What if God was a Cat?

If God turned out to be a cat
What would you make of that?
Would you ask forgiveness for all the times that
you hadn't been kind to cats?

If God turned out to be a turkey
Would you be feeling quite so chirpy
Eating God's only son on his birthday?

If God turned out to be a fox
It wouldn't look too good for toffs
On judgement day

If God is karma, this would bring
Kindness, love and understanding
An end to suffering
So maybe God is everything
Sentient...remembering


-------------
Quite a co-incidence
I wrote this poem the day of the passing
of Christopher Hitchens

----------------

Starlight Groove

Ancient instant light
Catapult from then to now
Ka-Pow!!!
Ping
Sing
Attentive moves
Concentration
Attention
Removes
Ignorance
For a dance
An  Entrance
eyes said be
mine A glance
Entranced

Future cosmic energy
Comes back advanced
Dispels all apathy
Get up, get on up
Like a dream
Like a love machine

Thrilled to be part of the cast of
Happenstance and Empathy

You look like you should be
Hanging in the Louvre
I love your Starlight Groove

Secrets Yet Untold

whispers winters dark

is snow and gold

the snowflake kiss

of memory silver

and secrets yet untold

the leaping heart

from out of earthly ice

and eyes that steal the soul

the sparkling sound

a love thats bound to tingle and enfold

and to entice

oh whispering winter magic

casting fractured patterns o'er icy pools

at which the starved bird sips

to gaze upon the frozen golden rose

the one that winter gently

places on your lips

lovers never heed the day

just rapt and wrapped in wondrous warm

entangled in a snowflake kiss

protected from the storm

and whisper in the winters dark

of memory white and gold

in keeping with the silver night

and secrets yet untold

Poets Float

Blessed with cerebral riches
Drowned as witches
But poets float

Words like petals floating on the breeze
So uncontrolled
They taunt and tease
The status quo

Float like butterflies
Sting like bees
A poet can't be bought or sold

Never given thanks
Made to walk gangplanks
But poets float

The poet's sensitivity
floats on to infinity
original thoughts
create the future and eternity

Your words
Like a saviour boat
On raging seas
In a storm
I feel reborn
For poets float
Happy birthday Heathcote




---------------
Heathcote Williams - British Poet, Actor, Playwright, Director and Artist
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heathcote_Williams

the flowers that be

we are the flowers

that will lead you

straight to the heart

and the mind of God
we are the butterfly

creation of God's art

roses - whether a single one
the beautiful two

or a bunch of dozens
vermillion leaves on the ground

are our autumn cousins

walk past flowers silent

but they're screaming out

their joy to be alive

unlike people

flowers never lie

endless colour infiltrated bliss

with every change of the light

dance fragrance everlasting like God's kiss

absorbing the day

embracing the might of the stars at night

flowers aren't like guns or swords
they don't want to kill you
flowers aren't like the glance
in human eyes
they can't desert or judge or despise you
but when you look at them
they might create a fantasy for you

we're universe

we are the flowers

dont mind us

we're just an element of fractal expression

of God's dreaming

we just exist
as long as there's sunshine

earth and air and showers

"the human beings, my pet species

killed my dreams with ingratitude" said Gaia

"but flowers are my love,
theyre never rude

they never let me down -
they are

my soul's fire"

CAIRO!

Instance a twirling magic of starlit night

And then, on the way to a party - a ride

on a cart pulled by a donkey

Interfusion something

so unlike

a pyramid system

at street level

or a dusty track in the countryside

The explosion of scent of jasmine and

a Larry Olivier voice booming

out into the night at the Sound and

dreamy golden purple Light

Lost in inner city wild bazaar

at midnight alone

felt like an initiation, being born

Heart beat drum beat

Trapped in a beast

Feast for the sunrise

Triangles at dawn

Giggling looking at Adolf Churchills room

Theyre all the same, they all want to make a

City of the dead,
but this city, my eternal love affair

alone in a crypt with a tomb and a female voice in my ear said “Claire”

I looked around and - there was nobody there

But it sounded sweet and it felt so wise...

A polluted forest of exotic concrete

Drowning in warm brown eyes

Diving through the UniVerse

I saw a stark tree
with bright red berries on it
and the sun fell right on it
and I knew then in my heart of hearts
that yes, there is a God of sorts
prowling through the universe

the blooms are coming up too soon
too soon to feel
and down dark lanes
a shaft of sun
on frozen rooftops starts
and I knew then in my heart of hearts
that there really is a God ofcourse
diving through the universe

Oxford, 29th January 1989

Out of Everydayland

The sounds of the sea come in
Mixed with emotional magic
They all come out of the sea
on embarrassed waves of tears
And now Im trapped in every day land
Where there never was a hope
of being set free

But listen awhile on the sand
to the thundering trombone of nature
the harp and the whistle of seagull and
violins of shellfish begging to be set free
Our undeserved symphony
The echoes of hollow
you all hope to follow

When I die the wind and I
will be me, to tunes
Already heard
And souls already infiltrated
We'll pierce the very hollow of you
Like a pebble ripe
in the lodge of fate

Deep down pools of devastation
That we wallow in
The bible of the earth
says it's the only sin
We're moving up in a new wave
with a wave of the human hand
the sounds of the sea come in with an era
fresh as the morning sand

Bath, September 9th 1986

Ghosts of Guilt and Gold

Down dreamlike fields all filled
with wondrous, passing things
Visions rise up
and bastards hold them down

Oh, to live in the green places
Lost to the time
Lost to the race
Lost to the tune
of hearts and souls suspended

I could win
or hang upon the wire
The hand that holds
the ghosts of guilt and gold
slowly closes in

Let the serpent's finger stroke my chin
Lure me with sin
And gaze where flattened greyness
fills the minds of men

December 31st 1987

First of the Fifth (Song of Isis)

Throughout the light and the trees
I'm only in the sparkle of time
Let me live, deliver me
And think no more of an end
but a big feel

Soft in hearts, no fear to disappear
Gasp! A hazy earth, clad in gauze so dear
Blowsy roses at her breast
Her hair's a mess, her heart
your Souvenier

The fifth month comes down haunting
like a troubadour
Sing what you feel,
Mean what you say,
And keep in touch, 'til sundown now

May 12th 1987

Moon

Darkness frames the light
the moon your eyes
I need your eyes
I spy through leaves
wide, round, irascible
But always there
They wait like thieves

Deeper than the night you are
Fresh and ravishing, longing to be desired
pure and clean unclouded now
They stole my soul

Then sometimes your moon eyes change
Raw and churlish like a spiteful sky
Spitting venom on the bleak black earth

One moment a virgin
The next as worldly as Narcissus
Waiting to take the earth
like a summer storm

--------

July 7th 1981

The Writing on the Wall

A rustic in darkish clothes passed me
Down by the delicatessen of all my spicey dreams
With hands full of stars
And eyes so familiar
I thought I'd never see life again

The delicate darlings may wait in the wings
And wait they will - it's too late
For there is a beauteous beacon of winter
Like dahlias in autumn
and breath on the pane

He's come, relentless, shattering the world
wiith a sadness supreme
A thing we cannot help but die for
It is not called love

Bath, Avon, September 10th 1986

The Hermit (the twin's lament)

Say it's doom, a choiceless path I'm on
Where to go, and wander off
In each direction
Hypnotised

Fall away, debate the great
Confusion
Any day we could be called
Our split mind finds an answer
And a question.
Cling and cling and cling
Another spark
Feel, the atmosphere's
a question mark

Bath, Avon, June 15th 1987

The Plastic Rainbow

Plastic Rainbow in the Sky

The beautiful child delivered into a place called paradise

Why is it the powers that be

Think they can improve on this

God given flowers showers

An earth that supplies

Us with every prevention nutrition and cure

it's like a kiss
What God creates Satan counterfeits
and gives the power to the moneymaking scientist

Why do they think they can improve on something so pure

From the great designer

There is nothing finer

Plastic food, plastic faces

Plastic buildings, plastic places

Plastic waste forms it’s own island in the sea

An ancient giant turtle

Was cut open recently

And the plastic in its stomach filled a

Six foot piece of plastic, completely

The world, natural

Organic and fractal

In the beginning beautiful

But they destroyed it and made it so

And if they could

They’d make a plastic rainbow

Under the Wire

On 12 December 1982, 30,000 women held hands around the 6 miles (9.7 km) perimeter of the Greenham Common Air Base, Newbury, Berkshire, in protest against the decision to site American cruise missiles there. I was there and wrote this poem afterwards. It was a momentous day, a show of what love, peace and solidarity can do - the base was closed some time later.

----------------------------------------------------

They moved the wisp, the frightened space

That hides behind the moon

And what they did, this shadow race

these pioneers of magic

was burst the colour

through the fence

the heavy metal chickenwire

without the aid of guns

The witches sit

they will consider

how to get the magic

over the fence

under the wire

how to keep their blackened eyes

and sprawling, ravaged

wisps of hair

away from cross-fire

The other side the cold hearts lie, uncomplicated

with never a wish the card won't provide

the soldiers hold their steely glances to the sky

For they don't see the moon

or dissenchanted birds migrating

No, they only see the space

where rockets fly.

All yours, Euphoria

A mystic astrology, soaring over Yorkshire
descended into a flesh and blood daughter
some kind of spiritual sister, still in my mind
in England's turbulent times
and stormy waters

Law, politics and social interaction

Was of interest but anathema

Yet she knew each tiny detail of every one of these

rules, and no insight of social or official convention

escaped her

She knew the glance of the cruellest patriarchal eye

And the judge when he condemned the pauper who was innocent
She knew the boredom and tedium of being a victorian teacher

The longwinded religious ramblings of the nonsense of the preacher

The shame of the drunken brother

Shattered, disgraced, a life

Tormented, wasted and spent
The strife of a life that all of them led
without a mother

And the desire to be free

on paper made her declare

the words of a rare and raw

and wild uncultivated cultivated mind

“Only a mystical lover could match my moors no man alive no no

only a man who was my landscape made incarnate

who knew how to love and who

knew how to hate my enemies

with such equal intensity
and it felt like i was him and he was me”

Out in the darkening grey unsympathetic storm

Know how it feels to be demonised, despised

No-one in respected and civil society
(which in reality is more savage and uncivilised)

Could understand what it felt like to be out there

gloriously ravished and mesmerised

The ecstasy, to be unleashed
with the beautiful eyes and the form

of the perfect gypsy

With the wind and the wild northern storm in our hearts

And the lightening and thunder and rain comes down and we’re laughing

Hysterically

Even if it kills you and me
Soaked to the skin without fear

With the moors in my arms

With the wind in my hair
With the rain on my face

Oh Im all yours euphoria

You broke my heart

But only the intellect

Could ever tear our heavenly souls apart

For this is how it feels

to be finally free
and truly perfect

the lightening flash of that dream
of our real home

I felt I had to write it all down

In a story and some poems

for forever

All yours, euphoria

--------------------------

Emily Bronte, (British Author and Poet) - 1818-1848

Charlie Gilmour

Hanging from a flag on the Cenotaph

Someone took a photograph

A boy with a certain poetic face

was a good excuse to make a case

for disgrace

for he is of rock royalty dynasty

in his privilege

how dare he!

But arent poets and rock stars supposed to make a stand?
Arent they the best and most romantic symbols of this land?

All our nations pride was on the line

the bones and blood and death enshrined

in a monument to the glorious dead

yes, its so glorious to be dead

two entire generations of brave young men

gloriously dead

how sad, that after all of that

the Nazis havent gone away
They live!
their ethos spread to make more dead
and fight another day

today they're creating a third

for the royalty who would cut off your head

for saying this, two hundred years ago, absurd

if you dared speak out against their warmongering waste

their own minds cut off from conscience, reality or taste
maintaining their comfortable warlike status quo
arranging wars, well, they don't have to go

to war, there's no real threat from anyone - just war as usual, war, war war

but charlie gilmour

swung a bin at the bastards

whatever whoever the son
or the situation,
[situationist]
(shame he missed)

and that takes courage

even so

Vive la revolution!

-------------

The Situationists
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Situationist_International

Diamond Lights on the Water

Only A Lovely Summer Dream...summers in the woods sound of wood pigeons

purring in time like the engine of the heart so much world going on inside nature's infinitesimal and infinite magic, yes us a part of summers song or swept back in time to an olive grove dusty and hot with crickets, beat a stick in time, rhythm of the pulse or the sound of the lazy lapping sea on the beach and laying in a boat with the sparkling diamonds of light on the water the soothing swish of the sea and thousands of purple and silver fish and the sound clear mind life in the moment summer abound why cant we just be summer forever found like where love lives and laughs and the sea claps with a loud smack on the shore and recedes with a long sigh and comes back and soft skin is the minds elenin drunk on just being here, all the stars manifest into nature's

manifesto

  

sparkling diamond lights

on the water

Marilyn Monroe

(the very name was thus created by the gods to be a poem)

Marilyn Monroe loved poetry
(ee cummings especially)
She died 49 years ago today
and words of other's wisdom swirled around her head
until her final moments, final day

lain in bed, swirls of white sheets
with scripts of words and authors and poets beats
around her and it fed
a craving and a thrill
that maybe men and films and fame could not fulfil
in a world that only saw the physical
she understood the quark and charm, the metaphysical and quizzical
she understood the poet's art
and just like hers
it was the language of the heart

some words from ee cummings
i like to think her dreamy eyes were maybe wandering over
in a gaze in her last days...

"i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes"
....

'almighty God! I thank thee for my soul; & may I never die spiritually
into a mere mind
through disease of loneliness'


Marilyn Monroe (American Actress) - June 1st 1926 - August 4th 1962
Edward Estlin Cummings (American Poet) - October 14 1894 – September 3 1962

Angelic Intervention

Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention
Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention
Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention
Angelic INtervention Angelic Intervention
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Angelic Intervention AnGelic Intervention
Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention
Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention
Angelic IntervEntion Angelic Intervention
Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention
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Angelic Intervention AngeLic Intervention
Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention
Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention
Angelic Intervention Angelic Intervention

Skylark

In the night of the human day
we live through the restless dark
of the wretched soul
where the incandescent spark
becomes the break in the dawn
in the part of the heart
which is the skylark

and the spark becomes the wings
of a bird in flight and the bird
has no memory of the endless night
just the feel of the freedom breeze as it sings
on its feathers
forever forever
forever

Saturnalia

Saturnalian cold
he hides his horns
belies the lie
from day to day
he feeds on fear
and energy
and blood and bones

saturnalian chic
will yet beguile
no desperation burns
quite like the lightless eyes
of those who strive
and yearn
for heaven’s style

the multitudes thereby
all search for light defracted
so distracted
and seduced
by satan's smile

which hides a sneer
at all the earth's pure light
the endless ebb and flow
of love's true vibrancy and glow
a dark december night
originally brilliant and bright
they stole the magic
just for show

but just like ice and snow
real heat and warmth will make them go
true love stands up to all, and so
the fracturing veneer
will disappear
as wisdom stands
scales in her hands
for those who know

Signed (liberal with kisses)

(For John Keats) :)

Fair the gentle mountain flower
hardy in the cruellest of terrains
smiling at the sun whenever
sunlight breaks through snow and hail and rain
fragile in the mist, a quivering
heart amid the maddeniing earthly chains
gazing at the sky a wondering
what on earth of freedom still remains
keep this mountain flower in your
pages filled with wonder, wild with wishes
never doubt the power of our
love, alive and liberal with kisses

Queen Canute

We shake our incredulous heads
Bright sparks among the brain dead
waving their flags at the future queen
she owns the sea bed

money rolling in
like waves
for doing not a thing
a rich man's daughter
while her working subjects fight to bring
their heads to just above the water

O scales of justice
a balance, please restore
where a world of work and sweat and debt
pays for the new clothes of the Empress
the poor man getting less
as the media tumbles froth and lies

But also tumbling is the truth
unstoppable and wise
like a storm upon the sea shore

Egypt on the Rise (No suits and ties)

(Memories of Eden)

Egypt on the rise
by all means necessary, what it takes
the little white man in his office
England shakes

something in his
milky tea toned heart
of beer and safely distant tabloid tits
no threat of real women
but a seed of something
starts to start
and now awakes
and something shifts

BBC and media
controlled hysteria
spread the fear

there's no belief in man's ingenious
beauty, peace
it must be heinous violence
but the protest reaches high
into the heavens
out with tyrants

something in your sand and soil
dear Egypt, holds a secret
that no office man or media anchor girl
can spoil
its coming like a whisper
as the spark of real hope
begins to filter
and unfurl

No suits and ties
No regurgitated lies
No phoney muslim guru, no
it all lies in your dark Egyptian
eyes

This Twinkling of Existence

When this violent tide
eventually subsides
and has abated
breathe deep
remember all the ones you hated
the energy you spent
on matters virulent
for soon the winds of love will come
and see your sails of anger
float like seagulls, calm and sated

For in this lies a clue
the gentle breeze, while not the storm
it has the power to subdue
the raging breast,
create the power of a love
made manifest
And see your fellow man
not as a threat
but as a flower that
you hold within your hand
for you are he and he is you
and the fragile ache of memory
you have to understand
once he is gone
will make you wish
you had been kinder
when all thats left is but
an everlong
and nagging deep regret
as a reminder

I Am A Memory Come Alive

I am a million years old

I am a memory come alive

Stone breathes with fractal freedom

Roses shimmer and vibrate with beauty frequencies

Consciousness is a Rose

I am a million years old

maybe a bud that never got to grow but oh

at least I was here, in this time, in this place

at least I got to see your face

that took a million years for me to make

the perfect face i got to make

the perfect face i lived to get to see

and thats the reason i am me



I am a memory come alive

and so are you

brought back to live in love

and all who lay the path of

density

and build their temples and their icons up

in negativity

denial of the Equity

the time will come you'll see

non-fractal boxes that they strive to put us in

will fade

and we'll be free

Capability Brown

Lancelot Brown
Standing gazing
feeling breathing stone
small in a world of handsome trees and storm
waved his little hand
and a different world was born

"If only" he thought "if I
could recreate this bliss
where the world of green can kiss the blue of the sky
and the taming of nature's beast
wilderness beauty and cultivation debt
could blend into a heavenly garden, well at least
if God laughs at my effort and sweat
he knows i tried to make a paradise here
fusion of the wild, tempered by the kind"

And with that in mind
he wandered the land
and he stamped his northumbrian dream
with the wave of his hand

Lancelot Brown (1716 – 1783)

Liberate Nature Child

To go to the ancient house
of dark and wild
with destiny entwined
in wooded winter waste
a gossamer eternity
in her icy fingers takes
the twists and turns
and makes of this
the wondrous rapture
evergreen into a kiss

in blossoms
crown of flowers
beyond the world
of time and hours
start of summer
dream and sighs
and falling like a petal
from the leafy tree of skies
where at your sacred feet
she rises up
into the wonder
of your eyes

Fallen Angel

Tortured angel
twisted
and enlisted
squirming on his
crumbling champions phoney pedestal
terrified of heaven
only understanding hell

the chiming of a bell
a fall from hero
to a frantic sentinel
the tragic loss, bereft
of granted crown
his only talent left
is to fight, day after day
without relent
in every way
just like a devil
fighting hard
to bring the angels down
down to his level

No Such Thing As A Poor Country

no such thing as a poor country
all overflowing rich with bounty
only humans make them poor

a manufactured poverty
deliberately so
imprisoned from their birth
born free, they make a hell hole
of this rich abundant earth

polluted minds extend to their surround
corrupting all and everything around

no fruit or flower, herb or healing spice
can sway, convince or make them realise
that they were born to live in paradise

One and I

Oh I am the freshness of your very eyes
all the names sail by like seabirds
not for the fainthearted, one and I
all the wolves, their friends sent radiant
yet radiation underlies
their every motive so
oh I am the freshness of the iris in your eye
cast up from the bowels of the earth
but diamond like in intent in a sense
a sparkle
jewel encrusted epitome of innocence

and all of the names sail by like seabirds
not for the fainthearted
one and I

world affairs

man draws a line in the sand
then gives the command
a man on one side of the line
fights a man on the other side
starts a fight with a man like him
a manufactured divide
and a man up above takes the profits of sin
from the ones lower down, suffering

give him a name, any name
a jew, a christian or a muslim - any label
that fuels the violence
and keeps the world
and the human heart unstable

the mother earth divine
intended and divised no division lines
such ideas wouldnt cross her mind
its the land and the sea
and all the people were put here
to be happy and free
so they could live in the bounty
and partake of the beauty
abundance and harmony

an original idea
free from fear
in the balance of natural law
there is no such thing as war

a simple solution for all
take all the lines away
then hate and the armies fall
for there's nothing to fight for any more
and man is free to play
for the rest of his earthly days.

The Air of Elsewhere

(part one)

In a blanket of liquid Elysium

Glancing at the world,

Like an after shot

Was I really ever there

In that utter hell hole

That explains the manic stare

That explains the despair

And intention to go nowhere

And meet no-one

And avoid the daylight and the sun

That explains the confusion

That explains the fire

In the words that are written

The wrestle with the devil

Savagely bitten

Yearning for heaven

That explains the desire

Islands of the blessed

Sanctuary for the stressed

It was strange in the dream

I was so obsessed

And it seemed insane

That’s not my name

And the bravery of someone

Who could take a dare

To come here, alone

And the only home

And the only protection

Was the air of elsewhere

Release the Matisse

Falseness Falls
Infinity Calls
When the inside out is a cut out dove on the wall
He's got it all

In the concrete scream of a city scene
when a mind has original colours and a dream
always ready to
release the Matisse in us all

would it be easier
if the love paint splatter explosion police
came with an ancient idea called peace?
all war would cease and its
Infinity we're chasing after all

In a wheelchair, pointing a stick at the reverential
unleashing the ultimate potential
and releasing the Matisse
in us all


Henri Matisse (French Painter) - 31 December 1869 – 3 November 1954

To awake

to wake to the whole
unreal idea of time
something blows away
the cobweb construct
of the mind
the blinding vision
of something so sublime
creates the revelation
that immediate elimination
of the fear
is yours

and then the spirit soars
with just the recognition
that a higher love divine
is truly here

just let it whisper
in your ear

Sovereign

So here is the time
he walks the earth
and truth from lies
he steals
from rich to poor

he moves the air
and the living being knows and feels
for sure
his hands, his heart, his soul, his eyes are finally here
a vision so sublime

in his rhythm, in his rhyme
all pain now disappears
without a care

i envy the breeze
that moves around
his hair

Benediction

there was a day in golden times
long since forgot
i placed within your hand
a flower blue forget-me-not
and uttered thence a prayer
whatever happened, you'd be there
and uttered a prediction
that all throughout the years of fact and fiction
at your final benediction
when you rose there'd be a whisper
like a scripture
that all would only dive
with half the picture

but where they only see
part of your soul
and that part solely
i hold within my heart
the picture whole
it is divine, defines the word
and the word is holy

The eve of truth

Is this the thing?
like Eve
put to the test
reached for an apple
but it was
a hornets nest
so much does pointless knowledge bring
a million years of endless stings and suffering
today, a thousand new age false messiahs
where history is written by the liars
woman - demonised, despised
her version of events is not required
the word of man, a heinous libel
in his neverending bible
we only have his word for it, at best
when maybe she was happy
with the perfect kiss
and sighing on the bliss
of Adam's chest

Anodyne

swept up in a night of a billion thousand stars in the sky
cast up
in a swell of music,
rhythm and rhyme
wrapped up in a cloak of silver love dust sparkles
love-locked in the gaze of the endless eyes of time
it's anodyne

a race through the heavens high enlighted to rejoice
all atoms resonating to the deep and the high combined in the perfect voice
to swing on the songs and the words and the sounds is to pray
makes me feel like the Milky Way

a cosmic harp and an echo laden clarinet
some bells heralding a super sonic safety net
to connect from afar and somehow they reach us here
the heart in the cold material earth world hears the clarion call
and in its safe vibration it frees us all from fear,
it frees us all

the universe is a circuit of creator interface
star sparks form a lace in a work of an endless love
and the reliable force when you feel in pain is a real embrace
you are all
and a gift from the one,
from the one
above

Earth is our Garden

Earth is our garden
a boundless endless place of perfect bliss
no jailer, lord, dictator, boss or warden
can keep or hide this truth away from us

no mental prison, clique or club or workplace
no pressure to purchase a certain brand
no acquiessence into mental slavery
like birds we have the freedom of the land

no border, fence, blockade or wall or checkpoint
division up of land or name of country
no ownership or landlord, creed or council
can ever steal the playground of the free

The Honey Business

Bees are buzzing
fortifying
defenders of the flowery faith
people in the media say
the bees have had their day

but bees are like a buzz within your mind
the sort of thoughts that are the honey kind
just like the birds that sing
the twitter network
i invented
full of tweetness
heaven scented
bees provide the sweetness
they are in the honey business
they rock and roll
they pollinate the flower in your soul

the bee said to me
"there are things i hate about this world
the ones that block the honey
the corporate ones who only value money
who try and make a mess
of all my fractal mother nature loveliness"

i said to him
"there are things i really hate about myself
where to begin
but honey gives you lovely skin"