Somewhat Less Mean

Why not?

Ah, well that be the worth of this measure
not to need to count as the end of
using these tools to clarify real treasure
For the will to have it to do
Be what of together me and you
May well be finding too blue
For the worth of the Earth
Be nobody’s Food
Who has not committed to eternity here too
While the worth of the moon
Be your world’s to have grew
As ants that still today
Here at Earth poo
While no rocket there will take you
But upon occasion a mate fated to
For the terror of the situation
Will be ever upon you to blame of
Until indeed your migration
But by matter not of the realms and planes
You yourselves had worked with to gain
Hiding you own internally acknowledged game
Of working to rip off all else we were worth
In your imagination of us not being able
Without your own criminal like tables
Accusing our will to be stabled
In what you imagine to want of us and our fables
Yet when the reality is of
Each individual presence among
Needing to express willing nature
Within each that exact substance
You intend to intervene with
To effect your own wants of
Expressing your own presentiments
So of your game know my own fame
Be that of a stranger entrapment way
Sure enough just as wrong but yet already tame
For what may you just accuse me of be my own game
While of my own identification
That your own accusations
Noted the difference between
Accusations of anybody
Based in personal guilt only
And accusations about which
That very same individual’s in their ditch
Of never having noticed how other folk can get rich
By blaming their play
In the game of today
Trapped thus between will they stay
If only you have your way
In having stolen from me the fey
Knowledge only of what I see to have been
Already Enabling your game
So let me here make myself plain
That the game has always been the same
When defined as it is within this
Effective comprehension of it
That willing consent is
Defined only by how well informed
Each we have ever been
In every exact substance clean
Consent has been asked for believe
To frame your own debts unto us
As somewhat less mean

Some Unsavoury Details Became More Obviously Needing To Be Acknowledged

Made Plain

It seems to be
That the Japanese
Were lead astray about me
For what I had offered
Of Aboriginal Geisha type knowledge
Was supposed before I had time
To fully furnish the knowledge on offer
And was accepted as
The falsifications we made
Of analgesics to blame
For in which to protect my name
From those whom sought thus to lame
The rebel lion thus made
Of their own fame
Without real base
Their own insanity their shame

So what will it be
That you have the image of me
When with Chris or is it
A Mark who is he
That bound to the fact
Made me Babylon in pact
Or rather to see
Me with who will he yet be
Is unknown to me
But of offers are three
Not yet taken so will we
And of those yet to be
So trialled how many
Between now and the sweet
Truth that Mark Spencer’s fruit
Chris Smart to fart
The beast covered in these words will
His own start
Between the police
And the child pornographer
They sent to follow
And attempt to seduce me
Of course in permanence unsuccessfully
Yet but that police presumptions be
Causal to their own demise we see
For that they have caught but let away with real criminality
In exchange for a few small girls he entraps is
The status of police work to date
In untangling the face
Of Gold Coast brothel and pornography industry

But Is It Written Yet That Totally Smitten

When Written

When you write down
Why you are bringing to ground
That will materialise
In reality to realise
What not true and righteous
Belongs to diseases
Yours if nobody reads it
Not even in dreaming
Yet if real
Even when unread
Of reality instead
And then when unread
Might those who supposed
The written words lie
Never find out why
The Earth’s density condenses
In weightier matter
Literally solidifying
By writing
Thus Arc of Covenant
Is blessed in the opposite
But not for want of trying
While an arc of profanity
Truly less disparity
In which case
As it is at its best
That edits out
Edits down roundabout
And unto the ground wed
By the heaviest elements
Is what the written word is about
When any real meaning abounding by blessed
By diaspora’s test
The cause of children’s protection behest
But of course
It is also the truth
On the smaller scale of
The world in another value made real
That many can write
So as and despite
To prevent of the past that was
Now long gone because
We none of us wanted
To contaminate future’s thus bonded
At least not enough of us would that
To let such be real again as
Has been even if only in the dream
Of sloth not awakening
Impinging upon the dreamtime not wrong
Of the way out from sleep through its way not cheap
We will cause the ending of any harm done to children
That to remember I am
When I write with this pen
Remember a girl’s truth
Shines blame the past’s roof
Dismantling the fear that was
Have written words had always good cause
So take care what you write
For the truth takes its bite
And lies the worst force
Upon your own health the author
Consider direct the proportions
Of time wise decisions to write
While of editorial right
Be choice despite

Finished ?

Finished Yet

Just because I admit
To having finished one job
Does not mean that I am not
Continuing to live
Through all of the other work my lot
Which you who employed me to do
Of your own guilty conscience the work unto
You who might give me money
Or blame me for something
You who seem to expect
Me kow tow to your behest
You whose accusation at best
That when finished that your request
Might also mean that finished I have been
In my own understanding of life's real meaning
You are who will
Pay every day
For the fear you instill
For you own wrong projections of death
Could never have been without your own obscene in this yet
Thus by my will
To hold down you round still
I will work to your tune until . . .

Never

NEVER

Never not my fate
Never told too late
Never nobody's weather of late
Never my own mother to bake
Yet forever her skirt did wake
Me into the nightmare
Of how many spiders were there
In that jar on far not fair
How many lawyers accounted her rate
To realise Inanna's grating old gate
Has her husband the victor
In its closing on over
As a permanent state
Unless she is held accountible for causing her daughter's fate
And the state of that fate
Rescued from what Inanna did do
To bind into hell what hell continues to
For the entrappment of ages
Upon which those who Inanna entraps
Have always just as readily entrapped her back
Has she used upon her daughter
Like a lamb to the slaughter
And begun now impose upon
Even those grandchildren
Thus unless she is held to account
That very gate will prove to have been found out
In those who use of
As the cause of all of
Every act of child hate
So let her begin to of late
Realise how she was blaming
Innocent children
If you want real access to any gate in play
Never another to float on
Never the worser be spoken
Never the key to open
Never no game but stalemate

Word Tangle of Poetry Writing by Dreaming

Failed Fathers Done Some

Declan (any father and mine included)
................. being not able
For the world of sons capable
Of intonation arrangement
And interogation berating fat
Intifada's political estrangment that
No words of my own need intone at
Yet who proved no shoes
When they whispered in the blues
What reality is about
The difference to shout
Between a name and a thing
Has an English word sickness ring
While when he did dumber at
There will always be sombody that
Is who wants to be swept down
With my own words the ground
For never my own sentence fact
That belief be differently
That understanding positive reality
But where are you going now
Its time to get up and
The time is what's got
These words on a permanent lock

Coffee done some but one half the old poem begun

The crazed day
Never the way
Of accepting we are
The inevitable play
For crazy by far
Are all those who are
Failing belief in
The fall of foul playing
So let the way
For real people
Be to speak no evil
For by accusations cause
No death could pause
While Chinamen grin
To the tune of our own moutain
For they've caught Muslims in
Denial of Islam's origins
And have stuck it to them all
By that prophesised the fall
Let the games begin
This year with Bejing's fountains
By Tai Chi held in
No mony in the win