Author Archives: montecyril

I can cause death with my dying  my breath belying; strength never shying  I can make the roads to nowhere  appear everywhere; leave you all threadbare!  Every hope for the wicked may end up like a duck in cricket  What did they do to me in my sublimity; they raped my divinity!  They ought toContinue reading “Labor has its legitimacy on a rock of fragile glass: A poem “

(A letter to a bad government that was voted in again)  (I’ll never forgive you, you creep Albanese, for what you did to me! Fuck off!)  You took my property, and caused my poverty  cheapskating your way to garrison my integrity  Did you all ever think of sincere care of duty?  Populism was your way to rouse popularity  So, are you undressingContinue reading “You take my gun, I end your fun!: A poem “

I look at the barren fields of the cloudless sky  and feel a lack of communion with its heat  peeling my clothes off me like an outer layer of skin  I don’t even think it’s necessary to prize my nakedness within  There is no shame in the aloneness of windows shut tight, at least!  I am disabled by my inability to callContinue reading “Let all these summers go!: A poem “

I don’t want your peanuts, you frauds!  Do you want to derail me, God!  Take the measly sum and feed that sod  Prakash Saint Paul, in the abyss’ ward  I didn’t ask you to pay my rent  You want to destabilise and dent  my integrity, with your obnoxious scent,  take my Saturnalia party and turn it to lent!  Get lost! Get lost! Damn you, Centrelink!  I’ll drench you with yourContinue reading “Centrelink, do you have any shame?: A poem “

(Hey fucking Labor! Take this hate speech, and for all you want, screech!)  You are like a vicious mirror in the sky  jubilant to make me watch myself die  Limbless you stake your claim on the night  And sometimes show up like a death-star  to engage the contrariness of morning light  What blood do you seem to drag inContinue reading “Fuck off you green-black silver sliver of a moon!: A poem “

Would the bird question the cruel weather  if it could speak a word from its tortured soul?  Could that word turn an apocalypse into a creation  that undressed it from prior evil to be free of future evil?  If God pronounced his verdict with a timely gravitas  that benumbed all the evil that overwhelmed him  that those who soughtContinue reading “The truth dies in dirt; the lie doesn’t hide in its hovel: A poem “

(Anthony Albanese, you don’t take advantage of my grief like you always have, I’ll fuck you!)  I feel like an eternal garden  that each moment is having its flowers squished  one by one, by an evil invader  The pain is percolating through the veins, through the nerves  Who can tell that the gardener is himself, the garden? The bushesContinue reading “The eternal garden is being destroyed: A poem “