Octopus would like to tell tall stories to her kids
of the vampire cuttlefish that preyed on the squid
out of the dank darkness the vampire would slink
grabbing squid from the reef to drink all their ink.
Give a fish a man
and he eats for a day
teach him how to man
and he eats forever.
The sea shimmers oh so brightly
surely no shadow and no dark
I admired the star’s reflection
then was eaten by a shark.
Innocently we were splashing in the river
a passing piranha chewed out my liver
all the blood attracted all more strife
but oh well shit happens such is life.
The grass is moving like the ocean waves
what a perverse way to behave
so convincing is the grass’s show
I do not know wether to swim
or to mow.
The tide is ripping
my grip is slipping
I’m going under again
all is just bubbles
I’m in deep trouble
It all goes darker but then
a hand on my collar
my gargling holler
I emerge from out of the brine
returning to my fight
I see a splinter light
my friend got to me just in time.
When you are just swimming,
you are missing the fun of drowning.
Rooks, crows and ravens
more colour than the spring
an iridescent rainbow
shines upon their wing.
Cackling a morning cry
the crows alight into the sky
they find a fine breakfast to eat
at the morbid diner down the street.
Sifting through my many faults, my self analysis. I am frustrated when misunderstood, misheard, I suddenly plummet, like I had made no progress at all. I am back to being a child sitting alone and shy, wondering what everyone else makes of it all, if they see what I see.
“Fighting for freedom” a trope for control. The uniforms of war and the tools of war, the slogans of war, how cool they look on the posters of war. All hippiedom is cast aside as folly, what good is peace? Look at how cool death is, how great the killing. For those not lucky enough to go to war, have a weapon for your own! show your friends, make war on your neighbours, invent a reason you need to arm yourself. Give your kids a gun, or give them a killing game for their game machine, let them experience murder by their own hand. All in the name of freedom, freedom to be a manipulated dumbass.
The egos love the war
keep war rumbling on
say fighting for a peace
they hope will never come
the pomp and the honour
the explosion of the shells
the death they bring to us
drags their souls to hell.
The cats return me to peace
purring in meditation
settling my soul.
In jet black silk they prowl their new found world
Green eyes observe sharpening their nerve
Stalking toy prey with little compassion
Practice their role as furry assassin.
They are running amok
Going quite bananas
The cutest princes
In black pyjamas.
In the queue I watch the barista juggle. Many handles and cups move in blur, I presume many arms, yet only count two. What a wonderful performance to witness on an otherwise ordinary day.
They are supposed to be there for the people’s needs
But they have no care to sow
What a wonderful nest they weaved for their own
no twig shared to those below.
Let’s get to the heart of it
you just don’t care
you wave your carelessness
as a if it were a virtue.
When we see the world does not care for us
it’s easy to slip to carelessness ourselves
feeding into a hateful spiral
It is so important to care.
Moon dipped below the willow tree
to light the rippling stream
washing sparkles to the icy sea
sending Poseidon’s dreams.
Only at the bottom of the water
do you find the best music
the slow lilting slumber
of your last lullaby.
Ambassador Stone could not tell a lie
for all that he loved in the fires he’ll fry
no tears will be shed, no soul will cry
no reason for secrets no reason to die
Finally the Great Pumpkin arrived!
though Linus has many regrets
as sincere as the patch he picked
the great one took Linus’s head.
The safest place for a tiger cub
is in her mother’s jaws
though you will find
her’s is not yours
The witches are soaring over the roofs again tonight
Ilicit winds give glimpses of flying thigh
I see no evil up there.
The blue whale:
The largest animal ever to walk the earth. There is much written of this almost mythical animal, yet so much is not shared for fear of stirring people into a wild frenzy, yet I feel the facts must be shared. Millennia ago they returned to the sea, out of boredom, their legs retrograded into feathered water flappers. Although they grow to up to three miles long, due to their colour, they are almost entirely invisible, helpful in stalking their prey, shoals of hammer head sharks and misplaced Mississippi steam boats. In ancient times they would gather in the Pacific Ocean to ritually deposit their waste, these poop fields eventually formed into the islands that we know today as the Hawaiian islands. Here they still perform the giant fish dance in their fin like grass skirts. Sadly due to the economy, the blue whale is now endangered, which is why we must hunt and kill the remaining few, as their sexual frustration often cause tsunamis on Pacific coastlines. Their massive bodies will be useful to us. Already a recovered cornea from an ancient passed giant, formed the millennium dome in London. When you look upon it during East Enders, think of all that that creature has seen throughout its years in the sea.
This busy town has infected me
I wish to return to the trees
to wash it from my soul
The only hoots from the owls
The only honks from the geese
Returning to the countryside
Returning to the peace.
Upon entering, we choose to take or leave the glowing ropes, those who take, choose to be a target in this game, an adrenaline rush. Those who leave the rope be, just wander unengaged. The yes and no’s are split fifty fifty, in the dozen or so as we enter. I choose to leave the rope. Absolute darkness is the first thing to greet us, six glowing ropes hover in expectation, one rope jiggles as its wearer is jostled by unknown assailant in the dark, there is a stifled gasp as the wearer hangs on to bravery. Silence greets us next. Anticipation builds, till a flash of light zips over our heads, drawing a scream from startled throats. A dim light comes subtly, in skeletal shapes bearing pained skulls, that moan their existence to passers by. Scooby Doo jumps from a hidden place, to bark “roobie roobie roo”… at us, a distraction, as another glowing rope is jostled in the corner of my eye. I hear a voice say “Hey! Where the fuck is my wallet?!”. The rope turns to take on some unknown dark figure, they fade. We never see either again. Shuffling onwards a dark door beckons us in, five glowing ropes hover uncertainly towards it. We observers follow, intrigued as to how the volunteers fare. A man bearing a pumpkin head launches himself into our small crowd, he extracts a scream and single soul. Leaving remaining hearts to pound alone. In time and anti climax we watch white sheets waft across our path, in tandem with half hearted “Woos”. A giggle emerges from the group, for this limp refrain, only to be met with ferocious reply. The guttural growl sounds all too real, preempting the emerging beast, it wields a shining axe and bares it’s glinting teeth, the axe falls, a glow rope drops and the victim is silently dragged away. The three remaining ropes are discarded.. One too late, just as she reached to escape from target, the gang of zombies appeared, no moaning, no shuffling, as lightning they seized her, we really did try to keep her to us, but they were too swift, we remained impotent in darkness, unable to tell which direction her turgid screams came from, till suddenly they stopped. We stood in shock, in darkness, till a click. A door opens, allowing light to pour through, flooding our mole eyes in painful midday sun. Glancing across, I spy the entrance, and the line, more glowing ropes are accepted.
I am sat at a rectangular wooden table with five empty seats around it. In a small waiting room, waiting. The windowless walls offer no inspiration for thought, so I must dive into imagination, In the absence of a timepiece, time is strung on my ability to hold off boredom. memories bob in and out of my mind, then things that must be done in the future, things to create, to create a something to look forward to.
The click of the door handle jolts my heart, such minor excitement in a room without interest. A man of average height, average build and average face walks in. He is indescribably average. We give mutual silent greetings in nod, he drags out the furthest seat with a screech across the floor, slouches down and looks toward an imagined horizon through the wall. I take in his face for one moment more than comfortable for his eyes, I self-consciously find interest elsewhere. Glancing back to him I see he is loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. A literal freeing of binding in an abstract entrapment.
The second click is soft and creeps the door open with less ego. She wears a business suit with pencil skirt, pinning in a body that enjoys itself. Scanning the room, she gives us a glimpse of a smile and softly says “Hello”. I crackle a “Hi” in reply from my dry throat. Another nod from Mr Business. She takes the seat opposite me and holds my eyes to hers in soft confidence, just moments, but I quit first and look away, I feel self conscious heat in my cheeks and busy myself with my fingernails.
The next click of the door is barely perceptible as a man creeps in as a ghost, his face is present, but his eyes are not here at all. He sits along from me, not looking to a soul, intent on taking as little space up in the world as possible, uncertain breaths quietly shiver from him. He fixes the table with a stare that looks beyond to the infinity below. He feels if he does not use time, it will not involve him. Silence remains with us, and is thickening with each moment, it chokes back any words one could produce.
Sat on the beach alone, all the tourists have taken their leave. Leaving me to watch the sand twinkle in the golden orb’s last beams. A cool breeze soothes the burn of a hot day, while the reeds rustle in relaxation. As the last copper light falls into the ocean, I lay back and watch each star take its place in the heavens, before I drift into sleep.
I wake from my night slumber, to witness the sun rising once more, a glorious slow wash painted across the waves. Then the sun says “Wait, this isn’t right, I’ll be back in a minute”, sunlight then washed back down to the horizon. Moments later, I feel the warmth on my back. “Sorry” says the sun, “Its early, cut me some slack”.
Take to the ocean and ride with the dolphins, carefree and dizzy.
The sun sank west some time ago, as I sit alone in the top of the house a scruffling noise from outside alerts my senses, yet I settle, stay sat in darkness, but for one reading lamp. Again a noise, kerfuffle and a knock at the window. I am roused to curiosity. Upon opening the door to the night, silence greets me in silver. Looking up, a million lights are lit, to show the prey to the hunter.
It was not your fault
you hung on to the rope as hard as you could
the rope went limp in your hands.
He awoke at noon and slapped his wife, he kicked his dog and swore at the kids. He leapt from the house to abuse the postman and piss on his neighbours lawn. He raised his flag up the mast, a passing cop smiled a proud smile.
A home without a house, is just a dog.
I watched the charcoal crows glint in the sun, shining brighter than all the white doves. following the same deceit, we believe all beautiful people have clean teeth.
At who knows what o’clock at night, in the pitch black, there is more noise from the house. Banging, creaking and knocking. The spirits are so light and wispy in the movies, yet ours seem to have such clumsy heavy feet. Don’t get me wrong, I am not one to jump to ghostly conclusions, there is reason for hubbub in the house. There is plumbing, grumbling timbers and the scuttle of night creatures. Yet the music in the walls still prickles my senses, it is enough to send shivers up the spine of anyone alone in an old house at night. Those in the walls play the funeral march in adagio. They are playing it on kazoo. Which takes the edge off somewhat.
Elegiac a strung out yarn
unwound laid scattered
having ramshackle charm.
Sight, sound, touch and smell
memories flood our brain
no index, no category
it is an every day miracle
that we can recall anything at all.
Sometimes we must take a stand and kneel down
against those who will not take a stand
and just stand there.
Pablo’s brew would push eyes askew, block colour fall to Salvador’s twisted view, Monet’s chalice leaves me in false bliss blue, Van Gogh twist is never true, one sip left to chance, the darkest dance given from Rembrandt, Warhol ale is just one tease, my aching head blamed on Matisse, I wouldn’t wish to sip a Bosch, that would switch humanity off, to gulp Escher down, fall off the stair and up to drown, into Turner’s high rolling sea, that is enough art for me.
Once every ten thousand lifetimes you get to come. Away from the other world. That land of no sunlight, of no air, no fertility, not one green tree. Not one smile, not one giggle, no glee. Darkness resides there in a land of no dreams, a longing for silence in the moans and screams. No exit from that land till all sand has run ten thousand times. Then to receive one more visitation to here in heaven. What to do with that precious time.
No shackles in feathers all mine to explore
no ceiling to keep me down there on the floor
dancing in heaven waltz through the divine
the wind is my partner forever entwined
When she stalks
note how still her head
how even her eyes
when the bell rings
it is too late.