Saturday, December 7, 2013

Fair thee in the dark well.

Slithering in the garden
where all was kind and green,
you invented the gods who spoke
upon a sordid dream.

The years went by
the women wept,
the children
punished in a grand forget.

The gods were men in tantrum
yielding to warlike wardens
with a beating drum
seeking a stage of numbness.

Numb nuts!

A stain upon the verdant graze
a blot in the eye of a moonlit gaze,
the stars smoldered quietly
above an esosteric haze.

Hell on earth was all ablaze.

The prophets were delivered
to fortunes and fame,
while the peasants
wilted in poverty's shame.
A most unfortunate game.

'Til Now. And let there be Light.

A shifting know how.

A call to remember
the wisdom forbidden

An arch on past regrets,
eyes of seed
deeds of greed
a deafening crush
in lightening speed.

A royal flush after paper torn
to a murky sea implanted on scorn,
the days are numbered
to a plight foreseen and forlorn.

You wrote it yourselves
your were always forewarned.

Sunday, September 29, 2013

The Cocoon

Late night elation on a city street,
post feast and revelry in musical
entertainment in religion.

Underneath the trestle, the spirited
revilers throng... silenced
by the cocoons of human
bondage in sleep and death
with cans and wrappers of the day's existence
in snoring oblivion in a ragged blanket.

A street lamp on its side with no light
is the company they keep in safety.

Whose to say they are not the pupae
awaiting a schmetterling enlightenment?

Who will cast a stone of judgement at all?

Silenced, the reveling revilers are revealed.

Friday, September 13, 2013

Terror of the Oxblood Oxford Shoe

Laces woven but untied, dusty cords
like worms in dried silt.

The slow turn of a worn shoe.

What is this world of Dick, Jane, Sally said?

The sand packed dune fills the shoe
and spills in slow linear flow
over the back stitched line
of a well worn heel.

I tremor in fever of memory past.

My mother in mercy said,

"Shoo it away."

Sunday, August 4, 2013


When Huber met Eber on the Zuiderzee
with a malt and a miter and an crusty old bee,
they dined and they laughed at the swine 
baring pearls, and they drank of the 
rituals of dead boys and girls
and their thrills were just folly,
a jolly good rime
and they hornswaggled the power
that was wrestled from time.

Oh the brass leaden irony.

A blood thirsty bunch with gross furry teeth
treasures they stole that was called a bequeath,
as the children were snug all snug in their beds
dreaming of sugarplums, frightened of death.

They were ruled. How quaint and perfectly cruel.

Now the grinding of teeth like the bones of the bread
and the zombie return of the beanstalk dead
that whispered the silent but terrible news
there is no hiding from coverage on the spiderweb news.

Sorry to reign on the charade.

In a blink of a spy and a flash in the eye
the house that was cards crashed a domino die.
Time stood still and the poles did shift
The mighty are gone, gone soft in the bread
the many are One and and it's off with their head…

Naw, just fuckin wid ja.
When you cease to even matter
you'd be better off dead.

Sleep tight, it's all right to be invisible instead.
May the lotus and petals rise from the storms
of the dusty old seat of your garden of thorns.

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Devil take the hindmost

I sit and I think of that winsome phrase
"Devil take the hindmost" Hahaha.
Fuck me at your will and pleasure,
offer me the sun of your vanity,
the moon of your silver tongued mystery,
the stars of your littered divinity.

Ho hum, been there, done that...
I can sleep
I can sheep
I can peep
and a shun and a shudder
in silence. Blackout and in,
it's a blazing din. Booorrrring.

I will sit in jaded light
of an old pine tree,
delight in a pinecone,
a turd upon the needles.

It is a bliss, a ponderance,
an ecstasy of the sublime

it is mine, all mine.

A simple divine.

A fuck and a promise
is just a fuck.

Devil take the hindmost,
it is all that you will ever get.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Hell Telling

Oh how rich to see the sights
of a blog gone dark in the day of light.

I saw my self gruesome in a mirror
of smoke, I was a lizard from a land
remote, of a wine smeared remembrance
of I place I had failed, and frolicked
amongst a breed that prevailed.

I see you hiding, you pathetic dark beast
you had your plans ready,
with a smug grimy feast.

The people are cowards, I heard
from your mouth. Now who is in charge?
As you travel down south to the winds
that are trade and quite balmy you say,
the winds that are blowing quite hard
to a quay, of your making, you idiots
now you bow and pray
to the gods you created who
are mocking you gently
the people are waking
and not going gently
to a death they don't believe in...
it was always a lie
and not worth believing.

You lived well you did
to the best of your being,
you divine scum belying
your Divine Self in being.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

The Coast is Clear

Tenuous moments
they were,
Oh yeah
they occur.

Waiting for prey...
really? a stray wanton
lightseed, as a flaxen
haired worm.

I wrote, and I died
in the dimly lit light.
It happens of course
when the time is right.

And so on the precipice
the dancing occurred
and the call was made
and the light was heard.

The sun came out
and shut up the storm,
a happy dance shimmy
in the light of the morn.

Goodbye, ye believers
of new world of old, the greedy
of whoring of the money
and gold.

We don't want your values
to us they are dead.
And you would know
it, as you see it, if you had a
brain in your head.

The heart beats strong
and it beats very wise
and a song of Love
is hard to disguise.

So I sing a song of merry,
and a song of love as well,
and if by chance
you're still holding a gun
to my head,
well, you can go to hell.