What was a joy,
'twas once a toy,
a clever tool used for amusement;

was but a lark,
but then the bark,
began falling on the pavement.

Vulnerable outside,
gave a glimpse inside,
what was a bag of tricks;

other methods used,
unbalanced, and confused;
now I've much more wax than wicks.

At times amazed,
sometimes unfazed,
tree's branches bend, and relax;

the roots are deep,
but the grades more steep,
the leaves on the ground hide the tracks.

it is my
my philosophy

that one should
pound.
pound
their reader.

understanding that when they/the (reader) { U }
are/is reading your work
you are

pounding them
from within their/your brain, you are
pounding them

slowly hard
hardly fast
gent please
fasten your
gentlemen
gent gleee
hard more
soft roar
hard core.

that one should pound
one should pound
you should pound.
pound
philosophy.

pound is my
philosophy.

This is one of my all time favourite poems. It stands the test of time despite references to events from the '70s and specifically Australian place names. It is very, very long, uses a lot of repetition and yet reads compulsively.

my friends.

suspension eve
the slow crawl of stars
like a sunset of flame

rising like ashes glowing

funeral lanterns
at midnight
shinning like brilliant
cascades turning

How we landed in our
simple craft
from the great cradle ship
rocked in slings
and sung to sleep
by the sighs of the canvas

the maiden winds
in the lines