Like gigantic spiders in their darkness
They constantly weave their webs of lies
They are relentless they are determined
To catch the unwary just like flies.

They are as vultures always seeking
Their next carcass on which to feed,
They never make a contribution
But only ever act to sate their greed.

They busily buy political systems
They already own all of the means
Of communication wherby the people
Could learn what gives behind the scenes.

This culture that they have created
The selfish creed of all for one
The idea that we have society
Now is nearly, but not quite gone.

To succeed they must destroy
Any unity that people feel
And any sense of social awareness
From the national mind they must steal,

And replace it with the mindset
That all that counts is me, me, me,
Because selfish loners won't stick together
So this is how we came to be

In an age where often ill gained profit
Replaces any notion of right or fair,
Living in a world of total exploitation
Where the winners refuse to share

The gains that are out of all proportion
To any effort on their part
And they all compete to be known as
The Gekko with the the hardest heart.

Tom Higgins 25/11/2013

The first sun shines at half past four
The red dirt makes a grass-less floor
This is a life of unique brand
For him they call "the Kimberley man".

The fans are never cool enough
On leathered skin built Kimberley tough
But how do you tell the tourist fleet
You never get used to Kimberley heat.

But there's a thinking that takes it slow
In rhythm with Ord River's flow
There's more to life than comfort and money
Like fishing for Barra without the hurry.

Albino gekko's' eat the flys
While the blue tailed kooka's laughs and crys
Crocs and dragons and wallabies too
Live with the Owl who gives two hoots.

The Kimberley man is silently proud
Like a Kimberley king with a Kimberley crown
Of views a virtuoso would say
Is fit for a concert that he would play.

Wet season build up is only released
By cracking black clouds that sets you free
From humid sighs in front of the fan
And the unsaid life of the Kimberley man.

born January 13th, mcmlix
under Capricorn sign.

With my scrunched  
and bushy furrowed brow
I often ponder precise circumstances
that linkedin yours truly to be born
tracing back lineage of self
or arbitrary individual
unpredictable as the dow
reckoning a series of events
sustained life similar
to sowing seed of corn

ruminating fragile nascent organism
at the mercy of fate flourished and how
taxing me mind how each score
composed for each
to toot their own horn
aware that just slightest
off beat fluke determined
from millennia ago or now
that particular organism –
whether one celled entity

or beings that can mourn
the loss of kindred members –
food for thought
for able pledge marital vow
like this poet, whose presence
a mere fluke of circumstances possibly torn
at any point in distant past
rendering me absent,
and hence unable to utter wow
evincing expression care worn.

At what crap shoot of circumstances
wrought Matthew Scott Harris to be
cognizant of the self
and world wide web
or follow threads back in time,
albeit not more than
a couple generations –
whereby emigrants did flee
from supposed Eastern European swath
in general finding thyself to rhyme
for no reason,  just as other creatures
great or small occupy themselves with glee

or just groveling along
at bare ***** knuckle existence
without a dime
less apt to own luxury  
how **** sapiens
purportedly evolved from monkey,
whereby harsh ill fate
tempts them into life of crime,
when perhaps riches
with kingly figures
loomed large in their family tree
begat courtesy making whoopie.

A genealogical limb
branching off way back
when back in the day
glorious personalities
populated genealogy to boot
twisting a tortured destiny
somewhere o'er the rainbow
along Yellow Brick Road way
setting stage for rags when
once August ancestry buried in loot
yet tis quite frivolous
to bemoan present woes or even pray
to win lottery turning attention
to how like our ancestral gingko

or Geiko gekko newt
dwelling in rich primordial
egg drop soup
wantonly in massive bay
inexorably transformed
(by dint of dice throw)
per flora to take root
as well fauna to mutate
into species and genus
trumpeting horns heard
signaling Santa Claus
in his trademark red suit
on land to assay.

Punctuated equilibrium
first proposed by
and Niles Eldredge in 1972
gave rise to variety
to an assortment of animals and plants
perhaps also contemplating genetic grants
this one speck of flotsam
in particular owned
a passion for contra dance,
whereby others from massive beasts
to microscopic organisms
scurry hither and yon to and fro
essentially to be alive for lifetime,
nevertheless a mere blink of an eye
all due (in my view) to chance
to self taught amazing uncles and aunts.