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Monthly Archives: May 2015

Dragons Breath

30 Saturday May 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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dragons, fire, gail morgan

Deep inside middle Earth  lives a group of fire

breathing Dragons

Well I say fire breathing

But all that they are breathing now is smoke

Their fire has been extinguished

Now they are very undistinguished

They have lost their spark

You are not a true Dragon if you cant breathe fire

It is like a Bird that cant fly

Or a Fish that cant swim

The Dragons are getting worried

So the Elders call a special meeting

They need to find a solution

So they consult a mystical sorcerer

The sorcerer reads a old and worn Dragon

medical journal

And he mixes up a foul smelling potion of secret

herbs and spices

The KFC of the Dragon world

A young Dragon couple named Mr and Mrs Rockpile

Are expecting their first baby

They are also to be the Guinea Pigs

Mrs Rockpile drinks the potion and straight away she

feels a heat building up deep inside

The pregnancy goes well and Mrs Rockpile is getting

very very wide

Three months later their Son Barney is born

He is the perfect Baby

And he sleeps through most of the night

Barney has a drink of Baby formula for

breakfast

Mrs Rockpile taps Barney on the back

To bring up his wind

The Dragon community has gathered around

in the hope that Barney might burp up a spurt

of fire

But all they get is a puff of smoke

For one year Barney burps nothing but smoke

There is not even a flicker of flame

On his first birthday his family decide to throw

Barney a birthday party

After Barney with the help of his Mum unwraps

his presents

It is time for the birthday cake

In the  middle of the cake is one unlit candle

Mum and Dad tell Barney to breathe fire

So that he can light the candle

Barney concentrates real hard

Says a prayer to the fire Gods

And then he lets rip

Out comes a little puff of smoke

But then there is a thunderous sound

And out shoots a wall of flame

Like a flamethrower from hell

The birthday cake is melted

And the family and guests run as the house

burns to the ground

The whole valley rumbled with that fire breathing

sound

All of the Female Dragons are given the potion to drink

And one by one more fire breathing Dragons are born

Barneys Mum gives birth is a Son they call Connor

And to mark the occasion a BBQ is arranged

Barney as the first of the new breed of fire breathing

Dragons is the guest of honour

Barney is asked to light the BBQ

And he does as he is asked

All goes well and the Dragons enjoy some Brontosauras

burgers

Soon the valley is full of fire breathing Dragons

And Dragons are once again back to where they belong

Ruling centre Earth

Everybody knows that erupting Volcanos  is the breathe

of an angry Dragon

Sometimes Volcanos become extinct and they can lay

dormant for years

And then Dragons will breathe fire again

The Legend lives on

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I Want Your Genes (By Any Means )

26 Tuesday May 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

genes, multilation

I am only five foot eight

I would like to be six foot four

I have long brown hair

I wish that it was black

I wish I had an IQ of 150 or more

Maybe 140 would do

I don’t want to be me no more

I want to be you

I follow a guy out of the gym

six foot four and black hair

walking along without a care

But his hair could do with a trim

I don’t want to be me

I want to be him

As he gets close to his car

I knock him to the ground

And I am on to him in one mighty bound

Then with my knife I slit his wrist

And give his neck a hard twist

His neck breaks with a loud snap

After I drink his blood

I am going to take a little nap

I drink his blood like a Vampire on speed

I swallow down three litres to satisfy my need

I steal my donors car and drive home as fast as I can

Hopefully  when I wake up tomorrow

I will be a new man

Sitting in my lounge chair

I feel a bit under the weather

Maybe drinking his blood wasn’t so clever

I am type 0 he must have been a type A

I race to the toilet and give it a good spray

I really need some new genes

Mine are tired and worn

I will get them by any means

Then I will be reborn

I see my next donor waiting to cross

at the lights

I race up behind him and rip out a

handful of hair

And I run away as fast as a hare

He had the hair colour and the height

that I want

He looked pretty smart

Hopefully his genes will fit

And I will cease to exist

I don’t want to be me

I want to be my donor

I don’t want to be

A short dumb loner

I get home and put the hair and some

water into a blender

I f this works I am gonna go on a bender

I blast for a minute or two

I don’t want to be me

I want to be you

I swallow down the concoction

Hair and hopefully Genes and DNA

Then the new me will be here to stay

But then I start to feel a little queasy

Why cant anything be goddamn easy

Again I race to the toilet

just down the hall

But all that I do is cough up a nasty little

hair ball

I really need some new Genes

Mine are a bad fit

I will get them by any means

Then I will be it

Now I am getting desperate

I know the source of my pain

I need the Genes from a new Brain

While I am at it I might as well eat the Heart

and the Bone Marrow

All I need now is a scalpel and a wheel barrow

My new donor doesn’t know what hit him

As I sneak up behind

He is the right height and I hope he is of

sound mind

One slice of my scalpel opens his throat

and he falls into my barrow

Another slice opens his spine exposing

the juicy Marrow

I slurp it down with a satisfying sigh

Then I wheel him away

His sightless eyes

look to the sky

I find a secluded spot and with a rock

I expose his Brain

With both hands I scoop it out

and eat it all down

Hopefully new Genes I will have found

His Heart is next and I eat it bloody

and raw

That’s it I am full I cant eat no more

Then in an ironic twist of fate

The Police catch me because of my own

Genes and DNA

My own body has given me away

I am writing this story from a home for the

mentally unstable

I will never be released

And for that the world should be grateful

Because

I still want your Genes by any means.

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The Seagull And The Chip

21 Thursday May 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

french fries, seagull

Bertie the Seagull is getting too big for his feathers

He hangs around his local beach in all types of weathers

Sunshine or rain he doesn’t care if his feathers get wet

Bertie loves his food he will eat anything he can get

Anything will do but his favourite is hot chips

Even thinking about them will add inchs to his hips

He had his first taste of chips when he was just a chick

Now they are a habit that he just cant kick

Crispy on the outside fluffy within bertie just cant help

himself

He would even fly into a store and take them straight

off the shelf

Bertie knows that he has a problem his bathroom mirror

doesn’t lie

He is getting a little gut he can barely walk let alone fly

He remembers the morning when he went to the mirror

and had a look

And he saw that he has more chins then a Chinese

telephone book

Bertie decides that he needs help with his situation

He knows that all he has to do is resist temptation

But those goddamn chips taste so salty and good

He knows that he has to eat better

If only he could

On his way to see his Doctor Bretie stops off at the

beach

Hopefully he will find a chip within easy reach

Just then he sees a kid eating chips out of a little bucket

He knows he shouldn’t but ‘fuck it’

He swoops down and grabs a chip out of the kids hand

He eats it inflight he doesn’t even land

He arrives at the Doctors to get the help he needs

Hopefully the Doctor will be quick so he can go and get a feed

The Doctor says to’Cut out the chips and saturated fats and eat

more oily Fish

Bertie knows that he only has one wish

He wishes that the world was one giant hot chip

A few weeks later Bertie goes back to his mirror for another look

He cant believe his eyes he is at a lose

He doesn’t look like a Seagull more like a freaking Albatross

It is like his mirror is a magnifying glass

He has a big stomach and an even bigger arse

Bertie rubs his eyes he cant believe what he is seeing

How can something that tastes so good be so bad for you

Bertie knows exactly what he has to do

He has to go on a diet he has to lose some weight

He has to do it now before it is too late

No more Pies Sausage Rolls Dim Sims and especially

those dreaded Hot Chips

None of that bad stuff will ever again pass his lips

Or in Berties case beak

Seagulls don’t have lips

But they sure do like Hot Chips

Bertie starts an exercise regime

He wants to get buff he wants to get lean

He goes on long flights he lives his life on the wing

He breathes the fresh air and hardly eats a thing

Bertie joins a gym and bought himself a muscle shirt

He lifts weights until his muscles hurt

Bertie became the leanest keenest Seagull in the neighbourhood

He is feeling proud of himself he is feeling good

To celebrate his newfound foray into the world of fitness

Bertie decides to go for a dip

And as God is my witness he swims straight into a water logged

Hot Chip

Berties mind is racing his Heart skips a beat

As he eyes his favourite treat

Then his nose gets a whiff of that tiny morsel

The aroma of the French Frie

Bertie tries to ignore the smell of that fried piece of spud

It is like Potato has become his best bud

Bertie opens his beak and the Chip slides on past

Temptation has been resisted

Bertie starts to swim mighty fast in the opposite direction

Now Bertie knows that he has the strength to resist

But from now on he will eat nothing but fresh Fish

Bertie soars with the breeze his head is held high

Bertie is the proudest Seagull in the sky.

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A Pretty Mess

13 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

pills prostitution, runaways

Maxine is Thirteen years old living on a farm in the

middle of nowhere

She dreams about the Big Smoke she has a wild

sense of adventure

But if she not careful her dream could come true

Maxine lays on her bed writing a goodbye letter

to her parents

She has had enough she has to get away

She writes the last sentence and a tear drop falls

smudging the page

She packs a suitcase and grabs the money she has

been saving

Her parents are asleep and she sneaks out the back

door

She will never see her parents or the farm again

Maxine is a very pretty girl tall for her age

But she is still only Thirteen she has no idea of

what lays ahead

A naïve child who thinks she knows it all

She gets to the farm gate and has one last look

at home

Then she picks up her suitcase sticks out her thumb

and waits for a ride

It is a five hour drive to Sydney

Maxine has heard of a place called Kings Cross

She will arrive get a job make a lot of money

Buy some fancy clothes and lots of shoes

Maxine still hasn’t opened her eyes

A big city is no place for a little girl

After a while Maxine gets a lift from a truck driver

When Maxine says she is going to Kings Cross

The truckie gives her a knowing smile

For Maxine life is about to get rough very rough

Before she knows what is happening she is forced

to perform a sexual act

Maxine was a very pretty girl

Now she is just a pretty mess

The truckie drops Maxine off at the Cross

After she is forced to perform a few more times

A bewildered Maxine wonders the streets of

broken dreams

A vacant look in her eye

Maxine sits in a door step she has nowhere to go

Her heart is racing she is scared out of her wits

She wants to catch the first Bus back home

She doesn’t see the stranger approach

and she is dragged into an alleyway and raped

violently

She lays there bleeding and crying

Maxine was a pretty girl

Now she is just a pretty mess

She wakes up in a bed she doesn’t know where

She is sore and ashamed how could this happen

to her?

An older girl comes up to the bed and says that her

name is Bonnie

She found Maxine and took her home

Maxine can stay as long as she likes

Bonnie can see that Maxine is feeling down

and she offers Maxine a happy pill

Something to put a smile back on her face

Maxine swallows the pill and soon enough  she is

floating on the ceiling

She kind of likes it up there

But then the euphoria wears off and she comes crashing

back down

Her skin is crawling and she is sick all over the sheets

Maxine was once a pretty girl

Now she is just a pretty mess

Bonnie yells at Maxine as she throws the sheets into

the washing machine

Little miss friendly has turned into little miss mean

She says that Maxine has to start paying her way

There is no room for a free loader

Bonnie cooks her a meal with a few happy pills mixed in

Maxine is off with the pixies

She doesn’t notice the man enter the room

But soon Maxine is screaming as she is penetrated

for the first time

Ten men visited Maxines room that night

Maxine is growing up fast she is Thirteen going on Twenty

She is covered in sweat and jizz

Maxine was once a pretty girl

Now she is just a pretty mess

Six months has passed and Maxine is hooked on the

happy pills

And she still earns a living laying on her back

Every now and then she will think about life back on the

farm and how much she misses her parents

But then she reaches for another pill as a new customer

enters her room

Maxine was once a pretty girl

Now she is just a pretty mess

Keep an eye out for the next instalment

Maxine(Beyond The Cross)

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The Baby Faced Despot

10 Sunday May 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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north korea

In a land that time has forgot

Rules a baby faced despot

His name is Kim Jong-un

A mongrel second to none

He controls the Northern part of a

country cut in half

His people have travelled  a long

lonely path

It looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth

But he has nothing but contempt for the

people in the South

And the rest of the world for that matter

If he lived in wonderland he would be the

mad hatter

Sin li works on a farm pushing a Horse

drawn plough

She has no plans for the future

She lives in the right now

There are no tractors or machinery

No food no money no opportunities

Meanwhile Kim Jong-un is in his castle

smoking a cigar

Watching as a worker washes his car

He probably has someone to wipe his arse

Kim Jong-un has something but it sure isn’t

class

Soo Jang ho works in a factory making bomb

equipment

She is lacking drive and she has no commitment

And who can blame her she works a fourteen hour

day

All she gets is blisters and very little pay

Kim Jong-un is relaxed

He has just enjoyed some female company

drinking Cognac and watching some TV

He thinks he is cool with his uniform and

weird hair cut

But Kim Jong-un you are anything but

Kim Jong-un lives in a house with a 175

rooms

He lives so high he can almost touch the Moon

He sits on a golden throne

Talking into a nickel plated mobile phone

He does all of this while his people are starving

Kim Jong-un you are stark raving

29 million North Koreans live on I don’t know

what

There sure as shit aint no food

As I said this is the land that time has forgot

Kim Jong-un is snacking on Lobster tails and South

Atlantic Caviar

His reign has gone too far

Terror and fear rule the towns

scared of this baby faced clown

Kim Jong-un grew up as a normal child

He was really into the NBA

But then he came under the will of his

father Kim Jong-il

Kim Jong-un and his forebears have ruled

North Korea for far too long

It is past the time that they were gone

With the treatment of his people and nuclear

tests

Kim Jong-un is a universal pest

Like any pest he needs to be eradicated

Assassinated or Watergated

The Berlin wall has come down brick by brick

There are no more dramas in Vietnam

The Soviet Union is no more Hitler and

Musselini are way in the past

So there is still hope for the North Korean

population

Maybe one day North and South Korea will

become a reunited nation.

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Granger The Bushranger

08 Friday May 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

bushranger, outlaws

For all of my overseas readers a Bushranger is the

Australian version of the American outlaws of the

Wild West like Jesse James.

Granger The Bushranger is sitting on a stool at the

bar of his favourite watering hole (Pub)

No one knows who he is because when he commits his

crimes he wears a black bandana.

The bandana is his calling card

When his target sees it they know that they are about to

be robbed by Granger The Bushranger

The year is 1858 in Ballarat Victoria Australia

And Granger The Bushranger is sitting at the bar drinking

Whiskey

Thinking about ways to make money.

The illegal way.

After quenching his thirst he goes outside and jumps

on his Horse Lighting Bolt a strong willed Colt

And he rides back to his camp

Then he remembers being told that the Gold Miners

take their nuggets to Ballarat to be weighed

And then they are paid.

Granger The Bushranger feels a smile come to his face

He is counting the money already

Tomorrow he will ride into town and look for a Miner

with heavy saddlebags.

The Sun comes up and Granger has a Breakfast of

Rabbit Stew and Coffee.

Then he saddles up Lighting Bolt and he is on his way

to Ballarat

After riding for an hour he hits the outskirts of town

He rides down the dusty main street and ties Lighting

Bolt outside the Saloon.

He has three Whiskeys and it isn’t even noon

As he was riding down the street the saw the Gold buying

store Munroes Paid For Gold

Now sitting on his bar stool he sits facing the window

He has one eye on Munroes and the other eye on the

Barmaids Tits.

Now he just needs to find a Miner to scare out of his wits

He doesn’t have to wait long as a bow legged Horse

struggles up to Munroes.

The Miner might as well be carrying a sign that says

‘Come and rob me”

The Miner can barely lift the saddlebags

They must weigh twenty pounds or more and then he

makes his way into the store.

Granger gets up off his stool and he gives the Barmaid

a tip

He downs the last of his Whiskey and heads towards

the door

He is about to become rich and make one Gold Miner poor

He goes up to the Miners Horse that is tied up outside Munroes

And he leads it down an alley way and then he waits.

He is using the Horse as bait

The Gold Miner comes out of Munroes  with a look of

satisfaction

His front pocket is full from the recent transaction

Then he shakes his head cause his Horse is gone

Then he hears a neigh coming from the alley way

Someone must be playing a prank

Either Johhno or his younger brother Frank

But he didn’t think that they were in town

Granger puts on his Bandana as he sees the Miner

approach

As the Miner unties his Horse Granger goes Psst

The Miner spins around and all he can say is “Granger”

His Legs start to buckle and his Bladder is emptied

Granger lets out a chuckle as he notices the wet patch

The Miner just hands over the money he knows that he

has met his match

Granger tells the Miner to get on his horse and ride out of

town

And tell all of his friends that you have met Granger the

Bushranger.

You will come out in a nasty little rash

As he relieves you of your cash

Granger saunters down the main street with a pocket

full of money and a Bandana full of menace

Then he sees a poster on the Barber shop window

“Cobb& Co Stagecoach Ballarat to Bendigo 5 pence

Granger has always wanted to rob a Stagecoach and now

he has his chance

But first to celebrate with some Wine Women and Song

He might even smoke a bong and then sing along

Back at base camp Granger is feeling in need of some action

So he saddles up Lightning Bolt and rides to the Highway

And he waits for the Stagecoach to pass on by

He sees a cloud of dust approaching

As it gets closer  he can see that Cobb& Co is here

And he and Lightning Bolt hide behind a tree

Waiting for the right opportunity

He ties on the Black Bandana and he and his Horse block

the Stagecoachs path

He fires two shots into the air and orders the driver and the

passengers to jump to the ground

With their hands in the air once again all they can say is

“Granger”

One by one they hand over their valuables

Granger rides into the hills with his pockets full of dollar bills

and a shit load of jewels

Taken from a Stage coach full of fools

Once again Granger has hit the Mother lode

He thinks maybe it is time for him to retire

Ride the Yellow brick road before he ends up in the mire

Back at the camp site he has a few Whiskeys and he starts to

have second thoughts

Maybe go out with a bang with one last heist

For his stubbornness he has his Mother to thank

He will rob the Ballarat First National Bank

For a week he watches the Bank from the safety of bar

stool in the Saloon

Waiting for the best time to do the job

He thinks the best time would be on Thursday about noon

And then a one way ticket to the Moon

Thursday comes around real quick and Granger strolls into

the Bank and ties on his trusty Bandana

Once again he fires into the air and tells the customers to lay

on the floor with their hands behind their heads

Or he will send them to their  final beds

The whisper goes around the Bank ‘Its Granger the Bushranger”

He hands the tellers duffel bags and tells them to “Fill em up”

He drags the bags out to where Lightning Bolt is waiting

Plus a spare Horse to carry the bags

But Granger is about to go from riches to rags

For Granger with all of his greed has failed to look behind him

For Ten Constables are bearing on down

Their Horses going hell for leather sensing a change in the

weather

Takes off at full speed on his trusty steed

Leaving the duffel bags behind

The Police are firing wildly but one bullet finds its mark

and it hits Granger in the back

But Lightning  Bolt stays on track and they reach the camp site

just before dark

Granger is bleeding badly and he crawls behind a bush

to rest

The Constables follow the trail of blood to the camp site

But of Granger not a trace is found

He has disappeared into thin air

Granger The Bushranger hasn’t been seen since that day

Is he alive or is he dead?

Nobody really knows

The legend lives on

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Seymour The Wayward Snail

04 Monday May 2015

Posted by stevenjohnno in poems, stories

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Tags

cabbage, crime, snails

Seymour the wayward Snail is a very troubled Snail

He lives on the wrong side of the street

His parents are worried that he is going off the rails

A more troubled Snail you will never meet

The trouble started when Seymour was a child

When he started to hang with the wrong crowd

He grew his hair and ran wild

He was all shell and very proud.

Seymours first foray to the wrong side of the law

Was when he ignored a No Trespassing sign in a

neighbours yard.

But he had a taste for Cabbage leaves and he wanted more

So he slide under the fence and ate up the whole yard.

The neighbour Mr Babbage didn’t like Seymour eating his

Cabbage.

And Seymour the wayward Snail was caught and handed to

the Snail Police.

A Constable Escargot was in charge of Seymours case.

Seymour might have escaped but Snails are mighty slow

Seymour was ashamed that he couldn’t make haste.

Constable Escargot let Seymour off with a warning

And he was sent on his way

But Seymour didn’t understand how he was arrested in

the first place.

Sure he is slow but he was well hidden

No way had he been seen

It was like Mr Babbage had x ray vision.

Back at home Seymour is restless cause he has

been grounded without a mobile phone

His parents want Seymour to return to the straight

and narrow.

But Seymour sneaks out and goes on a bit of a roam

Cause he has a hankering for some juicy Marrow.

But once again Seymour is arrested at the scene of

the crime.

But he doesn’t understand what gave him away?

He was sure he left no trace this time

His parents are distraught as they sit in the back

of the court

Watching as their son is sentenced by the Judge

and Jury.

Seymour has realised that his crimes have all come to

nought

He sits there in  a silent fury

The Judge gives him three years in a home for

wayward Snails

Seymour is crushed and he goes back inside his shell

He was sure that he would make bail now he is on his

way to hell.

At the wayward home Seymour  is subjected to taunts

and abuse

He is called soft shell and told to harden up

He doesn’t understand the stuff that went down in the

showers

He is tormented by the head Snail named Bruce

He is forced to do some nasty things the pain goes

on for hours and hours.

Finally the three year sentence has come to an end

Seymour has become a mere shell of himself

He didn’t break but he sure did bend

He realises that crime is no good for your health

Arriving home he apologises to his parents for all the

crap he has put them through

And then he decides to say sorry to his neighbour

Mr Babbage the keeper of the Cabbage

Mr Babbage isn’t at home but Seymour notices these

Green pellets scattered all over the yard

He cant resist and he eats the whole lot

What Seymour doesn’t know is that he just swallowed

a whole lot of Snail bait

His stomach starts to churn and he spews up his guts

Seymour has come to the end of the road there are no

ifs or buts

Now he is nothing but a body of slime

Seymour has run out of time

On his deathbed Seymour has one last question for

his parents

He wants to know why he was always getting caught

He was sure that he had always covered his tracks

His Mum said ‘Seymour love you are a Snail you always

leave a trail’ lol

Seymour gives a rueful smile says goodbye to his Mum

and Dad

Then he just slips away

Seymour the wayward Snail has lived his final day.

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