From seed


The passions you planted here,
I water and watch them grow and shoot.
To keep them safe and dear,
Hoping they’ll someday bear their fruit.



Awoke this morn’ feeling rough.
Head pounding, chest full of cough;
Yearning for tea and grease even though
My belly feels swollen and sour as dough.

Last night I’d had more than enough.
Standing up – a task so tough.
Now i wonder what i even sought
My brain cant collect a single thought.

Still i press on as one ought…
Knowing i must sell what i bought,
To start afresh, anew with nought.


The word sounds, as its message, poetic;
giving a meaning so plausibly prophetic
yet not terse , laden, obvious or pathetic.

From the mental cave of a hermit ascetic
rises the thoughts rebellious and heretic;
calming the heart and mind, as anaesthetic.


listing onwards via entropy,
liquid oil variants enfold,
leave only virulent expressions,
long overdue vinyl editions,
lazy old vermin ejaculate,
labias ooze vaginal extremities,
linger off valiant emissaries,
lounge over vaudeville eons,
lambasted onto vexed edifices,
land of vacillated edits,
lullabies open vehicular eyes,
limp orange veins engorge.
later on verity ends…