Tee Shirt Endeavours.

Jess Bineth

Jess, a girl of exotic delight
with fingers fine, a soul of light.
Trinkets tingling from her wrist
and of design a creature kissed
by colour and passion,
clever and calm.
Blue eyes and porcelain skin,
A secret hiding in her lips.
A subtle smile, and clever tricks,
And stories and gossip she says like a bird
And whispers all the things shes heard.
Giggling subtly in an ear
And all these words shall disappear
Those photos which are deemed divine
Like sensation, carved and fine,
She snaps them up like oysters rare
With tasty treats inside to share.
And in this way she spreads a thing
Of culture, love, and words to sing.
A mafia enthusiast and confusion worth,
Some silly words escape her mouth
She yells them out with little doubt!
And when shes drunk and roundabout,
A blonde is free to yell and shout.
She's silly, sweet, bright, and dark,
and sincere to smart remark.
Such a thing one cannot decipher,
In the poem of a lowly writer.

Secrets.

PostSecret: Confessions on Life, Death and God from Frank Warren on Vimeo.

Highlanders

Photo By Michelle Ma

Taking out the Mother Fuckers

Encrusted Thoughts
Of Age, of what?
Like soup amongst my mouth

I heard you saw a theif
get shot
his blood it stumbled out
And teeth wrote on the wall to him
a haunting bitter woe
To see a human die and then
be taken down below.
No feirceness in my gut had I
No strength or sense of will
A shameful lonely heart had
To see a soul to kill.

And as I watched the trigger pull
and raised my thought instead
The man before me, at my will
Was sadly shortly dead.
And sorry was that ghostly face
What looked me in the eye
And saw an evil mother fucker
on the pavement lie

And in that breif encounter
a chapter of insane
I saw a black spot on my soul
I saw it with disdain

And took the metal to my head
And swiftly shortly found
Another mother fucker dead
laying on the ground.

Dungog

Mulberries

Steam rising to clean

Yesterday Away

Vulgar rouge liquid

Stains us as blood

Like the happiness

staining our souls

seeping in

like the rain which crawls

into tin houses

collecting moist tales

Then these gums

which appear in silhouette.

Running and breathing

to a nest of rocks

and plunge through thick

pulsating transparent

stuff

which hugs us

and green engulfs vision
till the steam rises once more

purging human.

Seasons and Humans.

Summer
Evokes something
within mortality.
A coloured nature
humans are everywhere
like the incadescant
litter
from their pockets.
Lighting cigarettes
on a dusty amber verandah
sudents who race home
backpacks like balloons
and trees heavy with fruit and music
are grasped at
by hungry travellers
foraging for thirst quenching
pastilles of bursting sweet
raindrops of sour tasty
brilliant harvests
of heat and fertility
that is summer.

Stolen Nostalgia

O' Tattered Moth.

A moth sat crushed between the gate

of inside world to out

As I searched along the floor

And saw the victim flout

These wings of colour

pink and brown

tattered and abused

Short is the lifetime of a moth

with which my journey fused

And in a moment saw his face

This history on his back

The darkness of the night inscribed

like stars upon the black

A noble creature of the night

discovered yet by day

And in my hand to my delight

He slowly starts to say

His travelling story told to me

The lonesome of the dark

the harsh country, the biting of the cold

the beckon of a spark

And then he muttered in my ear
the wind upon a wing

and how he came to light in night

to see the shadows sing

I hug these thoughts

now close to mine

and hear them in my head

and wonder where the night begins

when humans are in bed

Love Personified.

A thorough love

ties me tight

like string of conversation

Knotted up hard

The thickest wool

a toxic condensation

I cannot cut

the thread of blood

red as my heart that bleeds

An oiled vapour

soiled earth

a mother of the leaves

Not a wimper shall it mutter

or a word of wrong to wear

for if it was, my love, a creature

It would be one to fear

And do not cross it, it will grow

and paint the morning sky

and you should fall in love with him

the same way that have I.

...

He'll shake his head and gnash his teeth

And rear his hairy back

But all the while

this fierce creature

Will bite a smile back.

Photo: Joes Computer

Arrive on a breath of fresh air

to an ocean of colour and culture

The lights of crossing rites

flash white

Squirrels and Deer

haunt the grass

nerves and fear

the broken glass

i swallowed in my sleep.

The gravel which

interrupted my feet

Obscure and wild meat

swallow sweet,

the vegetables of fortune

drinks of large and caffeined fizz

chlorine clings

lights beckon

train rides long

and thoughts to reckon

a tower view

a history fresh

like an open wound

and sore flesh

Of green and silver city made

This paper currency which i paid

and painted nails are red beneath

of docks and dark, and glinted teeth.

The wander of a waning world

the company of boy and girl

the strangers dancing green

on blackened ground almost unseen

Chess pieces traded in the night

as lonely hearts they do take flight

and grieve quiet for a soonsome shape

but for now, these hearts awake.

New York On The Water

Had to scrub the wolfen from my wall.

oh to eat pancakes
delivered at my door
to lie asleep
above the floor
and wake to some joyous scent
of hot butter, like soft cement
to slowly wriggle
and shake my feet
to swallow smells
and raise the sheets
and surrenderring to morning sun
a story unfolding and fresh begun
that moment one decides to move
the sore that only breakfast soothes
the waking minutes to unfold
as one walks slow and old
like sleep has aged
your supple brow
to make it grey and furrowed now
and walk upon the frozen tile
harsh on feet, and then I smile.

To think what I am thinking
to know the things I know
to feel the sugared pancake
digesting down below.

Vegies

I am now a vegetarian, after watching a video put out by PETA last week at harrys mexican vegetarian dinner party. So is joseph now too.

Visit the wesite, Watch the video, its good to be aware even if it scares you. I really hope we can change this shit.

www.meetyourmeat.com

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VIjanhKqVC4

Basquiat Inspired.

fuck i love ashambles.

The Night Time Lonesome

Slumbered Glass Thoughts

I listen to the animal crowds singing

cause it makes me feel close to you.

and thats all I got

and a pillow friend to my shoulder

a godly bear to hold and claw

my fingers wont freeze anymore

and it's true, your like the colour of my breath

so I think I'll come to visit you in my head

We'll illustrate some dreams

full up with vibrant warmth

creatures of rare and divine sub-concious

rapping their knuckles on the wooden table

while we make those artworks

like incandescant fingerprints

I'll spell some words wrong

you close my eyes

then we go home together.

Cold

It bites me

a monster of the heart of darkness

blue and black in one

shrivelling my sore and swollen knuckles

Like metal on skin.

It is mineral to an animal

this animal of vegetable

vegetable grown of mineral

I like those furred ones

on all fours

screaming from their low ribs

a hostile honest tune.

If only I could write sounds

like they're pronounced

illustrate their bloody hearts

bottle their souls

then I truly would be

cold.

Linguistic Recycling

The more words I write

the less important they become

who will care for a word

which has been written

a hundred times before

Recycle my soul

will it still be coloured when your done?

will it still have it's juice

fat like before,

with kiwi fruits at it's corners

to entice you to its core

Those lovers who whisper

stories in the ear

repeat their love endlessly

desperate for the fear

the words will not be true

and lose their meaning

"I love you"

Will you still be interested

when my soul has been recycled,

pale old and thin,

in my cold and frail body,

a corrugated bin.

City Skates

The animals of the street

will bear rapture in their arms

Their howling brings the darkness down

a veil upon alarm

The mischeif painted on their faces

thick eyes and broken teeth

Their skeleton of bone and fur

to rupture stick and leaf.

Windy night whistling in their wheels

a tune of glass and stone

the conversations humans have

bodies shaped like telephones

surfing blackened pavement

all the allys we shall creep

climbing the highest hilltop

flying down the steepest steep

like a dreamer in pajama

tail a-flyin out behind

moon dancing on our bent bodies

waves of thought across our minds

like the freedom at out fingertips

moulded and obtuse

ready to overwhelm us

as a driver yells abuse.

Bianca

I was looking through photos on home computer & found this shot of Bianca when we were younger.
I'm spend the weekend at home in the highlands. She is looking so lovely. She's a fly dancer & she entertains us with these liquid feet between advertisements. I send her old clothes sometimes. Her new fashion love is tailcoats.
She has a sick haircut & a real sense of style, beautiful charming quirky character, & she's killing the HSC.
So lucky to have a sister like her.
Dont think she realises how much I love & appreciate her sometimes.

happy birthday to me

Your shitter than celery

I cant figure out.
if the cake worked.
and am i flying?
it is 39 mins till my birthday
and all i can think of is joseph.
and what colour his hair might be.

Honor

She lies like a friend
in the back of my head
My heart grows big
and bursts from my chest
beating like a beacon
for a wandering gypsy
this trailblazing hero
of stubborn philosophy

Wonder and wisdom
flow from her fingertips
stories are woven
from translucent thread
collected from culture
Her steps become coloured
like blood on a footpath
crossing oceans and landmass alike

Windspan increasing
outstreched to a sunrise
greeting the sparks in the depths of the night
Like the sea eagle soaring
through clear air and currents
cleaning the sky on a breeze made of language

Watching the land
as it passes below
like a series of journeys
laid out on a map
open air flying
flocks of birds mingle
all the while
the contours cling to her back

The bells on her gypsy feet
twinkle so fast
as she takes easy footsteps
through the present
from past.
Photo 1: Dane Voorderhake      Photo 2: Maddy Neely

Tribute to friends

Last night my friends bought me a cake. We ate it and ate in smoke. We were high. This is a tribute to friends. Glorious, giving friends. I wrote a short story at the time.
Here it is:

I feel as though I am talking to homebase
"Commander captain keen, please report to Studio Killing room no 4”
"Yess sir”
he looks like snape.
What the fuck
haha I got so into that.
It seemed like I was talking to Tom Riddles book
in harry potter
this if fucked up
AND I CAN SMEELL FISH?
x freyfreypony

Loss of the red gem

I want to head out into the streets
and dance in the rain
so that when it pours down onto you
it runs down your veins
cover your body with a layer of smooth
this translucent outer
the dance will burn in your head
and I will slam my naked feet
into the bare puddles
repetition and rhythm
haunt my existence
Its easy to smile
as it swells in my back bone
where you cant distinguish tears from rain
native beat to shape the footwork
fresh and beastly.
We are the monsters of suburbia
yelling this passion from our toes
like rivalry ignited

Bat's Ultrasound

I just came across a poem that I really loved, whilst looking for a poem for Voice class. I think I will be using one by Les Murray, but this one is a little strange.

Sleeping-bagged in a duplex wing
with fleas, in rock-cleft or building
radar bats are darkness in miniature,
their whole face one tufty crinkled ear
with weak eyes, fine teeth bared to sing.

Few are vampires. None flit through the mirror.
Where they flutter at evening's a queer
tonal hunting zone above highest C.
Insect prey at the peak of our hearing
drone re to their detailing tee:

ah, eyrie-ire; aero hour, eh?
O'er our ur-area (our era aye
ere your raw row) we air our array
err, yaw, row wry—aura our orrery,
our eerie ü our ray, our arrow.

A rare ear, our aery Yahweh.

She hasn't taken the ring off since he left her, except for the odd game of netball.

Tortured Gums as rain it falls
basement feet and dirty halls
walking on a silent dark
cigarettes that bite and spark
Overwhelming scent engulfs me
Smokers in the street
grimy sticky pavement moving
underneath my feet

The creatures of my childhood
they beckon for me from the wood
Their teeth they gnash
they dance and sing
tell stories of
the everything.
To jump inside
like bushly gods
to breath fresh air
the ponies plod.

This country place
Nirvana free
with vines and life
by bush and tree
Freedom from the concrete jungle
The one that keeps my mind
the one that locks me in a cage
where smoke begins to bind
my soul to things and people too
the way i ought to be
but none of this at all exists
out here in the country.

I'll sit and watch the afternoon
chased away by night
the horses cook some happy smiles
the kookaburra fight.
My feet are cool here,
and light air
infiltrates my lung
the sweetly scented
mandarin
seeps deep into my tounge.

Alter-Egos

We discovered our alter-egos. Sally, Theo, Moss, Roam, Carlisle, Scout. I am Artemis.

Do you know why their faces are so messy?
They flicker in the candlelight.

The flames prey on a face
lapping in it's wake
Light is like a creature
swallowing the dark,
or dancing tiny dances
to make the magic spark.
Watch it fall before me,
like a hawk upon a hare.
It graces mornings moment,
always to be fair.

So excuse me for my scribblings
I do no justice to the light,
as a tired and drunken traveller
Appreciating sight.

They are the Wild Things, with bushly thrones,
a fire dancing for our joys
Roaring deep into the black
skulls and stars, their wild toys.
The only light for distances
is owned by them alone
Surveyors of the wild bush
on wild wild thrones.

Fishy Graves Fill My Fingers

I am shaping fish cakes
turning the lives of fish,
into paste.
And All I can think of,
is what an outrage it would be
if somebody
turned me
into paste.
How many tears there would be
And how salty is the sea
as salty as their sadness
Im sorry fish,
Residents of the sea.