In coconut hall

 In coconut hall

It's all been a ball

In coconut hall

I don't know who to call

I think I'm ready to fall

In love

With you my dove

In coconut hall

Clip clop, clip clop

Can you hear the horses trot

Faster faster like from a disaster

They've shot

Bolted in the parlour

Better call the barbour 

For the fork beards chopped

In coconut hall

No palm trees lopped

And we all sway on

The Caribbean breeze

In coconut hall

I'm not

a leopard who can change his spots

On command, on the spot

But now it's too hot

now,  let's live

not sigh

In coconut hall

self

 Burning in the reef

Of self-actualization

I fell asleep in the belief

In self-unification

When all my parts 

Fall into place

Like self roomification 

And I enjoyed the windowshelf

Like Chagil illustration

To move and not be moving

To hold and not be held

The emptinesss of compartmentalization

Doors that open to hell

Negative feelings are like a prison

That contain the moon and the stars

And they try to break through the glass ceiling

But instead they smash through the living door

I asked for a long glass of water

And the builder who was building the floor

To get up from where I sitting

To go and colour the South Russian war

Isn't genocide 

See-through

Aren't my aliens more

Than the dogs in the yard where

 a barcode

tells them that nobody's there.

Business of the Gods

 Oh tragicomedy of a business

When at the foot, the soldiers march

Pulling the great bull

for the offering

Pulling the fatted calf

Up the ramp of the pyramid

To feed the Great God Ram

And after all that work and sweat

You realize you have little recompense

For such labours or tolls

The man in the sky ain't counting that high

And the sheep in the deep vally fold

Go running and bleating

Because it's all self-defeating

To try and kill off your soul

With work so demanding

That the bodies your handing

Over are your own at the end of the role

I could have killed

And Yet I control

Such urges as the splurges

Of profit and loss

To not giving a toss about

What the Rich men stole

As they live on the yachts

Or court tennis or squash

In their white plimsoles

But keep me from going under

The thunder of Thor God of War

Keep my head on the stave

Of no buy but save

For it's the inalienable right of Mars

To blink like a beacon in the stars

It's raining on me

 A sparkling, spangling

Of self dusted pain

I've stayed in the tragedy

While the comedy has gained

A comedian in rain

She tells her jokes

In little spurts

One liners that

Come out like

Cruise missiles

Sent to destroy

All the boys and all their toys

Floating

Of in the world of grey

I wish she could be

Commander of my heart

Battleship destruction

On a course for Pluto

And all those rallied rapido nuns

Who search in their pockets 

For guns

At border crossings

Because each crossing is a crucifix

On which we get hung

Out, or straightened out

Like a lead roof tile

Beaten until all doubt

Leaves us blind to the facts of life

And we realize it was she

Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Lady of the Black Hole herself

Who pointed south when she met wealth

and they doubled over, begged, and genuflected

To be in her grace so well reflected

Yet nothing can suffer their reprieve

Ready to fly?

 Falling in

And Falling out

Here's the thing,

I'm feeling stout

Ready to Win

At the Roundabout

Of love and War

Or there abouts

Whereabouts?

Here he shouts

There are the louts

And the lay abouts

Don't care about

Or delay in doubt

Of expectation to fly

Or boredom with boarding

Black rose

 I called her morning

For she was bright

As daylight

She held me in her boughs

Like a tree somehow

Caught in the day

Like a noon thorn bush

That grows to the afternoon

How should I love

Such a black Rose

As thee?

The baby is rocked

In the cradle lay

So sweetly

So sweetly

Passed the lullaby day

And sweetly smells the arbour

Wherein her love grows

Oh but what of love's labour

Over such a black rose

floods

 floods of tears and floods of joy

Floods of beer that can destroy

And tear a life like a cuddly toy

Oh floods run clear that do employ

worker bees and Queens deploy

The floods of wings in fixing things

And all faces of the crowd sing