Poem — Unhappy Good Company

If it were in good company

To be in love with someone more sordid than one self

Then we would learn quite quickly (too quickly)

That little mattered in the time we had, we are after all, perhaps too timid

So we would drink together, though not all together happily

To a misfortune that perhaps looked up at us, or passed away too soon.

Poem — the cause (or because) Of ill fortune

I believe at some point

I was meant to die for a cause

But for the life of me

I cannot remember what it was

For you see, in our time, dear children

We were seemingly still sordid

Without perhaps, a life left unrewarded

Our leftovers were kept next to us

From time to time and place to place

Over and over, we tripped over them

And fell backward into our dreams again.

Poem — Flawed

I am deeply flawed but I Apparently
Mean well, desite the fact,
That is not enough

It seems i am deeply flawed
I only try to mean well
Because i am not enough

I try to be deeply flawed
Pretending that i mean well
While acting that its not enough

Am i deeply flawed?
Do I mean well?
Oh right thats not enough

Poem — untitled

When i fell away, deep into the valley of the dead, numbed into deep desire
When the wild beasts mutter my name, though saved by wildfire
I could only feel bare, naked in the tall grass, where dew drops flounder.
But the eyes that i see far from that valley, passing over, looking for a lover.
I find the star embazoned in the horizon, the boy i feel free to find
After i feel across the barron lands, constructed by the blind.
And though the darkness at the end of the light and the tunnel at the end of the light.
I can feel that faraway look, still looking so far as he looks into the blight.
That warrior of lonliness, that beacon of beauty.
That star that i will head
That i see as i am taken to bed.
Though this may be while, and forged from depths still unfounded, he will still be
My flower founded

Poem — I Live In A Strange Town

I Do Live in a very strange town
Where rain blossoms before the sun
And only when you wake will it shine
Or the town greet you in hollow speech
As the rain patters gently, will I
Take my pills, and sleep gently
When the cold house sinks
with the rest of this cold town
I thought that all that was here was anger
And that I would leave a cold crater
Or the sun will never shine brighter
But this strange town can surprise you
When the beauty of the rain finds its way
down the window,
it’s shutters and verandahs

I can find my own way,
with a camera in my hand
And through a viewfinder
hopefully find some sense
In this strange littler town
I Live in a Strange Town
Where birds circle overhead
tired of chips, scraps and litter
Feeding of the people
Who are tired of their own scraps and litter
Of lost people and discarded feelings
When I find the people of the strange town
although I don’t know how to talk to them
they can smile, and see me for who I am
And I can love them for it

I do live in a very strange town
With broken people and shattered bottles
of beer, poured away over a dead land
it is all black and white
no hint of grey
but the sky itself
which looks over us in it’s own way
But this town, which I call mine
Where all shades will cover my eyes
I hold a rainbow in my heart
And on my sleeve
And I shall hold love deeper
Because of this strange town
That still holds it’s wonders
in my heart

Poem — Say Something

I would have to say, I am a man
Frightened by what is said, and what isn’t
I would like to know, what is safely buried
and what is loved as something normal
Or if someone could tell me, in a roundabout way
If there where ever something to fear
Especially, when the sirens in my head wail
If it may not be better to wait, and hear the first siren call
For it certainly is strange, to call myself a man
I just listened to a song, telling me what it means
Although the start night may make it seem romantic
or if the moon above makes it seem more important
Are these feelings writhing within me,
a proper way to feel
or just another sign of irritating
and combustive abnormality
or seeing a stronger fella, showing me how it works
If someone could just tell me: should I be scared?
Or perhaps aroused? Especially,
when one removes ones clothes
And is happy to say “I am yours”
even when some nags in the mind
(perhaps it is god this time), telling me, for once, what must be done
It is fairer, I should believe, that this voice should tremble when one learns
to speak ones own mind, and finally say, to the voice someone else placed there
Perhaps it is best, if i speak my on mind on this one, especially if love
should call ones usual practices into question.

Poem — Waking Life

Old age is coming
Previous mistakes left alone now come back
Future mishaps lead us to colder roads
We see the tunnel at the end of the light
He was a good person, thats what we thought
But you realise that he is withering,

soaking up the little life that is around him

Skin clenches to the bone
Eyes wrench back in fear
Crevices cut your face
Your anxiety explodes
The carts carry the starved, naked bodies
And through them in the disposal unit
Stenching up the atmosphere with cruel neglect
Old age is coming

Honey rose cheeks
turn to crunched battlefields
Life glints in the eyes
to be replaced with the void
the void we hoped never to see
Loving family
wants you dead
Your body, it wants you dead too
Your life, it becomes elegy
Eulogy, becomes distant thought
Families, tired of this withered old shit
Finally leaving a world he never fancied
A former life, stuck in the world

of sad wars, forgotten holocausts, and singers of misery
God never promised a good life, only a half decent after life
You are remembered as a labyrinthine life, buried under carcasses of lies, of fools, of cruelty and of emotional turmoil
Darkness, your lord, and your leader
A follower, to be followed by you
And when hellfire saves your mistakes and remembers your folies
Congratulate them, for at least you are remembered for something
No one had promised you to remember your life
That decision was yours to make
Powers that be, said that love was a miscarriage of chance
a poorly directed play
written by a hack
but acted brilliantly
Your story is nonsense, a bland, unfocused, delusional gangrene infection
Your story lacks focus, lacks talent, lacks zeal
But, under all of this, it was your life, and it is now my life
Your life, and my life, both uncivilised and unfocused
Lead to this final destination
A relief, some may say
One final dip in that one great adventure
as your life, was your life to live
as my life, is mine as well
Go gently, go sparingly, go rapturous, go blazing, go quietly, go loudly, go fighting, and go on to do so
As its my life to live, and yours as well
And so please, remember the word, of that wondrous Karina star
As she showed her life
Vivre Sa Vie, Vivre Sa Vie, Vivre Sa Vie