There are words in my head

by money, not by valueor pious thoughts detected.So Cardinal Sir Joefrom old Bavaria’s woodswho’s still a real prohe must have had the goods.He joined the Hitler Youthin nineteenfortyonebut don’t forget the truthhe didn’t join for fun.It was the current lawall youths had to belongand Joseph’s father sawthat the Horst Wessel Songwas not to be deniedand…

had spun a net five metres wide.If past experience is a guideit should catch insects, mainly flies.But few in science realisethat sickness brings for those in healththe opportunity for wealth.Instead of being dumb and blindthey use their (only average) mindand sell the spider many pillsto swallow and thus cure his ills.The net is any spider’s…

tomato red,sand clingingto your hairless legs,reflectingfrom ten painted toes;a tiny tuft,now out of place.The tower clock,two alleys northstruck nineteen hundreda hair past dinnertime,two chatty frigate birdsa black redbelly snake,sinister clouds,of black and smokey gray,I did not have the heart,my love of loves,to wake you then,It was the summer rainthat mixed with our tears.

He had left her for goodand he was a small hoodbut she couldn’t come up with the rent.After Spring came the Summer, then Fallthen one day she had heard his voice call.he was ragged and thinwith an unshaven chinand her tent was, remember? too small.‘Take me back I will love you foreverI adore you and…

and to go into such turbulence,what did not help at all wasthat snowflakes naturally arenot what you would call substantial,or heavy, so we are at the mercyof winds, other flakes, hail, dropsof rain, even the rare bird outand about in the freezing weather.But what makes it all worth it,really worth it is the how shall…

It hovers in its growing stagedisplays, perhaps a bit of rageunbridled it can be and wetjust like a baby you have metbut what it really sets apartfrom other godly works of artit grows a horn perfectly suitedin which the poet’s soul is rooted.So when your inner thoughts feel tornjust think of your own unicorn.And don’t…

All the grass is bent and crushedFrom the lovers rolling ’round.Rolling through the ice and snowNever knowing where to go.Rolling in the evening dusk‘Til the only smell is musk.Fulfillment lies around the bendWhen missives through the ether endWhen words will finally find their markAnd all the pilgrims can embark.The journey’s yet another lifeFor yet another…

it grew.The rains were late,and scarce that year,yet there was beautyas a dozen tiny leaves,dark green and curledreached up to see the skyand heavy scents of roseand Lilly of the valleyform sheets of dewcondensing timeas petals spread their thighsto welcome Spring,its sap of lifewhich folds its wingsupon itselfto dwell inside,where love resides.It is so easy…

it’s not the samewithout the Donas he regardedhis poet selfwas he awardedby an elffive stars or moreand public mention?He was a borewith mean intentionand a disorderof mind and spiritclose to the borderwhere he could stir itthis soup of hateand envy saladhe loved debatebut nothing validdid cross his lipsfor us to heara sunken shipcan’t see the…

on the Telly appeared the most pitiful clownit was mostly her face and her head.As was usual a rise was the hope of the daybut the one on the screen did distract,would you kindly he said make that bitch go awayfor the sake of another lewd act?So she kicked with her boot at the plasma…

neither candlestickmaker or elderly nerdhave traversed this most slippery slope.‘What heart’ said the surgeon, ‘it is worth to be savedlet us sharpen our scalpels with care’,special training for orderlies (Jerry was shaved)but they left him his cranial hair.It was tough on his maiden, she stood up so wellhe is fortunate and he’s aware,at one time…

by the superior laws,he will simply drift,like a log in the sea,wood too hard to be usedto feed fires that ward off cold,too much salt they say,dulls the Stihl, makes a soundand no one would even thinkto look up when drifters come,they have their ways, they movewhen clouds are stagnant, cumulusor funny shaped, I wonder…