Seldom is the heart so massive as the shop is expansive
Often is the paradigm shifted for the male to be expressive
Common is the tongue upon the ice maiden to reveal the highest truth
Least is the result if you do not speak to me before acting.

You see, there were men of great fortune who knew the seas and karma
And they stepped forward to fathom the nauticals with great height
And confidence with each step that brought dangers in night-time for the drama
About the allowance from the cosmos for man to talk and not find respite.

There have not had the flow of the women to speak back
About the stammering man who has purchased the wings and planes,
So settle down and write awhile from the position of market hack
To see the left and right centralise your anonymity like a complaining whale.

This is not for me, and that is for them – what common sense!
How does that equal the youthful trials and tribulations of pounds and pence?
Yet grief is a donation from universal assistance for those who admire
That which is perpetual like the motion of art, beauty and a good ration of that which won’t tire.

[Long is the wind, Sir. Get with the new program.
The masters are those who can eat ham.
Quick are they to terror and plot the limit
Of those who would success and get with it.]

So that which started with a complaint to the hands and heart
Is not the fruition of sexual arrogance or continual counterpart;
But I have not the damask glory of some venerable blindness
To deny my muse the sophistry of advanced human kindness.

For, in years, I am travelled of a different kind of tremendous alert
That questioned the hurt and hurt and devastation on the earth.
Mirrors are hallowed when the shape of reflection is superficial
Destiny is denied me a wife for the witchcraft that left me vacant for one too many rituals.

Thus before these pages are some spent in other books
As verses complicate the simple sallow shallowness of aloneness with discrepant looks,
Ask for books, books, books….. Boo!
What is a wart when the medic knows who are you?

The style of poem is so set that years are not invested
In a class of controlled experiment for merriment to mean digested
And towers of learning and ignorant dancing and feasting wheat and harvest callous
Sell words for the order of imitation when the nation is about loss and illness.

Time for CoVid 19
And some know what I mean –
There is some scene
For this witch doctor to have been:
Then add to me some broth
So I can calculate the cost
Of counting too quickly
Ascension and demonisation too thickly.

Mentions are for the weak and thus I fall before the death and time
To fashion some independent publishing before the jungle of the scene of my crime,
Where man has evolved to talk back to the hackneyed carriage of sensation
That today’s woman is not so evolved as feminist, to be lost in derision.

Leave it to me, take it from me, give it to her, let it be, Sir…
There is only one end at the beginning of the day:
Morning will follow night after some sleep has had some say.
And when mother’s milk is suckled by the premonition of success
There is always tomorrow for the examiner to face correct address.
Money is to desire what water is to the lakes of pleasing
So that I am on my knees with dutiful poetic easing:
And married is the unity of Universe with squalor in English
With the convenience store of an advert to my kitchen sink drama for some desert dish.
So farewell, is this quality, for some Eastern ended retirement
To what was meant with the opening act and what middle age in the West might have meant,
Had I have been wealthy and the noose of the hangman been loosened
To choose the carathoming of The Fates more poorly than commercial buffoon.
Measure is for the mathematician and the Yogi has little time left
Before his Master is walked from the Middle Way to sell what is left:
He is not spared repetition from clutches of goal and ice-hockey rink
So join with him in sales to let his family know what you think.
Fathers, mother, cousins and friends alike with your shares
Come to the online district to spend some pounds to stay aware,
For what is here today is consciousness tomorrow in what is forgotten
But the blood that breathes for the hollow is not open for wounds that are hotter
Than a sun that would die if the Super Nova begun…
… Depart and see what the Arts were to change the climate so verse was unsteady
And clowns were so hurried to dress rashly and not get ready
In the afternoon of Mother Earth’s delight to find the rarest talents
Prepared for aspects of the Self dancing with English and the best Falun Gong @ Sing your song, before the time is done
And the Church waits for you to be number one
In form and fallowed field for the love of money
So that some priestly squire finds your executed deeds hallowed and funny.
Walk backwards on the grass
Celebrate second class
Listen to the error of broken hearts
For the thoughts that won’t come back.
But do not walk away, from the sacred time of day
And the loss of legions of friends that make time make time make amends.

For as clear as water can tell science to sons and daughters
Loss is the tragedy beyond pain that makes Dukka call out for slaughter.
And marriage is bread and butter to those who know the romance
Of avoiding a ring and a partner for another dead song and dance.