My Purpose

Esoteric:- private; secret; confidential; only for special people, like you :)

Wednesday, 29 February 2012

{What do you think of this poem?}

Peace and the Beast

A state of white sleep
Like cool milk running over skin
Washed away by spring water
Cleansed, fragile and sweetly calm

Hunted by tiger stripes
The cool beauty might be caught
And dissolve, as porcelain shatters
Yellow eyes, against orange, against black

Bestiality lies in waiting
By the waterfall of her sleeping peace
Feline angst burns just beneath fur
Expectant grass shimmers in the wind

The great wild rises forth
Lunging at the stillness floating above
But the beast cannot reach
Plunging back to pungent earth

Serenity’s laugh flutters out
A single winged blossom teases
“Silly cat,” her pale lips release the words
“I am unattainable”

The tiger wanders into the woods

Monday, 27 February 2012

The Joke about the Man, Bull, Clown, Matador, Spain, USA and Mother Nature

As funny as a man falling off a bull can be
some mistakes ferment into jokes, in time
and the rodeo clown dances with the matador
and Spain farewells the colour red
the clown weeps; the matador lies dead
but USA still rides the beast, its burden
but just like mother nature, the bull can’t shake man off
and the clown spins around the scenario
a flick and there’s a trick of the eye
and we all laugh at the joke of how the matador did die

Saturday, 11 February 2012


Moon chasers find white wells of grit
And are saddened that the eternally wise
Announced throughout the ages humanity’s home
And earth, embarrassed by this rejection
Salutes the sun’s radiance in a sexual manner
Hallelujahing yesterday, hating tomorrow
Burning the fleas off her back
Scaring the little moon chasers with her solar lust
Reminding us, that even she can be greedy.

White Petals Black Petrol

It’s like when you see snow falling.
Then you realise,
it’s actually the white petals of spring
they are falling.

It’s the beauty of a dove,
tumbling from the sky.
Or a candle blowing out,
or a red autumn leaf, fading.

It’s angelic and demonic;
It’s human
- whatever that is?
Coz I don’t know.

It’s my secret.
But everybody knows.
But everybody keeps forgetting.
And it’s crooked, like a beautiful, old, tree.

It’s thick black petrol.
Drifting over white ice.
You set it alight
and suddenly, you have water, and fire.