A Most Positive Piece

A billion balconies facing the sun
Spreading an unstoppable virus of nothingness
Creation paint balled back in its place
Creation ridiculed
Digital middle finger
Creation is dead

Serpent

I can’t wait for you to cut your teeth
on my unmarked flesh.
Trace the veins in my arm
with your forked tongue.
Nuzzle my nape
with your blunt nose
Before you devour me.
There is a crispness
to your words
as they coil inside me.
I am planting an apple tree.
The possibilities are endless.

Deliciously Wrong

I know
I shouldn't have you
But you always
make me
smile
You don't look cold
Oh, no...
you are my favorite flavor
Most of all
I love the way you drip
waiting
as my tongue goes
down on you
I know you are not good
for my health
Ice cream
whether in cup
or on a cone
You
are so
deliciously wrong.

Last Words

The last poem I'll ever write
The words just aren't there anymore
The point is lost, on another moonless night
And the doors are closed on this mind for sure
Tired and wasting words on a world deaf
Bored of bored faces and closed old eyes
Sick of banging a drum with no strength left
Being the only one asking all the "whys"
So, this flaccid work will end 30 years
of swirling, crazy and homeless words
These few cockneyed lines, devoid of tears
Will be my last testament of the absurd
It's quite refreshing.
Tata...for now.

Untitled

Life is not so precious
why would I think so?
It doesn't look so precious
on TV
We get sick
some terrible disease
We crash
accidently
We kill
war and
genocide,
starvation too
While for too much for a few
much to little for many others survival
We take a life
or don't give it a chance
murder in degrees
Lucky to get old
I suppose
Die
call it Life
All content for the daily news
and hapless poems
until one day I am the one
in the ground.
But in meantime
Don't touch my television screen

Pub Singer

The pub singer plays her set
With yet another three songs
Heard on radios since asteroids began
But, god damn she’s beautiful.
The notes play out like a picked on playground genius
Screaming off the world’s end
She doesn’t pretend to be any good
She does it live on stage
Half the audience sees her heart
The other half are out smoking
Hanging on to love bitten shoulders

100Thousand Poets For Change!

All the best books have been written
At least the new ones won't sell
Triangle, square, circle, cross, no gods
Just games, stations of play
rotting young imaginations away
while the books mould and fade
on shelves old and wooden grey
and minds rot and display
nothing other than game over eyes
some folks try, scream, scrawl and splash
words on pages and paint on canvas
bubbling intelligences, burning softly
waiting for someone to throw petrol
on the fires of the global mind
WAKE UP
Below are keys to a change
maybe a door we could open
grab hands, walk through cold
yet smiling as it's an intelligent breeze blowing

http://www.bigbridge.org/100thousandpoetsforchange/?p=5757

Weary

Can't shake this awful feeling of grey
Keeping the horrid bright of day at bay
I want to keep the curtains closed
Avoiding the questions my inner voices pose
But still hearing them, incessant, insane
A self defeating mantra, over and over again
"did you see their faces, their beautiful eyes?"
"see the unspoken question, why dad why?"
The airport more like a hospital, sterile and sad
The lights go out on another worst day you ever had
My sadness is an offering to the nothing in the sky
In the hope that I can see a happy spark in their eyes
Weak, I am weak, failure I am, all is fear
My defense pointless against a solitary tear

Crying into suitcases

Did not want to wake up today
Today is yet another day of goodbye
Did not want to wake up, but I didn't sleep
A thousand cold winters freezing my heart awake
Did not want to leave my room
I did, to look at faces pure, unsullied
Hair ruffled, messy and beautiful
My hands shake
I clench eyelids to remain manly
Choking love in my throat as it swells
I am lost from today again
Kisses by mail
Love through some electronic ether
Tears are the only real thing
From a punishing heart
That just keeps beating
A lonely song, heard by few
I won't smile today, can't smile
Won't, as there is no will, can't, speaks for itself
I want the clocks to die
the sky to freeze
holding the sun in it's place
trapping the moon
keeping today here, never ending
But I see clouds pass in a cerulean dead sky
and know nothing has changed
my punishing heart shatters
Into packed suitcases.

Why

Tell me why
we didn't give love a chance
and why
we just let it pass

Tell me why
you now call me up
after all the
time that has passed

Tell me why
I didn't know
that all this time
You were there.

Felt curtains

To feel cheated, that awful grasping despair
Turning us into fools, dim witted, unaware
To feel loved, such a great painkiller to have
Soothing blue waves across that loneliest of gaps
To feel needed, a certain pride, but a fear underneath
A dark mistrust that stops your complete self belief
To feel hated, refreshing and who really cares?
It's what they can do about it, which you need to be aware
To feel fear of death, what a complete waste of time
It's the only thing shared equally and that suits me just fine
To feel lust or lusted after, a ball shaking fear
One error, a cock led choice can cost all you hold dear
To feel religious, how funny, the invisible know it all
I've been happy ignoring the great architects calls
To feel crazy, not mad, nor mentally disturbed
A fly buzzing in your mind, making thoughts all bent and curved
To feel control, what a cruel horror, a life like a map
Wending its rapid way and there's no turning back
To feel, to feel, TO FEEL, TO FEEL, TO FEEL, TO FEEL.
How lucky is that?

Laughing Anger

As the devils laugh and the angels cry
Teardrops laden with guilt from a sky
Empty and tired, no birdsong to calm
The incendiary anger desiring harm
Malice and hatred on the nitrogen wind
Chills the souls of those who have sinned
Panic breaks out as shop fronts burn
The great duped pass by and will never learn
That a smile and an "ok" are not always what they seem
That when pushed, a surface calm, quiet and clean
Can suddenly whip into a bone crushing whirlpool
Of violence and mayhem and woe betide the fool
Who pushes that final button and madness escapes
And their future is no longer in the hands of the fates
But in the hands of crushing, violent resolve
Around which red mists and hurricanes revolve
And as the lights go out and another scream goes unheard
The reasons for the terror become distant and blurred
And all that is left is regret.

Time Flashes

Measuring holidays, family time, potential fun time
Is simple, the shorter they feel, the happier
And when smiles are tight and all is "just fine"
The hours turn to days and the weeks forever
The memory burned by that first kiss
Sears hell hot as the breathing quickens
And the "she's not right for you" sour as piss
Brings knives to cut an atmosphere that thickens
The teenage sleep, while bullies await
Flashes by in leg shaking fast seconds
A christmas eve vigil makes morning late
But Dad doesn't sober up as quick as he reckoned
So the clock plays its part, I'm certain it laughs
At how we bipedal insects are so reliant
Upon a man made measure making all of our pasts
A sad battle against happy memories defiance.

The bus stop experience

Kept waiting, beyond my control
Annoying, the laziness of the bus
Excuses, it was tired, engine emotional
Mean shit to me, I bought a ticket
What do I get? A wait, long and wet
I've plans, the bus tries to kill them
The bus that believes it's god
Controlling me and my plans
Cracking my dream wide open
I believed I was opening a door
So all the darkness could play
Yet I find myself in shade
Cold, damp, unfulfilled
Waiting for this bloody bus
If it had a rectum
I am more than certain
It would crawl right up it
It's diesel laughter echoing
Life is filled with buses
Thousands of them
Ignoring us all, killing our time
Hands up passengers of the world!
I can see you all!
I can see the buses too
Don't become a bus
Be a taxi, called when needed
Ready to deliver the destination
The wait will make us angry
The buses will get burned
And the lesson the bus will learn?
Nothing, they have no ears to listen
They just feel their own grumbling ride
And grunt foul fumes believing they're words

Happiness always bookended by death

And the stars dumbly shine, imperious
While I walk, warm, drunk and delirious
The sea massaging the sand as the moon wanes
I'm aware of every step that old time gains
In its relentless chase of each and every thing
With every drawn breath, some heart stops beating
Walking hand in hand with morning dew happiness
Death creeps closer with its tired, cold caress
Tapping on my shoulder, a dark and fearsome reminder
That this glorious feeling gets crueler not kinder
When bliss is within reach of jealous mortal arms
That awful specter and its incurable charms
Laughs at the sky, with a grin hard and serious
And the stars dumbly shine, imperious.

Love silences the screams

That creeping unease across the room
Her face is that upset angry kind of strange
Any butterfly winged comment made to kill the doom
Will explode like a verbal mortar on a firing range
So you sit, the silence a crowd of oppressive ghosts
Swirling forlornly in the space between two hearts
And anxiety spills orderly as on anger's waves it coasts
And the argument ends before it even starts
But there is no making up, no "i was wrong"
A mausoleum of an atmosphere coldly grasps
At the music slowly fading on this sad, sad song
A relationship already halfway lost in pasts
Being made with every word that is not spoken
Every gaze avoided like a plague of dead lovers
You now feel what once was warm is now a token
To be laughed at by non-important others

Probing Time

Aliens do it, well so "they" tell me
Governments love it, a real riot of a game
FBIs, CIDs, MI5s, an acronym festival of probers
Surgeons have them, any hole will do
Sounds like a guy I knew in Peckham
Fingers are good at it
Flies have tongue like things that sound close enough
Morrissey should have one shoved in his never never
Dead people and burgers, what a total rectal one
Done probes, tomorrow the toilet plunger heart massager
And the kids in the riots thieve and burn
and the politicians cringe and look stern
they can't believe that they hurt their own
"can you sign my expense claim Theresa?"

Anticipation

Long before
the dinner and wine--
setting the mood
just right
To see your face
To feel
To touch
Anticipation
Wondering
how long
one can wait

Goodbye

It was a slow goodbye
retreating slowly
seemingly unstoppable
a sad sunset
Where passion’s fullness
like the sun no longer high in sky--
no longer generating such intensity

Love’s falling
now evident by the angle,
an accompanying coolness
What was it that chilled our embrace?
Our kisses no longer the same.
Instead locking tight,
our lips have turned loose--
meeting on occasion, yet distant.
Our tongues unable to mingle like times before.

We sit together
Shoulder to shoulder
Not much to say
Nonetheless,
a goodbye

"First touch of summer" by Ivy C. Machida

The blazing field before us
Quivering in the sunlight,
Green teeming all around
Zooming to the heavens above -
The silent trees climb high.
A quiet breeze stirs
And sways the laden branches.

Atop the highest sprig
A restless warbler perched,
Bobbing its tiny frame
Silhouetted against the sky -
Scanning eagerly for its mate.
A sudden cry - and earthwards
It swooped, flapping into the fragrant grove.

The warm touch of your hand in mine
Reminds me summer is upon us.

I don't like it

I hate things, lots of them, but maybe not too many
Stones hidden in the grass, waiting to bite my feet
Sugar in my tea, or a kitchen that does not have any
So I cannot refuse it and then bleat that I’m too sweet
Buses, I curse them, always in twos especially in the rain
Brand new shiny training shoes, I want to stamp on them
People who stare in the vicinity of my bollocks and I feel a stain
Coughs on trains next to me, the rattling sliminess of phlegm
Bastards who always ask taxi drivers “What time did you start?”
Taxi drivers who look at me like I am insane as I state my destination
Hotel porters who hang around like bad smells needing a tip to depart
“Get of my room or I’ll bite you” is a tip of some considerable persuasion
Restaurant staff who hover, pissing false politeness into my ears
Dogs, I just hate the things, a bit unfair, but fuck them all
People who get all emotional after only half a bath full of beers
That old scumbag neighbor who burst my world cup 82 ball
The way the Japanese will wrap the living fuck out of any cheap gift
Fruit flavoured sauces on meat, fruit is for pudding for fuck’s sake
Those little shits who press every button in the piss stinking lift
The way people shove and kick to get on trains as if their lives are at stake
The smell of my own balls on those filthy hot sweaty afternoons
People who say “I’m sorry” when they really mean “Go fuck a donut”
Evil looking pervert clowns pretending they enjoy giving away free balloons
The traffic jam that deliberately gets me to the post office after it’s shut
Air stewardesses who always smile as if they really think I’m cool
The staff in any computer shop who expects me to know about the shit they sell
Then when I ask a question gaze heavenwards as if to say “god help this fool”
God and his angels who expect me to accept countless souls burning in hell
The tool called a bastard file that got me six of the best while in school
People who scratch their nether regions and then sniff their fingers “secretly”
People who believe every new song is nothing more than a bloody ringtone
Any individual who says “do you get me?” at the end of each sentence repeatedly
The memory of Rolf Harris pissing around with that nasty sounding stylaphone
The fact that I’m typing this as I am devoid of inspiration of any flavour
Waking up hungover and realizing I’ve used my PC as a urinal
When you taste something awful the bastard who says “you’ll learn savour”
The list is not exhaustive and most definately not final.

Winter Fear

The lake was dry, way past it’s plump, voluminous prime
The hills barren, rocks fallen, shriveled horrible by time
The moon yellowing in its whiteness, glaring down at the past
The clouds around that old face are thinning hard and fast
As the great clock ticks on and the bark cracks and wrinkles dry
It’s been a lifetime since she saw a mirror and now she begs to cry
The operations like stations of the cross on that dusty road
Of a face that couldn't carry time’s cruel and heavy load
Without distorting and creaking with crows feet steps
Teeth like a Bolivian graveyard are all that are left
Of a mouth once so inviting, now repellent and drawn
The second cycle has ended brittle, crusted and forlorn
And every memory lost and blown like a diary page torn
That selfish, self serving catchphrase “I wish I’d never been born”
Comes gushing into the mind now so tired, cracked and worn
By waves made of years of tears now this final dark dawn
Knocks ever harder at the cold wooden soul terrified of the morn
And the rich trappings of life are ripped and finally shorn.
Bang Bang, you’re dead.

Unfit To Be An Aesthete

A person who "perceives" said the Greeks
of the person who sees the finery
who feels the beauty of pure form
who slices softly through the heart
of the point of the very clever thing
that is always invisible to one as myself
us dim fungal luddite unbelievers
seeing only pictures and still odd figures
without the supposed beauty inherent
art is caged, heavily walled and imprisoned
locked up is it's meaning to my mind
never should such a truth be admitted
just smile sweetly and look piercingly
at that which raises not a bead
of sweat, a single neck hair
a blink, no feeling, nothing beyond itself
and what it is to me, absolutely nothing
a framed pastel void, chemicals mixed
stone cut, clay baked, metal worked
aesthetic athletics are just not my game

Slow Memories (It's the hotels bring this out)

He finally left us, no clouds of smoky magic
Nothing special at all, just a mess of blood
Carpet, brittle, dried dog food like
Happy Christmas indeed, self exsanguinated
Lovely word for an ugly act that
Although he always saw beauty in it
The hero, bled out on the battlefield.

Cheap woolly rug, crusted and worn
Like Achilles, only less expensive, cheaper
With monthly payments!
"Get your death carpet here!"
"Sixteen pounds fifty per month!"
Paid in in full on the day of the razor pull
Carrier bags stale and left unpacked.

They will wait here forever
Should I unpack them?
What about the laundry bags not taken?
No point washing them now
Blindly, slow thinking tortoise man I am
Suddenly turn hare, I am here alone!
Skates on, piss off before the coppers come

I am not to blame here
For once it was not me
I don't want to hear curdle cream screams
From his Mother, hated since birth
"Have a fiver, now piss off your uncle's coming"
Must clean tidy the shitpile flat
Horrible cow she was, not dead though

An epitaph, epithet filled, still leaves a gap
written it in blood twice now
still the spelling mistakes were there
Just harder to erase was all
Blood ain't that easy to get off carpet
Not like a fucking film this
Wave the wand and all is gone, I wish

The True Art Of Conversation

A shout out to anyone who can read
Meaning bled to death through a dozen or a thousand leeches
Driven from loneliness and desire to fit in
To talk to a voice
Written in fonts soothing to the soul
Cannot compete with intonation and eye contact
I miss my friend
A true genius in the art of conversation
An artist in smoking joints and putting life in its place
Deep distractions from the banality of everyday
Running rings round the helterskelter
Recounting Himalayan peaks
Speaking very little about himself
Just the embarrassment of it all
Crossing faux pas bridges and cringing before the punchline
He told me one sober evening,
“The universe is indifferent, not hostile, and the same goes for most people. Most people are so tied up in their own lives. You can’t rely on anybody, absolutely nobody. You can rely on yourself, your conscience, your god and that’s about it. If you’re looking for a reason to live through other people, then you’re in trouble.”

This fellah’s alright.

Another Love Lost

She rode her tiny tricycle off the ledge and buried her teeth in the concrete
The next door neighbour swore she wouldn’t be able to sing again
She played the violin like the fashion statement she was making
Would be yesterday’s news abut she played it with such a melancholic tune
Her career’s advisor swore she would be working on some overcast day leading the funeral march for relatives
Or doing corny magic shows where a plastic pale ale thumb is worn and a bright red silk scarf appears from behind an unsuspecting member of the family’s ear
She wasn’t much into music but she could hold a tune
She told the kids at school that she had an ambition
Not until graduation at the school of the over privileged and under enthused she abused her soul with advice
She sang like a budgie with a blunt beak
With a very strong need to catch the sky-high notes no one could achieve
She cleaned her pipes at the horse park trials amongst the blackcurrant thorns
Ripping at the sides of the legs and bruises the size of cow pats
Her long brown straggly wisps having seizures amongst the midges
While the sun set
We all bet that she would marry a man into magnifying glasses and a penchant for burning things
Worms, ants, spider’s legs and dragonfly wings
Tying them all together into a disturbing necklace to hand out to dinner guests
Her to-die-for voice, bruises and choice of husband suggested
Another love lost

The Call of Spring by Ivy C. Machida

You came with the call of Spring
To this rural land,
Still barren and cold
With the tears of yesterday.

You came like a shaft of light
To warm the depths within
And melt the quiet pain
Of life's trodden paths.

I hear the sweet call of Spring,
A song you sing to me
Of love divine
And godly grace.

My soul ignited, took flight
And glowed in earnest heed,
My being cried out in streams
Of joy and tears.

Abundant leaves, abundant love,
Fresh and flourishing,
A vivid Vineyard - intertwined,
Resplendent.

LUCKY

Business trip, to Mumbai, no seriously
I heard steel and thunder rip right next to me
The hotel lobby filled with screaming things
My bowels opened, my ears filled with vicious bell rings
The police, dogs, soldiers, running, machine guns scream
Fear for the first time bites stomach, a feeling obscene
10 dead so far, 10 dead, read it again, 10 dead, gone
lights cruelly blasted from view, a light that once shone
is a mother, a dad, son, daughter, somebody of worth
I hate every dirty fucker who tries to fuck up this earth
I cringe, gin in hand and the empire strikes back
The gateway to india bleeds, as the moon goes out bang black
It's hard writing, wondering what's the bloody value?
How the fuck can i think rhymes when I'm in terror fucking avenue?
I've done a thousand stupid things, my arms ashtrays for hire
What an idiot, a joker, a fool as i sit here breathing terror's fire.

I am in mumbai.
I am in Mumbai.
I heard people scream.
Heard metal tear.
Shit, this is horrible.
I want to talk to my wife.

American Dream Girl

I just talked to a girl
She told me about how her life was--
How everything was fine
How hard her husband worked every day
how their two kids are growing up just fine.

I just talked to a girl
She told me "times are tough"
complaining about having to pay
taxes, health insurance
mortgage payments
and so many other bills to pay
revealing her feeling of unease and uncertainty.

I just talked to a girl
She told me about her dreams
how she hoped to earn a living as writer one day
and to live near a beach
to wake up everyday and be able to tap her fingers on the keyboard
to the motion of the tides and the sound of crashing waves.

I just talked to a girl
Who said things will get better
How she loved her family
and her country
And how she is waiting for things to change--
when they can sell the house and move away.

She expressed confidence that they will
before saying good night.

"Springtime Spent" by Ivy C. Machida

A canopy of green descends
Where once pink blossoms
laced the sky;
With springtime spent
and fallen petals
scattered in the wind -
Oh, where are you?

The bugs and bees have flown
Where once they suckled
the honeyed breasts
of rosebuds coy;
Their tattered tassels
now a random heap -
Oh, where are you?

The rains have come and gone
Where once you lauded
the veiled-in cozy comfort
they afforded;
Snug and sheltered all around,
A steamy blur humidity now abound -
Oh, where are you?

The warm breath of summer
beckons, a needed reassurance
Of velvet dreams
and many-gloried nights;
Your fiery chest entwined in mine,
We swirled sublime in the sunshine -
Oh, tarry not, the sun's gathering strength!

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