Owe

I’m going to
Make you an offer.
You’re going to like
It.
Life isn’t very good
At this sort of thing.
So I’ll sell you my
Soul.

Posted by Wordmobi

Cyclone

I walk a cyclone on a nylon lead
They can be cared for really easily,
Remember they will always need to feed
In wind and rain and other weather fronts,
Engulfing all that stands up in it’s way
Trains and cars, People and wildlife too.
The upkeep can be quite prohibitive
If you have nowhere else to really live,
The cyclone never sleeps, it runs around
And turns the street it lives in upside down.

Love

Love burns, but habit cinders.
Cinders smoldered make eyes water.
Water boils when it’s heated,
Heat burns like love.

Love lightens, but ignorance blacks out,
Behind blacked out blinds, eyes adjust.
Eyes see shining silver outlines,
Everything is silver in love.

Love elates, but boredom burdens.
Burden is lifted by many hands,
Many hands will lift you higher,
Love will lift you like many hands.

Sorrowful Songs – A reply to Gorecki

And Gorecki saw, walls of emotion.
Infused with a deep pain, stained
With algae that grew on the souls
Of the innocent.
The smiles of the lost, the memories
Of the tortured, fertilised the dark
Oppressive mantra of the concrete.
Halls of the languished, housed vanquished
Widows, starving children and withered
Soldiers of a forgotten army.
The deaf,
Never heard their own cries,
the blind
never saw their own white, palid, starving
Bodies disintigrate before their eyes.
The Dumb couldn’t comprehend the evil eyes
Of the guards.
The Jews were beaten.
Leather goods were stockpiled like the
heads of the defeated in battle, clothes
Were made in to mountains to clothe
The victors. Their gold was melted to make
The medals of their enemies.

How I Found Godfrey WIP

I smiled, you smiled.
Your tenderness was like
Smashing the teeth of my
Barrier ridden mind.
Flits and chips, spread through
The air as your questions,
rip my pain and settle like
snow on the warmth of your love.

In a boxing match of glances and glee
We are dancing in one unison of embrace.
You are just like me, but better.

BBQ

If we make it,
Let’s pretend that I am deaf.

Why? So that you won’t get invited
Yes.

Why don’t you just say you’re a
Vegetarian?

No, because I don’t want them to
Make a salad, not that palid thing
They made last time.

Hey that rhymes, palid Salad.

You loved it. 
No way, all it consisted of was
Cucumber.

I love you.
Ha. you only say that when you want me
to agree with you.

Are you hiding something?
No
You are
No
You’re secretly looking forward to it, i bet you.
Well it’d be nice to see Howard again.

Last time
He made you wear a necklace made out of grass cuttings…
It was a creation of natural beauty.
You smelled of lawnmowers for three days.
I thought you liked the smell of cut grass?
Not on you though.

So. Remember. I’m a deaf vegetarian.
OK.

Udders. WIP

I once went on a walk, and lent on a gate.
Unbeknownst to me, this makes cows quite irate.
A Fresian strode up and made a coughing sound,
Looking at my elbows, she snorted and frowned.
You know it’s bad manners to lurk on the gate,
It’s not good etiquette, you must stand up straight,
Hold out your hand and let me have a sniff,
Hmm, interesting, but what’s that ungodly whiff?
The cow wasn’t fooled, it was clear that I’d come
With an agenda that was about to

Bovine – For sendacow on Friday – Thoughts so far

Option 1

The beautiful bovine, a wonderful thing.
I look at you and wish you were mine.
My heart does backflips when I gaze
At your lapping lips as you graze.
Something deep inside, starts to sing
When I think about the many things,
That we take from your lactating udders
Milk that goes in to our pots of tea,
Cheese that top the backs of crackers,
Wensleydale, Brie and Stinking Bishop
Would be figments of an imagination,
Devoid of cheese fuelled opiates.

And yet I shudder at our life without
A bovine to provide my tot of milk,

Option 2

The wonder of the cow, how can it be
That a single biological entity is so
Vital to our very being, our way of life
is based on this large lumbering, drooling
odourous being.  Pigs provide pork,
But cows are the givers of milk,
Humanitys wet nurse.

Take away the cow, and what
Are you left with? Biscuits with
No cheese, Tea with no milk,
Grass with no control.  As the cow
controls the grass, we control the cow.

Deserts and countries in famine
Are cowless, no calcium

Wound

Ice stare followed by
Rage like a suns flare.
But still sunny like a smile
Your smile slightly squed by
Rage.

I like it when you pretend
Not to be at your wits end,
I don’t like winding you up
Too much, or the spring ruins.

Spewing my words like a
Wretched stain on my tongue.
They come out in an order that
is all wrong. But the song is sung.

Accents In Poetry (WIP)

I speak, some say, poshly.
Much because I am a speaker
Of RP, one says, thee, thy, not me,
Speak free of undulating vowels,
And arched back constinants.
But come and recite poetry,
And one can plainly see
That having an accent is
Like tuning a musical instrument,
Pitch perfect, cresting and curving
Vowels. Accentuations, stresses and
pauses seem like a pleasant surveyor, of
house with no defects.    A milk man with no
Dogs, a policeman with not drunken abuse,
A stoner without that sense of paranoia.
Nothing is like a poem with accents.

So much so I try and pretend I have
An accent.  Instead it sounds like I
have issues.  Natural as a preservative
for a pot of perservatives.  ’E’ colourings
for a pot of food colouring. Too much,
Too soon.

Seamus Heaney reciting the phone
book, is like listening to the sound
of God.  A divine composition  made
like the harp of Gabriel.  Angles beyond perfection,
Speaking like an oceanic monster
Giving birth,  beauty and happiness
In a lingual whale song, nothing
Can compare to the sound
Of the wind, radiating from the
Shrine of Mecca.  Black and Decker,
power tools sing praises to his spiritualness.