What I Want

What I want
I want to rule the world
And live in a house made of a thick rich cherry frame
With a big black stove for heat
And children and husbands and fame
I want love like no other
And kisses that kill me
to run
like a child
Be held like a vixen
I want peace
in my home
And humour to smooth
Every crease of my face
I want strong bones and agile hips
Full red lips
Sweet perfume
And some silver
I want to dress in costume
And play in accordance
I am Ginger!
I am Mitsie!
I want to be broad
Where a broad
Should be broad
I want to sing like an angel
And dance like the death
I want to be health and exuberance
I want to play games and eat cherries
I want to live long like the tortoise and hare
I want to tell stories to children and men
I want to give way to the passion of them!

My Doll

Where are you my doll?
My doll
Your ringlet’s I yearn to twirl in my fingers
And a brush of your cherry red lips
My poised pretty
peaceful medusa
All ready for drummer boy’s
Sticks
A park a picnic
A gentle ado
My doll
My doll
Where are you ?
We haven’t had tea!
The teddy’s are tired and worn and free
And my arms feel cold
And I’m restless and old!
I crave the attention of thee!

i cringe

Many terrifying nights
Kept me in constant face with my keyboard
I sit here
On a Monday
Tuesday
Wednesday
Thursday
This is a Saturday
And I coax the board as if it were
My honey cakes
But it stares back with
A smug look
I cringe and continue

if...

“I am so smitten with the likes of you
I want to hold your hand in the morning dew”

If my longing for you were an instrument
It would be a vampire’s violin
Being coarsed and caressed by the moon
It would carve the notes of a confessional tune
If my longing for you were the moon
It would shine as the white of your eyes
A gift from the gods
An imperious light from the skies
If my longing for you were the rooms
Of my soul all the doors
Would be laden with silk
And the rooms perfumed with the winter to spring
If my longing for you were the earth
The seas would crash and shake
The leaves of change would swirl and break
And the lavanous beasts would heave a liquid light
If my longing for you were a tea
It would be the sweetest tea
And there would be a lemon twist
Sizzling in the sunlight
If my longing for you were a bug
It would creep its sticky
Little feet across the creases
Of your heart
And make it pump once for me
If my love for you were a quilt
It would be soft and consuming
And beg of your sleep
It would ease and complete
Every dip of your body
And appease with one hundred dead ducks!
If my longing for you were a song
It would haunt you forever
And kiss and surrender the make of your dreams
It would craze you in waking
And tug at your seams
If my longing for you were a doll
It would stay on display for the world to say
“Oh how precious the porcelain face of this child
With its cherry red lips and its upturned smile
And its ringlet’s of fire
Oh box of desire!”
If my longing for you were this poem
You would never know the touch of the page
Or how deep the display of my heart
For my longing is pure and un-foolish
And it wakes in my the unrequited love
Of fantasy
That in me woke but once
And of this dance I lumber forth
And you shall never know
This ink that is the nectar of my soul

So.....

So, how exactly are you going to keep me interested?
You better have some damn good tricks up your sleeve
Or I’ll leave
I ain’t got no time
To sit around and jumble on about politics or flash cards
Just give it to me straight
What do you intend to do
In the midnight
When your sitting upright listening to me snore?
And what do you expect to do when my clothes pile up
And I get comfy?
And I loft around like a big old moo-moo wearing freak show
Do you believe the magic lasts and you won’t get sick of my face?
Dear aspirations
Young meadow
New children
The utmost perversity of substance
Is our human doings and rare crap shootings
I crash at the thought of
A fortunate baby
A new oops
A relevant debutante

The Poet

The poet is one person
that owns his soul so freely
That he would surely
expose themselves to be picked at
quite easily

The poet knows no fear

For fear is the scrape of his pen and the heave of his breath
and the haunting mischievious lingerings of death

Rain
Like heathens of forecast
Un-cast rebels and grievous gods
Heat seeking glory and charismatic easy tides
Worms to push and birth
be green
i am the rain

Hard heavy glass and opiate grain
to be unsavoured by many tongues
Though fitful
This rain is all encompassing
my skin is the rain
I am naked.
From the sky i am lacking
back tracking



thirsty clouds
sineuous and taut


cast some kind of light right through me