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Showing posts from September, 1998

Just Imagine, My Son

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28 Sept 1998  By Alex Nuttall - Bio



Just im a gine the sun  Foll ow ing the ri ver It sens es the life Co ming out of the u ni verse.
What a lie I have told you, My son, I do not know What the sun sens es.
Just im a gine that it Is there for you, Be cause it is, Why else would you know It?
Son, I love you. I watched you feed by your moth er‘s breast. You suc kled and you wept. You lov ed your mother And I lov ed her through you.
Just i mag ine What it was like, My son. You now hold your fish ing pole And yet you do not wish to catch Be cause you have your father. Your hook has not been checked for an hour Or so And you smile to your old-man And a tear goes out of you Like some squeez ed fruit. Son, love your mother. Love her boos em. Love her. Love life.
Call her, your mo ther, and then Call your wife; Call your sis ter, Call your daugh ter, Catt your vir gin moth er Ma ry, And call your mis tress; Call Kali Call Sha Di Yah
Just im ag ine the sun, If you would, my son, Be cause I lov…

Like Water

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25 September 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

At the beach  In the sand On the water By the boat Near the river To the sea We floated our souls
When the buoy sinks At the shore Near The castle The greatest leisure The kindest feature The able brow The bloody cloud The sable coat The moat We continued our trek
Your‘s is the seed Mine is the tandoor oven The bread is sweet See The shoal See The shell See The reams of fabric Test the waters with your toes My love My love My goodness‘s Your goodness reflects The creature's corral The gold On silver ls nice In nether words The chosen few Manipulate The waters
In the beach By the lake In The sand On The floor I'll be your man I‘ll do what I can I'll reap the belly Of you, laughing woman.


© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998 © Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017 20170624 -ABN


The Yellow Poem

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22 September 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

Yellow, a color not to be messed with,
Begins somewhere over there
Past the water and beyond the breeze
That blows the sand into the faces
Of children and adults
Camping and playing drums
In their minds
In their minds
In their minds.

Yellow is lodged in between
Red and Green
And people seldom obey its
Warning
Instead they speed up their pursuits
Afraid of Red
And missing Green
Missing Green
Missing Green
Missing Green.

Yellow is piss to people
It gets the attention,
But it gets nothing else.

© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 - 2017
20170723 -ABN


E... A... R... S... .

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10 Sept 1998 By Alex Nuttall - Bio

When Bill, The Bastard, ate bread
The rocky shore became
A brick thrown from the sea

Special munitions were launched
in fever of The Queen's knickers

Not sure when to Jump
Not sure when to hide
Colliding with The sea
And seagulls came resting together
in from of the heather

Resting seams like Bill
After getting it old and ill
And hilly
Like water-flies
The kind gentle water-flies
That rest upon your eyes
Water-flies

Crabs that catch the sun
in claws worn from Bill‘s hands
The Bastard lands another blow
Left up the neck and down
His crow
Like a brow
For an eye to meet
The sweet smell of success‘
Shorts
Sports
Ports
Port-wine
Have a good time in the rain,
Bill,
You comma-nist.

Subconscious jerking The shore
Again the planes dodge radar
To crash into the sun
That the crabs were holding by the ears
E... A... R... S...

Spoken from the plumage of the rummy hand.



© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OGFOM-K Arts 1998
© Alexander Blair Nuttall / OgFOMK ArTS 1998 …