Who’s the hoo?

Who are your groups?
Blue groups
Blue groups

From where do they come?
Black lands
Dark skies

Who are your groups?
New groups
New groups

What do they know?
Black laughs
Dark lies

What do you wish for
bringing groups like yours here?
Bringing dreams full of shadows
hung with half-grand ideas?

What do you wish for?
What do you want?
How long have you waited?
How deep is your love?

Who are your groups
who have havoc to wreak?
Who laugh through the blood dripping smoke that you breathe?

These, your people,
Your troupes
Your troops

Who are your groups?
Who’s designs
lie on you?

 

Bo Ditty

You cannot save this, we haven’t time
I don’t even know, the problem’s not mine
Bring your ideas to the panel enquiry
We’ll hunt a scapegoat and write a story

With not enough hours left in today
To possibly find a possible way
Our enigma’s lost in convoluted drama’s
We’re busier than Barrack Obama

Weighted down by the rush to push
Never quite close enough to close, leaves
A feeling of ambiguous feebleness
Far from any routes culminating at Trust

Each of us in all life’s stations
Knows there’s more that can never be known
Moments die to a beat so sinister
Being busier than Barrack Obama

And right behind you
In your warm footprint
Another soul flairs on a familiar sprint
Repeating, reflecting, what you half captured
Still busier than Barrack Obama

Papparizlas (witchhunt)

Breezes fill my head!
She said, when asked
which life she’d take to bed.
What stupid question’s this?
She’d say, when questioned on replies she made.
My life’s just twice as fast as yours;
not saying that you all are bores!
But this one life I live’s not yours,
so please don’t like me to the whores!

But you’ve the choice of 2!
They’d brag – all confident, she was the Slag!
So never once kept in the bag –
their noisy claims
to have blagged the Hag.
I twice assure you – I’m just the one
I’ve always been this one
just me!
My lives all thought and told by you
remain to me a mystery.

You lying Tramp!
You’re twice the lass:
With one so sweet
and one with Brass!
We call your ID to the frame,
to watch you squirm
and shirk the blame.
Good grief! You kiddies,
you blind blokes!
Your blatant shite brings on these chokes.
This second life of Gawd Hussy
was never once lived out by me!

So whipped and shifted,
hyped and freed –
The stupid left the brave lady
and as the last one shut the door;
Her Crimson rose
and belched a ROAR!
And this then –
beast, which stalks at night –
sometimes breaks free when nought is light.