Private side

 This is a moment for myself
It's just me and no one else
I'm all alone right now
Put up my feet and rest my head
This is a moment for myself

This is a moment for myself
I'm obligated to my health
To keep some privacy once in a
while
So there you see
This is a moment for myself

So please let me be
surrounded by serenity
So please let me be
in here, wrapped in privacy
Away from everyone
Away from everything
This is a moment to myself

No, all you Unwashed Bastards,
Get your mind from the gutter,
I know what you are thinking,
Those thoughts you shouldn't utter.
Charlie has talked about rhyming couplets,
And yes she is my wife,
But if you think that was anything rude,
Your mind is running rife,
For, yes, she posted a rhyming post,
As I am prone to do,
But the image of our rhyming couplet,
Has nothing to do with you.                                                    

:)                                                    

I still can't believe my wife is now                                                   

a member - good side - she meets all                                                   

my treasured Unwashed friends.
bad side - she meets all my treasured                                                   

Unwashed friends and uses the computer more.                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz

Virtual Star Embryology

Ancient times, perfect, solitude in the
desert
Air, atoms, the planet of causality

Yes, a native child
Conception
The embryo of philosophy

Egg, perfect, the origin in the nest
A stamen, a pistil, one seed

Yes, a native child
Growth
The child of philosophy

And Lunar Heaven, Mercurial Heaven,
Venusian Heaven
Solar Heaven, Martian Heaven, Jovian
Heaven
Saturnian Heaven, Sidereal Heaven,
Motive Heaven

Further circular infinity without end

One organic system
One perpetual motion device

Ah, it is an empty movement
That is an empty movement. It is.

-J.A. Seazer

=) 

"vinegar wounds"

Disclaimer: There is no disclaimer. I'm in a very testy mood and this is how I'm feeling right now. It's a dark poem, I guess, kinda my way of venting without injuring anyone emotionally or physically.. Um, it's a jealousy/insecurity/completely confused writing, not really sure why I'm posting, but er, I am. So here it is. =P
"vinegar wounds"

you are a goddess
you are a demon
you transcend me
even when i'm dreaming
i hate you
and yet i love you too
and when i think about it
i don't know what to do
i don't like to think
i'd rather just live
don't talk about the future
because the past i can't forgive
how can i deny someone
something they want so bad
how can i allow someone
if it makes me feel this bad?
i get so sick sometimes
living off of bile
and mismatched rhymes
i can't spit my venom on you
because you don't understand
the things you do
you mean me no harm
yet i perceive you a threat
cuz my indirect pain
is for your benefit
i want to go somewhere and cry
want to vomit up blood until i die
because if i can't be the only
i don't want to be the any
i've never been okay
with winning second place
i can never take that trophy
and keep a smiling face
but what if
yeah what if
what if i'm not good enough
to win first?

The city streets
I walk alone
People passing by
With measured steps
And steady gait
No-one meets my eye

They turn without seeing
Away from my path
I journey on with ease
My destination unknown
But what does it matter
My therapy's walking the streets

Through wind or calm
Or rain or shine
Or sun hidden in the clouds
I'll still walk on
My head held high
But alone within the crowds

"Feel"

Now I stand here, waiting
Dark thoughts moving
To and fro, destroying, creating
Why must I feel?
Now, in the summer of my own discontent
I pray for my demons
To sleep and relent
You spoke the words they wanted to hear
I bid thee leave, come nowhere near
All this havoc, this damage wrought
Was our sacrifice for naught?
Injustice rears his ugly head
I beg to take your place
Let me be the lamb instead
These things I know, these things I see
I haven't changed, but I know I'm not me
No longer of iron
No longer of steel
I dread these dreams I know are real
I'm given a gift, the gift of rage
But I'm no prophet and I'm no sage
These moments of greatness
Our moments of pain
Was it worth it, all to stop this?
You offered shelter from the cold rain
I've seen my shadow and my angel flicker
And I've watched the devils come and whisper
Nothing to see, nothing to say
I can't stop her from going away
Why must I feel?
Humanity's a curse
And the vessel of fools
I look back upon this
And my rusted tools
No longer seem fitting, and in their disrepair
I'm no longer able to seek her there
So on I've waited my whole lifetime
Is feeling a weakness, is loving a crime?
Before I forever leave your light
I bid you all farewell and goodnight

Night Owl keeps on ragging me,
About my housework chores,
Well, this is not my favourite subject,
To me it always bores.
So, to appease the Poetry bastards,
I will get of my backside,
I will finally tidy up this place,
Before the proprty values slide.
So, where to start I wonder?
I think it's with the rug,
I'll carefully sweep up every crisp,
Every butt and bug.
Carefully I'll pile them up,
And to the right place bequeath,
I'll diligently store them in the right place,
Lift up the rug - underneath.
Then the dishes I will tackle,
Stacked precariously in the sink,
The cockraoches have been feasting,
The pile it sure does stink!
So, outside they shall all be thrown,
And for those that survive,
I shall hose the grimy bits off,
They shall know they're alive.
Them to the bathroom I shall venture,
Here we know it as a loo,
No stain shall be left unscrubbed,
I shall fear no poo.
The stains that are so tenacious,
I shall not be placid,
I will attack them with great gusto,
With hydrochloric acid.
The empty beer bottles will not go to waste,
This I will assure you,
Those suckers can be used again,
For Night Owl's Hellish brew.
The pizza cartons will be stored,
The rubbish truck coming soon,
Until then I'm sure the astronauts,
Will see it from the moon.
The tears in the upholstery,
With thread I shall soon mend,
Anything wider than a foot,
For professionals I will send.
The complaints from the neighbours,
And the legal writs,
I will direct them to Bill Clinton,
He'll be further in the, er, troubles.
The damage to the big tele,
For this Flipper we thank,
We'll seal it up with sealant,
And make a big fish tank.
For the damage to the paintwork,
It is easily mended,
We'll bag on some coloured clay,
And call it "artfully renderred".
For the low hanging chandalier,
Upon which was swung,
I won't name the culprit,
Or the causing type of fun, 
But I'll get a volunteer to go up,
And from the roof pull it through,
It is an easy fix you see,
And the least that we can do.
To finish of the cleaning further,
To be pleasing to the nose,
I'll venture down to the garden,
And run through the hose.
But all this thinking's made me thirsty,
I feel a little queer,
Ahhh, I'm not doing cleaning,
Give me another beer!                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz