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Do nothing – TB

15 Jan

If tomorrow the rain should stop,

How do we say it rained,

When the puddles dry

And the water drains?

If each of us vanishes into thin air,

Will this land feel any different?

If tomorrow the rain should stop,

And the field lay bare,

What do we say to the woman who asks

Why there’s no rice there?

And if we do nothing,

Does it matter?

And if we did something,

Would it matter a little less or a little more?

I don’t know.


Democracy – TB

22 Oct


Dem mock us, you see.

We had our vote,

Now drink your democraptea.


Dem become crass, you see.

They don’t represent us,

represent you,

represent me.


Dem narcotics.

Drunk and confused

On populist rhetoric.

Feel used, after power’s been abused.

Politicians, that’s dem all you see.

Pherfect – TB

18 Oct

The perfect canvas.

The perfect manners.

The perfect dress and

The perfect shoes meet

The perfect voice,

Which, always greets.

The perfect hair.

The perfect stare.

The perfect brain,

Always perfect, even in the rain.

And she only dates the most perfect boys.

Synthetic cloud – TB

7 Sep

Full of cloudy subtleties she is.

Meet the polka dot girl,

whose viscose brain has a synthetic mix.

Her velcro heart’s joined to mine like a brick.

And, yes, I’m still hung up like a coat hanger,

While she’s freely swaying

Like some clothes dancer.

My cloud’s tattered at the edges.

Hers dances lightly with the sky,

Encouraging a gentle shower

From which I take shelter

And she fledges yet another arrow.

You do? – TB

17 Jul

Wearing my judogi,

Don’t judge me.

I’m battling

You just don’t understand me,

you do?

They know no forms of gentleness,

At work,

My fellow judoka,

Ju no kata, no ju kata.

Keep it together.

Ju no ri

But you don’t want to be.

I resign.

Scilence – TB

29 Jun

End the silence or

It’s the end of science

End the silence or

They’ll start the seance.

End the silence.

Let’s end the violence.

This silence,

This fight against science.

The End.

Music for dreams – TB

18 Mar

She writes her music for dreams

Between sunsets and sundowns.

Times in between,

In her days of whys and how,

She destroys

The myths about Albion

scrawled across the pages of Ivanhoe.

Her music is for dreamers,

Silent screamers,

Those they talk down to,

Those simply letdown,

Hidden behind screens,

Not those feted upon stage.

For these dreamers she writes music

Music for dreams,

For dreams they can grow old with.