A System that lies
Destroys lives
Oh, look at all the destruction
Category: Art, Music and Poetry blog
Adam admitted
Adam admitted
He did not want to be alone
He could not be like God
The animals shot away in blind panic
He shouted at the dormant creatures
Asleep in their burrows
He wanted to die
But he could not
He wanted to be loved
But he felt alone
I don’t know, I don’t know
I don’t know
I don’t know
Like a big turtle
Stuck in the sand
Full of diamonds
I don’t know
I don’t know
Like a frisbee
Stuck in the wind
You leave me
I’ve stood amongst the rocks
Waiting for you
Ginger haired model
Of the artist’s studio
The sea goes out
I hear a train coming
I lay branches along the shore
For your winged feet
I thought the creature human
I thought the creature human
In its face I could see illumination
Then it had that big face its face of arrogance
Tightened by appetite
Greater than a devil in that moment
You would not ask its mind
Looking at the scene outside
Looking at the scene outside – at the midsummer swelter
At the rope seller sitting on a white star
A midnight drench cloud sets sparklers on the lilies
The hover flies improve their knowledge of the human face
The frost hangs beneath the window
The frost hangs beneath the window
The soil withdraws to sleep
The blue of the heart
Match the blues of the sky
Very quickly the wind emptied the Haywain
The straw blows everywhere like locusts
The puzzling buzz fly
I swear
The buzz fly
Changed its sex
Hoping for an open window
Buzzing the indoor
Where you contemplate
Not getting its’ way
-You are too lazy
To release it
Its manner suddenly
Calm, slow and cute
You feel inclined to free it
It came in a buzz fly
But what did it go out as?
What goes on in the playboy club?
What goes on?
In the playboy club
Should be overseen
By the playboy club
It’s a wealthy man’s world
With a wealthy man’s code
With a wealthy man’s girl
Trying to break that code
And the road out
Is a soul freed
Nice things
We all want nice things
The things in the natural world
A continent is not mad of bank money
Its famous people are small compared to the stars
We all want nice things
To tread on roses into the bedroom
To see the hills or the sea
Is to see chairs around table
Brought back to reality
Brought back to reality
Cur down like a flower
People cannot see
The soul’s unreality
Eyes cannot turn
The pages of spiritual things
The spiritual is invisible
Even the thoughts of men
This is the truth of it
Thoughts are like the wings of fly’s
That meander hither and thither
Through the colours of the heart
Like pollinators of good or bad
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