Melbourne Spoken Word (long)

1st reading – Bar Oussou 27 February

A simple stage, lights, mic
A lonely poet
From a heart to a crowd
Speaks words off a trembling page

In essence,
This is spoken word
All else is
Entertainment.

I do spoken word but
I’ve never known the reason why
Then I heard Bigoa Chuol say
“There’s nothing to explain.
Its just part of who I am”
Her words went to the core of me
Deeply down she made a score in me
Released my joy cradled my pain
It’s just part of who I am. Again.
It’s part of who I am.

Spoken word’s a baby
Born almost every night
You’ve been at it’s birth
It has older siblings too
Richly entertaining
Let me introduce a few

I bare my belly
So you can feel
My electricity.
My navel is the source of my authority
Umbilical connection to the Oracle of Delphi
I speak for ancient shaman.
It’s part of who I am

I am a nurse
Haunted
By suffering patients
I don’t get a lot of sleep
At night I write, I weep.
I cry out my frustrations
It’s part of who I am

Had a little trouble
I been in the can
I kicked a feller’s head in
He was only half a man
And I showed his missus
The colour that his piss is
Rhyming see – off me lips like kisses
I’ve changed like cheese to chalk
And all it took was talk
I’m a completely different man
This doctor’s got me writin’ stuff
Not Shakespeare, but good enough.
I shout me poems in the Dan
I like this new part of who I am.

I take these little white pills
They keep me stabilised
My words hold back the feeling
Of being less than human
Of being tranquilised.
My treatment is unjust.
One day my words will
Thunder like a spill
way from a dam.
When I speak it helps me keep
A part of who I am

I’ve got a bible in my hand
A needle in my arm
A tattoo on my leg reads
“Thou shalt do no harm”
My smile looks like a grimace
I’m OK I’m really not a menace
I speak of junkies and the cross – and damn!
They’re all a part of who I am

I wear a suit to earn a dollar
My colleagues call me mouse
This place is where I holler
Throw away my collar
And let rip about the refugees
Government atrocities
This unjust society.
As Archimedes almost said
I will move the world
Just give me a mic and stand.
I want to lead a band of revolutionaries
It’s part of who l am

This is my first time
I’m glad I got up there
And said my little piece
You’ll not see me again
It’s not a part of who I am

I had a boyfriend
Our love was my poetry
Turns out he’s a jerk
He messed me up
Now I write a lot of stuff
Getting over him
I’ll build my house on his bones
It’s a part of who I am

I’m back on the shelf.
I ease my ache with
these poetic types.
I see them in the spotlight
I hear their tenderness
I sleep with their words.
I speak to be heard
by someone special.
Until that day comes
Being out in front of you
Will do
To be a part of who I am

When you see me on stage
You’ve come to my audition.
So like me!
I’m the next big thing
I dance I act I sing
I’ve got the looks
I’ll do anything
All I need’s a break.
No matter how many doors are closing
I will keep on going
From slam to slam
It’s all of who I am

The thing with with spoken word is
Anyone can. Take two lines
And make them rhyme
What have you got?
Whamabamasingsong Alabamaningnong
Melbourne Spoken Word
On any given day
Could pass for breakfast banter
On radio TripleJJJ
But I keep coming back for more
First-timers are who I listen for
Doesn’t matter how good they are
That no one’s heard of them before
It only matters what they say
To strangers and friends, in their way
Almost without failing
Gold flakes are in their tailings
A heart glitters through the mic
And they’re always welcomed like
They are the Welcome Stranger
I love to see them take the stand
To learn that it’s not so hard
To find that part of who we are.

I dig deep for my words.
When I’ve cleaned and set them
They shine.
It is good they please myself
Better they impress my friends as well.
I want to have more fans than friends
To get invited overseas
To earn artist royalities.
I walk a line between
Satisfaction with the art of it
Frustration at the paltry market.
The work is sufficient
But when it comes down to it
I’m just another miner
infected with a fever.
Words are my rush
I’ll NEVER have enough of them.
They’re the best part of who l am

I know I’m not the best
I’ve dug a hole to
understand and explore.
Forgive me that my words are poor
I hope one day to speak words I can be proud of
I won’t drone on any more
I don’t want to bore you.
For this time
And this space
I just adore you.
Thanks for being part of
The part of who I am

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Melbourne Spoken Word (short)

1st reading – The Dan 4 March. 2nd reading – Passionate Tongues 6 March

A simple stage, lights, mic
A lonely poet
From a heart to a crowd
Speaks words off a trembling page

In essence,
This is spoken word
All else is
Entertainment.

I do spoken word
But I’ve never known the reason why
Then I heard Bigoa Chuol say
“There’s nothing to explain.
Its just part of who I am”
Her words went to the core of me
Deeply down she made a score in me
Released my joy cradled my pain
It’s just part of who I am. Again.
It’s part of who I am.

Spoken word’s a baby
Born almost every night
You’ve been at it’s birth
It has older siblings too
Richly entertaining
Let me introduce a few

I speak with a round bare belly
I touch the Oracle of Delphi
She’s a part of who I am

I spoke with my fist that’s now a hand
I shout my poems in the Dan
Spoken word changed this man
Opened a part of who I am

If it weren’t for the pills I wouldn’t be here
Owning I take them helps me to steer
To a part of who I am – without them

I did it. I spat out a kidney stone
It’s gone. That’s it. I’m done.
It’s not a part of who I am

I speak from somewhere that isn’t there
to someone who isn’t here I want to care for
the part of who I am

I shout. I howl. I exclaim till I’m hoarse
I urge you all! Join my cause
We’re all one! part of who I am.

I loved you so and you left me alone
I build a house of words on your bones
You found the part of who I am

The thing with with spoken word is
Anyone can. Take two lines
And make them rhyme
What have you got?
Whamabamasingsong Alabamaningnong
Melbourne Spoken Word
On any given day
Could pass for breakfast banter
On radio TripleJJJ
But I keep coming back for more
First-timers are who I listen for
Almost without failing
Gold flakes are in their tailings
A heart glitters through the mic
And they’re always welcomed like
They are the Welcome Stranger
I love to see them take the stand
To learn that it’s not so hard
To find that part of who we are.

When I’m writing well, my perfect words arouse me
The sole reward this solo parlour game allows me
It is good they please myself
Better they impress my friends as well.
I want to have more fans than friends.
I walk a line between
Satisfaction with the art of it
Frustration at the meagre market.
I’m just another miner
infected with a fever.
Words are my rush
I’ll NEVER have enough of them.
They’re the best part of who l am

I know I’m not the best
I’ve dug a hole to …
explore and understand.
Forgive me that my words are poor
I hope one day to speak words I can be proud of
I won’t drone on any more
I don’t want to bore you.
For this time
And this space
I just adore you.
Thanks for being part of
The part of who I am

I want to take you

I want to take you
like a bee takes a flower
All legs and cavern
RESOUNDING WITH POWER
Showered
devoured
over flowered
by perfumed fragility

My fervency elates you
My bumble buzz vibrates you
My trembling legs palpate you
My colossal proboscus
inside your soft hibiscus
pollinates you

And when we’re done
I’ll move on
you will take another one
and so will I
in ecstacy of humming sky
and roller coaster sun
What fun

Padre Coffee

A hymn in praise of my favourite coffee, Padre, which I buy from the Brunswick East Project, a cafe and roastery not far from where I live.

Padre cafe
Caffeine chapel
Hebrew Shebrew
Tabernacle

They don’t roast bright
A trend that’s dour
They toast just right
Cos ‘bright’ means sour
Don’t want coffee
That needs sweet cubes
Just makes toffee
Of a long black brew
Padre coffee
Espresso true

Padre cafe
Coffee palace
Cup hands round
The sacred chalice
Let us pray
Rejoice the day
Hosanna hooray
Olé allez
Alleluia
Alleluia
Alleluia
Allez brew.
Ah!

Zere Accent

Some say the French
Are excentrique
A nation of
Groggy freaks
Kissing petite
Froggy beaks
They’ll spite the hand
Because they can
Their middle name
Insouciance

I don’t know
If that’s all true
I know I like
The food they do
Their camembert
Red white and blue
Escargots and
Croissants too
I’d also eat
Zere accent
The way they speak
So succulent

Poetically Correct Fully Cunt (long)

This is the long version of this spoken word piece

I am man, I’m cuntless, yet
I give cunt a bad rep
Bad mouthed cunt countless times,
Bade shame on womankind,
Debased the honour of mankind.
Man puts limits on this word
Cunt’s just a rag to wipe the floor
Cunt And Garbage Don’t Go Together
Cunt and woman YES   Man.
Ugly man shouts cunt to her face
Uses cunt to erase – to make
Half human, half the human race.
Cunt’s a word to empower Man
To heal not hurt, to lead not cower.
It’s possibilities are not explored
Could cuntcy mean to be adored?
The ground around cunt needs a fork
Water her with pillow talk
Let’s grow leaves on cunt’s bare stalk
I am man, I’m cuntless, yet
I gave cunt a bad rep
Now I’m gonna take a step
Help. Make. Cunt. Hep.
Man. Will you take that step with me?
Speak cunt cuntishly?
The Oxford Dictionary now includes
Cunty. Cuntish. Cunted. Cunting
The definitions of course
Reinforce cunt as lewd rude crude
This is just so disappointing
Opportunity gone wanting
Let me define another course
Cunty. Vivacious, elated
Cuntish. Language of endearment
Cunted. Sated
Cunting. Female sexual predation
Here’s some others for your education

There is a place that you can go
It’s intimate, with lots of charm
It’s called Cuntopia, it’s not far away
You’ll find it in your lover’s arms.

Elizabeth Regina.
Cuntocrat.
She’s no poem,
But you can rhyme her.

Its true this poem
is eccentric
It’s odd for man
to be cuntcentric.

Sweet Nell, cuntist.
Whatever ails you
She’ll unravel
Has cunt will travel.

When your wife is penetrated
Does she feel cockelated?
Do you feel cuntsecrated?

Cuntalgia is a genital condition
Of painful longing
It’s easily cured
By a bout of bouncy bonking

The Cuntlet Scale of erotic charge
Divides in to ten, cunticules
Read your Eros meter to get your score
The apps on Google Play store.

My trunk is truer.
My limbs aren’t stunten.
My tree has grewer.
Since me you cunten.

Sorry if my thoughts
are shambolic
That can happen when
You’re a cuntoholic.

Cunt’s not a word to can Man
Not a word to wham bam
Not a word to ban Man
Not a word to damn Man
Don’t use it like you use the dunny
That’s not to say cunt can’t be funny

Butter flour sugar cunt
Egg milk vanilla cunt
Oven bake aroma cunt
Chewy chocky biscunt

The sound of cunt
Is kind of blunt
Some words I say
Soften that grunt

Godzilla cunt
Tortilla cunt
I like sensimillacunt
Strong cunt
Wronged cunt
Cut down like King Kong cunt

Cunt’s not a word to slam Man
Unless you mean a poem man
More than just a drain Man
No word to take in vain Man
I am man, I’m cuntless, yet
I gave cunt a bad rep
Now I’m gonna take a step
Help. Make. Cunt. Hep.
Man. Will you take that walk with me?
Make love to cunt cuntentedly?
Lacey panty silky cunt
Quiet shy secret cunt
Playing hide and seek me cunt
Pippy cunt
Sippy cunt
Lips to your lippy cunt
Dear cunt
Sheer cunt
Lovely to be near cunt
Want cunt
Warm cunt
Snuggle cosy cuddle cunt

Not a word to swear Man
Cunt’s a word of care Man
A jewel in her hair
The fire in her belly
A hole to make you whole
The bosom of your soul Man

I am man, I’m cuntless, yet
I gave cunt a bad rep
Now I’m gonna take a step
Help. Make. Cunt. Hep.
Man. If you march along with me
Correct the cunt word
Poetically
Cuntfully

Poetically Correct Fully Cunt

This the short version of this spoken word piece

I am man, I’m cuntless, yet
I give cunt a bad rep
Bad mouthed cunt countless times,
Bade shame on womankind.
Man puts limits on this word
Cunt’s just a rag to wipe the floor
Cunt And Garbage Don’t Go Together
Cunt and woman YES   Man.

I am man, I’m cuntless, yet
I gave cunt a bad rep
Now I’m gonna take a step
Help. Make. Cunt. Hep.
Will you take that step with me?
Speak cunt cuntishly?

Cuntopia a place with lots of charm
You’ll find it in your lover’s arms.

Holy communion is for communicants
Sexual union is for communicunts?

Elizabeth Regina. Cuntocrat.

Sorry if my thoughts
are shambolic
That can happen when
You’re a cuntoholic.

Cunt’s not a word to damn Man
Not a word to wham bam
Not a word to slam Man
Unless you mean a poem man

Butter flour sugar cunt
Egg milk vanilla cunt
Oven bake aroma cunt
Chewy chocky biscunt

The Cuntlet Scale of erotic charge
Divides in to ten, cunticules
Read your Eros meter to get your score
The apps on Google Play store.

I am man, I’m cuntless, yet
I gave cunt a bad rep
Now I’m gonna take a step
Help. Make. Cunt. Hep.
Will you take that walk with me?
Make love to cunt cuntentedly?

Pipi cunt
Sippy cunt
Lips to your lippy cunt
Dear cunt
Sheer cunt
Lovely to be near cunt
Want cunt
Warm cunt
Snuggle cosy cuddle cunt

Not a word to swear Man
Cunt’s a word of care Man
A jewel in her hair
The fire in her belly
A hole to make you whole
The bosom of your soul Man

I am man, I’m cuntless, yet
I gave cunt a bad rep
Now I’m gonna take a step
Help. Make. Cunt. Hep.
Man. If you march along with me
Correct the cunt word
Poetically
Cuntfully

Wishing Well

Water makes my coffee
Water fills up the sea
Water in the tears I cry
Waters me
My heart is steaming
My tears are streaming
They’re welling up inside of me

I wept at the airport
The day we had to part
The hole you tore inside my heart
Filled up with tears
My heart is healing
My tears are streaming
They fill a well inside of me

It’s been a year since you departed
I’ve found me another girl
We meet beside the wishing well
Inside my heart
My heart is steamy
My new girl is dreamy
I’m doing swell with Tinkerbell

Water makes my coffee
Water fills up the sea
Water in the tears I cry
Is burning me
My heart is queasy
My girl’s too easy
I pay the toll of Tinker’s bell

Since you left me baby
I’ve found a new kind of hell
There are so many girls at the wishing well
They’re draining me
My heart is empty
I’ve had a wellfull of plenty
Won’t you come back and rescue me

The Cat Stilled Cock Throbbin’

Oh I love little pussy her coat is so warm
And if I don’t hurt her she’ll do me no harm
So I’ll sit by her fire and give her some food
And pussy will love me, because I am good. (Jane Taylor)

For what you are about to receive
may The Poet grant you reprieve
cos you’ll need it after this poem

I try to be a poet
Worthy of you, the public
I work I strain I toil yet
the best place for my verse
Is a public toilet…

I’m your teacher
You’re my student
Having sex with you
Wouldn’t be prudent.
Oooh it wouldn’t be wise
What could I learn?
What would you teach?
Between your thighs…?

Jack and Jill climbed a hill
Known as the Mount of Venus
Jack pulled Jilly’s panties down
And Jill fell on his penis.

See what I mean, it’s
mere scratches in the dark
on boys room shower blocks
or that shithole in Methven Park.

Once I thought I was good enough
For a “rest room” at Macca’s
I caused a little ruckus
“Daddy what’s the Mount of Venus?”
“Oh er I’m not sure l
think it’s on the moon.”
“But” – “Ask no questions tell no lies.
Now sit down and eat your fries.”

Still I toil and try
I work hard to versify
And now I think I’ve got one
Fit to be hobnobbin’
With a better class of arse
Such as the WC
Arts Faculty library
Melbourne University
In the women’s stalls maybe
I call it “The Cat Stilled Cock Throbbin?”
(may The Poet forgive me)

I could feel his cock throb
As I lay the length of him
I marked its prance
its peck and crow
deep within

To my domain it’s welcome
I embraced its urge and spur
Again I felt the cock throb
the squawking clucking buck bob.
It’s gift of milk
made me purr

Proud and bold it struts my bounds
I like its cockiness
It’s found my mound
snuggled in and
made its nest.
Hark! It calls…

Oh I love little pussy she’s soft and she’s warm
And if I don’t hurt her she’ll show me her charms
So I’ll light her fire and bring her some wood
And pussy will glove me, because I am good.

Behind a Goal

At left half forward you took the ball quick
tilting full pelt across pitch you looked
over your shoulder to peek at the sticks
coordinate angle distance speed,
figure displacement of thought and deed
correct for angular momentum, and to boot,
an x factor – you goaled off your left foot.
In my mental replay my heart bursts off
your boot swoops a gleaming St Louis arch,
then, atop the big dipper: icarus sun,
goalpost tops, butterfly bellyyyyyyyyy
yin no doubt I fall to shouts of “You arsey bastard!”

The tv replayed kick, result, elation,
your fierce joy, adrenaline pep in your step,
but not how you made that calculation.
Newton Pythagorus NASA and Euclid
could not have solved equations as you did;
18 opponents to keep you in chaos,
and still you ruled the football cosmos.