Alex Hamilton Poems

Recall the days of elegance and style:
Lyrics with rhythm; each word chosen with guile.
With subtle ambiguity, offence might be given:
But to using the f word no poet could be driven.
...

Her mother sat like Budha in the igloo tent:
Womb-like walls of canvas,
Pure and untouched by
Crudely stitched names of men or
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My life was happy and with focus.
He was not a welcome guest.
He arrived and raped me
With reassuring words and charm,
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Today was our meeting
The first for some years.
You gave me cool greeting
And no sign of tears.
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History is ‘Nothing to be done’; and Time passes circularly.
Nothing passes circularly: History and Time is to be done.
Time is circularly Nothing and History passes to be done.
History circularly passes Time and Nothing is to be done.
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The ancients really have the wisdom - if only we could listen. The speakers of Latin called a bush ‘frutex’. They used the same word for ‘blockhead’. Two thousand years before George W, they had worked something out!
I am very curious as to why this linguistic lesson that Bush is a blockhead was long hidden from the public. The heavy price consequently paid by humanity inspired me to write ‘Opus Frutici’ (a dedication to Bush) . I have faith in the goodness of humanity but the world’s journey through the tube of Time is disturbed and damaged by false prophets and twisted words.

Praise the God of Peace,
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Moaning, moody messenger of misery,
You are as humourless as I am hairless.
I want released from your burden, my sister:
Can you remind me why I love you?
...