hiding another,
pretending to be me.
I could just as well be my brother.

I am not invisible, I am not
bandaged and hidden.
I am the one so few encounter,
I am what is obvious and given.

But in a world of players
in this world where truth matters little
I am still not a cats toy, 
I will not be covered in spittle.

So play your games,
hoist your net, but don't be surprised or
saddened at what you'll never get.

Some men are real, some men are fake,
I am not a man who wishes to be on your plate.
Some women are fish, some men are fishers
but I've never ever been one to cast a line
to so-called well wishers.

I am He, who plants corn and spinach and
broccoli, I am He who waters those in need,
I am not a porn star or a man who values deceit.

I am a man, an honest one best I can
short on patience and understanding
when liars deny their true standing
I am not game or fun to be had.
I already spent too many years
as a dad.

Monday, 11 February 2013

Idealized and glorious
 the friend ship sailed the glassy sea
the crew was steadfast, loyal and brave
as friends often need to be
for each other, all for one and one
could be thee, and I must sail true
because we are sailors on this sea
and none can walk on water
nor should need ever be
yet storms appear from time to time
and the friend ship must confront
each wave and sine
signing off on patience, understanding
that respect is what floats the ship
each sailors duty done and none
are bound to the mast
for none would dare be the 
others last.

The friend ship, sails through
storms and gales, 
it steers by an ever fixed mark
as playwrights and poets have
said and philosophers too
Yet the friend ship too
must dock and at no expense
dispense the passengers
as due, for sometimes these
bonds dissolve, and people part
their ways, separated
naturally, as a ship will disappear
between the cresting waves.

Passersby, not passers buy
the problem of the world
is that not everything is on sale, nor
is everything to be had.
The milk is never free,
even after you’ve bought a cow
there is always more milking,
more caring, more feeding,
and the land has even greater needs.
Free at last, but not free to last?
Is that what anyone wants?
What pertains to others, does not pertain
to me. Free from the very first.
No news is good news, but bad news
travels faster. So many will not
notice because it isn’t nice,
transform oneself into a cube of ice.
The state of a union is unity,
the state of covetting is want
The state of happiness is clear
the state of doing what is right.
And right is what is left
when the false dreams
and expectations fall away
“scales from eyes”,
as the elders used to say.
Passersby, a glimpse is gotten
but such privilege is not
a right. Associations path
is accident that happens,
and “Where have I been all my life?”
is the most important question.

Tuesday, 5 February 2013

 Awake sleep


the quiet of the night, deepest

slumber denied

but still I dream

but the dream
in sequence
like passing seconds
that mark my


the veil, dark, covers the land
the wind, strong scours the trees
the sleep that evades me
the day that starts before
the others even waken

and after so many years
after so many meetings
in front of this screen
my lack of sleep is
not a lack of rest
but a nap, waiting to happen
and waiting is what insomnia


Monday, 4 February 2013

An armadillo

has decided that our farm is very tasty
and digs holes every square meter
looking for worms
and grubs to eat

It entered my garden yesterday
and set my dogs barking
but I was asleep and my wife
decided that it was best
to leave the night to the unknown

This resulted in there being
numerous holes
along the edge of the
fence and by the foot of
the beds, little piles of soil
that traced the hunt

But how such a beast
works through the night
making hundreds of dents
in my fields, inviting
my little dogs to dig as well
is truly a marvel

So what shall we do, I asked
our man and he said
that it would be best
to evict this nighttime
guest and in the same
breath reminded me
that it only eats earthworms
and that it wont touch the crops

So despite a search
a shovel digging in
any hole found in earth
the armadillo is still
unseen and tonight
I may leave the doors
open enough
for the dogs to chase it away.

'Alone again
the words from
a popsong

                                                                  Nothing and no one
are imaginary
Only being in the midst
of the real is real

                                                                         Alone is a
false perception because
Being is relation
and primarily that

                                                                  Nothing can't exist
no one can not be
When I try to be me
I find the rest of us

                                                                     It is important
to note that we
Seek for a sense
of self

                                                            We yearn to be individual
and we deny that such
Is only a slight degree
of change

                                                                A trick of the mind
a bubble of thought
That floats in a space
more crowded
than not

Saturday, 2 February 2013

Picking up
where I left off...
the brushes have
been waiting
Now the yellow light
that tints the clouds
before the arrival
of night
invite me to see

The way the edge of a cloud
will shimmer
when it competes against
the darkening sky
when tension can be
a spectacle fine
and mauve 
is a compromise

The rays of whitehotgold
stream past
faster than fast
not my sight
which lingers
in the soft greyblue of
a cloud shadow

As the great wheels
race, tracing arcs
across the sky
a violet overtakes
the scene
punctuated with
the first dots

My eye now takes
it all in as one
I sweep vision broad
along the horizon
majesty is not
for a better name
is sought than to
leave it untitled.