tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80761806477322004632024-03-12T21:29:52.786-07:00H.G Bluebird: The Poetry and Musings of a Manic-DepressiveThis blog is the result and the recording of a episode of mania i experienced between the below dates. H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-10423184774944583462012-04-18T15:55:00.001-07:002012-05-03T01:19:00.044-07:00The Outsider<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Distant eyes<br />
<br />
Peer out<br />
<br />
And a rare sight can be seen<br />
<br />
As a man smiles behind nicotine stained glass<br />
<br />
For the rain falls on everyone today<br />
and he is justified<br />
and can speak in common with people<br />
<br />
But he doesnt<br />
and wont<br />
<br />
For the purpose of the curtain and the window<br />
though put together are separate<br />
<br />
And the window smears <br />
as rain drops slip down the pane<br />
<br />
He sighs with a shallow breath<br />
And the warm and dank of his forgotten voice<br />
leaves a moisture mark<br />
<br />
He stands and turns his back to the window<br />
And leaves for the front door<br />
<br />
People appear suddenly around<br />
corners and behind windscreens<br />
With shot gun stares that gaze for an instance<br />
And are gone<br />
<br />
Tires heat and shred beneath them<br />
And the smell of burnt rubber lingers in the ether<br />
as the man steps over the scorched remains of a tires sole that left its mark<br />
<br />
The car roars off down the high-street<br />
and reduces to a faint purr<br />
As the man crosses the road<br />
<br />
The pavement<br />
and getting to the zone in which he operates quickly<br />
is all that concerns him now<br />
and he walks on what seems like a running wheel<br />
a vortex of red bricks which forever spin beneath<br />
as he scurries along<br />
<br />
People see the man and glare for he is known by face<br />
and uniform<br />
<br />
He contently pulls out a pad and writes<br />
a ticket<br />
<br />
Thats a beamer on a double yellow<br />
he thinks<br />
<br />
And slaps it on<br />
<br />
what luck<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-13935328028419365912012-03-29T13:51:00.000-07:002012-03-29T14:18:42.539-07:00The Old Man at the Pub<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
And the Old Man<br />
sat decrepit<br />
slouched in his chair.<br />
<br />
<br />
With a burnt out fag<br />
perched delicately between his lips.<br />
<br />
<br />
For any murmur now he spoke<br />
smelt heavily of whiskey and cigarettes<br />
<br />
and when he spoke he seemed to purr over the room<br />
candle like wisps of language<br />
That groaned with an age old scent of antiquity and longing<br />
much like that of unfulfillment<br />
<br />
but as he spoke the cigarette<br />
remained still<br />
<br />
His eyes sparkled and were different<br />
to mine though<br />
<br />
They looked foreign to his body<br />
Like jewel encrusted Orbs<br />
That mirrored in reflection the opposite to what was in front of it<br />
<br />
And as his stories animated the Autumnal screen<br />
of opaque and cigarette burnt film,<br />
That he used as a frame to separate his life<br />
from any other<br />
<br />
We drank to his younger years<br />
and his failing liver<br />
<br />
he was a good bloke<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-14967402106712453662012-03-26T09:19:00.000-07:002014-12-27T06:47:01.138-08:00Asleep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I love the way my lady smiles whilst she sleeps<br />
Although i've never seen this sight<br />
<br />
As a drunk's dreams are destroyed by his endeavor<br />
but rests his soul soundly throughout these<br />
nights<br />
<br />
For this smile although never actually seen<br />
can be found in bodies enveloped with intent<br />
<br />
and bound in this woolly sunken dream<br />
that distort the coverings of her snowflake bed<br />
<br />
Whilst pillows turn our weary sleep<br />
And cool our cheeks<br />
for this nocturnal prey<br />
my soul will keep<br />
<br />
And while skin sheds<br />
upon this bed<br />
<br />
And left foot prints that marked the beach<br />
As the sun rained rays upon our head<br />
<br />
And i will never doubt that it isn't there<br />
the smile that shines crescent beneath her auburn hair<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-25016794206763694552012-03-23T03:20:00.002-07:002012-03-23T03:43:36.909-07:00The Basment & The Alcoholic upstairs (The Co-Ed Killer)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The only light that can been seen<br />
is from the Key-hole<br />
<br />
And streams in like some<br />
Golden Pathway <br />
<br />
Animating the falling dust and the few insects that dance<br />
along its course <br />
<br />
And this basement<br />
<br />
outside of the dark,<br />
the cold<br />
and the damp,<br />
seems safe<br />
& <br />
secure<br />
<br />
I hear movement above like a groaning complaint<br />
Which releases dust from the floor boards <br />
and some falling plaster that hits my head.<br />
<br />
Reminding me of her touch and why i'm here<br />
<br />
Im not sure how long ive been here<br />
But the light creeps along the floor and stops just before it reaches my big toe<br />
it has done that 10 times now..<br />
<br />
So maybe ive been here 10 days<br />
<br />
At first i had company<br />
<br />
But all that is left of them is the decapitated bodies<br />
And remnant heads of twisted plastic<br />
<br />
I hear a heavy crash above<br />
and a cold silence after <br />
<br />
I smile and imagine the<br />
Whiskey bottle that caused the Crash<br />
and the scene it created <br />
<br />
I'm a Child now <br />
But these days will make me miss out on becoming a man<br />
<br />
For only Monsters and the waking dead live in the shadows and the dark<br />
And one day my Mother will realise this fact<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-6603447197320445762012-03-16T02:41:00.000-07:002012-04-18T00:28:23.825-07:00No Bets on State-Benefit...(A day at the Dogs, Around about))<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We file in one by one<br />
<br />
&<br />
The turnstile spins<br />
<br />
Its cold despite all the hands from warm pockets that have touched it<br />
and lady luck stands<br />
winking at the entrance<br />
with an eye only for me<br />
<br />
Her skirt half pulled up to her thigh<br />
and a bosom that makes me forget she has a face<br />
<br />
A beer and a cigarette first<br />
check out the track..<br />
<br />
I inhale and tip from eager heel to anxious toe<br />
as i asses the terrain and check for defects<br />
<br />
Track Two looks bumpy....no bets on two<br />
<br />
The Dogs fall out one by one<br />
three are white<br />
three are black<br />
and one...<br />
<br />
' State benefit'<br />
<br />
looks unfit and somewhat cumbersome.....no bets on state benefit<br />
<br />
So now three are white and three are black<br />
One is lame<br />
and one wont run well on the second track<br />
<br />
But a hot tip i did just hear<br />
from this man into my ear<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
He says that a black dog will out run one that’s white</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
as black can be seen where lost is white</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
and if before the race the dog doth poo this is not the
dog for you</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And as this logic seems simple and somehow true i can now
decide</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
on the winning dog to choose</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So three wont win because their white</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The black dog in track 3 wont win because he has just had
a shite</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
So now we are down to merely two and from this two the
winner i must choose</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
because the remaining duo are an encouraging site the two
that are left are black as night</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
But oh my God the remaining two<br />
are put in tracks one and two<br />
<br />
And track two is the one that has the bump<br />
And the the one in track one is the<br />
Dog with a cumberome bound and jump<br />
<br />
I look over to Lady Luck<br />
At the Betting Window<br />
She has a truckers dick in her ear.....?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-12717569617778372112012-03-14T13:53:00.000-07:002012-03-14T14:08:55.009-07:00In the book of imaginary beings i found you<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I open the page<br />
with a moist finger and a used train ticket ready for a book mark<br />
<br />
I dont really read much<br />
but the walls are no fun<br />
And from what the Daily Mail tells me i'll get cancer from watching too much day time TV<br />
<br />
The Words shake<br />
and Visions Flow as i read<br />
<br />
And words affect and direct my internal consciousness<br />
As strange and distorted images flaunt the eye that creates imagined landscapes within<br />
Like a twilight watchmen does escape his servitude and escapes himself within his dream<br />
<br />
And for a while everything is transfixed<br />
and full of fantasy and ethereal illusion<br />
<br />
Then from the depths of my inner visions<br />
a sight i see<br />
<br />
a sight i see no more real than imaginary<br />
<br />
An image lost to words but etched into my dream<br />
Like the dream child that can see a clarity which is almost visionary<br />
A soul child allusion to something more visceral than contrary<br />
<br />
For am i awake or is this but a dream?<br />
Is this book a portal into my subconscious tapestry<br />
all i know is that when i sleep im awaken by a white maiden with no more than<br />
A warm heart and comfortable bosom for me<br />
<br />
and when i awake from reading i realise i dont need to escape myself in books<br />
because i write my own<br />
<br />
And i write them for myself.<br />
my love<br />
my white maiden<br />
and me<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-70112195313557514992012-03-14T03:50:00.001-07:002012-03-14T14:07:44.154-07:00the Ethernet of plectrum drunkards<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Overcast<br />
and<br />
Over Bow<br />
<br />
Hook line and Sinker i did cast a<br />
<br />
Simon Cowell<br />
<br />
For a wet fish<br />
shall catch a wet fish<br />
For this i'm sure<br />
<br />
And so shall cast this Rod<br />
From the Beach to the Ocean's Floor<br />
<br />
And Simon Cowell did shriek as he flew into the skies<br />
and into the salt spit blue..<br />
<br />
Disrupting a school of crill as he made his entrance<br />
into this Aquatic Deep<br />
This Primoridal fishy Stew<br />
<br />
This Vainglorious Fish<br />
was not long subdued<br />
And bought together<br />
An<br />
Octupus<br />
An<br />
Eel<br />
and a Sea Otter too<br />
<br />
He told them that they could sing just fine<br />
And made sure they had smoked enough of the finest sea weed skunk and mermaid wine<br />
<br />
For the<br />
Lining of the Emporer Penguin's Pockets tonight<br />
was long overdue<br />
And a Crustacean Carnival in to this Reef<br />
had just pulled through<br />
<br />
So on the reef tonight<br />
The Octopus-Eel-and Sea Otter<br />
would perform<br />
<br />
and sing to a whole dynasty of devoted<br />
Lobster prawns<br />
<br />
And after the gig The Fishy Cowell was so elated<br />
he Left a Sea-Snail-Trail on a Mermaid's prize winning tits<br />
And left a whole school of monkfish reluctantly inseminated<br />
<br />
The Mermaid fore mentioned was bought to Cowell's attention<br />
by her skin that<br />
shined like a iridescent pearl collection<br />
<br />
but her skin was actually petroleum tainted and lost its chaste<br />
Like Calypso's riding an Oil slick Sea horse<br />
And losing her hymen during the race<br />
<br />
Oh what meaning can i gleam from this nonsensical lyrical verse<br />
and so as often as not<br />
seem like mental illness or a bloodied mermaid mary curse<br />
<br />
does my tabernacle grow sea bass stew?<br />
Does my periwinkle look sea side blue?<br />
<br />
Perhaps i will find my detchable penis<br />
And send it in a bottle for you<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-55997711223622612342012-03-13T08:18:00.001-07:002012-05-03T01:07:00.515-07:00The Running Of the Wolves<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Take your ears off the ground<br />
My People, My tribe.<br />
<br />
Because you will not hear them coming<br />
<br />
For the moon is gone<br />
And the stars are dead<br />
<br />
And the Wolves tonight are Running<br />
<br />
and for every babe that braes i pray withhold your tears<br />
and give your pain in the way for these words and these fallen celestial spears<br />
<br />
For once and forever the pack have turned<br />
And all that was gleamed from chaos tonight will be observed<br />
<br />
So Take your faces of the dirt<br />
My People, My tribe<br />
<br />
Because the Wolves are Running<br />
<br />
And the possibility of Blood and salivation foams and flows within their jowls<br />
And even the Full Moon does not want an audience<br />
to even the loneliest wolf that tonight will howl<br />
<br />
So Gather now and forgive the Romulus and Remus<br />
But not this fog- that into this provincial town does seep<br />
<br />
and those creatures that prey in packs do no think for themselves<br />
but are in blind servitude for the Milk like deception<br />
suckled from the Wolf Mother's tite<br />
<br />
So fear not my people, my tribe<br />
Because there are lions here<br />
and the wolves will discover this soon enough<br />
<br />
When the dawn rises with the sun<br />
And gone are the tears from our eyes<br />
and the mud from our ears<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-43952015219610763472012-03-07T03:46:00.000-08:002012-04-07T02:50:24.453-07:00The Invisible Child Army of Joseph Koney (A poem for Jacob &Uganda)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Joseph Koney<br />
....<br />
<br />
<br />
Is at the Top of Our List<br />
<br />
where the children of Uganda were<br />
brainwashed, mind molested and forced to enlist<br />
<br />
And with a billion Facebook Faces<br />
And a unite of<br />
skinny righteous clenched fists.<br />
<br />
For Jacob<br />
For Uganda<br />
For one and For all<br />
We shall share his name<br />
<br />
" JOSEPH KONEY "<br />
<br />
Spread his infamy<br />
like wild fire<br />
for the hope<br />
that<br />
This exposure will<br />
cause<br />
Justice<br />
and<br />
Retribution<br />
from<br />
His<br />
Damning Fame<br />
<br />
Because not only do we have a voice<br />
But a facebook page,<br />
and the ability<br />
to raise an army too<br />
<br />
So when the time calls<br />
for it<br />
I hope i can depend on you<br />
<br />
When needs be<br />
I may come on Facebook and raise an army too...<br />
<br />
PEACE! <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://vimeo.com/m/37119711" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://vimeo.com/m/37119711</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-24998231596028304262012-03-07T01:25:00.000-08:002012-03-07T01:25:13.324-08:00Sleep Monster from the Deep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Eyes Close<br />
&<br />
Roll<br />
<br />
As<br />
Rapid Movements<br />
Stimulate<br />
Cone<br />
An Rod<br />
and<br />
Visions<br />
Are<br />
Created in the Land of Nod<br />
<br />
In to the Pillow<br />
A Head<br />
Twitches<br />
<br />
As Deep Sleep Visions<br />
Magically appear<br />
Like the White Hag<br />
that chokes a nights sleep<br />
Or the Spells cast by fallen<br />
Twilight Witches<br />
<br />
Into the night<br />
And the Land<br />
Of Lucidity<br />
I appear as i am<br />
But somehow<br />
Diluted<br />
or<br />
tainted<br />
<br />
As dreams like rainbow wax in my head, melt and appear from no where<br />
and are highly colored and finely painted<br />
<br />
smoked and surreal<br />
In this nocturnal illusory smog<br />
And i creep in the shadow of the Sleep Monster From the Deep<br />
As he Crawls out of my Subconscious-Bog<br />
<br />
and The Light becomes Dark<br />
And the Colors<br />
Shade fade<br />
And Into His<br />
Cave this BlueBird<br />
Must Brave,<br />
<br />
To<br />
Wake again in the land<br />
Of realities plain<br />
And become rested and sane again<br />
And able to function<br />
for just a little while at least<br />
And ready for another day<br />
And another nights sleep<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-6837337551067176152012-03-06T00:57:00.000-08:002012-03-14T14:37:04.119-07:00Street Stanza<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
there's a matress<br />
<br />
beer cans<br />
<br />
spillage<br />
<br />
and mainly syringes in the stair well.<br />
<br />
and a spliff butt left 3/4 smoked and religiously kept on ever step<br />
<br />
this is Soloman Estate and im 14<br />
A Mohawk and eyeliner<br />
<br />
We walk in the shadows<br />
and the shouting<br />
<br />
With headphones on<br />
defined by our clothes<br />
reduced<br />
and summed up by<br />
them<br />
<br />
But this is merely<br />
a taboosh<br />
that has become a noose<br />
choking our civility<br />
which will not become loose<br />
<br />
because ive got this hood?<br />
<br />
i put foot to pavement and ride of on this skateboard<br />
this plank of wood<br />
<br />
<br />
The<br />
loitering<br />
<br />
the louting<br />
<br />
together but seperate<br />
Segregated like a prison by tribe<br />
<br />
By Jib by Jive<br />
by creed by crime<br />
<br />
The people living in the cracks of our council built pavements<br />
stargaze the most<br />
and have nothing<br />
and nothing to lose<br />
so fight for everything they dont have<br />
and have to shout to be heard<br />
which is why they boast<br />
<br />
So raise a can to the council estate pioneers and their beer soaked parker coats<br />
and toast the glory, the failures<br />
And their bus stop boasting gloats..<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-84546338722727656532012-03-03T01:29:00.000-08:002012-03-03T01:29:17.245-08:00A Poem for Caroline<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Caroline<br />
Caroline<br />
<br />
With those Irish Eyes<br />
Please forgive these wondering hands that<br />
dance and caress the contours of your thighs<br />
<br />
I see you<br />
And feel the warmth of your lips<br />
Like the sunshine on my skin<br />
<br />
I hear your voice and<br />
Feel connected like a torrent shared within<br />
<br />
For you dear Caroline are one<br />
Top-Notch-Miss<br />
<br />
And a night with our bodies entangled<br />
<br />
Was one of<br />
Instantaneous-Perpetual-Bliss x</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-54125667609815557462012-02-26T11:50:00.001-08:002012-04-19T01:42:14.398-07:00Internal Ruptures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
The Latch<br />
Cracks<br />
And Internal Jet Fuels<br />
Fire<br />
<br />
As Satanic Wisps<br />
Burn<br />
And these Flood Gates<br />
Are Open<br />
<br />
An Interal Rupture<br />
A Torrent Of Schism<br />
<br />
Changing fancies<br />
Changing Wims<br />
An Ambivalence oiled<br />
Ego defensive Mechanism<br />
<br />
Making sure i never lose<br />
and<br />
Always Win<br />
The one that<br />
Swung An Opening<br />
<br />
And a water now formless<br />
Surging<br />
And moving always forward<br />
<br />
An Aqua Fresh Cowboy<br />
Ridinging the Foam From Crazy Horses<br />
On Partially Permeable Aquaeous Sea-Horses<br />
<br />
In Matador Slacks<br />
With Endorsments From Nesfaratu's<br />
Soul Reaped Auction<br />
<br />
An unforgiving<br />
Modulated Mode of Time And Situation<br />
<br />
As water takes many forms so<br />
Does my perspiration<br />
<br />
An Icicle in Winter Shards an Ear<br />
And The Warmth of August<br />
Smartens<br />
whilst my skins breaks and tears<br />
<br />
A skin forever cracking<br />
Like A shock ridden body<br />
Becoming<br />
Hardend and ridged With Fear<br />
<br />
And i havent seen the latter<br />
Seem to matter<br />
on Morbid Maidens<br />
Stangnent Minds<br />
become messy and a tatter<br />
<br />
Whist they sit with they're hypocrisy<br />
Braiding Hair Corns<br />
From<br />
Fecal Matter<br />
<br />
Living Life doing<br />
What they Wilt<br />
Trying to forget the one that<br />
Weeped Mercury From the Crown<br />
Of A Mad Hatter<br />
Who's Sanity he Spilt<br />
<br />
The one that was lost<br />
The Love<br />
That Sleeped<br />
<br />
A Sexed Up Grim Reaper<br />
Reaping Gaia's Purt Tite<br />
<br />
An Alice in her own Wonderland<br />
Who Gave up on Love<br />
An Internal Hinterland<br />
Of Fecal Rhetorical Sludge<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-3463926269392719452012-02-23T06:22:00.000-08:002012-02-23T06:22:01.705-08:00Tangerine Walkway (The London commute)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
The light ahead looks like its<br />
Been filtered through a Cider Receptacle<br />
Or<br />
Wine Bottle<br />
<br />
Much like this<br />
Withered Wretch<br />
<br />
Who<br />
fights<br />
on<br />
<br />
Wind Swept<br />
And<br />
Rain<br />
Drenched<br />
&<br />
Late for the train<br />
again<br />
<br />
And on this broken pavement he<br />
does so lightly tred<br />
Whilst<br />
The Moon-reflects<br />
The Tangerine<br />
Walk way<br />
Where<br />
The Street Light<br />
And twilight<br />
inter-Play<br />
and<br />
do so<br />
together<br />
Finely<br />
Affect<br />
<br />
In this<br />
polluted atomosphere<br />
His Suit<br />
Now<br />
Saturates<br />
A pallid<br />
Blechead<br />
Orangey Grey<br />
And he is reminded<br />
OF his<br />
Work<br />
and<br />
That<br />
Outside of<br />
mere survival<br />
Time<br />
Spent there<br />
Means<br />
Nothing<br />
<br />
He gets to London<br />
And the Light<br />
has changed<br />
now<br />
<br />
And<br />
He's Surrounded<br />
By suited commuters<br />
In their Black suits<br />
Waddeling together<br />
Like<br />
Indifferent Penguins<br />
<br />
He looks down at his<br />
Own<br />
Suit<br />
To find<br />
No such change<br />
<br />
an air of panic<br />
And anxious<br />
tremors<br />
Infuse his<br />
nervous<br />
system<br />
<br />
as he looks<br />
around to see<br />
Who has noticed<br />
<br />
But no one has noticed<br />
<br />
No one is even looking at eachother<br />
<br />
I look at these<br />
commuters<br />
<br />
I mean really look<br />
<br />
and outside<br />
of<br />
the blackness<br />
of their<br />
suits<br />
and<br />
what it means<br />
here<br />
to wear<br />
one<br />
<br />
i see nothing<br />
</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-76751048107869680302012-02-16T13:38:00.000-08:002012-02-16T13:38:06.108-08:00A Murder Of Crows<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The Crows Huddle<br />
Together<br />
When the Sand blows<br />
and the Glass Cyclone<br />
Hits<br />
The Murdered<br />
And the Murder<br />
Of<br />
Crows<br />
<br />
And as Shrills<br />
And Diamonds Crow<br />
In the<br />
Beak<br />
And<br />
Sparkle<br />
In<br />
their<br />
Eye<br />
<br />
But Which Murdered Crow<br />
Does The Murder Conceal Inside<br />
<br />
Not One Crow<br />
Dare take flight<br />
From the Murder<br />
Site<br />
<br />
And Ride<br />
The Glass Cyclone<br />
All Day and<br />
All Night<br />
<br />
And When the Crimson<br />
Dawn<br />
Has<br />
Soaked<br />
Up the Blood<br />
Behind<br />
The Murder<br />
<br />
The Murder<br />
Does Vanish<br />
As Does the Murdered<br />
<br />
And they<br />
Fly away as<br />
Crows Do<br />
<br />
And it Was as if<br />
Nothing<br />
Had occurred<br />
on The Murder Site<br />
Without the Murdered<br />
Without its Day<br />
And without Its Night<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-42847526979396783812012-02-13T22:03:00.001-08:002012-02-15T15:04:19.915-08:00Burning Bridges<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Every man is<br />
An island<br />
<br />
Every Bridge Is eventually<br />
Gone<br />
<br />
Everyman Seeks<br />
Asylum<br />
In Archipelagos Even ones<br />
With Head-Hunters on<br />
<br />
Every Women<br />
Is a Channel<br />
<br />
Every Women<br />
Has her tide<br />
<br />
Every Island<br />
Gets Flooded<br />
From<br />
<br />
Time to Time<br />
<br />
Every Man<br />
is An Island<br />
<br />
Every Woman<br />
IS a Channell<br />
<br />
And The Beach<br />
Is just where<br />
The Dirt Meets the Water</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-23499732668803241852012-02-13T02:00:00.000-08:002012-02-13T02:00:56.271-08:00Black Swan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">And i tell her to swim on<br />
Over our lake<br />
<br />
The Black Swan<br />
Passes by Daffodiles<br />
and Fishing Nets<br />
Over Lilly pads<br />
And Worn Smooth Pebbles<br />
<br />
She leaves only a wake for<br />
Me as i watch the sun set in the Ripples<br />
Of the path she left<br />
<br />
And<br />
As the ripples Slowly<br />
Dissapate the Become<br />
Still Again<br />
<br />
The<br />
Black Swan<br />
Is gone<br />
<br />
Our Lake<br />
Looks Bleak<br />
Now and a Winter's Love<br />
Causes Barrier a of impenetrable Ice to form<br />
<br />
Protecting<br />
the pond<br />
From the outside<br />
<br />
The Pond remains Murky<br />
Dank and Stagnant<br />
By the time Spring has arrived<br />
No fish or Flora survive<br />
And all Animals Leave this wretched place<br />
A place of unrequited Desire<br />
and unfufilled expectacion<br />
<br />
By the Summer<br />
The pond has dried up<br />
and is Gone<br />
<br />
the Black Swan<br />
Returns<br />
as the Summer Sun<br />
Sets<br />
And lays its Head to rest<br />
On What was The ponds<br />
Bed<br />
<br />
The Mud Slowly reclaims<br />
The Black Swan<br />
As she sleeps<br />
<br />
and all that is left<br />
is White feathers<br />
And the fact<br />
That it could have been different<br />
<br />
</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-36032990183866119212012-02-12T16:47:00.000-08:002012-02-12T17:01:47.843-08:00Beware of the Monkeys (A Poem for Hannah Woz)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A Poem i write for your travels dear miss<br />
With advice and things to note<br />
Which you may otherwise miss<br />
<br />
For starters remember a big hooded jumper<br />
and that a bus journey's ride is best spent in a slumber<br />
<br />
Or that Tonic water mixed in your Gin Spiced drink<br />
Would be a preventative solution<br />
if into your skin a malarial mosquito's sting does sink<br />
<br />
And remember your Visa, Passport and make sure to make photocopies of these<br />
Papers<br />
And beware the Monkeys<br />
And elephants<br />
And log out of facebook to prevent<br />
Internet Cafe Frapers<br />
<br />
Also too<br />
the dreaded "Delhi Belly" which on arrival you can sort<br />
With a Mary Jane Lassi<br />
Or a Yogurt that is<br />
Locally bought<br />
<br />
But if this is not remebered and you do get the Shits<br />
Remember Dioralyte soultion<br />
Will replace the Electrolytes that<br />
now float<br />
and linger<br />
In the<br />
Toilet's Dish<br />
<br />
Ginger Tea is also good in this case<br />
And perhaps a Mosquito net you could pack too<br />
Within your travel case<br />
<br />
But much more than all of this<br />
just have fun<br />
<br />
You'll realise that life's Journey is far sweeter under a Blood Red Indian Sun<br />
<br />
Ohh yeah jus one last thing i have for you<br />
You should also take alot of pictures<br />
and keep a diary and scrap book too<br />
<br />
Realise that you can do whatever,<br />
and be whoever you want to be out there<br />
but more importantly you must also realise too<br />
That your wicked miss<br />
So just travel as you :) x<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-75804794382518013272012-02-06T04:17:00.000-08:002012-02-06T04:17:00.772-08:00http://www.unitebringadish.org.uk/home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Check out this website and realise some people do still care about the idea of diversity, culture and community. :) x</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-44989402697365205742012-02-05T01:48:00.001-08:002012-02-05T01:48:52.039-08:00The Gate Remains Open...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
Out of The window<br />
The gate is open<br />
<br />
She wonders why<br />
And the<br />
Snow leaves<br />
no evidence of tracks<br />
Or disturbance<br />
For her to follow<br />
<br />
She thinks it was perhaps<br />
Jack Frost<br />
Sliding along icicle arcs<br />
spun from his<br />
Frozen Loin Cloth<br />
<br />
Or perhaps<br />
It was that albino fox<br />
That does<br />
frequent<br />
And leaves the flowers<br />
Urine soaked<br />
And all bent<br />
<br />
It could even be<br />
The Gardener Ghost<br />
That died from frost bite<br />
Whenj he was tending<br />
The roses' in the Mote<br />
<br />
But the White Veiled Lady<br />
IN the Window<br />
Does not leave her house<br />
And her nightie is water drenched<br />
which she wears at night<br />
To attone her sins for<br />
mortality's immoral plight<br />
<br />
The lady inquestion is actually<br />
dead and waits for eternity<br />
for her lover to return<br />
And close that gate<br />
<br />
But she has been there for 200 years<br />
and this snow we see was created<br />
by the coldness of her wanting and tears<br />
<br />
</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-85979380196976950772012-02-04T08:02:00.000-08:002012-02-24T08:43:07.080-08:00Strap on Envy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Every time she gets it out<br />
i mysteriously need to spend<br />
a penny<br />
<br />
For i am a man with a foreboding inadequcy<br />
Which goes<br />
by the name<br />
Of<br />
<br />
Strap on Envy<br />
<br />
Her strap on it is called the<br />
<br />
Penetrator<br />
<br />
And she prefers my tears<br />
To the satisfaction<br />
That cums with a vibrator<br />
<br />
My lovely miss i do<br />
There wonder<br />
Inside her head what dark thoughts there asunder<br />
<br />
Perhaps she is a sadistic sex fiend<br />
Who is far less satisfied with love making than<br />
this buggery<br />
<br />
She used to have one named<br />
Dave<br />
<br />
This was when her<br />
Flower was furry<br />
and she did not shave<br />
<br />
But fortunatley she got rid<br />
Of this hideous Member<br />
<br />
Despite it was a christmas present<br />
which she got early on the 23rd of December<br />
<br />
I once asked her if i could buy a similar<br />
Toy<br />
<br />
Her name was Clarice<br />
She was much more<br />
Bold<br />
<br />
And once<br />
hasd sex with<br />
A Leprechaun<br />
To find out where he had hid his<br />
Pot of Gold<br />
<br />
For Clarice<br />
was a polythene loveer<br />
of sorts<br />
<br />
But was bought second hand and<br />
Was used to such carnal sport<br />
<br />
So into the bed<br />
Clarice my lady and i did go<br />
And covered the sheets and ceilings with our<br />
Sexual Matter<br />
in these moments we did find our spiritual benefactor<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-73933916395227821232012-02-04T01:58:00.000-08:002012-05-22T15:09:38.037-07:00Sun Starched Kiss<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
Rays fall down<br />
unseen<br />
<br />
until the reflection's of space<br />
are revealed<br />
<br />
In<br />
<br />
Sun kissed<br />
<br />
Sun Starched<br />
<br />
sunbeams<br />
<br />
A prism<br />
<br />
refracts<br />
Defracts<br />
and splits it into parts<br />
<br />
A rainbow carousels<br />
the crimson<br />
<br />
from apollo's<br />
cart<br />
<br />
And this<br />
Sun<br />
<br />
Lays<br />
Kisses<br />
That Leave<br />
Marks<br />
of golden and brown flex on<br />
my skin<br />
<br />
And the warmth<br />
Of her touch<br />
is Like that of a woman<br />
That has seeped<br />
into your heart through the upper dermis of your skin<br />
<br />
But like the<br />
Tan on your skin<br />
And that lady in you heart<br />
They both<br />
one day will leave<br />
<br />
<br />
And all that you can remeber in this cold winter<br />
that now endures<br />
<br />
Is That summer will come<br />
again<br />
<br />
<br />
And those<br />
<br />
Sun kissed<br />
<br />
Sun Starched Sunbeams</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-24757897329816598982012-02-02T20:50:00.000-08:002012-02-05T00:51:11.139-08:00The Guilty Chode (Revolting Rhyme Series)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The Man did waddle in<br />
Like a duck through the<br />
Bar he strode<br />
<br />
And took an unsuspecting lady back<br />
with more than coffee in mind to his<br />
Most Modest Abode<br />
<br />
For unknown to her<br />
In the tailored garters<br />
Of this<br />
Princely Toad<br />
<br />
Hidden and Vulgar<br />
Was an unsightly<br />
Chode<br />
<br />
For his nobe was far more<br />
<br />
Fat than Long<br />
<br />
And bulged from his pelvis<br />
Looking all the more swollen<br />
Than Wrong<br />
<br />
But the Lady did take pity on this<br />
Chode-Endowed-Male<br />
And mounted this unfortunate bloke<br />
Like a duty proud Whale<br />
<br />
It was because of her guilt<br />
She did jump on<br />
Upon this questionable erection she rode<br />
It didnt take long<br />
<br />
And without her guilt she did a hastily Leave<br />
And the<br />
Choded Man<br />
With satisfaction<br />
Did so a<br />
Soundly Sleep<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-62789999464738811382012-02-01T13:32:00.000-08:002012-02-05T00:49:36.981-08:00My Polythene Lover (Revolting Rhyme Series)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">She wears Clothes<br />
As if her souls secrets were<br />
ethereal and inscribed on the fabric<br />
<br />
And beyond this outer layer<br />
Lies an attention seeking scared<br />
Rabbit<br />
<br />
For as much vigor as has her<br />
Superficiality<br />
That she spent too long<br />
On these balmy nights<br />
working on just the wrapping<br />
And forgetting her personality<br />
<br />
For how her soul must scream<br />
To cleanse its self from<br />
fashion and conformity's bitter black hole<br />
<br />
What a poor soul's worth<br />
that values-it's self on<br />
vulgarity's jagged mannequin's doll<br />
<br />
While the ugly faced poet<br />
Describes an inner beauty not<br />
Inscribed on his clothes or revealed by his face<br />
<br />
My polythene lover is now deflated<br />
And popped in my Bottom Draw<br />
<br />
And will live again to breathe with life<br />
that i give to her with my breath<br />
as she does inflate<br />
<br />
Every time i need her<br />
I Need her little<br />
But<br />
To<br />
Masturbate!<br />
<br />
</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8076180647732200463.post-82632621704494666972012-01-22T10:50:00.000-08:002012-01-22T10:50:58.257-08:00Crocodile City<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The River Runs<br />
Red<br />
In Crocodile city<br />
Like the<br />
Blood Soaked Earth<br />
That Lays Crimson<br />
On these African Lands<br />
<br />
The Clotted River Languidly<br />
Transports the Palm Wicca baskets<br />
Downstream As the Village Women's Tears<br />
Attempt<br />
Too dilute the Foaming Guilt<br />
Of their Offering<br />
<br />
Laid in Wiat<br />
Fat<br />
&<br />
Indolent<br />
Awaits the Corocdiles<br />
Their Blood Lust<br />
Still Wretched and Unfulfilled<br />
As the silence falls over the Bank<br />
And all that can be heared is the<br />
Locus<br />
<br />
Golden Shimerring Reptilian Eyes<br />
Leave a snaking wake in its Path<br />
<br />
As Calligula Crocdile<br />
Mounts his Mud-Mound-throne<br />
And<br />
DecimatesFury<br />
<br />
And the cries fall silent<br />
<br />
Full and Disgusting<br />
With Indulgence<br />
<br />
Calligula<br />
Lights his cigar<br />
And Sips Delicatley from his<br />
Moet<br />
<br />
He Drank his full<br />
And the People Still Arent Free<br />
<br />
Because This is Africa<br />
And everything is a Commodity<br />
And there'a reason the land looks like it was<br />
Kicked up by the<br />
Devils Heel<br />
<br />
So Close your Western Eyes<br />
<br />
Because all that is here are Nightmares<br />
As we<br />
Become like them<br />
A<br />
Ghost in the Darkness<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>H.G Bluebirdhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17562875268535053032noreply@blogger.com0