It ain’t the rhythm
It ain’t the hard-hat nor the swing
It’s the place your foot upon the kettle
And hold your home
To you, for it is the Time
For it to style no’ ping
And that means it’s time for Los Alamos
Again.
Bye!
Can you tell the difference between real and unreal?
If not then I am writing to you
about psychosis and the difference between being the One
who isn’t and the one who is.
I must go to the Church today and see the one
who is in control of the baptisms of Bath
who asks not who is here
but asks when shall we notice that she
is?
Who is going to tell you about
the birthrates of the City of Bath
and who is unioning and who isn’t going
to shul as they are preparing for incest
against the woman they know as Mum?
All it takes is cognition.
No speaking in tongues is allowed here on
the page.
No spoken language can tell the tune again
of the world’s end and how I held
it in my hands for you to say
So?
COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2021
What’s the procedure for this
the time is nigh for a muss with the head
and a fuss with the heart,
a friend by the doorway
and a sustaining look at a key
to the door of your head
and the start of the words coming through
the keyhole like terms of endearment
but not without the worry of times
spent in the loosehead mob
of the court and higher learnings
where they do not know how
to find an answer when all is about to see
that no one hears the words of the Lord
who asks not for the antiques but the real
named person who gave Him a bad name
for he is without killing and no one
can surely find the way to him in a bearing
like they use on the bookshelves for indexing
the author of their wares. For even in the world’s
books are there no use for the way in which
we see our lives about to finish without
knowing why.
COPYRIGHT (c)
He shoves it to the left
and wriggles it back to the right.
The ball dances on a flipper
then sinks outtasight.
Judge Dredd, Ace of Clubs
multiball and more!
She tries to regain level
maybe make the highest score!
A target sinks under accurate fire!
Another goes and extra ball is lit!
She’s sweating now, reefer and beer…
A crowd has assembled
crushing close, pushing near.
She lets the ball bounce on a rubber,
subtle fingerplay shows off
her skill with the machine
she’s pissing him off!
TWACK! Goes the machine,
again for Specials lit
the metal ball is glowing
the flashing lights are getting hit!
Bump-bump go her hips
as she puts her body in
Two free games, no more!
The targets are all a-spin!
Finally she can do no more
her control has worn thin…
Over to you she shouts
do better! With a grin.
COPYRIGHT ©️
I lay so long on the open lawn
I gathered dew in my fist
Peppered by music in my ears
A solemn vow to be kissed.
The trees above they shed their leaves
falling about my mouth
The birds were crying against the clouds
long on their journey South.
The few begin the hard won Road
snatched from undergrowth,
the use of machetes tore at green
in silence they cut with stealth.
No machine out here
Upon the verge, of latent falling wings
the chainmail mist hung with the urge
to sample a knight’s last fling.
COPYRIGHT ©️
There was a time
when all things were made
in Eden.
Everything we owned
was priceless
and involved long hours
of arduour and wealth
procurement. Nothing became
of those things, they rotted
and fell apart but
were never thrown away
as in todays world
where the dump
can easily be mistaken
as a haven for the
insanely collective.
it took many ideas to foment
a pile of rotting soil.
Too many ideas is against
the Lord, I say.
COPYRIGHT ©️
It couldn’t take long
to even the keel
and separate the man from
the bird.
Mostly it took
nor even nor book
to licence the thrill
from its rook
-ery of chance.
Never before had the man
opened doors of the heart
and it’s whimsical place
on the hearth. But
no one ensured that the
right comes once more
as the wily men
of the Nansook poured
forth with their
anger for the tumult
and furs.
In the end it was just
to fight with mere listening
at the trials of the
men and machine.
But ever so long
it reported in song
that the hills were
now vacant of longing
for the arrow to shoot
the man with the loot
and it came about
that all were involute.
COPYRIGHT ©️
YOU ARE ME AND WE TWO ARE GOOD
It is the look of love you sought
and you found it in me withstand a kiss
that does not measure for
the sign is good
that you are able to see
that all the real members of State
are not going to see you
without seeing the end of all the ones
called the rare and ungained for the use of it
is not going to make you see that all
the will in the world does not need
you like I do sweet senora of mine
and I know it once you see
that all the rare and unearthed material
from our sword of Damocles
shall not be ready for when
the earth shatters
with our kiss.
You and I are one and the same
Ladies do not judge for she is better than
you shall ever know at the work of she
and that is one for the God above
to see and not hear for they do not judge
and know not what to find in the intimate
enjoyment o0f brother and sisterhood
like we find together.
You wilfind that all the wrongs do not matter and they
that do
do not understand what it is
they do.
You are victory and hat does not matter
for they are knew and they kind
of make you feel all the more than
the rest know in state and other guides
of life.
COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS com BRUCE P SAUNDERS com BRUCE CDF MORE 2020
Hold on Missus
Don’t give me no sassenach!
I ain’t no sausage
I be true blue Scots
From the degree called
Life !
I hold no care
Nor any time
For you
Unless you
Regularly
Hold my
Divine meter
And tempo
For me.
B
COPYRIGHT Bruce E Saunders com Bruce P Saunders com Bruce CDF More 2020
Your lissome regrets
Harbour no sails
As I groom you to know
I am not equal to your love
I sustain
You envelope
Me in your lusting
For More.
I wonder at my name
Prince William of Brit
For never shall I know
How you found me
Alone as a knave
Now my wish has been
Granted. I have found
A Tommy but you are
The swell I have been
Swimming for.
Lift me up so I surf
The Kalahari again
Resist not
Dear Kate
You are the timely
Saint of my
Longing. B
BCDFM
COPYRIGHT Bruce E Saunders 2020
TOO LONELY TO MAKE SENSE - AGELESS POETRY - DADA 