MAPLE LEAF.

Maple Leaf. -Written by Taylor John.

The hideous and cruel and rude witch
(Who was caught napping
In a little child’s gaunt heroics –
Of, poetic verse)
That provoked madness from I
With short-listings of wickedness
In the prisms of poison
From my respondent gob –
To rid her bad poetic word –
That glee
To every once happy reader
Of the childish rhyme –
However she yelped –
They would in fright,
Be caught in their little whispers
Of terror and torment ;
They, with their weak
And broken little palms
Dabbling of little
Hideous gaunt words
To shout at her
(If she so happens
To startle them
With unexpected belittling.
Hideously rude vowels and
Consonants from her busy gob.)

Busy to alert each busily gaunt word,
They sing – pathetic little cries.
So gigantically composed
Gaunt sonnets –
To reading of spooks!
A twisted tongue of hate,
Of young happy children –
The hideous witch, prayed
On the young children.
For she, always would
If one so happens to stumble
Across her path in the woods,
Where children loved to play.

From a yelp of laughter, below
Her hideously long pointy nose
(From between it.)
And her, long pointy chin –
That leap, toward the gaunt prepared
Of children
Little nose and little chin)
Her words, to tackle their tongues –
From, her hideous and nasty scornful mouth.
And, her long pointy chin – once again,
Leaping toward the little circle – forming,
In their little gob –
Shaped, in a hollow circle –
Like, a tiny little donut –
Approached, the young children.
Who were, unfortunate
To have crossed, the hideous witch’s path,
In the woods.

Alarmed, little gob –
Of, what is hideously present.
Dot out – of, the usual charm spooks –
Bringing, to her hideously bent smile
(That exposed what she had eaten
In the last several months –
Because, she only cleaned her teeth
When she went out to town –
To get, her goods from the grocery store –
A few miles away –
From, her hideously gaunt house –
In, the hideous woods –
Where children play).

Swarming – their, sweet mouths –
With, bitter lines –
From, her yelping cruel mouth –
Her, long pointy chin
(Sharp – like, the tip of a sharpened pencil) –
Leap, towards the youngest –
Of, the two children
(For, she loved the taste –
Of, the youngest – of,
Anything!)

The hideous hideous witch,
Opened her mouth – snapped,
Her hideous mouth wide open –
Uttering, such a long –
Long hideous puzzle :
Pencil-shaped grin –
From, her old wrinkly hideous face –
Puzzling, hideously bent back –
With, more bending –
To, snatch –
At, the youngest –
Of, the two children;
Flapping – her, pointy chin,
As she yelped – her, foul,
Foul words of perversion –
And, nasty –
And, cruel – hideous,
Consonants and vowels –
Into, the little ears –
Of, the frightened little child;
Her pointy chin – still, flapping –
Hideously : in, hideous folds;
Like – one, of Salvador Dali’s collars
(Hideously folded –
So hideously crude –
And, victimizing.)

Suddenly – the hideous,
Hideous witch –
Bent, her little knees –
In, turn (buckling – each, knee –
Like a train being derailed –
By, the oncoming words –
That, are the youngest:
Child, wrote – on,
Her jaggedest palm –
Yelping, short-lists –
Of, hideous nouns
(With verbs);
So – she, could be involved –
In, such hideous yawns –
To, deafen –
The hideous –
Hideous, witch’s crudely hideous ears –
With, her girlish cry –
Now, belting but laughter –
In, gasps – of, hideously gaunt poetry –
For, the hideous witch’s large and hideous ears –
To hear, her poisonous deadly sounding vowels:
That – had, the punch – of, Ali;
That had – the cruelty, of an ice-cream van’s tune –
To, a child – who, is not aloud an ice-cream –
For, her mother – would not, treat her child –
To, a large scooped ice-cream –
With, yummy chocolate sprinkles;
With – a yummy stick, of chocolate flake
(Not even, one sprinkled –
With, yummy hundreds and thousands) –
For, her sweet gob – to, gobble up –
For, such a sweet little child – to, enjoy –
With, a small skip and a hop –
Back, inside – to, mummy.

The horrible-mouthed witch –
Not handsome, at the very least.
Not, even – to, those –
Whom happen, to love –
The face, of an ugly witch.
Even – if, her nose –
Is, long and pointer than those.
Even – if, her chin – is, long
And pointier, than a child’s’.
Even – if, the skin on her neck –
Is, draped – like, a hound’s.
No – the horrible-mouthed witch –
Not, handsome at the very least.
Her legs – in, a sharp jerking –
Of, bent of all sorts.
The hideous hideous witch face –
A typed, prospectus –
For, an emerging memorial institute:
“The Michael Jackson Academy For
The Glamorously Gaunt.”
Fell toward the ground –
With – a, descending thud:
Turning – into, a maple leaf –
As, she fell – to, the ground;
Of – all, the leafs – that, lay –
On, the forest’s floor –
Where, all the children –
Now, happily play;
Without – the, hideous
Witch’s yelping laughter,
That used, to – frighten,
Them away.

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COLLECTING THE ROSE.


COLLECTING THE ROSE. Written by Taylor John.
I. COLLECTING THE ROSE.
I.
Collecting the rose still your picture hung
her best yeah modern romance now often
barbaric heads blood-red count those years
having hung up her best contested
burst no seam nor unwilling universe between
sacred breast not really burnt no two stews
I have coloured no room never built her a valley
where no flower reaches but the needle or the dumb man in
her alley sew of many things rough bled waters richer
garden no pattern nor would undo
that so-called Aladdin picking of no rose nor Armageddon
i’ve a curly little beard like the ol’ garden’s hairy chest you want to bare
whilst licks of the sky stand in shivery repaired don’t worry i’ll groom you
thorns take a while to come out I have little ‘pinion cuddled no minion’ sway
even have a hand in it would not untie that knot (i ask not)Will:
‘break the better part, of..? trill..?

II.
It would loathe me stupor would own me ask not
not of temptation nor from that awkward spot i ask from
this dictation i ask not i’ll be weary of your brightest rose
your weather is waning for The Shore?careful of your bright roses’ dark millimetres
i race to the poem they never know when
i race to the poem the whim
i’d sleep with the chunks of sass of satin
whether be regardless i’d sleep
i have no line i’d sit in yours
i have no line nor score
i have brought that kindish’ palette from beyond the avenue
have true words to really spell it
the light is in the chores of the heart from beyond the avenue.

III.
It would rather please than mend
the Light is in the chores of The Heart
if we ever strike gold from beyond the avenue
it will be in their quietest hour
i think i’ll fluff up a win from The Contest
since I decide of who
a win not aloof nor substitute
i lean on no Rose?

IV.
Your weather is streaming from the annoyance it’s all so gleaming of the pore
your weather is waning for The Shore?
I’d last not one Set from the jet-racket
nor really need to ponder that professional wack?
my love has collision from the stale courting!
i think our numbers are numb from the nail of courting?
(the mathematics and philosophies and make-up don’t
make-up the sum!)

Love has neither a broken nor twisted thumb?
it instead works for the magic and the most confident One!
i am never going to be disappointed or glum to chalk up all that tyranny!
her blurb had already your love it met
the thickest of blood cool down whose mountainous pick?
it has arrow-heads for it’s stitch whether by Cupid’s Bow or arrogant sentiment?
listen to the hum for it just seems to thump death all around you!
it was even wedded in satin and a fleeing?
i’d therefore try to catch some grace and even try to show a face nestling
no more no disgrace..

V.
See in our ruin with the art that no-one really cares of
see that needle doesn’t dart!
i’d walk with a cello!
i’d even try to clean out my ears!
i’d play it! i’d learn!
and even cut it fine with a double-armed churn?
(i’d play it! I’d learn!)

VI.
She holds the rules of the comedy. (Is – the,
Intermission – now..?)
(she holds the rules of the comedy; this –
Hour..?)

II. THE TIGHTEST WILL FIT YOU.
Take off your labels and let’s play for it’s lighting up the darkest night
oh pretty day reproach nor gull not seen that spelled twitching of the nose
luck pretty parlour simple line she’s sick squire foot-sprung arbour chasing up the spine
it’s nought by your frown tightest fit set about her ordered colour gentry and a certain perspire
i’ll spill you some quiet wine?
it is amerced in need of new colour for the isle within hold the ghostly cute mold
tend the scolding eat through their brick so solace unapologetic novelty
the tightest will fit you!

III. WHETHER WE HOLD ROSES.
My eyes are closed with yours like of with The Glass though my eyes and tendons without a certain stark the scribble shows no work of art to drink alone to call the lark where we hear the birds the empathy never really so much mere coat i know
have a few more for me
would guide the feathers the treasure the I love you
the faults dear crossed their eyes (thought that the world would be so shy)
less trivial to call off the smarts or waver the dart
(i’d just work the garden and leave the wasps and spider and their sting or venom
the press of a rose melt in if it be your choosing?)
i’d arc no trededy i’d warm!
coveting the nestlings of the hooves of a mountainous mess asexual?
i’ll pinch not her pretty bum!
(Your hands touch The Rose..)

IV. TOUCHING THE NILE.
I. I’lLL TRY TO HANG UP YOUR PICTURE.
I. I’ll Try To Hang Up Your Picture. [July 18th, 2017.]
[(If – The,
Broken Bottle – don’t, miss:
“The jugular vein by just 1 millimetre.”)

(Neighbour – I’ll, Try:
To – hang, up :
Your –
Picture..?)]

II. Two Parks And One’s Doll Night.
[(Neighbour – Whose:
Bottle – ended, up – in,
That:
Certain –
Head-Height..?)

(In: One –
Park; and –
One –
Doll Night..)]

III. Neighbour I Have A Map Of A Horse City.
[(I’m – A,
Conservationist! (Yeah – I,
Know: Our –
Local Parks – are,
Pretty..?)

(Neighbour: I, Have –
A Map – of,
A Horse City..!)]

IV. There Is A Drunkard With A Horse And Pony.
[(A Local Man: among –
The,
Scouting senses – of:
Bums;
Sick – men,
And – women;
Prostitutes;
Beggars;
Gangsters;
Dealers;
Armed Robbery;
And –
Assholes:
Plenty..?)

(There – is:
A Drunkard – with,
A Horse And Pony..)]

V. Lesser The 12th Place Ribbon.
What, a great past few weeks of New Zealanders leading the world in sport! [I grew up, in Perth – Western Australia: where – as, a young kid – sport, was more compulsory than in Nx; meaning – you, had to do Swimming Awareness Certificates, and Cross Country Athletics: even – that, crude-ass Walking sport! Anyway – trophies, and 12th place ribbons – were, always handed out – like, religious prayer items. Anyway – New Zealanders, don’t go that far! Well, done! (Lesser – the, 12th place ribbon..)]

VI. Who’d Stitched Up The Hobo’s Jugular.
[(He – wants,
To:
Live..!)

(Who’d – stitched, up:
The Hobo’s jugular..?)]
It Is A Sport. (I’ll Try To Hang Up Your Picture.)

[(The Hobo’s –
Sweet,
Blunder..!)

(It – Is:
A,
Sport..!)]

VII. Elude They Are Writing You In Their Poem.
[(There’s – No:
Uncommon,
Thread; Nor –
Sanctitude..?)

Elude! (They,
Are –
Writing, You:
In –
Their,
Poem..!)]

VIII. Red Is The Colour.
[(Of:
The, Dawn; and –
Night-Fill..!)

(Red – Is:
The,
Colour..)]

IX. There Is A Poet Among The Harvest.
[(He’s – One: Who –
Acts – similar,
To: You; in –
His,
Artistry..?)

(There – Is:
A, Poet: among –
The,
Harvest..)]

X. We’ll Enclose No Winter.
[(Nor – really,
Even: Have –
Means – to:
Fill – That,
Denture..?)

(We’ll – Enclose:
No,
Winter.)]

XI. The Imagery Is Still.
[(It’s:
Short – of,
Rad:
Glamour!)

(The Imagery: Is –
Still.)]

XII. I Have Yet To Close
[(I’ve – No:
Dearer – Lip;
Nor –
Nose!)

(I, Have: Yet –
To,
Close..)]

XIII. If The Dance Were No Gladness.
[She’d –
Reach – for,
No:
Actress; (Nor –
Pantyhose..?)

(If – The Dance: Were –
No:
Gladness.)]

XIV. The Untitled.
[(Has – No:
Less –
Seductress..? Or –
Commonness..?)

(The,
Untitled – To:
His –
Chest..!)]

XV. I Close On No Nuance.
[(Nor – Open :
On – No:
Truance..?)

(I, Close : On –
No:
Nuance..)]

XVI. Death Has Made Me Hourage.
[(It’s – brought,
Alive:
Clear – tasteless,
Ambience..!)

(Death – Has:
Made – me,
‘Hourage..!’)]

XVII. I’ve Grinded Off The Title.
[(And – Kept:
None!)

(I’ve – grinded,
Off:
The,
Title;
And –
Chum..?)]

XVIII. Walk Them To The Eyes Of Dread.
[(If – He,
Has:
No –
Smart,
Recital..?)

(Walk – Them:
To –
The,
Eyes:
Of,
Dread..?)]

XIX. I Don’t Want To Make A Statement.
[(Nor – Nestle,
(Too, long) – In:
A –
Breast..?)

(I, Don’t: want –
To :
Make –
A,
Statement.)]

XX. I’ve No Need Of Breast-Feeding Nor A Bib.
[(I’ve – No:
Set –
Woods..!)

(I’ve – No:
Culling;
I’ve – No:
Gentry..?)]

XXI. Yet I’ll Tackle The Rose.
[But – Out,
Of:
Share – Might;
(Not –
Fancy..?)

(I’ll – Tackle:
The,
Rose..?)]

XXII. Close My Eyes.
[(And –
Reach: No –
Repose..?)

(I, Close:
My,
Eyes.)]

XXIII. I Have No Sheathe.
[Why – do,
We: Love –
Perfectness? (Her –
Sheathe: Is –
Rather,
Vile;

Why – do,
We: Love –
Perfectness? (All –
The,
While..?)]

XXIV. No-One Really Answers.
[(They’re – Too,
Afraid: You’re –
‘Gonna’:
Cut – off,
Their –
Beard..?)

(They’re –
Endeared..?)]

XXV. I Have A Lie.
[(Like – A,
Mountain; Or –
a,
Vile:
Tangerine,
Sky..?)

(I, Have:
A –
Lie..)]

XXVI. I’ve No Pretty Arbour.
[(Nor:
Even – Regard –
For :
The,
Splatter..?)

(I’ve, No:
Pretty –
Arbour?)]

XXVII. I Have No Heroes.
[(For – Their:
Ways – are,
Less – than,
Another’s –
Hurt..?)

(I, Have: No –
Heroes..)]

II. I HEAR YOUR GHETTO.
I. My Sandwich Has A Mouth. [July 19th, 2017.]
[There’s, honey! (And –
Most,
Of: the,
Time:
There’s – someone –
New..!)

(My, sandwich – Has:
A –
Mouth..!)]

II. I’ve No Steam-Boat Nor Railway.
[(I – Have: No –
Canal;
Line; Nor:
Real – Crude:
Cry..?)

(I’ve – No:
Steam-Boat; Nor –
Railway..!)]

III. I Have Turned.
[(Whether – For:
All – Your,
Charms..?)

(I, Have:
Turned..)]

IV. Where Saint The Fallen Star.
[(I – Have: A –
Mouth:
To –
Feed..!)

(Where – Saint:
The –
Fallen,
Star..?)]

V. I Hold A Lot Of Poets.
[(They – Resound:
For – No:
Better –
For,
It..?)

(I – Hold:
A, lot – of,
Poets..)]

VI. They Don’t Trepidate No Inquiry.
[(They – Barely:
Burn –
Themselves..?)

(They – Don’t:
Trepidate: No –
Inquiry..)]

VII. I Am Not Loosened.
[(Adhere:
Oh –
Dear,
ROSES..!)

(I, Am:
Not –
Loosened..!)]

VIII. My Slant Is Barely Extended.
[(Don’t – Give:
Me –
Shit;
Don’t – Be:
Heroic..!)

(My – Slant: Is –
Barely:
Extended..!)]

III. MOVING THE STONE.
I. Moving The Stone. [July 19th, 2017.]
[Gonna’ – ‘turns, an ugly over-grown ‘do-of-a’ garden – into, a beautiful pretty ‘bow – ah, in a wee bit..]

II. Mr. Anxiety.
[(As – ugly,
As: he,
Comes;
Remember – that,
You:
Are –
Beautiful!)]

III. Lay Aside The Rubber Hammer.
[(If – you:
Aren’t, really – That:
Mallet; or –
Strong,
Verse..?)

(Lay – aside,
The,
Rubber Hammer..?)

(“Strike:
The –
Pose..?”)]]

IV. Finger A Weed.
[(Strike – No:
Thorny –
Approach..!)

(Finger –
A,
Weed..!)]

V. I’ll Call It Winter.
[(The Arms – of,
It’s Lament: it’s –
Stem;
And – it’s,
Stupor..!)

(I’ll, call – it:
Winter.)]

VI. Her Dress Has An Awful Seam Of Splinters.
[(If – Concern:
Have, it..?)

(Her – Dress: Has –
An,
Awful Seam – of,
Splinters..!)]

VII. The Model Was Born For It.
[(I, hadn’t – really,
Noticed..!)

(The,
Model:
Was –
Born – for,
It..!)]

VIII. I Love His Cruel Banter.
[(If – I,
Really – mean,
To:
Love –
Him..?)

(I, Love:
His –
Cruel,
Banter..!)]

IX. He’s Enjoying The Sun.
[(The Cat:
Not – abound;
Nor – strapped: to –
One’s,
Selfish Glum..?)

(He’s – enjoying,
The Sun..)]

X. Ah, Tingle The Poker!!
[(Ah! (It – is,
Raw..!!))

Ah, Tingle – The,
Poker! (Better –
Done,
For..?)]

XI. Mister. (I’d Set No Storm, Dear; The Lucrative Elysee.)
(OHhhh! oHHH! O—-Wl, Shit..!!!!) [Wait, omn! World Wr (War) – What..? Mr.?]

IV. THE LITTER GALES.
I. I Love You Like A Spiritual Attack. [July 19th, 2017.]
[(I – Aren’t,
A –
Numb-Numb..!!)]

II. Hands. [July 20th, 2017.]
[It’s, 3 am. Watching, a deaf tv series – Switched At Birth. (The rest of the tv stations are Infomercials or Gardening.) (It – must, be: The Hands..?)]

III. She’s Working Three Night Shifts A Week On Wash Up.
[(I, almost – Fell,
Off: my –
Cell Phone; and –
Caught – some,
Dust..?)

(She’s – Working:
Three Nights Shifts (a Week): on –
“Wash Up!”)]

IV. Ludicrous Hands.
[“Ex” – marks,
The Spot:
(She – after,
Twenty Years) Wants – me,
To: fuck,
Her; ‘coz –
Her Man,
“Won’t..?”]

V. I Was Born Over The Water.
[(Over – The,
Rainbow) Over – The,
Fresh – nutritious:
Morter..?

I, was – Born:
Over – The,
Water..]

VI. Oh How The Litter Gales.
[(And – squeezes,
His:
Disorder..?)

Oh – how:
The,
Litter –
Gales..!]

VII. Oi Sort Your Shit Out!
[Like:
‘Two – Cats:
Scraping; and –
De-Nailing Claws (at –
4 am.!)’ – yeah,
They too: Have –
A,
Brow!

(How; Where;
When:
Bow?)]

VIII. The Seed Has Grown.
[(As – Mouths,
Lay – Open: to –
Chow!)

Oh – Strong,
Cat: the Seed – has,
Grown!]

IX. ‘Birdy.
[Oh – Dear: Your –
Smile – is:
‘Like: The Wind –
So,
Anile..?’

(‘Doddering – old,
Woman: sitting –
On,
Her –
Piles..?’)]

X. ‘Birdy Wings Spree.
[(As – One,
Leaning – on: That,
Apple Tree..?)

‘Birdy! Wings –
Spree..!]

XI. I Have A Bird.
[(This – Cat:
Has – no,
Mere –
Hands..!)

I, Have – A,
Bird..!]

XII. She Tickles My Mouth.
[I, Have: A –
Bird;
(She – tickles,
My mouth..!)

(With – The,
Litter Gale..!)]

V. INSIDE THE HOUR-GLASS.
I. She Writes His Door. [July 20th, 2017.]
[(She – Writes:
His – DOOR! (Nothing’s –
Come – to:
Pass..?)

(She – Writes:
His – Door..?)]

II. He Used To Sing “Mi Amore!”
[(If – the,
Given nights –
Pale..?)

(He, used – to,
Sing:
“Mi Amore!”)]

III. His Keys Are Now Old Steel.
[(With – The,
Whiskey; and –
Old,
Plums..!)

(His – Keys: are –
Now:
Steel..!)]

IV. The Rodents Have A Certain Itch And A Certain Squeal.
[(It’s – funny:
Below? It’s – funny:
Up – High..?)

(The Rodents – Have :
A, Certain:
Itch;
And – A,
Certain Squeal..!]

V. He Is Fore-Shortened.
[(Of – “Matter” (So –
To,
Speak..?)

He – Is:
Fore-Shortened..?]

VI. He Is On A Diet Of Eggs.
[(And – The,
Whore’s Secret; and –
Marital Bliss’:
Lament..?)

(He, Is – On:
A Diet – of,
Eggs..)]

VII. Lover Leave It Past.
[(These –
TRAPINGS: aren’t –
Much: of – A,
Laugh..?)

(Lover:
Leave – It:
Past.)]

VI. CLEAN-UP IN AISLE ONE!
I. The Wash-Up Sleeping Beauty.[July 20th, 2017.]
[She’s – ’bout,
To:
Finish – her,
Shift; O
Nightly Gown (how –
Did,
You:
Squirt..?)]

II. Hurt Is Burrowed In His Sink.
[(I’d – Disagree: I –
Think..?)]

III. I Am Her Apron.
[(I, am – Her:
Drunken –
Heart..!)

(I, am – Her:
Sorting : of –
The Sty,
From:
The,
Bacon!)

(I, am – Her:
Littered –
Discard?)]

IV. Girl You’ll Never No Discolour.
[(Nor – A,
Shy – of:
Wet,
Napkins..?)

(The Cry – Is:
A,
Sharp –
Horror..?)]

V. I Have Caught Me A Winter.
[(She’s – Keeping,
Me;
Dry?
Or – burnt’,
Pretty –
Splatter..?)

(I, Have:
Caught –
Me,
A Winter!)]

VI. In There I Have No Heroics!
[(I, don’t –
Even,
Think:
I, Have:
Any –
Colour..?)

(In, There: I –
Have:
No –
Heroics..!)]

VII. I Have A Pattern.
[I – even, Give:
Hobos – my,
“Fat Belt!” (It – didn’t,
Fit..?)

(I, Have: A –
Pattern..)]

VIII. A Tall Heart Put An End To You?
[(With – It’s,
Crazy:
Dart..?)

(A, Tall – Heart: Put –
An,
End to you!)]

VII. THROUGH THE FRAY.
I. His Poems Aren’t Getting Any Better. [July 20th, 2017.]
[(Nor – his:
Chin-Wags; or –
A,
Lesser – Vile,
Matter..?)

(His, Poems –
Aren’t,
Getting:
Any,
Better..!)]

II. Your Fray Outwits Your Glamour.
[(It:
Makes – me :
Even –
Wanna’ –
Chunder..!)

(Your – Fray:
Outwits – Your,
Glamour.)]

III. Go Back To Bed.
[And – CHAP:
Your –
Colours..!)

(Go – back:
To –
Bed!)]

III. I STILL HAVE FIVE FINGERS.
I. She Has A Modern Kitchen; And I Am The Gardener. [July 20th, 2017.]
Ok – what’s, the etiquette for answering phone numbers that are not on your contact list? (I, don’t – answer them! If – it, was important – they, would follow with a text – right? Or – are, they dumb-asses?) [Oh! Missed – a, Root?]

IX. PRESSED SHADOWS
There’s – no, idolizing the myer. People, change – day to day – well, at least after a while – eh? Their hurt – is, healed – by, self-gorking..? (There’s – no, leaving..?)

The Heart – has, an accurate compass – from, Pressed shadows. It – is, a sleeve – for, no other seductress..? Or – a, scream – at, their face (if, you give it a chance? Among – their, cute dance: the shoot – to, prance..?)

Dumb – up! Worsen – the, fear! Smile – at, the light, of day! (That – Ground-Hog Day..?) Sank – into, a stone – of, a black-pool or wretched ball: on – a, chewed on – Day..? (Sank – into, your – Stone.) A – stalemate – as, a harlequin calls..! (The – arched’ curtain – calling! That’s – all!

I’d – see, no more dead! (Whoever – would..!) I’d – see, no more – dead! (Wood?)
I’m – resolute, in my pride; I’ve – got, nothing left to say – I’m, mere born!

There’s – a, ball: we – call, Acute! It’s – shadowed, with: a – whore’s, wasted mooring..? (I’d – see, you – out, of the theatre! After – I, choke – and, spew! (I’d – lose, the ball – to, your wayward bounce..?) I’d – see, you out of the theatre: thinking – of, you – because, I hope you are well! (I’d – even, look after your plant!) I’ve – cuddled, up – with, the wind – Girl! Ventured – masked, to – O fend..! I’ve – undone, my spool..! Colour – fourteen, other men – with, daisies..! To – your, sleeve – I’d, therefore – bend..? You – can, wear – a, hat! If – you, shave that hair – to, it’s pores..! You – can, wear a hat – adore..! I’d – try, to touch – it’s, shadow! (I’d – even: out-score – the, ball..?) I’d – try, to touch – it’s, shadow; for – evermore..!

X. THE MOST ADMIRABLE TEAR
I’ll colour – the, moon – for, you! Having – a, final goodbye bottle – of, port! I, may have to go back – in, the rain: there’s – a, young girl : from – her, seat corner – dressed, in a hoodie, and shorts. And – it’s, pissing down! Her, ass – is, sporting a green power meter (in front, of the local fast-food restaurant.) (Her – breasts, must of swelled?) Her – eye: like – the, meter! Counting – the, stranger; her – givings, by the hour – bloat: for – whose, sunny dream..?

Tears – must, apply! (For – the, decay: to – hold, his throat : at – an, inch – from, the blade! Bias – to, your – Dear, Maid? Tears – must, apply!

XI. RATS CAN SWIM!
SOBER.

I. The First Poem.

Scream!

II. Darn Talk.
The, best darn word in there – is, the first word!

III. Cry of A Lullaby.
Grown men of Japan, arranging flowers for themselves – to, make themselves happy – when, depressed; as – the, Western man – coils, himself in his tie.

A bright, future – O Butterfly!
An, unmasked – lullaby..

IV. Bridge To Equality.
I’m, going to realize more, that instead of the hurt of my divorce – and, the destruction that followed with other relationships – caring, and loving people sober, is a lot different than what I was used to giving. Was, not violent – but, just a bit more shallow than I would of liked. That’s, what addiction can do to a person and others around them x I don’t want to be an asshole the rest of my life, in intimate relationships.

V. The Mess Has Several Acquired Good Parts.
It – stares,
At – the,
Stifling bull’s-eye..!

(It – mustn’t,
Compare?)

VI. Place The Board Upon The Table.
Pin – to,
It’s –
Chivalry?

(Don’t –
Break,
The Yoke?)

VII. She Settled On A C-Cup.
How – The,
Medicine Man – can,
Pull –
Strings..!

(And – how,
O Girl: you’re –
Now : No –
Ugly,
Thing!)

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Post hog

Hi all. I come in peace (laughing) I am mindful that I’m riding a wave and posting heaps of stuff. …

That in mind, this space online that will, with time, hold mostly thoughts and odes of mine.

Some with ease, may not be pleased,

Some will wonder, what spell I’m under.

To think such things and say out-loud,

What some may think Most don’t allow.

So I implore, you to ignore, if what I think, you don’t adore.

I’m nothing special and will shortly slow down.

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Rounding Down

His mind is imprisoned by a cage.

He is framed with sentences handed down by strangers.

He is alone while the other voices fill his head, even with the crouching crowd in his cell.

He argues for, and against, all conspiracies.

He is free to sit with selves; to hear who yells loudest.

He takes the liberty and waits to see who wins today’s war, for tomorrow it all begins again.

He paces frantically round the cube, wearing down its four corners; baring his heart, soul, spirit and body.  He thinks he remembers he’d barely made a full circle.

He perspires learning from his troubled travels not so long ago and, while circling above, they spy the carcass of his joy and humour.

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Orange Light

Night,
Out on my porch.
The orange glow from the street lights
Flicker through the deep blue hue.

Looking down, I catch myself fiddling, winding the ties belonging to the recycled plastic shopping bag in my clutch.

I wonder off and wonder why street lights are orange.
Are they supposed to mimic the ‘slow down to stop’ orange traffic light?

I’m dawdling.  
Must hurry.  Deposit this bag and its contents in the rubbish bin under the orange light.

“You dropped your bag”.  
Zone in fast, orange to green, so to speak.
Focusing, I see someone in the orange glow.
We both stand looking down at the soiled nappies exposed by a tear,
In the bag.

“How old”? A jovial jest.
Confident that they're now wondering about the age of the nappy wearer.  
“24” I reply.  
“Aww 24 months”? They assume.

“No, 24 years”.

Red, means stop then.
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Grand-dest Daughter

Once in a dream-time in a land far away, MJ woke up, and wanted to play.

With magic and mystic and music in mind, she went for a wander to see what she’d find.

While moving and grooving and rhythm she kept, gold fairy dust sprinkled on each careful step but the road was as wavy as water is wet, it wobbled like jelly, all gooey she’d get!

She skipped and she hopped and flew up and down, weaving through sunbeams, drank dew drops she found.

Then stopping for *kai adventure on hold, headed for home before she got cold.

Dusky and dim did the lovely day dwindle, sparkling like rows of Christmas day tinsel.

Moonlight and twinkles above her sweet head, soothing the traveller as she lay in her bed, once in a dream-time in a land far away.

*kai = food

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Remember to Breathe

Strings were played on the heart last eve, the voice on the phone made me really want to believe.  Well practiced verses, hooks oiled and sharp, here comes the chorus,

Come back to me, please.

Like a ball on a playground, a bird that’s not free, listening attentively, weak at the knees.  Being lulled and caressed, words cradle like hands, lyrics like syrup yet bad they command.

Wait for the chorus, come back to me,

Breathe.

Knows when to pause, so subtle the clause, hook line and sinker, it’s the game he adores.   Promises broken, heart remember you’re free, he’s good at what he does just remember to breathe.  Wait for the chorus,

Come back to me, please.

You know all the old tunes you’ve heard them before, like lovers they lead you, scores up on the board.  Their comfort deceiving, and it’s riddled with dread, this time, you’ll know where you’ll end up instead.

You laugh and you smile and pretend all is well, awake to the maestro, aware of his spell.

Wait for the chorus and sing the right words, gently and quietly remember to breathe.

Nearing the end of the words off by heart, you tell him he had you right from the start.  You echo that you too, hate being apart.

You give it your best shot to make him believe and wait for the chorus, just remember to breathe.

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Chopsueycide

Chopsueycide; They’re gathering for the feast this time; last time it was a roasting.
Chopsueycide; An acquired taste that’s guaranteed to raise temperatures, but not pulses.
Chopsueycide; Added ginger will certainly blow your head off, and the last breath of garlic will keep them away for sure. Onions will make them cry their eyes out but, adding carrots will not make anyone see any better.
Chopsueycide; They’ll ensure the sharp scissors snip the vermicelli, like the butchers’ knives that sliced through body parts and backbone.
Chopsueycide; Their words blunt and thug, like a mallet pulverising carcasses, now simmering and stewing in dark soy sauce.

Chopsueycide; Finished off by lashings of humble pie, whipped cream all garnished with sour grapes, whilst we suffocate in the stench of sweet unsuccessfulness.

Chopsueycide; A surprisingly popular dish, best served cold.

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unlucky star

unlucky star
for N.

you would
have sworn
it was that
unlucky star
that flamed out
above you
and took you
afraid that star
all your life
saw it coming
and going in
the taking away
of your mother,
your father
wed to another,
your own
punch-drunk
marriage,
a daughter
signed off to
the ex’s brother,
a step mother
whose children called
you to bring back
from the dead,
in your prayers
you tried to
run as far
from that star
as the world
would let you
running
stumbling until
it flamed out
burning time
to a stop
gathered
you
in
leaving
only
‘lucky’
‘unlucky’
these words
we hang in
doubt
upon
you
still

two
sides
of an
ancient
coin laid
on the
eyes

march 2016

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‘TIL NEXT TIME?

‘TIL NEXT TIME?

I. Anywhere Anyone Can Play A Bar.

[..Grown – from, The Head: thus,

Far; no –

Arc – halted :

Oblivion – (thus, far) thus,

Far..!

(Anywhere – anyone, can play – a,

Bar..!)]

 

II. A Singles Ad.

“Thin, and lucky. You?”

 

III. The Ball.

I am healthy! (Just, the ball!)
I have no Std’s!
(You have to have sex to have a go at getting them!)

Scream! Applaud!
He’s no walking as though
Of a roaming of lick-able sleet?
(He has a pretty bow! A splendid heart-beat!)

[He is a noise
Not from the cob-webs..]

 

IV. O His Ditty Has Been Scorned Ever Once What For.

[..His, punctuation – his,

Obligation – to, his

Suffocation;

His – seemingly,

Shrewd

Whore?

(O his, ditty – has, been

Scorned – ever, once;

What – for!)]

 

V. I Am Menstruating.

I feel like ripping my ball off – it’s, a constant ache. I am menstruating.

 

VI. ‘Til Next Time?

I think I’m dating a chick, now? (What – does, she lay?) Or – at, least – getting, to know her a bit – before, we both go mad and fall in love with each other, in every whether which way – sort, of trip! (Or – shall, we just: poke – dreams, and eyes – at, each other; ’til – next, time..?)

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Think like a winner

Tired of bearing a pessimistic feeling,

With emotions turning the mind and reeling,

A heavy burden on heart does force,

Some intense pressure without any source.

 

Unconditioned with fortune, yet looking to blame,

Trying to certain a reason like a lame,

Unable to focus whenever in a game,

And spoiling the crimsoned name and fame.

 

Astonished as anyone can be,

Disheartened like a losing bee,

Clicking on without any fee,

And always abiding by the common decree.

 

What to do and where to go,

Does arise as question to and fro,

Is it a common practice or just silliness?

To circumvent around and get tired in dizziness.

 

Failure to motivate self, and depressed as always,

Trashing all gains for trivial sways,

Dwindling amongst self and motives of mind,

Thinking uselessly and inconsequentially getting rewind.

Where is lost the peace though there is silence,

Amidst expertise, yet looking for guidance,

Trying to figure out the best motive to survive,

Peacefully even in arduous way of life.

 

Every individual urges to rise above tides,

Never to be restricted by uneven rides,

People ask me to glide above rough waters,

To foresee the future, howsoever in tatters.

 

People do motivate me to think positive,

To act real as a winner and be adaptive,

Never do I refrain from self fear,

Rather win over it and become crystal clear.

 

Keep no suspicion in mind, howsoever strong a feeling be,

Keep all gates open wide, like a bright fruitful tree,

To learn from failures and experiences in sight,

And win over tough situations with all might.

 

Fight be your destiny, do claim the wise,

And victory be your testimony as the sole prize,

Nature be it nurtured through an open channel,

Success be the drop dripping through funnel.

——————-            JASJIT SINGH SODHI

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Side Steps Tomorrow

It’s not really fair for the one who stays in fear of being defeated, whose choices are swept away by the other’s single choice is a single self.

It’s not really fear that keeps one too near to the One whose freedom is strangled by tendons not tender.

It’s not really tears that tear one up, while rage rallies beneath the veneer of endless courtesy and, no others hear or care to see tears turn to spikes of glass and facade.

It’s not really reasonable when one can’t appear, to not want to be here, can’t stand to sit here while others over there admire ones choice, because they don’t have to be here.

It’s not really real, dare not say how one feels for dread of dull thuds from sharp judges’ mental mallets.

It’s not really just, when fine lines so thin, keep one wrong or right where they want one.

It’s not really good when one lonely one side steps tomorrow to stop feeling,

Sorry.

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