this world

this world has become
a shabby chic shit shack
with wooden words
on plastic mantle pieces
telling us this is our home
and it’s filled with our love
so you best buy into it
distressed and going cheap
this world’s not my world
I want nothing from it
no fake words of wisdom
cut and pasted consumerism
give me four bare walls
with wooden floorboards
and a shelf of worn books
shared food on the table
and in the woodland garden
birds singing their sweet songs
as we swing on the porch seat
holding hands in the warm sun
your lips on my neck
telling me you love me
that we’ll always be together
forever and for eternity
this world is our world
it’s what we make of it
but I’ll never know it
for my time is too late
the wood casket’s calling me
calling me to my fate
calling me away from
this world I wanted

s-l300

with sincere apologies to Woody Guthrie . . .

one day

one day
when I am dead and gone
I will come visit you in your house

so listen out
for the sound of my footsteps
crunching the gravel on your drive
the squeak of the swing seat
when I take a rest on your porch

I will warm my bones under your southern sun
before opening the screen door with a rattle
look up and see me standing there
as if all our yesterdays
had come again

you will take me to your room
and I will fill your body with heat
the cicadas will talk like typewriters
the moon will wax lyrical
and I will leave through the open window

one day
when I am dead and gone
I will come visit you in your house

Prairie Wishes

I want to live out on the prairie
A little house with a south facing porch
Gentle slope down to a wide expanse
Cool evening breeze to soothe the soul

I want to live out on the front porch
Kill time to the beat of the swing seat
Watch the ruby-throated hummingbirds
Cool kisses from my honey’s sweet lips

I want to live out on the swing seat
Rock to and fro in her warm embrace
Talk of this and that and nothing more
Until the evening sun leaves to rest

I want to live out in her warm embrace
Her voice washing over me in waves
You know that’s all I ever really wanted
But some wishes never will come true

Cicadas

she steps outside
thru the broken screen door
straight into humid heat
southern Louisiana
high pitched cicada noise
all around unnoticed
unsteady on hard bare feet
on weathered wooden boards
railings for support
t-shirt stained with sweat
daily chores
children dribbles
a Bud Light in hand
her drunken heady poise
she exhales smoke spirals
takes two steps down and
sways to the swing seat
thru scattered yard toys
thrift store bargains
Walmart remnants
church offerings

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he follows her scented trail
bare but for baggy gray shorts
his hand inside
full of himself
manly desires begging
night threats releasing
his time to entreat
demand
dehumanise
dark neighborhood streets
sound of shouts
tired air con units whining
yet more background noise
add it to the cicadas
the voices in his head
volatile cocktails
street corner dealings
no work just more heat
deep south swamp heat
dripping sweat summers

map6d2

her mouth full of cold beer
holding it back to enjoy
then sliding down throat
draws another
he calls her his
lips tits and bum whore
she takes his hot lusting
sticky as candy sweets
abandoned in sweating cars
this token moment of love
dirty and indiscreet
a pleasure for her Sonny Boy
distracting for a moment
defence methods deployed
it uncripples her from the past
childhood horrors
recurrent nightmares
he wanders sated back indoors
cicadas scream from trees
hands over bursting ears
heart beating like a drum

map6c2

and later
for absolution
she showers off the guilt
the smell of him
the taste of him
the all and every
last stinking piss of him
with the water running
she can’t hear the cicadas
the air con and the children
or the cripple next door
wheelchair bound and blind
who shouts foul obscenities
to anyone who will listen
and this is her life
of welfare benefits
food stamp grocery shops
and of course she loves him
his lips tits and bum whore
who beats her now and then
but still she prays to her god

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