She hit him
She hit him
Mummy hit him
She hit him in the face
And in the kitchen
And in the supermarket
She hit him just in case
And when he grew
He hit you
It was all he knew
carl sagan: pale blue dot
This version courtesy of Complex Realities
probably a poem about sex
I was a sail
or
buoy
a vessel for you
were a flower
child.
I was a farmer’s hand
on virgin land
with no plough to till your earth
ly ways
con
sensually wild.
So soon beneath the tell-tale tiles
of our riff-raff roof
where the fur black cat
ran back
to where we started.
Portes slammed and fenêtre failed
until legs were all that parted.
I was a basket case
a host for you
to be a missionary
in every place
except position.
And between your thighs
your holy ghost
filled every nebula of life
but not the universe of my religion.
And so beneath the chim-chiminey che-roo
where our fur black cat
once sat with you
the faces in your mirror on the wall still stare
and I huddle like a child
in the corner
on the chair
as I watch them grin
from the scrim.
Like a lonely leper
I let them in.
bananas
A classic parody from Ray Comfort, still as funny today.
quote: spike milligan
There are holes in the sky
Where the rain gets in,
But they’re ever so small
That’s why rain is thin.
my son of hours
I take you from this barren ground
decaying flower
dying ember
starving child,
my son of hours.
And hold you to my empty breast
waiting for your hand to free my finger.
But you cling to this moment
as if it had a future.
Go now little one
there’s nothing to eat if you stay
except these saltless tears
so pointless now
I rarely find the time to bleed.
———————
I have clouds in my brain,
that choke my heart
now that we are apart.
And if the yellow sun does not rise I will smile
knowing I am free from its heat for a while.
stop
