A Wife’s Confession:

So small.

Your wedding ring is a hamster wheel
and I am the pet
running in a plain, gold cycle.

It’s nice, really,
but all I can see in the sparkling surface
is my own warped, pale reflection.

And I can’t smile, though I try really hard
but what hurts most, is that you can.

I’m so black and blue inside
and I want to show you
but you are a giant
you cannot see me.

Under your feet, I am crushed.

{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

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

Announcement

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.