Showing posts from September, 1998

Just Imagine, My Son

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 t

Like Water

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

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... .

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-