Monthly Archives: December 2012

– Think ‘we’, not ‘I’-

You are never just a person.
You are always a people.

You are  but a drop in the
mighty river of
humanity
flowing from
pre-history.

Your  story is but
a sentence
in the great novel
of  your people.

Your roots go deep
into the dark rich soil
of the many lands your
forefathers roamed.

You are nourished by
their legends, their art,
their songs, their tales,
their rich, living past.

The courage of
a people runs
in your veins.
The imagination
of a people
burns in your mind.
The love of a people
beats in your heart.

You are not an individual.
Never were
Never will be.

That’s how authority
fucks with us.

That’s how they
divide us.

By giving us
this false
uniqueness.

So that we feel
good about our
short lonely life
like a fast melting
snowflake.

So that we never
hit them like an
avalanche.

Never let them fool you.

You are never just a person.
You are always a people.

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Immaculate

On the evening of
Christmas eve
we met up to
celebrate nothing
in particular.

After the second
H-bomb of a joint
she asked me if I’d
be interested in
a game of darts.

I suck at darts,
but being stoned
immaculate,
I readily agreed.

We had three
darts each and
winner was to be
decided after
five rounds.

She was very good.
She looked superb
as she lined up the
the dart to the board,
like some amazonian
archer.

And since she was
looking at the board,
I could look at her.
At the hook of her nose.
At the black holes of her iris.
At the pride of her full breasts.

I was lucky to
a get even a few
darts on the board.

She got the bullseye twice.

I was  played and
outplayed.

And then the ‘ting’
from her oven.
Her cake was baked.
As was mine.

I had a slice.
Kissed her cheek.
Both very yummy.

Praise the Lord for
such a merry Christmas!


Truth is

“You know what
I like about you?”
She grinned over
her Mojito, circling
the rim of the glass
with a perfect red nail,
“The fact that you
are such a slut!”

I grinned back.

She always hits the nail
on the head.
Always.

She hates lies.
She’s the most
honest woman
I know.

She’s the old school
cock tease.
She says so her self.

She likes making men
warm, even strangers.
She’s hot like that.

She is full of a
million angers.
She has body
that can only be called
a genetic gift.

She can eat any man
off the table.
She can drink any man
under the table.
She has a smile like
a sledge hammer
and two sharp knives
for eyes.

She’s told me she
might think about
sleeping  with me
in seven years time,
if I exhibit
continued
devotion.

Seven years?
It’s nothing.

I am such a slut.


The silver lining

The day your beard
starts greying,
crack open a beer,
my friends, for
happy days
are here

You are now the
great clearance
sale of youth.

And since girls
love a bargain,
they will stampede,
they will riot for a
piece of you.

They will buy your
experience
with the ready cash
of their naivety.

And as a gaggle of
nubile beauties
hang on breathlessly
for the next
word of wisdom
to fall from your lips
you suddenly smile at
the irony of it all.

When you were young
and horny enough to
fuck a telephone
pole if it wore a skirt,
young women of your
time didn’t give you
the time of the
day.

How things change.

The snooty beauties
of that time
are now desperately
botoxing their sagging
everything in a
futile attempt to
halt the cruel
march of age.

They had their time.
You are having yours.

Life is so bloody fair,
after all.


Sun salutations

I salute thee,
O the only visible
miracle in the sky,
studiously ignored
by all.

I salute thy love for
my mother, the earth,
who you have never
forgotten warm with
your affection.

I salute thee, O lover,
for a love so generous
even the moon,
my mother’s
companion,
glows in it.

I salute thee,
O giver of life,
for the life you have
given me and my entire
extended family
including
my distant second
cousin the grasshopper
and my distant aunt,
the bee.

I salute thee,
O tireless one,
for not minding
being predictable,
being taken
for granted,
being cursed at
because you know what
you are doing
is good
and you don’t give a
rat’s ass what your
children think
like a
loving and
stern father.

I salute thee, O giver of
Vitamin D and the cause
of photo-synthesis.

I salute thee,
O thermo-nuclear  proof
of a massive
conspiracy of Love.

You so totally rock!


Finding your calling

As long as you
love the game.
it’s okay to be confused.

It’s okay
if you don’t know
whether you want to be a
striker or a defender.

You are lost.

And that’s a good thing.

Before you find
yourself, you have
to lose yourself.

Ask yourself this.

Do you feel
most alive
when the ball rolls onto
your feet?

Do you sleep,
eat, breathe, sleep
for that moment?

Do the crowds
fade away and the
world disappear as
your feet write new
poems on the dew?

Can you run past the ‘I’
and run with the ‘we’?

If you can,
you can play
the beautiful game.

Playing ball was never
about how strong
your legs are.
It’s always been about
how big your heart is.

If you don’t have the
heart for it, do
something else.
There is no shame
in quitting what your
heart is not in.

If you love however,
you must learn
to enjoy the confusion.


Good advice

Hello there, beautiful!

Yes, you,
the pretty one,
looking down
that road.

I hope you are not
waiting for that
crazy bastard.

That mad man,
In whose eyes you were
drowning three days back
in that strange inn,
where cats played
the piano.

Yes, I saw you both.

I hope you are not
waiting for his rock
heart to turn into
fertile black soil.

I hope you have not
put all your eggs in that
Insane basket.

He’s doesn’t trust himself,
that paranoid fuck.
And you want him to trust you.
Don’t wait up for him.

He’s fucking his way
to self loathing in some
wayside inn down the road.

He’s in a dark place.
And he not looking for light.

But for you the long day is breaking.

Start walking.
One foot before
the other.

And soon the
broken heart
will begin to mend.

You’ll survive yet, my love.

No one dies of a broken heart.
That’s just shit
poets have made up.

You’ll be fine.