Sing it like a Purple Bottle

My love for you is leaf green
as incense turns to incest,
deep within your forest
dark into the dead night.
Messy little bedroom
dust and dirty undies,
Sheets that turn from blue to white!

And your hair it is a monster
and I should like to touch it
creeping like a crawler
tortured little headache
your own self raising flower
like talons of an eagle
chop chop chop! here we go!

And sometimes when your grumpy
I like to sit and tease you
still you make me nervous,
keyhole which to peer through
Stomp all down the hallway!
Your footsteps are jurassic,
Thoughts awash all down the drain!

And your presence it is gift wrapped
like a little creature
I miss you when your far off
And every wolven feature!
But jump into my dark head
and we will run through my bed
like canines on adventure street!

$40

Pony Tales Designs                               

               - Trot to the sound of a different beat

Wolf + Fox

"Dont be silly" said the fox to the wolf, "I love you more than all the hypen heat of chicken chasings,

More than the stanken scent of dewy morning earth, 

More than the finest rarest cut of melting market meat. 

You're the only wolf for me."

"I love you too" said the wolf.

Home Is Where The Heart Is.

Nostalgia for a week before

A time thats barely past

A broken heart that beat before

a racer running last

A tortured tumbled twisted thing

with limbs spread all around

when flying with the bushly king

Fell foot upon the ground

And time it took her from that place

and ripped her from the thread

of history's woven tapestry

and tugged thoughts from her head

and worn were all her fingernails

and broken was her skin

and sad crept in her tiny soul

and let the darkness in

But with a high hot air balloon

and with a painted sky

and with the world around her still

she learnt instead to fly

with dollars as a ransom fuel

her head held soft and strong

all at once she found herself

moving time along

Then travelled halfway round the world

this happy whole embark

to where she heard her home call out

to where she kept her heart

and in these eyes of green it stirred

and in her hungry head

the past behind her crumpled up

the future loomed instead

a future of rich and deep desires

a pathway wrapped in gold

of exotic nature loud and bright

a story still untold.

And down she wandered like a child

and happily she bled

a swift and sweet and honest love

until her heart was fed.

       

        

painted print

Pony Prints

It Begins.

Screen printed two creatures with Julie today. They will be the first images on my ponytales tees.

Indian Wisdom

Fearlessness is the first requirement of spirituality.

Cowards can never be moral.

Mahatma Ghandi

Relics Drawn

He had her figured out. Staring at the sea. The light contrast to magic nights, Rays of colour break through cloud. Her socks are wet with salt. Not feeling, Knowing connection? A cold character on a clifface. Light colouring the pages. Brightness in her eyes. A pain that your not sure is real, stabbing at your side.

Max Ehrmann's "Desiderata"

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