21st Century Twats

Xi Jinping is a cunt

Xi Jinping is a cunt

Xi Jinping is a cunt, cunt, cunt,

Xi Jinping is a cunt

Putin is an evil cunt

Putin is an evil cunt

Putin is an evil cunt, cunt, cunt

Putin is an evil cunt.

Kim Jong Un is a fat cunt

Kim Jong Un is a fat cunt

Kim Jong Un is a fat, fat, cunt

Kim Jong Un is a fat cunt.

Donald Trump is a populist, authoritarian, narcissist, lying, obese, piece of orange shit set on destroying America to prop up his fragile child’s ego.

Americans may well be the stupidest race on the planet, as they look as though they may just vote Trump back into office to fuck them all over again.

And this time, it will be without lube.

Wednesday Poem, Jack and Beau

Wednesday, what can I say?

It is a good day,

for realising what you did on the weekend,

was not just drunken behaviour, per se,

but really pretty fucken gay.

You and your buddy, Jack,

that wasn't just boredom,

or too many beers,

that was pretty fucken queer.

Not that I am pointing a finger,

there should be more of it,

there is more of it,

just not a lot of talk about it

out loud.

You straight boys,

with your big toys,

when there are no girls around,

you always come around,

to getting with each other,

not that there is any bother,

with that, brother,

just what your other mates,

down the footy club,

might say, if they saw you and Jack,

treat each other that way.

Lovely Jack, you and he,

always the best of buds,

you'd agree,

he's got lovely eyes,

you have always noticed, you can't deny,

and you'd do anything for him,

and on the weekend, you pretty much did.

In your arms, so disarmed,

that you have always felt that way about him,

especially when you are 6 to 10 beers in.

Pinch Punch First of the Month

Pinch, punch first of the month, isn't that what they say?

All the girls are left to wonder why all the boys are turning gay?

All the pretty ones, that is, such dismay.

It's 'cause they like it that way?

Boys will be boys.

Hey?

MAGA, making Australia gay again.

Buddy

My dog Buddy

Sniffs at some debris left on the footpath.

An old boom box, do you remember them?

I wonder where it had been, as

it is now just a shell, as

Buddy pisses on it and walks away.

Spring Rain

Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. That was what I woke up to.

Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. It rained the entire morning. 

Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. Good thing I like the rain, hey.

Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. Everything wet, everything glistened.

Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. It played glockenspiel on the roof.

Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. It filled the pond, the fish smiled.

Rain, rain, rain. It turned the colours in the garden rich brown and green.

The sound of rain is romantic, don’t you think.

Spring rain is wild, unpredictable and swell.

Long, slow spring rain up against the wall. Wink, wink.

Lunch time the sun came out.

There was a sunny window in which we took the dogs for a walk.

I was behind my computer all day and half the night.

That was when the sky opened up again and the rain fell down.

It was so hard, it sounded like an army marching across the roof.

I wondered which parts of Melbourne might be flooding as I listened to it fall?

It got heavier and heavier and heavier, and then as suddenly it came down, it stopped again.

Spring rain.

Boys & Girls

I think of girls as different to fooling around with boys.

 

girls are, perfume, soft, long hair. not mates. 

boys are, physically equal, performance art,

girls are, matters of the heart

Girls and boys, cats and dogs,

boys are, beer and nuts,

Girls are, kale and spritz

Girls are sisters and friends

Boys are arseholes and cocks.

Girls smell like roses and talcum powder

Boys smell like used shaver stubble and cigarettes.

Girls are sugar and spice

Boys are snails and puppy dog's tails.

Boys you can do what you want to

Girls you have to take your time to fulfil their needs.

 

Play footy,

 

Hold conversations,

 

Tell tall stories,

 

make logical sense,

 

Drink until you want to fuck,

 

talk until you feel safe

 

walk away after, no regrets

 

call up and reassure.

 

Make a mess.

Man, You've Got A Big Arse

I'm walking in the park, getting in my hour a day exercise. Some days I ride my bike, some days I walk. Today I walked.

A guy jogs passed me in baggy blue shorts, under which he has active wear tights. He has on a blue long sleeved active wear top. Funny, he seems to be way over dressed, like Joey on Friends when he puts on all of Chandler's clothes.

His shorts are big because he has a huge arse. "Baby you've got a big arse," I say out loud, or I would have said out loud if it hadn't been muffled by the mask I was wearing. I laugh, and got thinking.



Baby Got Big Arse

God, you’ve got a big arse, baby.

What would that feel like spread across my face?

In the saddle like a cowboy, giddyup! Ride ‘em home.

While I get in touch with your inner zone.

I feel you quiver, I feel you squirm

At the thought does your stomach churn?

I laugh, (how brazen am I?) I feel it in my face,

I pick up the pace.

To the end, it is a race.

You and me.


Funny the things that go through your head when you are walking in the sun, in the park, listening to Bowie, watching the joggers’ jog by. The sun shone, the sky was blue. One foot in front of the other, marching forth. I love the energy begetting energy. The rhythm, the swagger, the fresh air, sense of space and grace.

Walking is my thing at the moment. Riding was always my exercise of choice, but walking seems to suit me well, now. It is probably not the best for losing weight, but then people say that is more about diet than it is about moving your arse.

So, it is walking that I am into now, not the least because I am free, to fantasies about you and me. Not the least because I am free to write poems about what who I see. Ha ha. You can’t write much when you are barrelling along on a bike, it is not easy to do that. No sir.

There is a freedom about walking, just me and the elements, no machine bought into service to help me along the way. Just me and my two feet, that is freedom.

I wish I could jog like I used to, but my left knee doesn’t like it, which is the reason I took to bike riding in the first place. Even recently, I gave it a try, thinking that my knee had been really good all through this time of increased exercise, but no, it didn’t like it straight away and was sore for days afterwards. If I walk, it seems to cope just fine, but high impact, no, no, no.

Walking is great, though, don’t knock walking. You can continue to day dream about that guy with the big, beefy butt easily. Or that guy with the tiny little arse and those thighs (holding hands 30 centimetres apart) and those tiny black shorts that only barely kept him nice.

You can go on thinking about the two cute Asian boys who jog with their dog, the granny jogger, who I can walk faster than, but who is still my inspiration for getting out there and doing it, the old man, in the neat matching tracksuit top and bottom, who I reckon has been given walking to do by his doctor, or, the woman who walks the two wolves.

No thinking required, just relax into it, get up your rhythm and get going.

Boyfriends and Bulldogs

Boyfriends

Bulldogs

Bananas

Batteries

Beauty

Baked goods

Bitches, the clever ones

Blancmange, the non human kind

Bristols, the cars not the girls

Bonbons

Best friends

Blossom

Bicycles

Bratwurst

Bluntness

Bees making honey

Buick’s from 1950

Beetles, of the VW variety

Butterflies

Bonfires

Boardwalks

Bookcases

Backgammon

Blogs

Belgium pastries

Blue jeans

Bloke’s bums

Boggle

Brilliance

Blissful

Bohemian

Bouquets

Bungalows

Bumper stickers

Bill of Rights

Boxer shorts

Breathtaking

Bunnies

Brunettes

Banter

Best men

and

Buggery

Sparkling Spring Days

Sparkling spring days

no complaints, 

who would?

Would you?

But, of course,

it means crazy hot

summer days

are on their way

Yay! 

Which sound okay,

until they are here.

Drink your beer.

Slip, slop and slap.

Wear a hat.

But we’ll get to that.

Humpty Dumpty

Rupert Murdoch

There is hope for the world. 86 years old, had a bad fall. Maybe now it is time for his inner workings to stall. Goodbye Rupert. 20th century looter. Climate change denier. Political shyster. Editorial liar. Manipulator...

“But I lead a good life...” 

Just for yourself. Not good enough. Nose in the trough. Nobody is going to cry, at your demise.

American Guns

I have to say, that I don't care any more, I don't give a toss about school shootings in America, I don't even get cross. Shrug. America doesn't care, they don't change their gun laws in the face of despair.  

Nothing happened after Sandy Hook, and that is crook, all those little children shot in the head, all dead. Cry? why should I? The NRA cares more about its guns than its children. So, why the sorrow, there will be another shooting tomorrow. 

The daffodils were beautiful in the park, as we took Buddy for his walk.

Wander to the park

yellow faces turn to the sun

saffron winter bonnets

The sun warms

like honey,

the flowers

are almost

as golden

This is the strangest photo I have taken lately, a huge elephant foot imprint size of jam on the carpark asphalt,  

shrug, no idea, it was the weirdest thing. Well, I'm guessing the population of the planet not doing any thing to fix climate change is weirder. I suppose the wealthy nations trying to reject the 50 million displaced people is also weirder. Half the planet starving and half the planet eating itself to death is pretty odd. The increasing inequity in the world is... balancing hands in the air. 

But it did remind me of...

He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute

He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute

He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute

And he ain’t gonna jump no more.

Glory glory what a hell of a way to die

Suspended by your braces when you don’t know how to fly

Glory glory what a hell of a way to die

And he ain’t gonna jump no more.

He landed on the runway like a splat of raspberry jam

He landed on the runway like a splat of raspberry jam

He landed on the runway like a splat of raspberry jam

And he ain’t gonna jump no more.

Sam

Your love is sublime, 

like putting ice cream

on waffles,

or strawberries and cream.

A Penis

A penis

leads to

ap'eness

leads to

a penis

leads to 

ap'eness

leads to

a penis,

which naturally

leads to happiness

... of course,

Penis' make everyone happy.

(Please read the instruction book before use. Please familiarise yourself with all safety instructions. Not to be used for any other reason other than that the manufacturer intended)

The Golden Rule

We learned our morals from the bible?

That is never going to ensure our survival.

We need to be more grass roots tribal

and leave the fantasies (and frocks) to the priests,

and the fools.

Remembrance Day

Again it is time to rejoice

in the futility of war.

We never seem to learn,

the next conflict begins.

We don’t get the lesson

from what we’ve done,

that nobody wins.

We use bigger guns.

Changing Weather

Don't know why the sun won't stay up in the sky

Changing weather

Since my man and I just like being together,

It can cloud over, whatever

Oh, yeah

Life is good, happy and smiles everywhere

Changing weather

And I just can't get my goodself together,

I'm lazy all the time

Love makes me lazy all the time

When he came along contented walked in and met me.

Oh, yeah

He and I, the old rockin' chairs will get us.

All I do is hope the universe above will let us walk in the sun we adore.

We can go on, can go on, can go on, ev'ry thing we want is above

Changing weather

Since my man and I got together,

It can cloud over, whatever

We just like being together

All the time.

Ee By Gum Stick Your Finger Up Your Bum

Ee by gum stick your finger up your bum. 

I'm going for a walk, to clear me head and to wobble me fat arse until it is shed... 

by god, I'd rather be dead, than red, no I'd rather be fed. Or wed? 

Or in bed? with Fred. Speaking of fingers up your...

Wish me luck, as I head out into the yed... onder. What a head. Spliff in my gob

By promised good health, I am led. 

Do you believe the bullshit you are fed? 

There is a thread, they said that will put you into bed, with a sore head.

That is why I walk instead. 

What I said. 

Earphones in my ears. 

Off I sped. 

Cough, cough,

I'm ready, nicely de-stress-ed.

The Crying Room

The toilet seat wasn't put down,

someone called you names.

Something was said that you didn't like,

you were offended by that, boo hoo.

A harsh tone was used, oh no,

and you couldn't cope, that’s how you go.

Off you rushed to the 'crying room,'

threatening not to return until you were done.