High speed car crash Relentless release of power Car mash, whiplash Delightful scrap metal shower
Mother of crash violence once again makes the biggest man cower --- Smells burnt don't worry 'bout it The very worst thing about every disaster is the invetiable worry that comes with it. Why can't we feel pain when there is pain to be felt - and joy when there is joy to be felt instead? There's no place for pain, they say Still Mother nature seems to have made a shrine and a temple for it - "Life",...
Some people feel the rain; others just get wet.” —Roger Miller
sweet the rain falls at my tired feet, splish-splashing in its wake; greetings of delight lithe bubbles, fleeting by, leave in the lake. brief their smiles and then they perish; grief they cannot understand. sadly watch i, with scant relish, glad they die not by my hand.
water woes—tears—for some people, laughter goes when stalwart rain compromises humble dwellings, harmonises with the pain deeply etched where they have struggled, cheaply...
Swim, swim, swim, my goldfish love to swim Day and night they just swim around and play Four single tail goldfish in 35 gallons of rainwater One of them is orange and gold with black fins And the other three are gold from head to tail
Swim, swim, swim, my goldfish love to swim I watch my goldfish swimming in the aquarium The goldfish fry go under the coloured river stones And they hide among the roots of the water lilies I cannot wait for them to grow to be adult fish
what joy and peace it is to be alone your peace — destroyer of a thousand monsters that joy what lifted boulders out your lungs It’s how you entered this place of gossips and turning yellow leaves six-foot deep holes laced with Christmas and toddler words It’s how you’ll leave having loved a thousand times having considered most how much you never knew
Revel in that close-your-eyes water's-weight-on-eardrum solitude Stretch — drink your power warm ...
An Insistent Denial of Truth (in all it's insistent interpretations)
Must remember're'call when the medicine was swallowed was ingested was absorbed. Where I'd lost our imprimatur, it's the first step toward the freed'm of need, and a ratified wanting, in a spectacle of ranting.
Be'Damned if it hasn't begun storming, catacombs being the only shelter from piercing ...
(just a few questions) *** How many times I gotta cause trouble?
You done wit your adolescence yet?
And, just-in-case, how many fingers am i holding up?
All these questions call for a test of Your Real Self. But, we'll have to fore'go all that now, due to them ol' technical difficulties. Don't worry. Don't worry. Don't worry (your pretty little head). Pleas!
Poems come sliding down some toxicated slag sluice. Or may-be the bilge pump needs a new...