Flounders in Flanders

 I saw her there in a chestnut chair

She looked like a widow with willow stair

She stared out the window, she was hidden windrow

That billowed and bellowed her pain pellets spare

I saw her there like a crooked chameleon

All bent like a stick insect changing her feeling

Coloured hair like a maniac, bold and brash as an anorak

Crazy psychology of the sociopath's lair

I saw her there she stopped me in the doorway

All guardian of the universe her sphere of blue shit

Like a globe of becoming a purple mist succumbing

Combing the beach for wasted lives they have quit

I saw her there, but she is a little hitler

In charge of nothing but a dream that is wished

Who knows what to believe in, I don't think odd or even

Are numbers she's gambled on just bad waters fished

Her name it is Mandy, her Art Banks are sandy

Shores where her ship is scuppered and wrecked

So she started a bar for Amazonian pirates

And she banishes all those not on her wish list

Just ask for your hard hats, there nothing is stolen

Just ask for your dry tongues, just ask don't speak

Unless you've been spoken to by the Queen of the showroom

Just a Caribbean dive full of drunk fools and old fish

Iranium Uranium

 Iranian uranium

Oh it hurts our craniums

What the fucking hell is going on?

We've been living under an illusion

That our human rights are god even

Or at least preserved by a universally acknowledged law

But none of that is real, we're just lucky to be

On a small island that helped give birth to a Titan:

America

What saves us from obliteration is just the King's coronation

That had a lot of pomp and circumstance to it

That appeals to a dictator like Trump

If we weren't historical winners, white, westerners

Then certainly our lives would matter less

We can be living in this peaceful buble

Until the war outside knocks on our door

Ultimately it's about survival,

Who will get the good stuff

The reality is America are not afraid

To go after what they need and want

Trump will be considered a prophet

A martyr

A winner who won a war and took oil off a regime of low to middling power

Before they became too powerful to resist

What makes me sick is saying he is a religious figure

That God is on his side

Well strength and power is

Perhaps a belief in God and the Christian way

Helped

However, framing this as a crusade

To Christianize Iran seems wrong

Really because of live and let live

However their regime abuses it citizens

Iranian uranium hurts my cranium

Machete

(Heard accompanied to the sounds of a machine clanking

and chomping, cutting and pressing, slashing

pressure release in steam and rising and falling, crashing 

metal kettles and plates, like a steam train that can't be late

a machete machine)

 I only want to tide things over

Oh I only want a bride to be a wife

It's not just a four leafed clover

I only want a knife to cut through life

Oh so won't you be my machete

Match eatty like a parrot or a kite

always flying over my shoulder

Always on the lookout for some strife

Oh Machete, match eatty, cut

and slash through the undergrowth

You can cut a path through the trees

You can cut, cut unto ourselves

Get us free from our ties which bind

Oh Match eatty Machete

Cut my hands off and use them as ashtrays

I'll be your gorilla in the mist babe

if you'll only give me your kiss

I'll even waive my rights to habeas corpus

Corpus christi stigmata of the wrist

Run a nail through my feet babe

And hang me up on my own crucifix

Oh match eatty machete

Cutting through the hearts on the list

What am I to do?

 What am I gonna do

Now you say

"I don't love you"

When my whole world feels

As if it's over

Oh yes it may be true

That I can live without you

In that case my lonely days are over

Still what am I meant to do

Now you say

I don't love you

Must I wander forever

The whole world over?

I'm shooting arrows into rainbows

I'm blowing bubbles at volcanoes

I'm throwing boulders over waterfalls

Just to see if I can shatter their illusions

Oh what am I to do

Now that you say

I don't love you

Am I really a hopeless bum 

On the sidewalk?

Well that's how you make me feel hun

So you better run, if you see me coming

I'm a son of a gun out for some hunting

And I'll shoot you too, if I see you running

Just tell me where to aim my gun

I'll be coming for you

Oh What am I to do?

April fool

In jest - many a true word is said ingest:

You banter, I canter

You chaff, I chafe

You fool, I muel, and mew

Said in fun, I reach for my gun

You tell a gag, I reach for the rag

Disgrace, lose face, egg on my face

Just jape, I try to escape

You jive, and I barely stay alive

You make a joke, and I am like a whiff of smoke

You jolly broom man, drunk on life

I pull out my brolly, wait for rains' strife

You josh, I am flotsam and jetsam awash

You kid, I bring the sacrificial lamb of I am

And it's just a quip, but I equip myself with weapons and armour

I'm readying for war games

You wisecrack, and I break, I snap

I'm on the edge, like Iran

My finger hovers over the button

Just then a leaf falls from a tree

And upsets the balance between you and me

yuck you say, get a sense of humour

I was only pulling your leg

In jest you say that I shouldn't care

this jibe, or that haze,

When you jeer, a tear falls from my eye

When you mock, the grace of God in shock

I shake at your rag, tag rally, 

Laughing down the alley

Always on the razz, 

But which is the better way?

My quiet, way, of restraint

Or to let loose every day

In bitterness or not to rib, 

To ridicule, tease, it's mean

But what if you don't fit in

To society's mould

Then how the world unfolds

In caricature, of prophets

lampoon the man in the moon

parody, and get carted away

For being a bit mad,  a little loon

satirize as a Satyr , never satisfied as a martyr

Has to always go that one step farther

To prove your point

And have the last laugh

Story

 There should be some kind of story

There's history

There should be herstory

and then mystory

And yourstory

And we combine them all to tell a story

And remember that it's only a story

That it's all just a story

And that it doesn't matter ultimately

Or that it matters deeply

But we can let it go

Because it's all going

and it's all coming round again

Where does the story end?

It never ends

Because it never started

Or it always ends

Because it's always starting

Again and again

To be retold

Detective Tight Ladder

 I was getting my tools together to go

Window cleaning 

When I noticed a pair of tights in my ladder

How did they get there I thought 

I have no explanation

Had I lent my ladders to John, the cross-dressing, transvestite window cleaner?

No, that was last week, he had given them back, ladderless

Tight-ass the builder also borrowed them

He could have got his tight ass stuck in them

But did he wear tights?

The plot thickened, and so did my porridge as I stirred it and pondered

Pondered and stirred it

Then it hit me, there was that lad the other week, he had borrow it for his

Amatuer dramatic show, they had been building the scenery and erecting 

and painting the backdrop

Aladdin tights, that was it, a cross between the Arabian nights and Billie Eliot

So in the end he had a ladder in his tights, 

And I had his tights in my ladder,

The mystery was solved