What is Black
And old
Black created a silent big hole
Inside my heart
Inside my sick soul
Black awakened a silk sick code
That just doesn't make us whole
And black cries out my bloody fears
With no hope and more tears
Black was never great
But I'm not the one who choose fate
Black is like meth the creates nothing but death
Black is a color that everyone thinks they hate

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The dreams of Kandinsky

It's a cold dream plucked from the song-lines

a race memory of the wide Eurasian dreamtimes

where winter sunlight gilds birch crowns

into cold wild showers of gold

our dreaming eyes are ever drawn by the far bank  

there the great city shines

haughty and proud under a clean cold sky  

within the formal gothic forms jostle amongst exotic onion domes

all huddling for warmth behind the high curtain walls

petrified suggestions of warmer seasons

southern dreams

of rustling silks and pungent spices

In the foreground

astride and aside a well appointed Palfrey

a young couple embrace

well dressed

self absorbed

they pass us almost unnoticed as they loom from the shadows

the threatening shades of woodland gloom

I know then that this isn't my dream  

for in my dreams all woodlands and horses shine

my cities cast deep shadows without contrast

and have no need of a visual counterpoint

this is an urban dream of an urbane mind  



not in the threatening shade of the northern woods

nor in the songs of a yet complacent people

but in the despairing shadows of the dreamers time

I'd very much like to ask him  

and ride once with him through his dreamscape

the dreamer


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Wealth of Nations.

Who are the managers of today's wealth?

The funds of the world system,

What moral code runs their brain?

That much is entrusted to their care.


The liquidity of nations

What are their minds thought?

Illegal affluence?

Codes of embezzlement?  


Bringing all to a halt,

Thoughts of Negligence?

To destroy a reposed trust.

Oh i weep for my world,


That now seeks for good people,

Men and women of great honour,

To take care of wealth of nations,

Beating back the sons of swindlers.


Modern prodigal sons,

With the eyes of the serpent,

Searching for the wealth to swallow,

To render the nations captive.  


Perpetual captivity is it?

Who can keep the wealth of nations?

Like Joseph in ancient Egypt,

The world is still searching.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Seeking for real people of honor that can hold down their jobs and save the wealth of nations. 16/06/09.

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Father of Lies

The ancient shoes of the fisherman and the heavy gold tiara

Although comfortable, when not worn all day  

And all you do is sit and pray.

Were found by some incumbents, a rather loose fit

So they needed lots of paper to pack them out a bit..

These purpose made papers are now free for all

So if the table rocks or your shoe doesn't fit

Take the Liber Pontificalis and tear off a bit

If the hat's too big, but is really fine

Buy it anyway and try a tip of mine,

Line it with the Donation of Constantine

When you've used up the lot and you still need more

Then get yourself a copy of the Pseudo-Isidore.

When later in the summer you attract bad looks and flies

Print the T-shirt:

„That's not my stench, that's the Papal lies!'"'

Now another has resurfaced, it's in circulation still

„A condom will not save you, whereas abstinence will'"'

Which went down rather well  

In the countries who for centuries have had their fill

Of the pasty faced missionary with bible and bell

For where sex is all you have in life and all you have to sell,  

A short life's one abundance

There the faithfull walk out of the church to the local village dance

Where they find someone and take a chance.

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Be Yourself

Be yourself, don’t ride the wave

Of fashion, be it word or deed

Your sentiments are valid too

Go forth, and weaker minds concede

Posterity recalls the thinker

Passionate, with sturdy aim

Whose utterances are cast in concrete

Whose principles define his name

Be strong, and carve your niche with passion

Don’t follow,

Lead with fortitude

Although your deeds are oft derided

And well-meant words are misconstrued

Say what you think, don’t be diverted

Ignore prevailing, shallow thought

Stoke the furnace, forge your path

Of iron, from which great men are wrought.

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Thoughts, On Castle Naze.

Even the wind has forgotten them,

The wild eyed hill men,

Known only now in earth and in stone.

Their time came and passed,

But their memory will last,

In the cold mound play grounds,

Of the curlew and the lamb.

Their humanity is easy to see, if you will.

No mindless alien barbarity.

Their fears they carved deep in the hill.

Under sheep grass and scorched heather,

The hill fort and the sepulchre.

Where now full of scorn, the ravens dance,

And are forgotten by the wind.,-1.921277&spn=0.012515,0.0290...

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The Age of Unreason

You’re just one of life’s victims.

You’ll know it yourself if this rings true.

Ranting, raving, railing against the moon.

Bemoan your lot as you will.

A victim you’ll remain.

Complaint only serving to underline your failings,

And we are all sick of hearing it.

No good Samaritan,

No outstretched hand, helping.

No quarter expected or given.

A trouble shared, a trouble halved,

The old words of wisdom.

A trouble shared is a friendship marred,

In the new age of unreason.

Our society offers a choice.

Predation or negation.

You may still raise your game.

And join in the celebration.

Society red in tooth and claw.

We celebrate the beast!

What ever you do, stop moaning,

You owe us that, at least.

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The Way Old People Drive


Old people do not drive like that because they are old, they are old like that because they drive like that.

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Water...Everywhere but Here


Water…want some,

Ain’t got none.

Congress sits and busts their yaps,

While we have no water in our taps.

Nor’east storm waters rush,

Here, not even water to flush.

Billions of dollars to play in space,

But still no water at our place.

Talk about throwin’ money into a black hole,

Money that could pay to be pumpin’ water to our reservoir I am told.

How about a few billion to pipe that water here,

Then I can stop crying in my beer.

I guess congress will jus’ keep yapin’ whilst I cry,

an our faucets will stay dry.

Y’all come down here to Tennessee

And you will see.

Don’t hesitate to stop by.

I would offer you a glass of water,

But our taps, they be dry.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

For the people in south Tennessee and Georgia that have a severe water shortage. With the right funding a National water grid could be created where storm run off could be captured and pumped to areas in need. Will it happen? Doubtful.

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