Around the time Cup Finals
were first shown live on TV
and towers were erected
overlooking our back garden
with the lawn striped and manicured
just like Wembley Stadium,
Alf Ramsey would be watching
from the 6th or 7th balcony
as I tried to keep the ball within
the central midfield area
away from the flower beds
my father set such store by.

His image
Is burned
In my mind.
The way
He spoke
To me,
The way
He listened
To me,
The way
He comforted me.
And it all worked
So well
For me.
I carry
His face
With me
At all times.
Without
Bruce's bridge
I would not be
Functioning
In the way
I am today.
He gave me
Support
He gave me
Strength
He gave me
Hope
All of the above.
My level
Of joy
And happiness
Is only
Due to

as jagged bolts of lightning
tore thru the the midnight clear
and figuratively ripped the sky to shreds
(analogous to jumping Jack flash),
and ear splitting thunder crackled
testing the threshold of tolerance
zombies of Sugar Hill came alive
and danced to the sound of music,
exhibiting spot on choreography
to the late Michael Jackson's thriller album,
whereat despite feigned affableness
of ineradicable purple creepy people eaters ,
the ghoulish fiendish beasts
wantonly ravaged entire hectares

Beware wall-ears, beware spy's eye;
Keep mum! Watch out what you've to say.
Don't spill your beans as fools pass by,
As many aim for words as prey.

Keep mum! Watch out what you've to say;
Let's see the man I'm proud to raise.
As many aim for words as prey,
Pursue the speech that God would praise.

Let's see the man I'm proud to raise;
Hold your horses! Stop, do not haste.
Pursue the speech that God would praise;
Don't rush a thing, but count to eight.

Place twelve dead roses upon my grave

One for each of my loves that walked away

Do not cry one tear upon my headstone

Please do not be sad for me now that I am gone

I lived my lonely life deep inside of a cold cave

To escape the darkness that came like waves

My heart is a heart that is made of stone

Made up of love that was never shown

I am resigned to the fact of who I was

Indentured to all the never-loved

Place twelve dead roses upon my grave

One for each of my loves I could not save

Goad me
Push me
Engage me
Encourage me
I'm here
Just waiting
For your advice.
Speak to me
Tell me
Sound me out
Whatever it takes
To improve
The way I write.
I'm all yours
For the taking.

a blizzard of blinding demoniacal
highly radioactive fueled banshees
(analogous to a bajillion barenaked ladies
raging against the machine)
barreled across the brutalized landscape
affixing fiendish scorched earth signature
whereby survivors felt like foreigners,
or strangers in a strange dystopian land
as tempestuous thermonuclear generated
sinister mushroom clouds unleashed
courtesy abominable terrestrial beastie boys
foo fighting, nirvana frankly zapped
after purportedly brilliant, yet simple minds

When I was alone with my mother,
we drank tea.
Her eyes were glass.
At the bottom of her cup, leaves swirled in dark liquid.
She tipped the vessel empty leaving clumps clinging to the side.

I see a funeral, she said.
Her eyes shone, green ponds in gloom.
She raised her head to mine.
My eyes brimmed. I couldn’t hold the flood.
It burst onto my face,
dripped on my blouse,
tears,
each one a burning tragedy.

I crumbled beneath her courage.
I was lost in the rivers of her strength.

Basement bent
are them that count

the bodies popped
and bubbled out

bloated blistered
posed and snapped,

puzzles that
scratch our heads

shuffle us
from foot to foot.

They zip the bags
collate the stats

aggregate
the autographs

estimate
the columned dead.

Sky-screened
and cloud-wrapped

stretched on power
buttoned beds

are them that bet
against the spread.

Winter
Snowflakes abound
The cold keeps us inside
Allows time to manage our thoughts
Downtime