water

water was were she met her dream
refracting the truth
reflecting the madness
of bygone days

the floating was euphoric
her mind emptied of thought
to become weightless once more
aspiring to be just another void in time

immersion took a while
each inhalation bringing the prospect of relapse
but with the reminder of existence
came a dread of reality

the final breath was liquid purity
captured within the spell of a moment
gone was the insufferable clarity of life
and the cleansing was complete

©2011 Hey Hey

Machine

This funny machine!
I mean!
Nothing is perfect
and although we object,
the nature of existence
is merely persistence.
But nevertheless,
what a mess!
An asshole
next to a shag hole?!
And who would a head make
that suffers from a headache?

This funny machine
is so unclean!
Never mind the stench of death,
did you smell a morning breath?
The beauty through an eye
inflicted with a sty!
One might say
there is no way
that evolution could create
such a being, or even contemplate.
Yet would a god through creation
generate this abomination?

This funny machine
can be absolutely obscene!
With a dangling cock
or tits that rock!
Did you see that toe
through tight pants, you know?
Yet, I can see from a touch
on canvas, so much.
And she reaches the essence
with a note of quintessence.
This funny machine.
Do you get what I mean?

©2011 Hey Hey

In

Is the way out
to drop in, or shout?
Maybe the movie tones,
(the drones),
are ahead of us here
with the favourite genre, fear.

With enemies, who has time for friends?
Enemies, friends; it all ends
somewhere, somehow,
unfortunately never now.
Is making the best
just a test?

In the end, having dropped in,
would dropping out be a sin?

©2011 Hey Hey

Yesterday Is So Close

Strange invaders of my air
They permeate without a care
Their yesterdays are, oh, so close
But time was never this verbose
And waves, they wash upon the feet
Of almost everyone they meet
To cleanse away the dirt with spells
Made liquid gold, the story tells
Look down to see the hex emerge
And not too soon, so close the verge

Strangeness seems the order day
Will someone take the smoke away
As much as we might shout and bawl
Tis wasted, roaring, screaming, all
Opaque will be the norm from now
No-one knowing when, or how
The young, the old, eventually
Some will hear and others see
Yet there he stands, enigma true
Can he be me, can he be you

©25th April 2011 Hey Hey
For Jono

Tough Love

Spring can be tough love,
like waves caressing warm, white sand
but fracturing the backs of the running scared.
And those tentative, fragrant darlings that
break free of encapsulation,
to peek for snow.

This spring is tough love
for black and brown and yellow good nature,
with the world turning too fast.
The hangers on, hiding from debacles,
blame the gods or voters.
And all eyes miss the birth of change.

Another spring of tough love.
Once, the weather was the changing exhibition of
art in the sky and in the soil.
But this time around the paint is tainted and red:
artists run after it in the gutters;
those providing it are very still.

Spring was always tough love.
Some change never changes;
other transformation has a human smile.
So, my love, bring your possibilities
and kiss me, as I ask,
“Where are you summer?”

©2011 Hey Hey