I had a Dream about the end of the World

I had a dream last night about the end of the world
No one realized the large fragments of the moon had already been destroyed
Which would sadly prove fatal
Also a young man whom I had known long ago was working in front of me
A large court room with the space of a large concert hall and a giant domed roof
The matter went south and my boss
For whatever reason turned homicidal
Perhaps the spores of doom had infected her mind as they would effect others
The I knew I sat in a circle my girl on one side and a gaggle of brazenly boasting good for nothings sitting across from me bragging about this merger of that of the anonymous steel skyscraper corporation at which they were employed
This all triggered by a simple question by myself "what is it you practice in there?"
My girl and I exchanged a look and then I was unfortunately exposed to a small procession of large Indian men all wearing orange and short for it was a hot day
Some random country of the middle-east had somehow been superimposed over one or the streets in the city in which I lived
And a friend who had not been a friend in years was with me
And the other who had been in the Court room though no longer the girl
Not my girl but another with curly hair who had seemed so engaged but now seemed much more ready to follow the other into a taxi away
But not before the Indian man was cornered by the three ogre-like men
Who oppressed him and gauged out one of his eyes
Next I knew was a parade although I knew not the cause
The Indian man the one who had been so cruelly assaulted had absented himself and there was only a small pool of blood splashed out under the light of the telegraph pole
It dried quickly as the revellers shouted and marched wearing long white tunics which rubbed over the orange sand of the ground in the twilight, whose sun passed quickly for soon the orange glow of the setting sun was replaced by torches
Many of those in the march
Wore masks with a grotesque and disproportionate ethnic face
Although it was more like one you'd see on one or those baby toy dolls
I witnessed it all an implored my friend call the police but our thoughts
And resolve to do right by the man who reappeared clutching his face with a bloody white rag was gone
Next despite distractions the end of the world continued
The moon fell out of the sky and into a soccer field which just incidentally was only a few hundred meters from where I stood
By all accounts the moon ought to have been many leagues across but it was no larger than a giants marble albeit dotted with craters and perfectly sphere
What remained of it shattered and the ground where it hit warped inwards like toffee
The next I remembered was a music video playing where people from a famous sitcom were singing or miming
They sat in tubs of full water
Their clothes all soaked and saggy in some kind of demented poetry
I then sat in my own tub
And lamented the fate of the Indian man
I imagined myself as the images on a plasma screen in a home I had never seen nor lived in
The wall paper was green and the cornices brown and wooden
It was likely in the inner city which as it would turn out was another puzzle
The dream ended when my neighbor who happened to be a musician of some renown almost caught me through the half open blinds half naked
And I do recall the absence of the moon triggered the worlds water to act haywire.
For without a moon there could be no tides my limited knowledge of science concurred with the immeasurably large body of water creeping over everything on the horizon
Like a tidal wave in slow motion that
I could not run from but could only sit and enjoy like a sunset

The Paths of Trains

The paths of trains are
Bound they pass one another
Propelled by controllers within
Their powerful steel shells
But there is no power in them

Hello friend beckons one steel coach
As he passes another the
Still zombie white light is all that
Betrays any semblance of emotion
Upon the grim visage of the carriage

There are no remarks upon the blight
And beauty which they encounter
The phantom lights stay the same
And the man within drives them
As the steel turns back to rust

flakes and flakes and flakes
Until it is replaced or the coach is
Eternally retired to fade unnoticed
Back into the dirt

A poem of desperate love

Bound and broken
Lying beside you
Lying on top of you
Dissolving into you

Mirror little, what do you see?
Paintings and faces
Thrown by you
reflected in you

Fires deep in my chest
Aching heaving
little or no rest
Thinking filament
Thinking big

Touch me
Want me
Experience the insides of me
Run your hands over the skin of me
Offend me with your love
Invasive and penetrating
Long and large and thick
Upon my breast
Upon me
Upon mine

The Child

You say I'm okay
But what would you know
What do you see
When you shut your eyes
Happy places happy dreams ?

There's a lone black in me
Like a rotten stinking thing
Hard as cement and
Impossible to extract

You don't see anything
You don't understand
I'm all alone

There's little magic evident
In the looks of the sun
And water is water
All is as it is
There is no peace imputed
Into moments
I'm all alone

You say im wrong
But I am too smart
To believe in wrong
Or right anymore
There's just action and motions
There's results and probabilities
What business is it of mine
To assign any universal code?

You say you don't have to
This pleasant luxury catches
My heart and something
Opens minute and momentary
Faded dreams whisper on
Distant shores
"it's not too late"

But maybe I do have to
Perhaps we all trains
And my tracks lead to a
Broken land where the earth
Is dry and cannot remember prosperity
Is it resignation I ask or is it fate?

You don't listen or hear anyone
You've gone away
I realize now as I always had
What my words won't say
But my heart young and virile
Demands a companion
I need to know I'm wrong
I need to be told...

Deep down of course
Below the convenient melancholy
I am mere flesh and my skin is torn
I am a child cold and alone
All I need is another voice to be near me
All I need is another voice to hear me.

Flesh foe

would my emotions spill over
If I climbed inside a new skin
Would I forge a new identity
Or does the flesh determine me ?

Child Pornography

I don't know what made me think of this, it's a strange line of thought. I was thinking about well not child pornography, but just how sexualised we all are nowadays. And I was watching a music video and thinking how strange a thing sex is.

It's something we protect our children from ( well not that I have any kids). In it's most pure form though it's become a product, a product that I'm sure a lot of children are aware of. Why is it that so many things portrayed in so called "pop-media" betrays a moral failing in this department. So on that interesting line of thought, which probably requires more elaboration, but thankfully for you my audience, it's getting late in AUS so I'll end it here. As I said long ago, these poems are my words, but I know that what people get out of them will vary.

So have a read, and you know what here's hoping it gets you thinking.

Child Pornography

The girl with the bouncy breasts
smiles her lips are pink like candy
The boy too young to understand
this association notes his father transfixed
on something hidden and secret

The girl once thought bottoms were
for the toilet and other notions
were rather icky
her father trains her to sit with her bottom
on the seat and do as nature intends

the words wet moist and sticky
seem innocent enough
the words are not imbued with
anything but description

She is too young to understand
the purpose of thighs and the notion
of tingles
She doesn't know what lies in the open
the thoughts that were once secret

And how many see the girls
How many pause even now on streets
just to get a look

You look pretty
seems innocent enough.

The borders of her thighs are
more than an object
there is a history
it is silent and unwilling and unrelenting

The boy follows his father's transfixed gaze
he will soon possess the knowledge of flesh
for what are bodies but symbols after all

hollow carcases

Even the girl who is too young
is just another body to
fuck...

Imagine

I had a horrid thought tonight. It's a thought I suppose only someone with as much time to think as I do can have, but it's a terrible one. Living as I do at present on my own and most nights, sitting alone and left to my devices, it's easy to wonder sometimes if being really connected to anyone is just a fantasy or a hope we all cling too. How much happens inside of us that the world will never know? Does that matter? Does that mean no one will ever see us truly, because no one can ever see every thought inside of us. 

Yes, I think all these things. And it's not a crime to think them. Feeling loved and feeling valued, these are real things of course. But I think at the heart of it is the deeper truth, we all long to be known and to escape from inside of ourselves, because within us is a immense endless world that no one else can touch and it's scary to think about.

But who am I to stray from scary. Below I imagine an outside world that reflects what I just described as the inner world. The irony is of course, anyone who reads this is already disproving my own thoughts and anxieties because how can I be truly alone when I'm just disclosing all these thoughts to the world and how can my image of an empty world be alone when everyone who reads it will populate it with themselves. 

I have to admit when I wrote this momentary thought I did consider when I imagined the world in the poem that there were all these spectors floating around in the imaginary cities and lands that rose up out of my imagination. (The real question is...what is the real poem right). Okay enough pontification you're here for the poem right? Well here it is Enjoy IMAGINE! And I'll be posting very soon.

Imagine

Imagine if one day you woke

All the people in all the world were gone

But you got to walk down the same streets

see the same sunrises and sunsets

how more real would the world be then

What difference would it make?

Will you remember what it is to be lonely

After a month, a year, all your years

Will loneliness exist when there is nothing

in this world, but you and what you see fit to make

You would be the Lord of an invisible Court

The rules would be yours

You would have no limitations to where you might go

What you might do would be limited only by your imagination

Imagine that there are no consequences

That you can never lose anyone

In these empty streets

Empty houses

Empty lands

Empty seas

there is nothing to be gained

Nothing to be lost

Nothing to be loved

But that which is inside