Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.

Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.

At the table sat a prawn, a fish, a glass of water, and a watch.
All trying to figure out who had the best hand.
Two out of three games already played.
Tension drawn on all of their faces.
The fish twitches at the river, caught in thought eying the glass of water.
The prawn in constant panic. Eying the fish.
Stuck in the same predicament as the fish. Winning a much larger *** the last hand played.
The fish much larger than he. The prawn folded his hand.
The glass of water over-thinking the endless possibilities of both the prawn and the fish.
Sweat dripping down the side.
The watch on the other hand, had the best poker face of them all.
As time reveals everyones true intentions.
Revealing a slew of faces

To impregnate a women, you have to feel the horn
Being soft is not much good, or if your ***** is worn
Many men they want a ****, but don't want babies born
It's best to avoid men like Boyd, because he's low on corn

If you have unprotected ***, and your cocktails on the prawn
Then pregnancy is immanent, unless a line is drawn
Wearing a sheaf is sensible, that's if it isn't torn
Make sure your rubbers in one piece, or watch some ******* ****

****** stimulation can be achieved, when there is a certain need
You soon had some excuses, when your rubber tore at speed
There's no need to lie, because it's just for your own greed
Suddenly your low on ***** after you had your ****** feed

You didn't mind your pleasure, when you layed and did the deed
Some consequences matter, when you know where things may lead
No mention of low ***** counts, you came and spread your seed
Pregnancies have happened, because low ***** counts can still breed

Hay now Boyd I wonder how, your ***** count is so low ?
It seems to me your capable, but you don't want to know
If you can break a ******, then it just goes to show
The only thing you can count, is a free cash money flow

Counting *****'s not easy, was it sitting in a row
Low ***** count is an excuse, for just another ***
Responsibility is not your thing, you want to ***** and go
You don't care you've had your ***, instead of going slow

Avoid Boyd because I think, his low count is a lie
It can get through rubber sheafs, and it doesn't even try
Destroying morning after pills, it looks like his counts sky high
His Low count cant be so low, to kiss pregnancy goodbye

He's implied the kids not his, its enough to make you cry
It didn't bother him before, when he layed in the pie
Now that pregnancies occurred, he's now done up his fly
Suddenly his ***** is low, and that's the reason why

Isn't Boyd just a boy, but with an added D
The laziness of proper names, at least to a degree
What's his parent's thinking of, are they completely of their tree
What's wrong with naming a boy, ben or pete or lee

Is it a bit like catchphrase, where you say what you see
Was there born a baby boy, holding brook bond tea
I don't think Boyd is a real name, but you may disagree
A better name I could supply, and I wouldn't charge a fee

Poor old Boyd his ***** is low, they must be quite annoyed
Their waiting for orders to go, but now there unemployed
Most of them are killed off, and the rest just get destroyed
Not one of those *****'s hanging high, unlike Harold Lloyd

He's claiming that his count is low, he must be paranoid
******* that rips rubber, that's some ***** you should avoid
Combating morning after pills, once his ***** has been deployed
If you value your own dignity, for **** sake avoid Boyd

Oh, wondrous ******* made of prawn
you make my sense reel
My knees grow weak, my tongue hangs out
your seafood touch to feel.

How longingly my taste buds crave
your prawny, crispy cling
See how they seek most anxiously
the taste that makes them sing.

Not quite of lobster, not quite crab
elusive is your flavour
The crunch that locks onto my tongue
then melts, is one to savor.

All locked in light deliciousness,
your taste just makes me *****
and tho' I can't describe it well
it's definitely prawny.

Let's play a game with good, hot oil
I'll pour some on your back
You must be male, I see you grow -
expanding with a  'crack'!

Come to me now - I crave your touch
You need to be in me
my longing is a raging fire
I love you utterly.

Did you know the East Indian Bottle Masala includes as many as 27 spices, or that an oil-free pickle served at their weddings is actually known as Wedding Pickle?

These and many such authentic East Indian masalas and pickles are available at East Indian Cozinha (Portuguese for kitchen), a food store started by Christina Kinny at Kolovery Village in Kalina, Santacruz. "I started East Indian Cozinha with an attempt to preserve and highlight our cuisine and culture," says the 24-year old, who has studied Masters in Social Work and currently, works with an enterprise that helps tribal farmers.

What’s in store?

Going back 500 years, the East Indian cuisine enjoys influences from Portuguese, British and Maharashtrian fare. The staples include rice, coconut, tamarind, fish and meats, with spices forming an integral part of the cuisine. For instance, Prawn Atola is a dry dish comprising prawns coated only with Vindaloo Masala featuring Kashmiri chilli, cumin and turmeric. "Most people from our community were farmers and would be out on field all day. So, the masalas and lemon would help preserve their food for a longer time," reasons Kinny.

At present, the store stocks six varieties of masala in 100g bottles (R150 onwards). These include Khuddi or Bottle Masala, Chinchoni (fish) Masala, Vindaloo Masala, Roast Rub, Kujit Masala and Tem Che Rose. She also offers Wedding Pickle, an oil-free variety prepared with raw papaya, carrots and dry dates. "All the recipes have been passed on from generations and are homemade," she informs.

However, making the masalas is no cakewalk. "It takes three days to dry spices under the sun. Then, we hand pound them and pack them tightly in bottles with wider openings," says Kinny. She recalls that in her grandmother’s time, the masalas were tightly stuffed in beer bottles. The bottles were darker, and hence, helped preserve the masala for at least a year, at room temperature.

Lugra love

East Indian Cozinha also stocks traditional 10-yard saris known as lugras. These are hand embroidered by Kinny’s mother, Carol. Previously made only from cotton with authentic gold borders, now, lugras are embroidered with sequins and threads. "She has been in the garment industry for the last 30 years. She also makes traditional accessories like kapotas (earrings), karis (hair pins), anklets, etc," informs Kinny.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

off the asphalt
five miles down south
she catches prawn

her skirt the catching net
feet quietly feather weight
she looks a muddy heron

beneath sky grayish pale
swimming wind with fishy smell
on her no man's patch

intent on her solo search
head bowed down cutely arch
she must have her catch

streaks of mud on her hair
only what she does care
a bunch of wriggling store

fire it up when day is dead
have the catch thinly spread
and nothing more

Gatt wishes he'd never been born,
Says his brain is the size of a prawn,
  You know the old spinner,
  But he ain't much thinner,
That ****** Aussie is Shame Warne.

He can bowl a big turning ripper,
Then fool you with his quick flipper,
  While he comments on sky,
  And eats one more steak pie,
Before you're done up like a kipper.

Even with the bat he's not bad,
Drives the opposition quite mad,
  He could captain them too,
  More than Ponting's IQ,
But he's gone and us Poms are just glad.

One Turbot says to the other "do you believe in Cod?"
The other replies " I think we each know a Sole". "I believe one day when the chips are down and we are at our most battered we will each know a Plaice and we are destined to fillet".
They exchanged a glance and swam away.... just for the Halibut.

I hope my Whiting doesn't offend. Remember believers.... believe in Cod and one day you will be Prawn again.

YUMMY YUMMY IN MY TATTOOED TUMMY
I like eating very much, call it a passion coz obsession sounds too mad.                                                            
Give me a sandwich tuna mayo one sliced tomato on bread times two.                                                        
Not enough!
Time for chicken donner on nan with everything on: hot sauce, salad cream with salad, peppers too, Jalapeno style. Add an order for onion barges, samosas and chips in pita bread with mild sauce on.
Yummy yummy in my tattooed tummy!
Half an hour later, an Italian beckons. His pizza looks cool! I say three types of meat, sliced, on top. Extra cheese, deep pan and two types of olives. Munchy time and yes, I enjoy this meal.
Later… What next? English fish and chips with salt and vinegar and a drop of gravy. No mushy peas, I hate them! I’ll take two fish cakes on the side. Traditional English grub down the hatch. Then meat and potato pie on a muffin. Careful not to burn my mouth! Did that before.
Yummy yummy in my tattooed tummy!
Time for some American influence, supersize me! Huge portion of fries, mega big burger and a litre of strawberry milkshake.
I’m multicultural in my diet. Foreign people are cool when it comes to their cuisine. I love Norwegian apple juice, as I need a drink after eating their goats’ cheese on rough white bread.
Yummy yummy in my tattooed tummy!
Chinese crispy duck is desirable, just like egg fried rice and prawn crackers. All available food is welcome, I’ll eat your left over’s on my trip of eating.
Yummy yummy in my tattooed tummy!

In case my Letter had not been read Clear
That for these Fourteen-Lined Girls I retweet
Was never to demean you; Nor pout Fear
But hope to contribute your Youthful Beat
Killing this Concept of Bleeding Bat's Tongue
Which asks nothing more but Maliciousness
The Fabled Book, not just its Cover hung
But Pages worded with the Prawn's Intent
You pound the Hammer; My Thoughts stick my Claim
Which only Un-Conditioned Fortune lies
To Jolly remove your Third Condition's pain
And bring that Heart back to you in Disguise.
You are Raised well, with Thought and Prayers bear
To Live in Great Response; And be Aware.

A corner of a room is a misguided place to cower in.

Bad move!

Especially after you have just had chicken chow mein styled into your hair.

You sit.

Transfixed.

You watch.

Catatonic.

Prawn ***** glisten like diamonds in the snow as they slide effortlessly down the peeling wallpaper.

Baby screams.

Baby screams relentlessly.

The stench of cheap beer perfumes the stagnant air.

You think to yourself

"Is this it?"

Then you remember

You remember ….

What the hell was her name?

It’s on the tip of your tongue ….

BANG !!!

Tina Smitherson

Once!

Just once ….

The one and only time he raised his hand.

She was gone.

Didn’t even look back.

And her so quiet and all ….

Oh ….how we tormented her.

Oh …. how we teased her.

BOO !!!

BOO !!!

BOO !!!

Away she ran like a frightened little mouse.

No friends.

No life.

Nothing.

A bona fide geek.

And yet ….

And yet … only once.

How was that possible?

Night turns to day.

You look around the room.

Chaos.

Filth.

Emptiness.

Taunt at you manically ….  in triplicate.

Baby sleeps peacefully in her makeshift cot.

Bruises red and angry.

Maybe today ….

Maybe ….

Then you reach down into your darkest resolve and open the cupboard beneath the sink.

Bin bags.

Detergent.

Dish cloths.

Dustpan and brush.


*“I wonder what Tina Smitherson is doing at this precise moment in time?”

My crisps are potato creations.
My chips are micro, that's for sure.
Cheese and onion, ready salted, good to munch as snacks.
Offer me prawn cocktail crisps.
They make me sick, I'll give them back.
Smokey bacon, boy I'm quaking,
Almost tasting the flavour in anticipation.
From my head down to my toes.
Smokey bacon crisps, tantalise my nose.
They tell me new crisps and fries being created every week.
Cheese on toast crisps.
Well I never,
Roast dinner, sadly missing vegetables.
Holy ghost crisps.
Gone in a puff of eerie green smoke.
Think I'll stick to fries.
Can't do salt and vinegar.
The pong it makes me feel ill.
The taste is even worse.
(c)LIVVI

Let's say I am in love with Ms. B
Being a hypothetical situation, there is no need to use proper names
So, here it goes
Dear B,
You mean the world to me
For you, I am willing to do anything
That is, of course, anything ethical
You can rant all day as you like
I will listen, understand and empathise
I can be a shoulder for you to cry on
Your happiness, is all that matters to me
You lose your temper? that's fine
After all, it happens to me too
More frequently that you would imagine
You need some space?
Of course, I will give you space
I understand what it means
To be surrounded by people all the time
And thus end up losing the opportunity
To have some "me time"
After all, not only am I an introvert
I am also autistic
And too much talking often drains the hell outta me
Except when it comes to topics I am comfortable with
Such as trains, Harris Jayaraj music, food, Harry Potter
Agatha Christie ****** mysteries, cricket, tennis
And of course, anything to do with Aishwarya Lekshmi
Anyway, I will do my very best
To make our relationship work
I will always be there for you
Through good and bad times
Of course, that doesn't mean
That I will be overprotective
You must have your independence
I'm pretty sure you can take care of yourself
However, when it comes to a situation
Where you end up biting more than you can chew
You just have to say the word
And I will be at your side
You have a few male friends
With whom you are intimate?
That's completely okay with me
Of course, my best friend is a woman
You should be okay with that
Remember, it works both ways
Then, there is the sheer pain you have to go through
When it comes to having a baby
In order to avoid that, I am open for adoption
Or even test tube babies
Of course, only if you are okay with either option
Remember, I will always love you
Whether you are at your best
Or at your worst
However, I expect the same from you as well
As I mentioned earlier, I am autistic
Which means I am socially awkward
And also socially awkward
Though I come from a vegetarian family
I eat a lot of meat
Chicken, mutton, prawn, pork, beef
You name it, you have it
Of course, unfortunately not within the boundaries of my home
Also, my political views are often radical
For instance, I do not consider Kashmir as a part of India
And I am all for a radical redistribution of power
On the basis of class and caste
Such that the poor and the underprivileged get back what is theirs
In fact, what has been theirs for three thousand years
Also, though I was born a Hindu
I actually pray to Jesus
That is, I have been doing it for the last nine months
But I don't go to church
Nor do I follow any traditions or rituals
Jesus is simply a friend to me
I believe everything will work out eventually
If I place my faith in him
Finally, I am not interested in ***
Except as a means of reproduction
I need emotional and psychological intimacy
I will share everything with you
And I expect the same from you as well
If you are okay with all this
Then we can be a team
Until Death do us part
If you are not okay
Then maybe we can just be friends
If you are not comfortable with that as well
Then we are free
To go our own separate ways
On this note, let me end my musings
And return to reality

I was walking on air this dawn.
We danced all around the lawn.
We were as wild and as free as a fawn.
Our bodies wiggled like a prawn;
And smiles on our faces were drawn,
With the feeling as if we won.

I was walking on air this morning.
Our laughs sounded better than a bell's ding,
And our voices were louder than a phone's ring.
We held our heads up like a king,
While our restless hearts sing.
And I wouldn't change a thing.

I was walking on air this afternoon.
You got me grinning like a new moon.
Like a flower, my cheeks bloom.
I didn't ever want to go back to my room,
And wished the moment wouldn't zoom.
I'd have given everything not to make it end too soon.

I am walking on air tonight.
It's all too dark but it still seems so bright,
For the bliss in our eyes has light
And no darkness can ever block my sight.
This ecstasy we couldn't fight
Will forever bind us tight.

He sat there looking on,
The one million mile stare,
As still as if he was drawn
Or maybe just in prayer.

Across the entire world
His mind would race.
His thoughts would unfurl
As his mind would quickly pace.

How do you catch a prawn?
Or how would be get home?
The last chopper from Saigon,
The great civilisation, Rome.

All the world was his oyster.
But why not anymore?
For while his mind did roister,
Time had crept out the door.

At this time everyday
He was able to be free.
On the outside he was grey
While inside he could flee.

Is the sun too bright
for the sky? Does it burn out
the azure like a moth trapped
in a light fixture till it dies?

Is the ocean too deep
for the land? Does it swallow
the green as it stands?

Is the nightingale too melodic
in her song? Singing all night
in the moonlight. Does her pitch throw
the switch on his wand?

Is the dandelion too strong
for his coiffured lawn? As he
cuts her down she rebounds, poking out
her head like a foot from under
the spread. He can’t shell her
like a prawn.

I am the bads deliverer
And i deliver bads.
I deliver all the things that disappoint you, make you mad.
I drive my van right to your door, and arrive just as you leave
So i write a 'collect later' note impossible to read.
I deliver all the products that just aren't quite what you ordered,
Like a t-shirt just one size too small, or a photo wrongly bordered,
I miss one meal off your takeaway, give you beef instead of prawn,
I tell you 'between 9 and 12' and then arrive at four,
I fill a van with fragile things then hit every speed bump;
But the worst thing that I've ever done is deliver Donald Trump

Plates of chicken,
Beef, lamb and pork,
Cherries and grapes,
Fresh from the stalk.

Salads and noodles,
Lettuce, tomatoes, corn,
Not a glass out of place,
Not a prawn.

A enticing odour,
From bottles of wine,
And perfect food,
The finest of fine.

On a separate table,
With red velvet cloth,
Lies stacks of deserts,
More than enough.

Cakes and cream,
Puddings and pies,
And in the corner,
A pavlova lies.

An incomplete job?
Not in the least,
Look at the food,
What a feast!

In the corners of Lagos
There was yet no favor
I slept in gutters of Surulere
And woke in streets of Ajegunle
No food, no home no brother
I lived my life in lowly ponder
My stomach always ached for hunger
As I search dust bins of hamburgers
This was the life I lived
In the big city if the rich.

Under bridges I did sleep
Calling it pleasure like peppermint
When the rains came I endured it
soaking me down from underneath
Thousands of mosquitoes fed from me
While bats always sang me sleep
My clothes they did stink
For real, I'd no bath for weeks
This is the life I lived
In a country full of meat

My mother where art thou
My father had long drown
my family was a crown
When they saw me they did frown
Striking me down in such big town
In my rag my heart did pound
Oh what a life have I found
This the life was I bound
As I lay folding like a prawn

I had a revelation, I did say
That Christ could help without pay
Having love and mercy for those in pain
Tears of joy I did shed
That all be over, lest I faint
In my rags I left for church on Sunday
sit behind the ushers did say
just Because I did smell
No one looked at me no one cared
They're were well dressed in golden bracelets
No one sat close to me lest they faint
For my smell was really feign
Time for alter call the pastor said
I dared to go but they did held
You'll disgrace our church for you smell
This is my life I did tell
Explaining it like fairy tale.

I left the church in holy shame
Knowing well I had no place with them
Church is for the rich, I exclaimed
So my life continued in shatter dreams
Feeding from spyrogyra I did live
I thought I'd die a man man bring
But things changed as I began to think.