Stormy Wind no Oxy

Albatross
cross
not kill my rat.

Zone fly
Ocean
looms
yonder.

Copy cat
one blue
and white the other
still souls
crushed burden.

Reams News
still disaster
open story
closed moments.

Horror slide
words tumble
beneath
meaning.

Desolate spins
zero gravity.

Steep high
sleep lull
be done in a jiffy.

The Romantic subject.

Less not ing to Doris

From
text untarnished
clear
spoken
articulate
images .

Dorris not Lessing
spindle non cognisant
spills all colour.

Master says saffron
it spins blue

What an affront
despair
not
blue can be white.

The cross a nail
and
sky ocean.

The Probability

Eschewed in lost meta data
conscious limitations of desire
untold
briefs
lost
common souls.

No manes
windows
shadows
gleams
light.

Spills ever
glows
grimaces
hides
blush.

Finding
lost objects in blue
shall
burden reveal.

Fly zone.

Probably probable.

Mane,planes and meteors.....

A post digital
post modernist
proposition.

Trains, planes and automobiles
Veins, rain and suppositions
like
wonders in
plural.

Dingo
the claw
goes thus.

Vertical space do
not
speak.

The blank of youth
in unmatted blonde non splits
and propaganda
let it soothe
a pain of
never here never gone.

The image of repetition
conjures
non truth
and
cajoles into a sense of lull
ill-defined
trajectory of falling debris
discovered
years after.

The search is on.

Something Pink can shock

As can blood
and lead
brown swill
drill over soft corners.

Barter
we
make Guns and bullets
can we have some
fruit.

Well
pink is bliss
red abhorred
can you investigate my humdrum.

The twist of blur
spins time
desires contrast
rules
words spill
and race
or jump
up slide down
hide
and create a lesser mess
then
WAR.

The lost
people
shall
be seen soon.

Day of the Poems dirge

Sweep the floor
of ocean bed
let poems
on its day
rethink
a new ploy.

A dirge cannot
I play or write
lost in sky searched in Ocean
not
songs
or lies
nor tabs of the gone
but
swept
under too many words  of prose
poetry is
crushed.

The days of lost many
and its this celebratory dirge
of cut prayer.

Do poems speak
the word of war
well
the world of War
the muse as is never
sure.

Ms Greer thanks for the blink and miss moment

At  QUANDA
silence in  answer
split beams
joined by true quest
Gem of a narrative
Erica Jong speaks in whispers.

And this more true
that
is a lie.

Game theory
picture versus video
born of fate
and kiss of hate.

That depiction staged
propaganda
shocking.

Did young blondie
act hair out
in this discourse of various means.

Split
jinx
sky lost
ocean burdened
by escaping items
and gaping cameras.

Germaine Greer
thanks for that special moment.

The Brides of wind

of wind
blown
swept across
search
the
span.
 Brides run mayhem
seeking
no land as law.

Brides of Identity
searching
what
they
know;

truth
self
or the gloss
of this non done glass
shattering and blowing
into
a crust of thousand
pieces
blown
over seas.

The
seal
if shroud
and ping of pain
repeated.

Skull the ocean
and ride waves
brides
see over
the
run of rush.

A year
is no brute
nor a bride.

Say and mock
bride after pride
swept
and gone
whispers of a kind.