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Sins We Never Died For (Poetry Reading)

This here is the link to one of my new poems, Sins We Never Died For:

Rather than including a textual version of the poem, this is purely a recorded reading. I will note however that this poem is rather erotic, and thus does contain some images and themes that will probably not be appropriate for people of all ages.

Passion Dance – Poetry Reading

At this here link: is a reading of a poem I had published last year. It is about the interpretation of 13 as an unlucky numeral, whilst attempting to find another approach to looking at this supposedly unlucky number.
On a side note, I think my interpretative performance of the poem might be a little deranged, and I believe it might be pertinent to note an f-bomb also makes an appearance.

Hope you enjoy guys!

Dear Tony Abbott

This poem contains some profanity and adult themes. Additionally, a video of the poem being read aloud can be found here:

You may be the minister of our country,
but I never had you elected, and you are
no leader of mine, and I would have wasted
my time if I thought you would ever listen
to my concerns. Therefore, this is not
addressed to you, but I would not mind
if you spared me a moment, as the Liberal
weed killer withers the fields
of social tulips, tarnished by the hands
of economic persecution.

Rather than wielding your words
of political propaganda like an artist
with a brush, you wield them like a son
who has found his father’s gun,
blowing holes through the hearts
of all Australian citizens. Tell me,
as tax exempt politicians shrink
the pocket money of the people until
it becomes gaunt and feeble,
should you privatise water
to solve the crisis of debt that is almost
non-existent, when in contrast
to countries across the ocean’s divide?

Speaking of, are there 457 reasons
as to why you give jobs away
like leaflets on the street to supposedly
skilled migrants, educated half a world away
with no knowledge on our creed or culture,
yet deny us, Australia’s children,
economical aid when these jobs are unavailable?
In doing everything to hinder families for life,
whilst helping ensure the rich are unimpeded,
you help illustrate that all one needs
to be a minister is the willingness
to tax the poor and deprive them
of government aid; commit cultural
genocide, homophobia and misogyny,
and return us all to the age of the aristocrats,
when only the rich were educated,
and the poor remained forever in their slums.
All this from a man who accused the previous
government of lying, and proceeded
to do away with all of his promises
before the year was over; all this,
from a man who would laugh
in the face of sex workers with seamen stained
lips, and the taste of cheating husbands
dripping upon the every word that falls
from between their teeth; all this
from a man who thinks turning
back boats, and almost starting
an international incident in the process,
makes up for all the families in Australia
that shall go hungry tonight.

Wrapped up in the hangman’s noose,
and meant to march to the music
like a toy soldier, I recall a stranger
having once asked is this your country,
for it is drowning in deficit. Is this your country
probed another, for it is buried
beneath a behemoth of lies. Is this your country
questioned someone else, for it is blind
to the pains of the struggling
and the poor. Is this your country
another citizen asked, for interlopers
and shameful stigmas still exist – when shall
we right the wrongs and cast down
the barricades binding us to poverty? What
answer should I give to those struggling beneath
your reign? Is rape even a crime to a man
who rapes the country blind?

Moreover, did your daughter happen to drop your name
before being granted an education, bought
and paid for, without consent, by the taxpayer?
I am the child of the prime minister perhaps?
A threat, much like a mother telling
her disobedient spawn wait till your father
gets home, and suddenly, those unwilling
to cooperate find themselves flung
out of offices for failing to abide
by the corporate standard; the Abbott’s
get what they want, and all the rest
are fucked over. And so, the tax payer
paid for your daughter’s education,
and now you’ll probably knight her too,
and if my name were Abbott, would I be entitled
to the same? Of course, if she were gay
you would have her disowned, right?
Made an example of; erected a statue
in the middle of the city of you marching
her towards the metaphorical guillotine
in you red budgie smugglers?

On second thoughts, I hardly think I want
an answer when I know it shall
be burdened beneath the arrogance
of pompous, egotistical revolt, from
a man and all his friends who dress
in thousand dollar suits and dresses,
whilst the people strive to buy a loaf
of bread. Here, allow me to give to you
my severed penis, for I want no
children of mine born into your
fucking cut throat regime.


If you wish, you can view a reading of this poem at the following link: Hope you enjoy guys!

What line was supposed to pass these lips;
I have forgotten. I have forgotten too,
if I could move continents, to escape
the bullet of broken glass, plunged into my soul,
no heart beat would last too long
between decision, and surrender.
I was whole and complete,
but this I have forgotten too,
my soul succumbing to the touch
of gentle bribery, the sweat on your palm
that you have tethered to my face
being the ambrosia I have desired
for longer than words can caliber.
You whisper into me, the beating of a passion
so inducing, I become comatosed
in a wet dream, drowned in an ocean
of wicked delights, whose pleasures
reveal themselves when the silver moon
sheds its veil and stares longingly into the darkness,
and onto our duvet. ‘Do you love me?’
I ask, between choking on tears,
held back by the damming construction
within my mind, that wishes for you
to never see the softer side
of this weaker denizen of man.
Upon a sea of angelic feathers, my romance,
ever blissful, has flown, your response
to my question, which renders Hamlet moot,
requiring an immediate appearance,
before I collapse into the sultry sweat
of delusion. Your answer, with its many tendrils,
ensnares my cultivated attention
evermore, and with but a word,
you become the Goddess of our seven continents,
rendering the other women,
forgetful images of my mind,
destined not to be remembered.
Without sexual synergy, we remain
inexcusably entombed in a shroud
of fortunate purpose, the touch
of your fingers on my cheek
being the entire collection of love sonnets,
penned by Shakespeare’s hand.
Your voice, so undoubtedly serene,
deserves nature’s ownership,
so it may forever play on the breeze,
the lyrics of your serenade
belonging inside the ears of all.
Your center, a moist pleasurable locale,
dripping with erotic trepidation,
ravishes my senses without even a single touch,
the sight of your nude form
deserving only to be strummed by my hand.
So, I ask again, what fell forth
from between my lips before; ‘do you love me?’,
and I die in your arms
from this orgasm, as I do every evening
that begins with the deflowering
of our perspiration’s sweat.

Poetry Reading – There Were No More Roses

Hey Guys!

Here is the link to the first poetry reading I have uploaded online:

The poem is a piece I have previously published on this blog, and because it is close to my heart (as I explain in the video) it is the first of hopefully many poems I will eventually upload.

Thank you for reading/watching!