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  1. The windows fogged up with condensation,
    Bacon sizzles, burning in a pan,
    she leans on the counter,
    eyes looking nowhere.
    Toast pops.
    She turns with a butter knife,
    Nothing to wear under her gown,
    Lights up a cigarette between her lips,
    She is thanks without a glance,
    Breakfast presented on the table.
    Sitting on a wooden stool,
    she picks a piece of toast from his plate,
    Kissed on the head and grunted salutations.
    Alone at home she cleans and she smokes,
    Maybe at lunch she will dress and paint her nails.
    Tight ripped jeans and bright print top,
    Too the shops to gather toilet paper and beer.
    Devilled sausages and mashed potato,
    a fine prepared cuisine.
    Sit's opposite him a the table,
    sip's beer and dips bread in the gravy.
    Shower together, there is only one towel.
    Carried to bed, have sex with her there,
    Beautiful wife sit's in bed,
    wearing nothing under her gown,
    her smoke burns between her fingers,
    and occasionally between her lips,
    Something's on her mind.

    Kerry Samuel
    Aug/Sep 2007
  2. Times are changing, or am I?

    I feel like I have learn't and changed so much over the years but I wonder, am I just adapting? My goals are still the same as they were when I was a child, they are still unachieved. But I'm not anywhere near where I started, the environment, the people around me, everything is different, people and places have changed. But I don't think I have, I adapt to who and what is around me, but when left to my own devises and uninfluenced by anyone, I still spend that time doing exactly what I used to do as a child. I'm not going to specifically admit to what some of those activities might be, but I still write poems, read, fly kites and plenty more of what I used to do as a child. Maybe I'm old fashioned, I'd be more than happy tucked up in a little house somewhere raising my kids loving my partner, I have a horse or two in the paddock and a billy hidden out the back deck and I would be set!!!!
    So I don't aspire to have a career and really don't care enough about money, I'm happy getting buy, some say I'm lazy, I say they are greedy, we do we want more than what our parents gave us, like it wasn't good enough (without starting a fight about who had the roughest ride in childhood) generally speaking why do parents tell children they deserve more like their parents trying there ultimate hardest wasn't ever good enough? A few generations down the track and now we are all, working and socialising all at the same time, our life is kept in our phones and laptops and it seems our heats might just stop beating and the sky's might start melting if our phones run out of battery in an untimely fashion....
    I'm 27 I have no children and own nothing much at all, this isn't my lap top I'm using, and not my studio I'm hanging out in, I'm not anything close to being married and my mother is telling me I must settle down before it's to late? ummm a few questions?
    By settle down? settle, that word could be taken a few ways now couldn't it? and what is it we all settle down for, or into?

    What is the rush, must I settle down, must I start having babies just because I'm nearing 30? but I don't have a job, or a fixed abode? or savings or a healthy lifestyle, why are you suddenly encouraging me to rush into this if I was 16 it would be a very different type of settle down now you would be demanding would't it??

    Anyway's that was a muddle to rant out, but I just wanted to say in my own little way!
  3. Living in filth,
    too feral for rats n mice,
    he's scabbed and scared,
    and itching from lice,
    it's all because he,
    can't stop smoking the ice.
    Carries a stench of death,
    he's wasting his life.
    Lost in the drama, drugs, fights, strife,
    and dreams back to the days,
    that were shared with friends,
    and his life felt nice.
    The pain, cuts like the sharpest knife.
    Doesn't want to be alive,
    grabs a light, smokes another pipe,
    one last escape on his final night.
    He's lost the fight,
    another junkie solider falls before daylight.
    Behind, he's left three kids and a wife,
    three sons without a father.
    One broken mum, who suffers her sons anger,
    she can't stop them; chasing danger;
    attacking strangers; killing state rangers;
    fucking dirty hoe bangers;
    they told her not to fall in love with that looser.

    She made her own trap,
    when she started chasing that rat,
    she could have done better,
    her parents had spoiled her, little brat.
    After lust she ran away,
    leaving, nothing and no thanks,
    but a selfish letter.
    The stupid little bitch thought she was smarter,
    she should have listened to her mother,
    so her sons could still have a father.
    She didn't believe,
    what they could all see,
    even since she's started hiding bruises under long sleeves,
    skirts down past her knees.
    So just for some peace,
    she lets him smoke some relief,
    let the children sleep,
    get through the night, without him making her bleed,
    let him have his kicks,
    he won't hit the kids,
    he might even give us a hug and a kiss.
    And for a short while,
    pretend all is well, and life is bliss,
    until he falls from his high,
    and stops to smile,
    shares his anger again for a while.
    Till he gets hold of her stash,
    their only cash,
    and takes off into the night,
    one less fight to fight.

    Born into a childhood that left them scared,
    their father...violent...a real psychopath,
    or just a wasted paranoid schizo, and his messed up wrath,
    a lifetime of emotional pain and panic,
    a traumatic void left, terrified and manic.
    Humiliated and too scared to be the victim's,
    they inflict their pain,
    on their mother, weaklings and other easy pickings.
    The tears the secretly shed,
    the times the cowered with lowered head's,
    or hid under their bed's,
    all the nights they wet their bed's,
    personal shames they can't,
    put in a grave along with,
    their dead junkie father, and the mess he made.
    time to stand up, act up and be brave
    Struggling in the real world,
    trying to make end meet end,
    love her, but won't live like her,
    break the trend,
    these heavy days are a heaven send,
    we are better, stronger men,
    and can't be stopped by the old man's dead end.

    December 2011
    Kerry Samuel
  4. A Russian man has been arrested after allegedly digging up the bodies of two dozen women, dressing them up as dolls and keeping them in his apartment. Anatoly Moskvina's parents allegedly found at least 26 bodies in his three-room apartment in the Russian city of Nizhny_Novgorod when they returned from holidaying at their summer house, KTLA reports.
    The 45-year-old historian is accused of digging up the bodies from a cemetery at night using a shovel and carrying them home in plastic bags. Once in his apartment, Moskvina allegedly dressed the bodies, all women aged 15 to 26.
    Photos show one body wearing a dress and stocking while another appears to be dressed like a teddy bear, KTLA reports.
    Moskvina was reportedly fascinated with cemeteries and had visited more than 750, even spending the night sleeping in some on benches. He is also believed to have once slept in a coffin. It is not yet clear what charges Moskvina faces.

    MSN News - New Zealand
  5. To my big bro and my partners mum, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :):):):)