Anthony
(I never knew you
Like I know I should have
Now I watch you
Your eyes fixed, blank
Laughter fled and tears forgotten
Clutching chill and tender fist
Though life has long slipped through its grip)
Saying goodbye
Is like letting go
And it's hard
But He's holding my hand
Just like He held yours
And carried you through the flood.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Light Rose
Fingers trickle down pages
Drooping with the dust of ages
Though an author's silent rages
The rags of doubt and skill
Clinging inken smudges still
I wash a teardrop, over spill
Emotions like a running well.
Light rose
Tasting dawn after sleepless night
Frantic mind by candle light
Seeking meanings
Pauper gleanings
Driving slumber off in fright
Light rising
Kissing tender whitened pane
Paint dawn colours again
Drinking life, despising shame
Me in my bed fast asleep
Light is rising from the deep.
Fingers trickle down pages
Drooping with the dust of ages
Though an author's silent rages
The rags of doubt and skill
Clinging inken smudges still
I wash a teardrop, over spill
Emotions like a running well.
Light rose
Tasting dawn after sleepless night
Frantic mind by candle light
Seeking meanings
Pauper gleanings
Driving slumber off in fright
Light rising
Kissing tender whitened pane
Paint dawn colours again
Drinking life, despising shame
Me in my bed fast asleep
Light is rising from the deep.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Faint Impressions Through a Neighbour's Window.
It hurts to care
It tears to cry
It pains to think
It lies to smile
Apathy
Is trees in the desert
Shade in the sun
Freedom with a gun
I hurt to feel
And feel to think
And reel the feelings
Off the brink
I cry the tears
And dry my fears
And smile away
Their stares, their cares.
It hurts to care
It pains to feel
So apathy is my
More than real.
It hurts to care
It tears to cry
It pains to think
It lies to smile
Apathy
Is trees in the desert
Shade in the sun
Freedom with a gun
I hurt to feel
And feel to think
And reel the feelings
Off the brink
I cry the tears
And dry my fears
And smile away
Their stares, their cares.
It hurts to care
It pains to feel
So apathy is my
More than real.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Enlightenment understood
As I turn about and say farewell
Not the same foolish mortal who once here stood
But someone different in the same old shell
You've opened doors to Hollywood's lights
They burn the skin and sear the bone
Everyone puts on ten pounds each night
When those screaming beams strike home
It wasn't all fanfare and paparazzi
Not all wine and fancy dinners
Caught like a puddle-struck pedestrian, you are seeking
The keys to turn your losses to winners
So noone's the same anymore
Though our clothes still hang much as before
You've struck the brass gong, you've opened the door
We don't say goodbye to even the score
But because you've taken the stairs to an alien floor
And we're not certain even you will find you any more.
As I turn about and say farewell
Not the same foolish mortal who once here stood
But someone different in the same old shell
You've opened doors to Hollywood's lights
They burn the skin and sear the bone
Everyone puts on ten pounds each night
When those screaming beams strike home
It wasn't all fanfare and paparazzi
Not all wine and fancy dinners
Caught like a puddle-struck pedestrian, you are seeking
The keys to turn your losses to winners
So noone's the same anymore
Though our clothes still hang much as before
You've struck the brass gong, you've opened the door
We don't say goodbye to even the score
But because you've taken the stairs to an alien floor
And we're not certain even you will find you any more.
Words and Pictures
Fight a battle like a holy war
Find yourself wedged between cracks
Step lightly at the altar call
And remember never to look back.
Paint a picture like Eden's garden
Let oiled colour run like blood
You spoke and I refused to listen
Ignorance won't stop the flood.
Point the way then nice and easy
With the brush, the pen, the sword
Cut me open, try to please me
Only don't bruise me with that word.
Fight a battle like a holy war
Find yourself wedged between cracks
Step lightly at the altar call
And remember never to look back.
Paint a picture like Eden's garden
Let oiled colour run like blood
You spoke and I refused to listen
Ignorance won't stop the flood.
Point the way then nice and easy
With the brush, the pen, the sword
Cut me open, try to please me
Only don't bruise me with that word.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Cow goes Moo
Trunks of steel and eyes of hay
Trousers patchy for today
Pieces break and fall away
What do all the cattle say?
Cow goes "Moo"
Happiness spelt out in flame
Burn the house down, it's a game
I forgot to say my name
You will shoulder all the blame
Cow goes "Moo"
In the pasture with the sheep
Sneaky, creaky, bleaty sneak
Push them over while they sleep
All the bulls know when to speak
Cow goes "Moo"
I am yellow you are blue
Plug your nostrels with a screw
One and one and one is two
Bitter butter tastes like glue
Cow goes "Moo"
Trunks of steel and eyes of hay
Trousers patchy for today
Pieces break and fall away
What do all the cattle say?
Cow goes "Moo"
Happiness spelt out in flame
Burn the house down, it's a game
I forgot to say my name
You will shoulder all the blame
Cow goes "Moo"
In the pasture with the sheep
Sneaky, creaky, bleaty sneak
Push them over while they sleep
All the bulls know when to speak
Cow goes "Moo"
I am yellow you are blue
Plug your nostrels with a screw
One and one and one is two
Bitter butter tastes like glue
Cow goes "Moo"
The sun set like a collapsing pavalova
Shadows fled to coming night
Stretching tendrilled fingers
Snails pressing for the finish line
I was bathing in liquid colour
The effervescent blood of a hemoraging day
Brushed clean by the feather-strokes of waking moths
Still dizzy from day spent abed
Somehow I am relaxed
As stars wink their way into existance
And the moon races to catch up
Somehow I know
He will never give up trying
And never succeed,
Shadows fled to coming night
Stretching tendrilled fingers
Snails pressing for the finish line
I was bathing in liquid colour
The effervescent blood of a hemoraging day
Brushed clean by the feather-strokes of waking moths
Still dizzy from day spent abed
Somehow I am relaxed
As stars wink their way into existance
And the moon races to catch up
Somehow I know
He will never give up trying
And never succeed,
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
1 April.
There once was a man with an unusually silly chin. He had moongrass for hair, and wore a coat made of pure laughter. His thoughts were buttercups and lillies in lines like soldiers, trumpeting their silent silence. A band of deaf people were his cufflinks.
His chin lived on a cloud with a letterbox. One day, all of a sudden, there was mail. He didn't know what to do! He was of two minds - one chicken the other potato and gravy - check the mail or let it stew for a few hours to bring out the juices...
Everything was decided when, out of nowhere, nothing appeared. This took him completely by surpirse. He huffed in a great breath, sucking in chin, cloud, and letterbox; like a steam train running in reverse, little frilly bits of cloud dust getting tangled in his beard.
"Oh my goodness jellyfish!", he almost cried out, "What shall I do now?" After nearly pondering this for almost a certain period of time, he finally decided to sneeze and be done with it.
And so he sneezed. A greater and more terrifying sneeze was seldom seen at such a time and place as he was standing. "KAFOOOM!" cried his nostrels in hideous glee, flaring like twin dying suns. "MOOOOFAKKK!" came the echo tumbling back from the outer reaches of nearby. Out came his chin, surfing the cacophony like a tidal wave, sicked back haird and chizzled pecks gleaming in the sun which was nearly about to rise. Out came the cloud like a bowl of runny humility, streaming about the place with gusto, bouncing off walls and furniture (of which there was none) until atlast it came to rest beneath the absent refridgerater.
Finally, out came the mailbox, tumbling in the wind of its own passage. Flying at such a great speed that it collided with itself and shattered into a million pieces, each one a perfect miniature of George Bush. But... the mail was nowhere to be seen.
Some say it is still in his stomach. Some say he turned into a cat and drank it in his morning milk. Some say it was written in French so he wouldn't have been able to read it anyway so it doesn't really matter in the grander scheme of things. And some say it lived happily ever after.
The END.
There once was a man with an unusually silly chin. He had moongrass for hair, and wore a coat made of pure laughter. His thoughts were buttercups and lillies in lines like soldiers, trumpeting their silent silence. A band of deaf people were his cufflinks.
His chin lived on a cloud with a letterbox. One day, all of a sudden, there was mail. He didn't know what to do! He was of two minds - one chicken the other potato and gravy - check the mail or let it stew for a few hours to bring out the juices...
Everything was decided when, out of nowhere, nothing appeared. This took him completely by surpirse. He huffed in a great breath, sucking in chin, cloud, and letterbox; like a steam train running in reverse, little frilly bits of cloud dust getting tangled in his beard.
"Oh my goodness jellyfish!", he almost cried out, "What shall I do now?" After nearly pondering this for almost a certain period of time, he finally decided to sneeze and be done with it.
And so he sneezed. A greater and more terrifying sneeze was seldom seen at such a time and place as he was standing. "KAFOOOM!" cried his nostrels in hideous glee, flaring like twin dying suns. "MOOOOFAKKK!" came the echo tumbling back from the outer reaches of nearby. Out came his chin, surfing the cacophony like a tidal wave, sicked back haird and chizzled pecks gleaming in the sun which was nearly about to rise. Out came the cloud like a bowl of runny humility, streaming about the place with gusto, bouncing off walls and furniture (of which there was none) until atlast it came to rest beneath the absent refridgerater.
Finally, out came the mailbox, tumbling in the wind of its own passage. Flying at such a great speed that it collided with itself and shattered into a million pieces, each one a perfect miniature of George Bush. But... the mail was nowhere to be seen.
Some say it is still in his stomach. Some say he turned into a cat and drank it in his morning milk. Some say it was written in French so he wouldn't have been able to read it anyway so it doesn't really matter in the grander scheme of things. And some say it lived happily ever after.
The END.