Sitting down with a bag of deep fried chips,
knowing the fatness and greasy stuff goes to hips,
the beach waves roll from blue to white,
as the sand is blanketed by rippling light,
the birds land nearby smelling an easy meal,
give them a little as good to feel,
throw a chip among the crowd,
they scream excitedly very loud,
seeing a poor one legged gull standing near,
looking sad with hunger and fear,
distract the others by throwing further away,
wondering if the one legged has eaten today,
slipping it a chip to watch it gobble up,
then some more from an almost empty cup,
poor seagull missing a leg,
how would he survive unless to beg,
then as about to leave,
the seagull drops the other leg would you believe,
the little scamming cheating bird,
was smart enough to trick now you have heard.

calm of the heart with waiting patiently for the next turn,
as the time passes by getting more concern,
the echoing ticks of the clock hands spinning around,
with concentration of all that surround,
another number called but not your own,
as now the next turn must be yours being alone,
minutes feel like hours at this time of wait,
with being patient is a feeling of hate,
finally another number called,
this was another section making you appalled,
calming back down as giving up is a choice,
then hearing a sweetly pleasant voice,
up to the counter finally there,
to find the wrong form was filled out from a smirking stare.

in a war of aliens and human forces fight,
a small human ship was hit and couldnt sustain flight,
crashing on a moon lifeless planet damaged beyond repair,
he sees an alien ship also crash wondering if parts are spare,
running over with gun held ready to kill,
he looks at the alien parts knowing he doesn't have skill,
finding the alien alive also holding a gun,
they stand pointing them but also ready to run,
not knowing what to do and running out of oxygen,
they decide to lower their weapons being and forget being alien against men,
using parts from each ship to make one that could fly,
they dont know which could live and which could die,
only one can leave and the other must stay,
but without air would only last one day,
deciding to play a game which is living or death,
not wanting to live to his last suffocating breath,
letting the alien shoot from a distance first,
he fires but misses with his cannon burst,
the man shoots and misses hitting a rock,
as the alien smiles ready to lock,
pulling his trigger and then missing again,
the man smiles after using his brain,
he changed the sight on the aliens gun while he was working on the ship,
then he fires his gun emptying his clip,
parts of the alien scattered over the moons surface in bits,
he goes to start the ship but it just sits,
the alien made it only start by a key,
and only he would know where it would be.

where do the stories go if everything ends,
do we now tell all love from friends,
we know of the life begun our birth,
go where the saving others around being worth,
now to respect lives instead about wealthy power,
and run to being of the growing flower,
hide and divide useless death times watching near,
from meet us to greeting we expected fear,
death arriving for all you knew through lives,
coming soon eternity trapped inside hell nothing survives.

young minded drinker has a beer and a shot,
his plan for the night is to have alot,
pourin' down each time in a row,
his eyes more relfective to show,
lifting a glass once more to swalow,
the more he drinked with more ta follow,
tipsy with dizzness he need to pee,
as alcholicness bugins to affekt waht he see,
stumbulls ova to sit on his bum,
with swurlin in his belly tumtum,
anuther drink, is all can think,
all strayt lynes turn to curves,
and each women passin he perves,
pour anutha with music louwd,
dantss like an idyet in the crowd,
passin out not lookin like he breathe,
duznt rememba uthers leave,
WAKES IN THE MORNING TO HEADACHE FROM HELL!!!!!
talk to the friends that have a story to tell,
late for work in a rush, no time to waste or hair to brush,
arrive at work with a texta doodle on the face,
to never live down all of last nights disgrace.

when the flowing thoughts of you enter my mind,
i smile at that moment because you are so kind,
love explains a part of it with fun and care,
you always know the right time to give and share,
my words bring happiness to your soul,
dearest friend of mine with my heart you stole.

the desert sands lifted by the winds travel across in swirls,
as the twisting air moves it in heightening curls,
clouding the sky with light shades of brown,
enough to cover and blanket a town,
a man walks over this sand to go east,
holding a sword to kill the savage beast,
his grip on the handle so tigher his knuckles are white,
as he moves across the sands into the night,
the winds now calm but the moon so full,
wrapping himself up in his blanket of wool,
sleep for the night with dreams of hate,
as the beast now hunted will come to his fate,
killed his sheep the night before,
his last act of revenge as now he will be poor,
his eyes open to the morning dust,
he turns over to feel a breathly gust,
the beast stands before him dripping saliva from the tongue,
as the echos of the morning of his screaming was sung.

purposes for existence swirl in the forgotten soul,
as shadows catch up to take back what they stole,
a hand reaches out with fingertips in the light,
glowing on the skin the nails burn bright,
the bouncing light hits those shadows behind,
fading them just enough to render them blind,
reaching the whole hand to the light with pale skin,
as they still grip from the back deep within,
pushing harder as the arm and face touch the beam,
the shadows pull more breaking the seam,
ripping and tearing while fighting through,
the light needed so much too,
falling out of the darkness and into the bright coloured floor,
it touches the skin as soaking in more,
the shadows stay back scared of it,
as the soul is filtered where it will sit,
standing in the warmth to look at the tree,
as finally the soul is able to be free.

poetry might suck as it is just words mixed to make a rhyme,
sometimes it explains a feeling or story at the same time,
its not the end of the sentence that should be recognized,
not that it is in the whole body of it where the message is disguised,
that hidden stuff sometimes is easy to find,
hard looking is not worth the teeth to grind,
really the idea behind a poem is to make you think,
once that is done it forms a perfect link,
you have a better understanding for something in your life before,
try to just let it flow through to get a little more,
it isn't hard to do once you start,
first step is when you write what comes from the heart.

they buried his body long ago in the sands,
but now with the spells of a witch out pokes his hands,
you'd thinking it was revenge he would seek first,
when instead a beer was his only thirst,
the witch looks at him entering the bar,
as she watches through a window behind a car,
he drinks so much it pours back out a hole,
the witch begins to wonder she resurrected the wrong soul,
finished his drink the barman wants him to pay,
that's when the fun stars as the blood begins to spray,
breaking the tables and throwing a bouncer through the door,
the barman fires a shot wanting no more,
the witch watches as her man gets shot in the chest,
all he does it stand there wondering is that his best,
diving over and taking the gun to reload,
standing at the broken door was the winds blowed,
the witch claps with excitement as he looks over to see,
shooting her dead he walks on to be free.