Old Man's Hands

My Old Man's fingers,
like crags unexplored.
Outcrops of rocks from boulderous palms.
Snubs of nails, hard worked and worn.
Worn skin, worn well.
And yet I've never seen them before.

Sure,
I've held them and they've held me.
But,
I've never known those comforting limbs,
those analogue digits;
Old school, schooled hard, hardened by life.
They can break, they can hold;
They can hold a family together.
They can dig...
scratch...
fix...
make...
create.

My Old Man's hands have seen so much,
experienced it all.
They may not feel as well,
but others have felt because of them.
They may not clutch with a strength once known,
once abused.
They may not do many things.
But they have done many things,
and many things more.

My Old Man's hands.
Weathered.
Torn.
Battered.
Delicate.
Flawed.
Perfect.
Perfectly feeling...
felt...
feel,
perfect.
My Old Man's hands.

What Are You?

Calling you a dog is too good for you.
Dogs are loyal to those that're close;
Dogs only attack when threatened;
Dogs have courage under fire;
You are not a dog.
Calling you a worm is too good for you.
Worms live in harmony together;
Worms work together;
Worms eliminate waste;
You are not a worm.
Calling you a snake is too good for you.
Snakes have a tough skin;
Snakes are strong;
Snakes are a symbol of rebirth;
You are not a snake.
Calling you an ass is too good for you.
Asses carry heavy loads;
Asses work hard;
Asses are calm;
You are not an ass.
Calling you a chicken is too good for you.
Chickens get riled up;
Chickens keep pests down;
Chickens will peck and attack;

You are not a chicken.

Calling you a rat is too good for you.
Rats are social;
Rats are smart;
Rats consider all to be family;
You are not a rat.
Calling you a name is too good for you.
You don't deserve the words,
the breath,
the thought,
you are worthless.

Still My Queen

I may have fallen from my throne,
Lost the crown upon my head,
Become a pauper that I bemoan,
No longer winning any bread.
My jewels are gone, now pebbles.
I am the ruler of anything no longer.
I have fallen down many levels,
There is nothing here to conquer.
But through it all you remained,
Beside me, yet still atop your throne.
Through it all you never blamed,
You just listened to me cry and moan.
You always know better than I do,
That I will rise again, a phoenix,
The king you deserve to sit beside you,
You see me strong in this weakness.
One day we will reign together again,
Throned beside each other again,
I will be the king to your queen again,
I know it will all be okay in the end.

Nobody Else Matters

You mumble and you mutter
poisonous nothings.
You were bred badly,
born badly,
raised badly.
"Its not your fault,"
you claim.
Is it not?
Are the Manson children expected to be murderous?
Are the Cruise kids deemed weird before they have a chance?
Anyone can change who they were,
who they are,
who they will be;
as long as they want to.
But a lot of people don't want to.
Their too-hard basket is always brimming,
always in search of a bigger basket,
instead of doing something, anything, about it.
This is you.
Don't expect others to change you.
Don't expect others to help you.
Nobody really cares.
You can go on like this,
not changing,
not growing,
barely existing.
Or you can throw that basket into the wind,
let those past things flutter away,
forget who you said you would be.
Instead, just be.
Fuck everyone and everything else.
The only person that matters is you.
Nobody else.
Be the person you want to be.
Fuck that too-hard basket.
Life is hard -
get used to it.

28 Days Later

Only women bleed,
and thank fuck for that!
It's the reason they can't have nuclear codes.
It's the reason they can't be in power.
It's the reason they are repressed.
If men turned into cunts once a month,
they'd be repressed too.
Removed from the power to kill mindlessly.
Allowed to have no power at all.
Parliament and its power would be handed over to more reasonable animals,
like mice, or rats,
or sloths, or wombats.
Unfortunately we have to live with this,
and them.
Women.
Its unfair, I now realise.
Women should be shipped off to an island,
once a month,
to take it out on each other.
Not us.
Like a Hunger Games of bleeding cunts.
Being murderous bitches to each other.
Leave us men out of it!
We have our own shit to deal with,
without your fluctuating moods.
I love you.
I hate you.
You're nice.
You're nasty.
You're a cunt.
I'm a cunt.
The tears, the yells, the sobs, the swears.
Nothing is ever good enough.
But, then it is - after the floods have passed,
the rains have ceased,
the blood has dried and been washed away.
I love you.
I'm sorry.
I know, I know,
it wont happen again.
But then,
28 days later...

Count On Me

Count On Me

I want to touch you in a million ways,

And plant a thousand kisses on your face.

I would sail across one hundred seas,

To tell you,

You’re the only one for me.

With stars twinkling, billions above us,

We are the only two star crossed lovers.

I would count up to infinity,

To tell you,

You’re the only one for me.

If every rose had five hundred thorns,

Then I would pick you every single one.

You know you can always count on me,

To tell you,

You’re the only one for me.

J. Barrett

Name Unknown

Name Unknown

She lives in a cramped apartment,

stark grayed walls and dim light.

A painting fades from the suns rays,

that penetrate the grime.

No window drapes or coverings,

open instead to the fading sunlight,

and the cold of night.

A kettle on the sill,

no space on the counter.

A bed pushed to the corner,

facing a small TV on a small table,

sat upon a sea of papers,

and red letter bills.

Clothes in piles,

nowhere to hang.

A candle melted down and dead.

A deck of cards scattered and missing.

A soggy joker is in the bathroom,

sharing the cramped room of mildew,

with a black queen.

The shower head points to the toilet.

At the basin only the cold tap works.

The small medicine cabinet erupts,

spewing bottles, pots and tubes.

Wrinkled 2-ply and a puddle,

where the drain is blocked.

A run of water escapes,

slowly tracing a familiar trail,

across the worn lino,

toward the fading painting.

The home is silent and still,

as the rooms creak and drip.

She is working one of her three jobs.

She is never home.

She is never on top.

She never stops thinking how happy she should be.

She never stops to think how happy she is.

She is never living.

She doesn't want to be alive.

Her name is...

By J. Barrett

The Perfect Pair

The Perfect Pair

Like those shoes that fit so snug,

Or two perfectly matching gloves.

Like glasses that cut out the glare,

We are the perfect pair.

Like sinning socks (they're not holey),

And avocado and lime in guacamole.

Like those lucky pants that we wear,

We are the perfect pair.

Like those laces that tie up your shoes,

Or those laceless leather boots.

Like the scissors in the silverware,

We are the perfect pair.

Like your beautiful eyes that I see,

Or the tweezers you use to tweeze.

Like your silk and satin underwear,

We are the perfect pair.

By J. Barrett

Dear People of The Future

            Dear people of the future:

           

            Forgive us.

            Forgive us for draining the earth dry of its oil, sucking out the gasses, drawing all the precious minerals, leaving gaping holes filled with our sordid waste.
            Forgive us for piling the oceans with our plastic and poison; and annihilating all the fish.

            Forgive us for taking all the beautiful trees, we did plant some more, but we took them too.

            Forgive us for filling the air with toxins, for filling the earth with toxins and for filling our bodies with toxins; you are surely still paying.

            Forgive us for trying to play God with the flora and fauna. How many legs do chickens have now? Are cows just walking udders? Does corn grow storeys high? Is the grass still green? We killed so many species, yet tried to create more.

            Forgive us for being more interested in how we looked instead of how we felt.

            Forgive us for exploring the new frontier of space, before we fully understood our own vast front yard and deepest oceans.

            But most of all, forgive us for leaving you the job of cleaning up our mess

            We're sorry.

Teen Angst

Teen Angst

Teenage angst is the result of realising your parents can be wrong,

            make mistakes,

                        aren't that special,

                                    and are just like everybody else.

Parental angst comes from realising your children realise this.

Teens start to see their parents in themselves,

            realising that they have gotten similar qualities,

                        and they hate it.

Parents start to see their kids in themselves,

            realising that they have given similar qualities,

                        and they hate it.

And teenage angst lasts forever,

            it's just angst,

                        parental angst;

                                    family angst.

Test the theory,

            try living with your parents - again.

Cinnamon Kiss

Cinnamon Kiss

The sweet pepper smell of cinnamon permeates;

I can't wait, with my wild heart rate,

For you to satiate my needs and abate my seeds.

Drain my body, pull upon my soul,

Tug at my skin, make my head spin.

I'll be the ruler of hell if this is a sin,

When we begin to be akin within.

Outside is tingles and energy;

Our bodies are ready to feel the steady beat,

From head to feet, of another's heart beat.

Skin pulses, veins throb,

Clothes come off,

Inhibitions come off;

Skin finds intimate skin,

Matching those feelings within.

Nothing else exists,

Except Two and the one thing that persists,

The sweet pepper smell of a cinnamon kiss.

My Queen

My Queen 

Sometimes I'm a jerk who doesn't think before I speak

But that doesn't mean my knees still don't go weak

Sometimes I say things that are poisonous and mean

But that doesn't make you any less of my queen

Sometimes I might not appreciate what it is for us you do

But I still think we're equals, it's not a me plus a you

Sometimes I'm short, curt and obscure

But that doesn't mean my love for you isn't pure

Sometimes I might not treat you the best

But that doesn't mean that I love you any less

Sometimes I might act like I'm sitting high above you

But I'm not, you're my perfect partner and I love you

X

Free as a Bird in a Cage

Free as a Bird in a Cage

A bird born in a cage knows no different,
Those wire walls are his realm.
Beyond them is a world he’ll never know,
Unless he escapes their comfort.
But given the chance, with the door left open,
Would he take it, venturing forth?
To stay where he knows, where he feels safe,
Is the easy option that most take.
But if that door stays open a long enough time,
He might just spread his wings, fly.
He might leave the comfort of those wiry walls,
Soaring through a sky of blue,
Fly high above mountains, or swooping down,
To leave ripples on a rivers waters.
He could flit amongst cities full of endless noise,
Or glide above an ocean quiet.
He could get out there and see the whole world,
Realising it was more than the cage.
If he left behind the comfort of those walls of wire,
Leaving behind him what’s known,
He would see that a whole world awaits him,
With the adventure of the unknown.
If the door was left open of his humble abode,
Would he spread his wings and fly?
Would you?

By J. Barrett

My Own Man

My Own Man

I know I'm a failure in your eyes. 

But your version of failure is different to mine. 

Failure to you is an old school view.
Failure to me is basically not being happy. 

Where you see my failures, 

I see success. 

I left sadness behind me long ago, 

And I refuse to have it back. 

Sure, to you I might seem slack, lax and whimsical. 

But to me you seem stiff, bored, just simply existing. 

Going through the motions of life without living. 

Don't hate me for what it is I've become; 

After all, you had a hand in this, 

I am your son.

By J. Barrett

An Irish Nightmare

An Irish Nightmare

Thirty three thieves thickly thought,

Of the thousands that they would thwart.

Thereafter they thoroughly theorised,

Of the thrill that they therefore thrived.

The theft from thimble to throne,

Thwarting all with thrust and throw.

Those thugs through the thistles thundered,

Thrashing the thickening thorns thereunder.

Then those thieves, in the throes of thirst,

Thieved the thermos from their third;

The third thief thrashed the thirteenth thug,

Thumping the thirteenth thief a thorough thud.

The third thief was thereby throttled, although,

He threw his thumb at the thirty third throat.

In the throes of thumps, that thatch of thieves,

Got thwarted in the thicket, in throes of threes.

Those thwarted thieves, now thoroughly thin,

Those thirty three stuck thickly forever therein.

By J. Barrett

Still Life

Still Life


The rose petals fall dead to the floor,
Separating from a dead stem.
The vase, once full of life and colour,
Now is dry and barren and dusty.
The thorns, once green and juicy,
Are now hardened evil talons,
Waiting behind the dirty glass,
To attack anything soft and supple.
The last petal falls dead to the floor,
Its colour darkened and dried.
Sitting still in the dust,
Floral blood on the wooden boards.
The house is still.
The petals are still.
Life is still. Is gone.

By J. Barrett

Forever Sorry

Forever Sorry


I’m sorry that I hurt you,
I’m sorry that you cried,
I deserved those punches thrown at me,
After I told you that I’d lied.
I’m sorry that it went this way,
I’m so sorry that it did.
I’d like to say “in another lifetime”
But who’m I trying to kid.
I’m sorry that it went this way,
Ending up with a broken heart,
I’m sorry we didn’t realise these things,
From the very start.
But I’m not sorry for what we had,
Nor the good times that we shared,
And I know you don’t believe this,
But I really, really cared.
I’m sorry you don’t believe me now,
When I say I still care for you,
My actions don’t reflect my words,
But I’ll always be here for you.
I’m sorry that I hurt you bad,
I’m sorry that you cried,
And I’m sorry that what we had,
Seems to finally have died.

By J. Barrett

I'm Sorry

I’m Sorry


I miss you already,
My friend for so long.
My lover, my partner,
Whom I treated so wrong.
I miss you so much,
And it’s been only a day.
If I could go back,
I wonder what I would say.
Would I tell you the truth,
That hurt you so deep?
Or would I cover it up,
So this thing I could keep?
I miss you around,
Laughing all about our past.
But I fucked it all up,
With my honesty; ass!
I miss seeing you smile,
I miss seeing you at all.
And I feel so bad about it,
The truth rendered me small.
I’m sorry that I hurt you,
I’m sorry that you cried,
I’m sorry that I killed us,
I’m sorry that we died.
We were building back up,
To where we were then.
But that buildings now crumbled,
Never to be built up again.

By J. Barrett

Now You Know

Now You Know


I hurt you over and over again,
All because I’m battling insecurities.
I used you, discarded you,
But we still came back for more.
I treated you unworthy,
I lied to you and laid with others.
I dragged you down inside my head.
I set that ship in motion,
And then I sunk it later on.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that you met me.
I’m sorry I pulled you in.
I’m sorry I was never good enough.
I’m sorry for what I’ve done.

By J. Barrett

Great Brown Land

Great Brown Land

Travelling this wide open road,

A wound slashed ‘pon the earth.

Roadside trees dusted with dirt,

Rusted delicate sculptures.

Marbles of rock fling with a zing,

Bouncing before joining their brethren again.

The coppery earth crunches ‘neath rubber,

Throwing up plumes of dust.

The spinifex sprouts in spurts,

Rooted deep into earth hard and dry.

The clouds above are yellow and grey,

Brushstrokes on a canvass blue.

The sun is kind at this time of day,

Before it’s rise to a higher power.

Ranges in the distance, grey and hazy,

A teasing mirage of a cool, wet ocean.

The air is dry, the dirt is dry,

Everything is dry,

Especially the flies.

They buzz incessantly,

Their fervour increased,

In their search for moisture.

Eyes, nose, mouth, ears,

The sweat of any man or beast.

And where the land has escaped man’s hand

It’s beautiful.

By J. Barrett