By John

Once upon a blue moon,
There was a tide that rippled smooth.
The early rain dropped, from the mango trees,
From the mangroves and manatees.
Uluru needed rain that day,
And the puddle became a lake.
The old ones were happy,
For they could write their songs.
From the ochre, the three legged man,
Sounded through the beeswax.
And the young males cried out to the birdsong,
The holy rock of Ayers was a place to fish,
Once more for the days of unity,
Were close at hand for two little boys.

Simon the Lion

I tried so hard to write this,
It took me several times,
It started off about a lion,
But I crossed out all the lines.

So now I start again this verse,
I hope it says what I find hard,
The love that I feel for you big bear,
Is regardless of your mard.

But aside my heart that cries now,
I must fly your cave and go.
An owl; you taught me lessons,
And how all of us can grow.

So Simon, my dear lion,
I'll never forget your words,
Look to the sky my brother,
And I'll be with the birds.

And when I see a pigeon,
I'll always think of you.
And lucky there are plenty,
Fucked up, just like us too.

Silk

I love you, I miss you, I don't want to go,
But I don't know how low this lowest can low.
You picked up my bones, and you stacked them as jenga,
But I live by the cliff, with no return to sender.

You were my silk that appeared with the drop,
You took the wrath; the punches not stop.
The hurt and the fear I must have created;
Eternal shame, an apology belated.

I don't want to go, but you know I will walk,
I'll watch my ideas and eye the big talk.
But I'll cry and I'll miss you my dearest old girl.
I'll always taste ginger; the comfort, the whirl.

Stone Child

I always wanted to be child,
A baby without care,
But now my eyes and mind are battered,
The impact broke its fare.

This bitterness I feel,
Is as tart as fresh citrine,
The vengeance that manifests inside,
Will have to be unseen.

For my shoulders carry such a weight,
Decrepit in their curl,
And the child that is locked inside,
Suffocates within the swirl.

And a child is born unable,
To carry such a burden,
And as the little one grows,
It suppresses all the hurting.

But the cynic now has calloused,
Through the mistrust of such leeches,
Disappeared to find the joy,
Amongst the far off reaches.

All that had been buried,
And placed well in the past,
Has regrown itself anew;
Harboured inside metal cast.

And the old year hurt and upset,
It seeps between the cracks,
And spills its molten poison,
And lands upon the back.

And the jaded one within,
Hardens and turns to stone,
And the child that wants to play outside,
Is now inside, alone.

And the work that she had made,
In wanting to enjoy the ride,
Is crystallised forever,
In weighted brow it hides.

The work begins again,
In learning to love as pure,
But in treading toxic water,
It drowns down to the floor.

Who will be the saviour?
To break the stone to shard,
Because a heart repeatedly blackened,
Is meant to stay so hard?

And the colic that has spawned,
Could poison what it sees,
When the treachery of experience,
Is not worthy of such fees.

So take me back to baby,
And leave me innocent,
To find such peace on earth,
Is only heaven sent.

The Forlorn, The Porn, The Scorn.

But surely this is bullshit?
At night the skin aids sleep,
Finger fucked; a pull, a tug,
...Always ends throat deep.

And the girl she moans like mother,
Her eyes they speak faux lust.
Her lips they must be hurting,
Cursing harder; taking thrust.

For her taut and shaven haven,
Is rogered and all do see,
Her pussy bleached albino,
Displays robotic choreography.

For nothing real exists in it,
It creates a filmic lie.
And the boys that educate themselves,
Will keep a woman dry.

So bring us less four, four, two,
And loosen up the game,
For the girls are not as tight nor taut,
Or dependent on skin fame.

Their tits they do not pivot,
Their cunts are foible, frilled,
They don't demand it perma-hard,
It hurts just being drilled.

So take your cock from wind pipes,
And speak and ask instead,
For this isn't just two minutes,
Fake lashes giving head.

And who are you adonis?
To receive such unbridled favour?
This fucking that you see,
Accounts to no more than slave labour.

So stop the porn formation,
For this isn't what to expect.
If this was the truth,
Two minutes, your spoils would cry regret.

Oooh ahhh I love it, go harder,
Oh yeah, you are the man.
He's pumping - selfish - glory,
Shredding en masse hairless clam.

They all like it rough you 'spose,
With shaven cock and ball.
The belly hangs; the moustache leers,
And on chin, bollocks fall.

This repeat to fade; mechanical joust,
Is a universal scoff,
Cos it takes more than two minutes,
To get most of us off.

And now it's time to finish,
He's ready to shoot his load,
She looks dirty at the camera;
Hopes you've seen her goad.

And the finale is abrupt,
In showing you the prize,
Always on the face,
And sometimes in the eyes.

Then you switch off discontented,
That it had to come to this.
When you knew the script, the sounds, the moves,
Empty, vacant. This.

Now the guilt you feel that such a scam,
Could end up in a sock.
But you retire; uncharmed, used, abused.
This animal; withered cock.

So bring me the director,
And let me fist my fury,
For he thinks of boys and minute cuffs,
As true as morning glory.

Let us unleash the spoils,
And show him his disgrace,
Then reprimand his actions,
By cumming on his face.

Caught-ship

Blimey Charlie, he's quite forward,
For boys these days they're all so starboard,
But this is fresh, this seems anew;
I haven't had this since 2002.

The clubs are dead and full of meat,
Get called a perv chatting up in the street.
Moving in packs and losing charm,
Thinking catcalls don't cause no harm.

But shut your mouth your whistles mean nowt.
Where's the numbers? Still in doubt?
A man who takes charge and takes the lead;
Is a boy who knows that some girls heed.

It's simple, a gamble, you just need to chance,
To ignite a flame a man, solo, starts a dance.
Some say this fashion is way too old,
But bravery, courage, assertion; we're sold.

So take charge of your situation,
You're wasting time; this hesitation.
As time can pass by - it's gone, it's quick.
You missed it man, you've been a dick.

Don't be shy, show the world your balls.
And then - perhaps - she'll await your calls.
Rejection? Pfft so what? Now you know...
It wasn't right. There's not an epic show.

Swallow that pride and make your move,
You really do have nowt to lose.
So, why did you get off the saddle?
And why is it so hard to have a dabble?

It's you and ego at war with self,
Years go by... you're on the shelf.
And now those around you are all hooked up,
It's down to you, not a question of bad luck.

For girls just want a Daddy to search for,
Like-wise someone to be there for nurture.
It's not Freudian this slip of mine,
It's honest, it's true, it's beautifully fine.

So move to the port of fresh new hope,
Start it slowly, it might elope.
But put some wheels underneath your station.
Your frozen state isn't worth your dedication.