In seasons lies lifes mystery

This  is the moment where I should embrace   the wintery-powder snow to come.

Under-wraps.

We all have naive delight to create  snow angels.

So too the  most damaged pimped out  hoes.

The death of every thing I know.

Yet,

I

don’t

know

if

I’ve

 ever

 known

Even one thing for certain.

Always,

I  thought

I blew according to the way the wind doth blow.

until I  walked right into the eye of the

C.louds

 I.ntelligance

A.ir

shouted them down-

No, I won’t go slow.

Voice  ricochets  seeking  a target

breathe exterminated-

The managers above cloud corporation hear my

costly,

cerise

commotion —

derogatory

delirious

temper tantrum.

speech

pressurised protests-

Attacks of panic.

I got what I was owed.

Hitch hiked a lift with a passing tornado.

Whirlwind dropped me off in a place with no directions to  the Republic of sense-at-ors of common.

I walked along the  the uneven, cobbled path —  another independent equality  free flowing  feminist ,

juggling with digits and exchanged words with third eye chakra chemists

Paper –

trees-

All alternate in form — it ends for the same means.

Or is that me unravelling myself from being stitched upped — picking away at the seams?

I didn’t  mean  to lose my way — country side hikes are  not my  governing zodiac  sign indicating

I’m in my element.

This body  contains still waters wrapped in layers of skin.

No  teasing trickle or   babbling brook

nor  a wishing well to reassure my hearts confidence within.

Summer time and the livings never easy

not when you’re a weed  on self destruct,

especially when the sun shines on  and makes blossoming

a gift without the morning sickness

That sense of queasy.

Rudimentary realisation .

Desolate

Deception.

Dark sunglasses can’t  make me ingnioto —

Looking back-

I should  of clapped my hands

,in breathless awe when the  sun set—

lowered gently against the abstract  backdrop

Tropical  orange  salmon ,pink sprayed skies.

Pay my respects —

Let it rest  when it his time to slip down and fall.

Reap what you sow.

I deal with every blow.

Turbulent Winds spirals me off   common ground

I find myself high up  and all alone

the come down — finds me face down in muddy bog marsh — eyes arrested by a

Facetious fog —

Not even a bird to sing me an ode of encouragement  to aid me back home.

Its true what they say we come into this world alone and we die alone.

Money, stuff — the acquisition of property

— it all gets left behind when we lift the veil to step into the next body of energy-

stagnation left in a cadaver —

this is our vessel —

Our only claim to earths  throne.

Seasoned Cycles of

life,

death,

regeneration ,

rebirth .

 

Change –

it’s contradictory to  our nature

Wearily   wallow over wilted ,   dead plants — tomorrow I’ll throw them away.

it’s all procrastination

Embrace the opaque

, the possibility of a welcome winter wave in

undisturbed silence-solace only to be find in untouched fallen snowflakes.

Trigger the cycle to fall — this is autumn .

Death and decay I feel  implacably broken.

This idea of pressing flowers ,dried

Into bookmarks is a nostalgic notion.

Shouldn’t I let it go and embrace the tremors, the blast of the callous   cousins cold and colder

A gift of this perilous  season?

anti climatized.

I live on  an island full of tall trees in treason for being out of season.

Let these words be enough.

Be my reason.

On my knees begging for hands to let go of me-especially those who touch are rough.

Grant  me sight to see-

permit  my body and soul to feel the spectrum

exhilerating and painful emotion.

Facing  forward to a future

 smelling the unsullied  scent of rebirth

A possible sight spotting of   Tigger

ready to  uncoil  and bounce into spring

 For the  awakening of the the blessed bees, Lilly white lambs  and a hereuse  holiday closer to the ocean.

 

 

 

 

 

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Great mate expectations

*A silly 5 minute poem I wrote for a long time mate of mine.

I know a lass called Tri

We’ve sold enough holidays and car hires to start our own biz in the travel industry.

We moved to Tenerife for a life by the sea

7 days of mad filled drunkness I got scared to work at a pub without my  best mate beside me.

we fell out as all good friendships do

and three days later we found ourselves  re entering  Yorkshire-

We didn’t speak for a year or two.

Memories of bussing it to cover a short staffed branch.

Eating boiled sweets ,laughing at our quirky granny attitude — tummy in stitches.

The next moment we could be screaming at each other-people scarpered before they got covered by under our verbal avalanche.

Opposite in twice as  many ways

Young and careless-we had our confused days.

Hit the clubs  straight from work.

Uniforms still on for an early start  shift

 the next morning.

We knew how to work hard and play hard — we  could separate the two/

We made a great team — always ready with a coffee from Merry England  and a cig

-work life was never boring.

Navigating our friendship we sometimes got it wrong

If only we could see how much we wished we could swop bodies-oh to see then that we were wrong to think that would make us feel we belong.

The truth is we drifted apart and life carried on

Until one day we found each other again

we had grown from life’s lessons

More chilled, less judgmental, less temperamental and both married

Me with my child-

My little mate is about to become a first time mum.

I’m so  glad we found each other again-both in our dirty thirties-This time round I see my mate and I count my blessings

LOVE YA LOADS.

 

 

Cloud nein emcees

*Inspired by the quote*

‘be nice to those on your way to the top, don’t believe your own hype, you never know who you are going to meet on your way back down’

Today, I rant about those who sit on cloud tufted pedestals

self righteous

Judging others they deem have morals lacking by half and a few.

A pack of dogs who  bitch more than  females could ever stir up in a stew.

Pre made, customised idol awards-ready to export from china-engraved names for the lot  of the little who mew mew .

Talk like a woo fang man — skillz and talents

Big upped up by  their mates.

Could  you stand without your prop ups.

Really ? Even you?

 mixed bred, British bull terriers ending the night in multiple  lock jaw — fatalities .

Take you imported  ciders, your  low suspension  alpha Romeo    idea mentalities

Get back to banter.

Not discussing  events or ideas but   foreign people unlike  your garbled, stiff upper lips , sipping pints of Bloody Sunday.

There’s a lucky clover . A rainbow that ends with a holiday in Dover.

 Go back to milking your 5 minutes of arrogance

waking the neighbours in a condescending dialect.

Sounds like  every other  branded cattle breed that goes Moo.

Go on, size each other up and go who the fuck are you?

Uttering words about actions you could never lower yourself to do.

Dare take a peek behind you

I see an out line of  X-rayed, wannabe Bruce lees

Heads fucked up with inside battles

Wasted winnings gambled on a  fight with their own inner D,J.  shadows-

Naive thoughts  plant a flag thinking they’ve conquered the art of rhetoric kung fu

Here’s   a curve ball

 Bounce to lyrics of Mc masters — obey to tasting your words with Salt n Peppa.

Female goddess emcees  rule .

Shag your generic  Sia  sheep who keep their mouths shut.

Listen to your eloquent bullshit — the stench left over makes dissidents mouths open

Writhing  incredulous,

these open minded soldiers

Look on

Barely keeping down their own  spew.

These boys never compromise their morals-

Make a mistake

 wake up next to  a Lancashire blow up Doll  from last nights sexist shenanigans-

Supping the remnants of their 2 for 1 cocktails of diluted pitchers of woo woo .

Imagined a girl shouting Woo hoo.

Keep up this rhyming — dilly day and strive to look out for Hissen

Congregate  in a penniless free style masonry , boy scout coven.

Listen to the cult and obey to the commandant  of looking out for you Sen.

Knives ready to back stab  stray wildlings of  independent thought

And the balls to disagree with your collective A-(lpha) mens.

I’m standing here-

A free bird-wild and crazy.

 laughing.

these dawgs gave up their wings to live in a prison

Dispair.

Injustice

Submissive Howling at  the cycles of the moon-

YMCA  village people — cutting verses   to ward off open mouthed females — pouring out lyrics in a new shade of crimson.

They get to fly-

soar

tumble

 Kiss the sky-travel to new notions on a whim.

 Watch  the pack follow who they think is their leader for getting one, witty joke in.

Do the hokey  pokey

Turn around

Point a nicotine stained, skeletal finger ,

At the lass who refuses to  stay lowkey.

Light up a roll up ,  Climax on giving your brethren’s  token blow job.

Exhale the bullshit — macho man hype , leave the women to battle  the heat in the kitchen — we know how to turn down a knob.

Don’t forget yo mama’s rule

blow to cool

let the butter melt before you take a bite of that  corn on your  cob.

Yellow pissheads aint never  done no wrong.

Eat snow —

times up  — stamina let you down with your pelvic thrusts .

Premature ejaculation  interrupted your flow.

Are you  still hard ?

Can you carry on  ?

 ladling  out  soft serves of  ice cream .

Even the ladies trailing round the dog pound

Fake their orgasms when they scream.

It’s out of pity — you mad Heads –

Christmas is coming 

wrap up  warm in your  knitted  wu hoo  woolly jumper

Don’t forget  your gloves   after your  hump her .

Cordoned off crime  scene

she’s dead behind eyes.

Just cos you  got  blue ball syndrome

Don’t make it  right

to dig up a corpse-to pleasure your Sen with taunts.

Making  out.

Yeah, making out

that

you’re   perfect gentleman is easy

when you’re signed up to   the inner dating necrophilia brand  groupie fan website

The big issue is:

you’re a sell out.

Cry on with lies , look to the misfits

the Others  to despise-

Lose the disguise.

We see through the fist bumps,

Dry stained tear streaks .—

Read between the lines — cut your teeth on kiwi limes

Hey diddle diddles!

A round of applause for the  next  free faller who can muster out a few riddles.

Watch  out for when the clouds disperse

 and you land up

 back at the  bottom-

ass hitting cobblestones –

Here’s a pound for a pack of  Kleenex  tissues to wipe away those little dribbles .

We’ve all got  urban dictionary ,Grinch behaviour  issues.

*for all the ladies who get a bad rap and have listen to their local  men attempt to  big up    their own Woo (pie) Clan

Just a bit of fun 😀

And a bit of the true Wu tang

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rebirth

Every body’s got to hear the shit on FM willows call!  😉

Stumped hand makes it arduous to know to what to write  about.

I made a statement!

Not the  one above — but to the men in blue.

finally the thugs who beat me

 multiple colours in hue

At least one will, hopefully,  get his due.

Option one-refused-

Throw acid his face!

I cant  live,  peacefully, knowing I consented to such an act-

diminish my integrity to a perilous few.

Revenge is emotional – it seeks to possess a person to extract bits of poison vials to sell to the human race.

Justice is what I seek.

I don’t know if he will get a record .

If he does does,

Justice would be one that doesn’t  allow him to hit random buttons and turn knobs up and down.

Sending out a musical strumpet to hypnostise his  disarrayed ideas, of how to treat the feminine race.

Feeling yellow-overly bloomed — in need of fresh water.

My petals are dying.

I need to wilt a bit more , give in to the yawn ,allow nightshade dream’s jaws to lull me into a warm breath.

Give myself some love,

then grow mighty for the the new beginning .

The next chapter .

Hell no,

the new book!

Moving to pastures new – time to wake to a fresh view of natures graphic portfolio.

Stay away from  the Richter scale  quakes in the roads.

The winds mighty disgruntled

at the idea that climate change is denied — to  the Americas they indignantly blow.

Poseidon strikes his trident, sends more after- shocks rippling- undistilled.

  Down the hatch —

hold your breath

Deny the world is in decay?

Deny the  world is not afraid?

Yield.

conform.

Get in line.

No more  violence , no more drama.

Stop taking the law into your own hands.

Stop the meritless beatings.

Respect what the elders have taught for centuries.

Find a lesson learnt when you see a tree weeping.

Justice for all.

Senseless violence against humans , non humans

All life breathers.

Respect that we all have our problems,

But there is no excuse to violate other Life , because we are crippled ,floating in pints of bitter ale,

at a loss at how  to even this score.

Drink yourself to death.

Snort yourself into a blizzard.

Guzzle petrol until you look as slick as the ocean /

Muzzle your words and think about your devious ideas-that awry ,flittering notion.

I rage for justice.

Justice for all.

Don’t blame another  for signing up to this card.

Roar  for Justice .

Bleat for Justice.

Scuttle for Justice.

Hey you, little, long neck! 

Don’t stick your head into the sand.

Waiting for  unsuspecting victims, before you sense you can bite off  another hand.

Dastardly cowards

Mutinous Muttley.

What about me ? i need my fill. 

Grab a hand , jack yourself  off.

 G—et a rabbit –

Let the artificial  vibrations  shake off your pious habit.

Made  a statement in more ways than one.

I start my new life soon.    I won’t look  into the eyes of the sun.

Folly? yes.

Fool?

not for long.

Justice is why i’m still standing .

My place in this world is not to hang with vomitious,

 gut heaving,

 mort fragranced ,

strung up bodies.

 Half eaten by wolves,fettered with flys.

  Eyes and flesh  pecked out by ravens  and deceiving magpies.

 My purpose is to move on.

*Revised stream of consciousness *

 

at liberty to choose

Charlie met Esther on abortionist roe.

Hedges neatly trimmed – enough to disheval a bearded vagabond to weep after his latest woe.

No coat hangers to gut the newborn sac.

Charlie stood for hours until her number came up.

Raging

rouge screen screams with a tremulous beep.

Surreal,

Conceal;

Unable

to strike the star lead role in a Bolly wood film deal.

unsullied arrived in a cumulous cloud,

stricken by a thunderous compulsion to wail.

Esther didn’t hear the bond lust, lilted scream.

memory hazed -by two fat ladies at gate number 8.

Efforts disarmed – inability to count down to the primal odd.

nebulous chlorophyll masked her mouth.

Envy immoblised to an unrecalled dream.

Innocents smile;

swinging on tyres.

Freddie Kruger caught in a static slumber loses night mare credibility to a sterile clinic;

Action paralysing every unconscious scene.

Strathem , London-night defends to keep watch.

Both stumble upon a tidy little room – 1970’s style. No disco defiblerater harmonizing jolts to the beat of

‘ Staying alive ‘

Old granny hoovered up flowers chocked in ivy a patterned carpet ,

Mist of lavender lingers. This bitch knows how to spray.

Dont mess with the O.G.

Peppered,seasoned hair, non linear lines carve out a facial narrative.

Don’t be fooled by this kungfu hoe.

inebriated illiterates

desensitized to her strategy in a game of cruel cluedo.

It’s all so normal. It’s life, you know..

Scissors ready to stab a beating heart,

Positioned in foetal

Sucked out the uterus.

Pro choice.

Pro voice .

Pro life.

Pro midwife.

Tall walled wars.

Bricks bolster the Illusion of affairs in order.

Nobody is scrutinized so fiercely as the woman who maps out her own destiny – navigates the boundaries that her ideals can afford her.

Qality control.

The NHS paid for a private eye.

Two signatures deemed sufficiant to see her through the hours of her sobering silence.

Shame less in her flowered disguise.

Ginger nuts ,un savoury tufts.

No, this wasn’t her nine month due – no ice cubes for killing in the name of freedom to govern her own vessel.

No need for pro life stepford wives lies.

Sins annoint.

Sins accumulate.

Where would our saints stand without a dissident at hand?

Society sit down, protest proudly.

Part the veil of clouds

Peer piously downwards,

ready to strike thunder bolts of judgement.

Rain down booming terror tactics .

Esther cares not for their gospel band

Society sips, exhalingg wafts of fair trade, Ivory coast coffee beans.

Privilege smells of a modern holocaust of starving babies in bony mothers arms.

Who said any of these women consented to consummate?

Penatrative obedience to the phallic statues erected in morning glory psalms.

Civilized society!

What if God was one of us?

a scripture in the making.-

Touch and kiss the sky .

Would he become the true reflection we see ,when we catch ourselves about to exhale the final breathe ,before we die?

Fantasies always signed off with a silver lining and promises of a rainbow.

Reality is cold,

winter serves a plateau of ice .

Frigid flowers frozen in angst,

Shatter

like glass.

Rebel against their reproductive nature.

Air,

breathe.

One full gasp.

If only a mere raspy rant leaves on its depart.

It’s either them or an urban jungle of homo sapians collecting another free day ride .

Ready to infect ignorance on every global ocean that has shores that go out at low tide.

pycho phantic heathen

Write to recover is what I always say.

I’ve discovered,

Is  few of my words  leave me whirling with  – I’m proud to park,  pay and display.

Deals are made,

devils I summon.

People are abused, Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.

I write this way, with careless affray

to not lose a sense that words are tangible,

if  I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright

Confirming my DNA.

Some might say,

I try too hard

To write for better days .

Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in  grey hues-

a cemetery for all the left over  fillings

Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.

In yer face!

Borderline – on the rocks.

I write to prove I’m far removed from serving  more time, in a straight jacket in New  Jack City.

Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.

I’v’e spent my better days basking in  previous glory .

Like butter it melts away the fear  of sleeping dormant .

One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.

Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .

Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.

I fight these escapism ,  inauthentic, paradise bomber  impulses;

To get high with — to lose track of time.

To think

I need a  potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.

Usually these act as a placebo.

Serve to knock off my crown of  free willed determinism.

Courage lives in a mane,

a city  near Massachusetts

Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.

I’ll be hung ,

Hands lie limp by my side.

Bled feathers  will tickle  the crowd-

Show I  bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the

same

sane

 mundane

chain.

Heads up!

Forever chasing  the dragon of stream  of consciousness .

My thoughts fail me,

I’m beginning to think,

I’ve become presumptuous.

The kindness in others  words — to allay my anxieties,

Overwhelms me .

I tie my own tubes.

Disgraced.

I refuse to give birth to a dancer  with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a  quivering echo-like ,   Margot  Fontaine pose.

Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.

Write nonsense-

The Lakers swan to the crowd

I’m a nutter.

I’d   crack a prince just to see a picture  of  a colourful scene.

Abstract,

Mindful – in  the lines.

It’s not important.

Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.

Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.

Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and  wild boar.

Grant me a baguette —    riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.

Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my  rites in fertility.

Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.

My government  saves me.

My soul

I will put down-

Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.

I win back my losses

Trust me, I know there is always another day.

Write, write , write.

Each word is a  middle finger at the writers academia  establishment .

I don’t want to be even  almost famous.

I don’t need a book with my name on it.

I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.

It’s about as poetic as I can get.

How about I insert the word fragrant?

I’m not academic.

My passion is not systemic .

Always in a position to sky dive.

Risks thought about

After I land in the hornets hive.

Stings heal .

It reminds me I feel.

I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.

I was born walking into  webs of contradiction

and, now,

All I beg is for  is a hint  of credit

For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.

I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-

I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-

the bodacious writer ,

Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.

*INSPIRED BY A COMPLETE MELT DOWN IN MY ABILITY TO WRITE AND FINISH MY MASTERS*

 

Kalinda

When my Kalinda peers into his reflection he see’s jagged, ragged parts of a body

discombobulate

Staggered yet separate. -body parts sewn together haphazardly.

The truth is stranger than fiction.

How can it be!

his soul mate doesn’t mirror the effort in his deeds.

ffinger nails claw and pierce at skin -prolong hanging flesh separated from bone

VIP’s seated , assume an opinionated speculation into the art of this self destruct –

The blown up bags come from the baldy eagle, wearing a t-shirt that says ‘corrupt -will sell poison to feed my ego.’

Skullbones crossed.

Point in rage to pandora’s obsessive flirtation with suicide.

Maidenhead Hymen annuls her delusional animas.

Make her believe!

it helps her to inhale insecticides.

What is wrong with all that is her?

doesnt she get that her life can be more than a bargain plea?

why does every stonewalled chamber gather breathe from disjointed words,

instead of radiating from true love’s scribbled scribes in blank verse.

Write to recover. Recover to write.

Perform this pantmine on las ramblas , in the hope the days will turn bright.

Supportive cups hold up the excess mounds.

‘damn you look good, healthy, put some weight on’

Must she hear this now? or indeed ever!

It’s too avant garde even for Gaudy.

Face swollen from a sting with an arbitrary drone.

Monthly luna flickers up sheds of decrepit blood clots;

compund that to a portrait that makes her face plump–fits of

dis – ease

– please,

stop with the back handed compliments, hun.

Hands hesitate over arms once scrawny, cheek bones sliced inwards.,

She’s rather own her shame and reach every gaze at her in a state of lean chronic thigh gap syndrome

spongy Food floats

expands

-drowns all sign of hope.

enough self loathing to remedy it with a calibre of a gun.

Date with Russian roulette –

6 chance distractions from this body, this mind ,every part called forward into existence.

five rounds until she lands in the seat of a crash test dummy.

Grief , guilt ,

unpleasant to the taste.

fret bursts in beads of sweat – her few will revolt into petulant demonstrations of

why?

again?

how?

and when?

Get by on hope and luck and a fine mother hen

A good sized egg , pair of irises that delude her into feeling all her sins have been revoked.