old poems

.aspirare
dive without first dipping your toe in. red. passion and fury. breathe. take a step off the conveyor belt. you might not be here tomorrow. compassion. didn't kindergarden teach you not to stuff circles into square holes? and that not every damn thing is square? brocolli. eat it. stop pointing that finger. stop passing the buck. smile. come up for air.

questions.

a fleeting shadow on weary plaster,
worn, abused, misused.
shards. the pane falls, slowly.
deliberately. it hurts,
knowledge of the soon to be. anticipation.
sudden stillness, a field of wheat embellished in frame.
shades of grey. the shattering.
rewind damnit, rewind.

- Friday, January 10, 2003

empty.

the chase of oblivion, sweet excess.
ashen society, drones among smokestacks.
entombed, smelt in wanton greed. it festers,
so empty.

-Wednesday, January 15, 2003

the maze.

lush green corridors beckon,
towering ahead the entrance at first light.
tread lightly on the unworn path,
small bare feet on silken petals, soft sea of red.
a gleeful dance of carefree wonder,
sweet laughter abound.
a half-pace back you smiled.
so surreal, the maiden journey of the explorer.

a fork breaks ahead,
solitary path cleaved as dawn cedes to dusk.
certain footsteps wane,
a ghastly breeze stirs, the crackle of leaves.
dry, withered. piercing each fragile step.
frolicking rays usurped, whispering shadows lurk.
so alone.

but from the fear the explorer turned.
a half-pace back you smiled.

always a half-pace back.
always there for me.

dad and mum, will love you always!

- Wednesday, July 30, 2003

untitled #1

shifting sands, the yen
for certainty, illusive
never found, wanting
fleeting. all manifestations,
abound, cackling shadows
tempting one from stark,
unflinching

oneness.

reality, bites
don't kid yourself.

untitled #2

i seek for wonder,
a gasp of glee,
a glint of awe.
but nay
she doth a frail withered rose.
measuring, hurrying. progress,
build them now. more! more!
crushed, stomped. forgotten.
we live with clouded eyes,
we live with clouded eyes.

- Monday, October 06, 2003

untitled #3

i sit here among those who have opinions, abound
pause these: incessant assertations, insistence.
deadlines, of building extensions of oneself in the sky.
celebrate myself, oh such beauty, abound.

what, matters? simplicity escapes me. i seek clarity,
understanding. stone statues sit. worn, mocking
the institutions of splendid inertia, timelessly

dead.

value. by who's standards? penguins on lecterns,
huddled. bastion of serene irrelevance. such bliss,
for in antiquity i justify my existence. confusion.
muddled insecurity cringing behind spires and swirls,
mounds of charred indulgences.

- Friday, November 07, 2003

of mailmen and m&ms.

laughter is the language that we speak,
affinity, an enduring bond of simple affection,
just being ourselves, not someone else they seek.
expression, not false constructions in eyes of others,
but from within, an unashamed reflection of who we are,
our hopes,
loves,
whims,
and quirks that few appreciate.
of wealth and splendor i have none to give,
only care, concern and companionship,
an impish grin, giggle and a warm hug,
know that i will always be here for you!

to the wonderful wonderful person who never fails to brighten up my day, love you loads!

- Monday, November 10, 2003

liberty.

enslaved by i,
sweet shackles. of freedom,
the enlightened fool's providence. these
lofty guillotines slice,
flesh from whole.
wilted crackle; snarled detachment
burning pride strewn, on cold
earth. the rake of time,
removes all. liberty,
they cry.

- Friday, February 06, 2004

Plain Vanilla

I’m tired.
I know the outcome. Or do I?
I walk around with that empty feeling in my stomach.
I f-ing hate it.
Haha. Silly me.
What the f was I thinking?
Dream on small fry.
It isn’t a fking competition,
It’s all about substance. Or so I thought.
Silly me.
C’mon let’s all put up a big show.
Wham bam. f-king jam.
A cock-fighters prized catch.

untitled #4

used, abused. twirled like cotton candy on stick.
oh so pink, oh so sweet.
my ass.

- Tuesday, April 20, 2004

.limbocity

tepid contentment a numbing state of faux,
each step kinders yet lacerates deeper,
the impending,
i hear it. it resonates. daily mocking
relief of pure intent.
autonomosity beyond my best.
if only i could flip,
the switches of thy soul.
but it is limbocity,
smile as i dig my hole.

- Wednesday, September 29, 2004

i wish the strength to deny thee.

I yield not to the void.
still darkness from the breast creeps
snarled, my neck
swirling,
emptiness.
smile as agony wastes;
why can’t I just walk
impaled by one who returns not
too much I wish thy happiness.
phantom stilts on flaccid hope
that there be another.
else to love I live
but a sordid lie in my soul

replicationofalabourerslife.

damn alarm clock ali and wife wakes john and wife scoff that they have to wake so early for the kids and for work luke wakes the kids the kids oversleep ben gets worked up at the kids charlie laments why cant the kids just be disciplined and wake up on time ted wife and kids do the breakfast routine that is never completed as the rush begins wife begins household routine ali embarks on the rush to school the jam the f*ing taxi drivers john drops the kids luke thinks about work about the cubicles the telephones ringing the stale airconditioning the printer toner stench the harsh fluorescent lighting the same boring places for lunch reaches work parks car gets into the office forced smile greets collegues thinks about the fleeting joy knocking off at 630 the telephone rings the email buzzes the office routine begins 617 ben knocks off drives home stands at driveway relieved office day is done looks at front door with lifeless smile knowing stacatto awaits dinner tv kids on computer wonders why is there not more family joy clock chimes 9 confronts kids about homework flicks of computer unplugs telephone sits kids down lectures kids about how hard he works to provide for the family why cant kids do the f*ing homework kids dig pen into paper rage bottled suppressed repressed ted slams door walks to master bedroom wife watching tv slams door complains washes up fitful sleep damn alarm clock

- Friday, April 15, 2005

.chasing puddles in the desert

ebbing joy as i skip
forward i plant my soul
hardened by the linear course of time
shimmering hue of blue in scorching warmth of sun
yet only coarse bone specks await
always a momentary ever lessening flinch
before chasing the next puddle
shimmering delirium of hope
how long before i realise
i am but chasing puddles in the desert

- Wednesday, April 27, 2005

.unbeing

head on false down scant
respite as i fear your unbeing.
fitful sleep heaved, shallow breaths
the burden of a young soul
pondering death.
of unbeing,
uncomforted at the foot of the bed on which she slept
alone,
whilst you traversed the skies
unknowing
though not freed, of the unbeing
the surreal thought of watching
death consume this very
vivid consciousness
that lapses at some indetermined point
haze,
into the unbeing of
oblivion;
the hollow imploding self-consuming
homecoming to the empty home i never knew.

- Wednesday, June 22, 2005

.the evolution of the dance

what do you want of
me, the world? cradling
each in deranged embrace;
vacant forms,
contortions of
the headless bandmaster,
incessent drumming
drumming
never ending, wanting
drumming
all of me, consuming
till there is none
but your taint

- Tuesday, June 27, 2006