Sarah the cynic knows

Sarah the cynic knows 

The verse it tells it so 

All gods are deluded and vain 

All gods love to inflict pain 

For at ninety her belly with child did grow 

Yes Sarah knows what a God’s naivety can sow 

A German thinker thought gods were dead 

He forgot his fellow humans are god bred 

A fool might think science  is the new god 

A fool it is said can spot a bloody  sod 

Yes Sarah knows what  gods can sow 

At sixty five we’ll call it close enough 

science can call itself a god in the buff

For science cogs are turning out sprogs 

Oh for there stupidity does the human race grow

Yes Sarah knows what an egotistical  god can sow .

© bg 2015

The low tide line

I walked on down to the new low tide line

to read the txt u sent me cross the dateline

 you said     ” soul mate

                       soul mate”

 I’m coming back into your time

but to you  I ain’t coming back

 hey well that hurts okay cause trashcan poets

 prepare for the thwack

cause yet again 

 there’s always a desert covered in snow

  where sadness melts into music

 that young tattooist sow.

 there’s a tangled wilderness hibernating

 black limbs waiting to germinate

 through  my stagnating  

burnt

sacrificed

contaminated

living weeping flesh

Lifting into your clouds my worn bones  

where my bean stalk connections

to your heartland mesh

 Then they are constantly destroyed by cyclones

 now I wait as i fall the spiders to rebuild

their light silken dream catchers to save

my scattered raining skeleton that’s been spilled

 Into states off  disarrangement from the grave

where suspended i await resurrection

cause there’s always a chance

 as long as there’s hopes benediction

even after many a year

“isn’t there ?”

©bg 2013

I Won’t Ever Land on the Moon

it’s somewhere deep sounding in the darkness of the search light 
where as a waif i sail as an unfeathered untethered kite
caught in the winking eye of a secret storm of miracles 
dropping down from ever descending decreasing pinnacles 
looking at the world as if it were becoming real again 
i’ve seen why the pallid frightened moon stays numbed to feel sane 
comes a time when looking at the ceiling 
becomes a drunk inverted hour glass feeling 
cause now I’m funnelling towards the floor as nose bleed sand 
yeah the worlds a balled up fist not an open helping hand 
there’s the moon and then there’s me and never the twain
but i know we both hide when ever it does rain

©bg 2013