Auckland Poetry.com

You pray to angels with dirty wings,
Buy mercy and sell it,
Your rotten selfishness fucking stinks,
Dozens of cities smell it.
Your dirty sluts own golden cunts,
Justice smells just like dough,
Bribes, euro-bucks and some public stunts
At crusty First Channel’s shows.

Your cash green eyes and your whiskey blood
Rule pointless decisions,
You, big knobs’ dicks, are too deep in mud
Far beyond your own vision.
Newspapers vomit your ugly words,
Your promises are inflated,
The laws have turned into global swords,
The world is humiliated.

Every mans dream,
is to leave something behind,
to leave a mark,
something to remember him by.

I’m not rich, nor poor,
a limited education I have,
but people will remember me,
because of what I’ve said.

What makes me so special,
that I still don’t know,
it seems people like to read about,
what goes on in my little world.

Small little pieces,
that will eventually make a whole,
then everyone will know me,
I will be completly exposed.

I will live on,
immortalised by my words,
my claim to fame will be,
my voice was finally heard.

I need a maid
to clear the roaches and ash
off my desk
I need to work
so I need a maid
to smell my sheets and
make my bed
I trip on a shoe
I need a maid
Cause I’ve got better
things to do

by vanessa rare
3 Nov 97 ©

Five Fishes

The sea is turquoise ships are white as
summer clouds. On the dock headless
dolphins lie side by side and there is music
in the air. Children have fun slide on deep,
dark blood. Shouting buyers and sellers,
listen to the great cacophony of humanity.
Bless this day… this moment, god is good
here is food for all.

The Termination

In Pakistan bombs fall, explode and artillery
shells whizz through the air, burning building
and dead children, all this happen when I sit
listening to a program about abortion.

It strikes me that those who are anti-abortion,
often are for capital penalty and do not dither
to drop rockets on villages in the mountains of
Pakistan or Afghanistan.

In a garden filled with venomous snakes, and wild beasts,
A motionless light peaked through the rising prickled trees.
As I approached what was lurking in the shadows,
There she stood tall and delicate as a snowflake touching ground,
Peddles as red as the blood that flows through my veins creating my life,
Broken from grounds of lifeless origins,
I embraced her as she rolled through my staggering hand,
This is to be held in the midst of a heavenly queen,
That in this life will one day be seen.

Lack of Rain

As evening began to fall heavy clouds gathered,
rain tomorrow the meteorologist said, a nice girl
about twenty five years old, and dressed in red.

So the clouds will be hanging about blocking out
stars till the next day when the girl gives the order
for the downpour that will turn into drizzle.

Heavy fighting in Pakistan, didn’t see any rain
though, but billows of black, oily smoke fearful
people trying to flee and a tough talking general.

When morning came it was sunny but quite chilly,
village dogs sat facing the east the meteorologist
had married and wanted a dry honeymoon.

Sex and the Medical Profession

I’m sitting in my car waiting for my wife who is at mass
I find it impossible to believe in any religion, but I say
nothing it is important for my wife to believe in a merciful
god. Paris, and agony, my wife prayed but did call
an ambulance. Battling doctors, how young they are, I felt
like a low paid, reluctant actor in a hospital drama, one
who has to play the nurse when he really wanted to be
the famous heart transplant surgeon.

The doc asked if I smoked. No! She looked sullen since
I didn’t, it is so easy to blame the fag. I said I had smoked
15 years ago, she looked relieved and told me to keep up
the good, work: she removed the catheter a lovely pee
Is better than sex, if temporarily, now I feel like making
love, my wife tells I’m deluded, I say nothing but bid my
time, keep a blanket in my car in case I should meet
someone who is equally barmy.

Alexandrian’s docks and Flies

Butterflies, the insect, often appear in poetry
flies are black and grey Alexandrian flies are
bloody annoying, that is why no poet writes
and extol the virtue of the common house fly.
But one day a fly landed on my nose looked at
me with eyes that held intellectual thoughts,
it spoke to me but I could not hear but I’m sure
it was an appeal to understand its predicament.
And I said to the fly, before the vibration of my
of my nose scared it away: “all you have to do is
to not bother me and I will not try to swat you.”
The fly smirked sarcastically and said: “ Why do
you go mad when I circle the lamplight and climb
on walls this rusty ship needs a lick of paint.

A Man’s Alexandria

A woman came into the living room looking sideways
she brought ice cold beer and snacks, Alexandria, this
this was a modern Egyptian his waif’s face not covered
by a veil, the skin of her face was poke marked. I heard
voices in the kitchen it was of his daughters but I never
saw them, and that was ok, I do not know how to talk
to children. When we left the house they all had
disappeared into grey shadows, my Egyptian friend
shouted orders to no one in particular. Nightclub and
belly dancing, my friend disappeared with one of them,
I had been the stooge, but all bills had been paid, so ok.
Walked back to my ship alone, packs of docks along
the docks didn’t bother me; I had met a culture I didn’t
understand my Egyptian friend said that he didn’t had any
children since he didn’t have sons.

Tired and PMT’d
that which only a woman knows
wanting to be so much more
than your functioning mum
peace is a quick fag at 5
before the potatoes and oven
hot
pissed off
tryna get tea on
peace is all I want
love energy
vital excitement
here in the trap
restlessness throbs
liberty is no where
solo
no doubt
baby is so loved
solo
baby is liberty
patience
change is near

written 10 January 1994
by vanessa rare ©

Poem

Mighty Amazon flood
Flows strongly towards the sea
Pauses by the delta
But now it is all too late
Reduced to melancholy
Sweet water blending with sea
And history is forgotten