Some more of my poems  Click here

My other poems and verse are spread around in bestpoet.com

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To a NZ Herald writer who called US-Waihopai-spy protestors 'loony'.

John you and your editorial board should be made to pick your way through the remains of a terror raid by America or Israel who have used lunatic mad drones on civilians.

General Eisenhower ordered such tours on Germans who lived near Nazi concentration camps and proclaimed no knowledge of the horror within them.

He also warned bleakly of the future horror of the American military-industrial complex let loose on the world.

Your essay, March 20 2010,is just awful. Shallow and nasty like a mother's boy pouting over a housekeeping infraction. Toughen up! Stop being loony collaborator. Resign!

I do not subscribe to "the war on terror" unless it is to war on that demonic evil sick immoral war that America now wages.You should look up "The Pink Swastika" a book on nazis which explains why they could be so callously mad and sadistically cruel.

The "Prussians of the South Pacific" my country men alarm me now -loony letters- fruity almost gay bleatings.. eg the 3 prisoners had 'poor dress sense' and many concerns about plastic being hurt. Gay violent junk food media is turning kiwi men into squeally girly nazi drips and lunatic dangerous.

http://www.bestpoet.com

The Talkback Terrorist of New Zealand.

For our old folk that are not being allowed to lead or guide and be respected and protected

ANTIQUE JOURNEY by Brian Evans

My canoe is made of water,
With its paddle of soft cool air,
My body seems all hazy light,
Even my whitened hair ;
Lads and lassies speak my name,
Or sing as I leave earth’s shore,
But a little sigh escaped those lips,
When that heartbeat was no more--
Less a sigh, more like fretting :
Is this my dying King Arthur--
And where is my Sir Bedivere?
A little child now takes my hand
And laughs as if at play--
“Well hello sir—I died just yesterday.”

The Olde Bull

All was calm, near sleep or stil

Above the brow of Prisoners’ Hill,

White flowers of the risen night,

Glowed round the moon, that baffling sight,

And bats from verdant hunger trails,

Flapped to dark and castled caves,

Whose wrinkled rocks grew gypsy warm,

With bats' voluptuous ancient form :

One joyous generating head

Hung down in tribal rest. Well fed,

The lustrous light outside,

Floated borne by fine web spider thread.

One stressed crazed sexton stumbled still--

--Craving his church ding dong ropes to pull--

Even one comfort bell--with some kind hymn on the side--

Trevor’s brain crunches cogs with his business ‘Satan Mills.’

New Order mills and coffee are hypertension high slides,

Trevor’s New Dis-Order hands are like hot wet gills ;

Trevor panics and pelts down Ecumenic Hill,

And ends dignity-impaled on his parish old bull.

"Olde bull I thought you were my church rustic stile,

I should have stayed in my icy bed awhile."

"More moans from money’s tied man," the Olde Bull said,

"Money ignores our people-centered Christ’s "Be still!"

"So Christ is yours as well," gruff pious pants said,

"Which Eco Christian faith encourages your head?"

"Well a good loaf and a fish were our good Jesus' treats,

Bulls love serene saviours who steer clear of steer meats."

Our punctured sexton is borne to St. Bandaid Hospital,

Where Doctor L.O. Bull reseats every corpuscle.

Trev’s chafed cheeks both sealed our grateful lunarian,

Like Darwin’s first bull, trots now sugarless-vegetarian :

Calmer, handsome, with nearly dry hooves... er...hands ;

Trev is two veterinarian’s tissues just short of perfection!

With Trev’s moods improved May Magdalene who had left him,

(May is a Weight Watch Diploma, in Bulimia Remission)

Canters home to try Trev’s trans-meditation reflections ;

Both also try bellowing as moonlighting muezzins--

Which really breaks up the town’s bickering and divisions!

Just by turning our eyes to bat-moon’s soft stars,

Night’s love seems to float in to dew in our hearts.

Though some souls are bullish for more magical rebirth,

New bull follows old bull towards our final true worth......

For Our Prince of Wales

       Goodbye England's Rose,
      Goodbye England's Ears,
      Goodbye austere clean and green,
      Snuff movies are the trend :
      At Balmoral we began ,
      But to Camelot we wend.
      See Republic's Fairy Tale tents,
      Its tinsel spikes and spears....
      The Prince of Wales unsheathes his sword,-
      " Not one step more my friends!
      You shall not weep on Oprah's Show,
      Confessing up you are weak and low;
      This sceptred isle is not A Label,
      'The Guest' on New Order's woofter Babel,
      For franchise to the highest bidder:
      Our Ophelias drowned by coke and crisps,
      Obese and flaky, besotted by murder,
      Bulumiac to their fingertips;
      Our Hamlets with their fathers cuckold
      By our deep throat media fopholes.
      Rally round the flag men,
      Each Rose must help her man :
      They are bombing St. Paul's again.
      Like St. Paul's we will beat their bombs,
      And fight on to the day,
      Hearts of oak look to England,
      And our Roses bloom again,
      All our Roses bloom again !"

Health for Dummies
The Anorexic- bulimiac tries to control everyone,
and is in turn controlled, by whom ?
My answer:  the  media   psychologists  
and the victim's own  junk fooded metabolism
The food is the physiology
(you are what you eat)
The entertainment is the physiology
(you are what you see)
The physiology is the function,
the function is the forum
and the forum becomes the State
A sick physiology becomes a sick State,-
the Anorexic-Bulimiac sick State
This sick State uses the icon
of the distressed victim, as a 'good cause',
we should all look up to and coddle
and much time, energy, capital, and resources
especially media are expended in the folly,
until all the resources point
or join like spokes
to the sick hub of a doomed wheel.

NEW  SORTOFLAND

New Zealand is the land of the little limp sort of:

Many a sentence sort of pops up a sort of ;

We kiwis sort of love to soften our verb,

To give thought more time, before brash nerve

Sets free, much we would rather leave

Closed; our mouths sort of are minder sieves;

Unlike Americans' giant Elmer Gantry jaws:

"Oh my gosh Tammy we just gotta talk here!"

We sort of cease talk or sidle out of there.

Plaque versus toothpaste?--that we can bear,

Many of us were frozen, folded arms boys.....

Sad and perplexed, little painted lead toys;

Please don't invite kiwis to your body bag wars—

Our silent divisions breed savage war lords!

WALK!

To a car, just add dust, water and falling leaves,

bird droppings, and spiders;

soon the first troops of nature's green counter-revolution,-

 green slime, that never stops looking, searching, appear,...
Leave it long enough,........

And you could have car potatos. Enjoy!
MY CAR AND ME - NO LONGER A THREAT TO MAN

AND I GET HEALTH AND STRENGTH BY WALKING

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