The Long Race

Straining hard,
Every breath torture on failing lungs,
Sweat beading on furrowed brow,
Heart, a pounding sledgehammer for the ears,
Eyes fighting darkening tunnels,
Only five minutes more,
Then four, three…
Twelve breaths per minute,
Thirty six masochistic moments,
Chest filled with napalm,
Arms and legs spasm,
Stomach knotting,
Face bloodless and feral with tenacity
Two minutes, one…
He could coast now,
But determination grips hard,
Dragging air in, wheezing it out again,
His final stubborn moment.

There, it’s time; he’s reached his goal,
One hundred years of life,
He stops the struggle,
Finishes his race,
Light fading from intense eyes,
Final beat beaten,
Last breath and sighed words,
“Happy birthday.”

A sproagging I shall go

Warm air and gentle cooling breeze,
Perfect clime to go sproagging,
So out, out! Out I go,
A wandering wanderer,
Hoping to find, one,
Not of steatopygic build,
And preferably an uncut field…

Flumanchoo

Cold sweat and pounding head,
Aching joints, stiff legged gait,
Slow shuffle walk, grunts and groans,
Hot flushes and sore bruised eyes,
Broken glass hack of a cough,
Blocked nose, stuffed sinuses,
A twenty five year old, going on ninety,
It hurts to talk, the lights too bright,
Feed me, rub me, pamper me,
I feel so ill, I might be dying…

What?
Phone in sick?
Not go to work?
Silly woman, I’m not that ill!

Dancer 7 of 7

Hooked on fiery barbs of morning star,
Dancing to fallen strings,
Dancing till I drop,
See me dance!
No, see me sleep,
See me yawn and drool,
A slothful slumber
No diligence for me,
Then I’ll pay the piper,
A snake pit bed,
Thrash a different dance for eternity.

Dancer 6 of 7

Dancing to fallen strings,
See me dance!
A proud pavane,
Hooked on fiery barbs of morning star,
Hesitant steps, and peacocks tail,
No humility in me.
Dancing till I drop,
Then I’ll pay the piper,
Broken on a wheel, limbs spoke threaded,
Hammering out a different dance for eternity.

Dancer 5 of 7

See me dance!
A jealous Jarabe tapatío,
Stamping and tapping, hat grabbing, leg kicking
No kindness in me,
Hooked on fiery barbs of morning star,
Dancing to fallen strings,
Dancing till I drop,
Then I’ll pay the piper,
Freezing waters my eternal rest,
Shivering a different dance for eternity.

Dancer 4 of 7

Hooked on fiery barbs of morning star,
See me dance!
A whirling wrathful waltz,
Dancing to fallen strings,
Swirling twirls and rotational traversing,
Dancing till I drop,
No forgiveness from me,
Then I’ll pay the piper,
Arms and legs pulled asunder,
Screaming a different dance for eternity.

Dancer 3 of 7

An avaricious allamande,
Dancing till I drop,
No charity in me,
Dancing to fallen strings,
See me dance!
Hand grasping, circling steps,
Hooked on fiery barbs of morning star,
And I’ll pay the piper,
Bathing in a pot of boiling oil,
Squirm a different dance for eternity.

Dancer 2 of 7

Twice crossing feet and a hop,
See me dance!
A gluttonous gavotte,
Hooked on fiery barbs of morning star,
No temperance in me,
Dancing till I drop,
Dancing to fallen strings,
And the piper I’ll pay,
Eating rats, toads, lizards and snakes,
Choking out a different dance for eternity.

Dancer 1 of 7

Hooked on fiery barbs of morning star,
Dancing to fallen strings,
See me dance!
A lusty landler, all stamping hobnails,
And stomping hops,
No chastity for me!
Dancing till I drop,
Then I’ll pay the piper,
Wallowing in fire and brimstone
Writhing a different dance for eternity.

First Love

Those missing sounds and noises,
That used to fill this house,
Graceful footsteps, glittering laugh,
Lightly sung lyrics as you wend your way,
Only noticing empty noises,
I hear them no more.

Those scents and smells that spoke of you,
And drifted round this house,
Flowers and perfume and fresh clean clothes,
Lingered for a while but now are gone,
Only dusty musty scents remain,
I smell you no more.

Those things that brightened spirits,
And gave this house your touch,
Trinkets and baubles, your clothes and furniture,
Records and books, your letters,
All gone, gone, gone.
I see these things no more.

But in others voices,
I still hear your scream,

In every breath, in every motion,

With every knife plunge, every slice and stab,
I don’t mean to compare them,
But none mean as much as you, my first love.

It happened that way.

The maps,

Returning hills,
Flowers imploding,
These swarming souls,
Bark around ashen minds.

They are darting playful,
Like performances that become,
Hemmed darting prisoners,
Throughout these playful structures,
I will wait in moonlight for your secret.

In quiet, I listen for the last beat of day,
Quelling these faces,
Unending rip,
Quaking - I am fallen,
Short arms lost.

Just Another Day

Sun slicing through dusty window,
As I begin my working day,
Coffee, honeyed toast, freshly squeezed orange,
While browsing a local rag.

Pleasant drive to my office,
Tail end of morning rush hour,
Stereo playing popular tunes,
As I cruise amongst fellow travellers.

Morning turns to lunch,
Turns to afternoon and finally,
Time to leave, another day done,
Another journey home ahead.

Out I stroll to my car,
Never to reach it,
As speeding vehicle slams
Me down and drags my corpse.

Wanderers

They travelled by forgotten paths
A steady traipse, yet swifter than any,
Needing not ‘plane, train or automobile,
Wondrous sights unseen, undreamt revealed,
In and out of phase they go,
Looking for a short cut home,
Never truly realising home is past,
And that past has no roads to,
Only from.

Get Your Own

Distinctive red label
With registered white logo,
Stylised transparent plastic bottle,
Effervescent near black liquid within,
Little green flash, declaring
“Share Size”

No it isn’t!

Neglect

I see you,
Sitting there,
Amongst your kith and kin,
A white stain,
And grey green growth,
Spreading daily,
‘Cross your skin.

This is how you repay me?
After gentle squeeze,
And subtle sniff,
Selecting you above all others.

Yes, I see you,
Sitting there,
Only two weeks on,
Moulding away,
I don’t know why,
I buy oranges…

Done

What you have done,
What have you ruined?

Miasmas of sickness, as feelings disappear.

Once we savored innocence,

Innocent and wide-eyed,

But your thirst paled.

.

A rancorous morass of odium.

Memories follow bone,
Follow death,

Love condemned.

In a torrent of vengeance,

I condemn you.

Little things - Option A

Little things.
Little things annoy.
Or amuse, or both,
Whimsy wanes, anger waxes,
Grit in the gears of smooth running,
Slowly scratching the surface,
Abrading, irritating, exasperating, infuriating.
And then it’s too late.
Sometimes.

Little things - option B

Little things.
Little things annoy.
Or amuse, or both,
Whimsy wanes, anger waxes,
Grit in the gears of smooth running,
Slowly scratching the surface,
Abrading.
Though when accepted,
They can, sometimes,
Rub the surface shiny and smooth,
Recreating harmony if not whimsy.

Yummy

What lengths we go to,
To achieve a fine blend,
Refining through breeding,
Domesticating wild ones,
Mixing and matching,
Purebreds and hybrids,
Pruning – weeding – feeding,
Subtle sampling,
Bitter disappointment of spoilt batch,
Choosing an age at which to pluck.

You humans, so hard to manipulate,
But so tasty, oh so tasty,
When harvested right.

Practice

“Stop.”

“Again.”
And so they begin again,
Turning twisting, muscles bunching and straining,
Defending against unseen foes,
Launching versatile and vigorous attacks,
Ducking and avoiding,
Graceful in combat,
“Stop.”

“Again.”
And so they begin again…

Fools rush in - Don't we.

Gibbering monkey of clever hands,
Digital dexterity mismatched to mind,
Able to make and tweak and do,
But no comprehension until it’s too late.

Peer Pressure

Standing on the edge, mistaken idea,
Looking down, seems so far,
A voice sounds out,
“Jump!”
“Go on, jump,
No point going up if you ain’t gonna do it!”

Poised on the edge, as below,
A crowd gathers, a chant begins,
Jump, jump, jump!
Jump, jump, jump!
Jump, jump, jump!

So, with more of a step than a jump,
I make a downward plunge,
Splattering cheering crowd,
With cold water spray,
As I windmill and strike,
Placid pool waters.

Old Oak

His forest now a park,
Old oak stands broad and tall.

Boy sprawling amongst twisted oak roots,
Daydreaming and mind playing.

Youth, haunch squatting, amidst twisted oak roots,
Absconding lessons, smoking stolen cigarettes.

Young man loitering around twisted oak roots,
Awaiting assignation with potential lover.

Father leaning, back to trunk, feet on twisted oak roots,
Watching his family at play.

Old man standing, staring at twisted oak roots,
Flashing glimpses of times past, rolling through befuddled mind.

A fond tear falls from cheek, to feed twisted oak roots.
Old man wanders on, half smile hanging from sagging flesh.

Boy sprawling amongst twisted oak roots,
Daydreaming and mind playing.

Old oak watches another generation flash past,
His forest now a park.

Sitting Comfortably?

Are you sitting comfortably?
Then I may as well begin.
As you know, it began long ago,
A once upon a time…

First was lil’ Lilly,
An easy catch,
A drive by her garden,
Park, dash, snatch,
Back to my lair,
Tied to a chair,
I prepared a note,
For a ten grand swap,
Shaved and sent all her hair,
An easy success,
Sorted fair and square.

Oh, the life I tasted,
As the money was wasted.

Next was Karen,
Collette, then Clair,
All in similar vein,
My business successful,
For this I had flair.

Then came William,
He really was a pain,
Wriggling, kicking, screaming,
So I sent, an ear,
Three toes and his tongue
Back to his mother dear,
It was then, then it became a mess,
As he bled to death,
And became somewhat worthless,

I kinda panicked,
Threw a funk,
Moved to new pastures,
Body left in an old trunk.

Odd jobs there,
Odd jobs here,
Disappeared from society,
For about a year…

Then I hear, to my surprise,
Questions being asked, about my past,
It was time again to go,
I took a car,
I didn’t know,
As police latched on,
I had a baby in tow,
As it wailed and hollered,
I defenestrated the so and so.

The rest you know, from police report,
Of chase, flight, fight, caught.
Now I’m all said and done,
My life’s tale,
Of tried and fail.

I sit upon this chair,
All wood and wire, straps and cap,
Are you sitting comfortably?
Then you’d better begin.

Solace

Though I breathe, I am not truly alive.
Broken,
No solace for an un-forgiven.
Endless black blood is my life.

I am swimming,
In my own despair,
Falling, weeping,
I have a demon's thoughts.

I cannot escape this hurt and anger,
Drowning, breaking;
The rush of a razor is a sweet pain.
Fallen, outcast, dark angels.

Bleeding, no god would save me now,
I will show this world one day,
Black roses are strewn on my course,
And my soul stains inner thought.

I am a lost child,
Twisting, splattering,
Dark soul cries out,
But no one listens.

This beginning of an end,
Gushing,
Tears of blood stream from my wrist;
I am fallen and will never rise.

Fallen, outcast, dark angels,
Ceaseless blood-spill,
I will show this world one day,
Though I breathe, I am not truly alive.

All good things.

At the heart of a bustling city,
They sit at a small round table,
As flowing crowds stream about,
Sipping at steamy creamy hot chocolates,
In a café oasis of calm.
She looking not at he,
He intently at her,
Her gaze grazes his,
And she smiles – a real smile –
But it is not for him.
He returns an unacknowledged
Half smile – and thinks
“Goodbye”

Wasted Gift (thanks JDA)

A blank sheet you say?
For me?
How kind.

I wonder what to put.
Something pithy? Something witty?
Something callow and cruel?
Something bitter and twisted?
A pun? A joke? Some humorous prose?
Wonder which way I’m headed,
No doubt you expect some murder and death,
A scribbled line or two, or three or four,
About burning and cutting and hanging,
But no, a blank sheet you give me,
To use as I will.

I’ve used it to waffle,
And fill,
Some time I had to kill.

Blog Cut-Up

38 September 2006,
Things have been said.
Grounded Downward,
Drifting, Dappled,
Down from tired feet.
Wrote Inconsequential at school,
A temple. Lonely edifice,
Tall and Burney.
Also many others, including Evelyn, Gide,
Swift and the same, all sides with fright?
Shall we finish? Where?
Do you who read well,
One of your own, psyche,
And below…
To amuse and wanted
Above all sides with fright?
Shall we finish?
Where do I look at 7:17AM
What lurks in the head,
Reclining back,
On all little older,
6 things have edges?
And pushing, plumbing the mirror…
I extend?
Do I look at the Oera Linda.

My Own Personal Trinity

The consciousness,
The subconscious,
The body.

Consciousness, sits confused in the middle,
Wondering what’s going on, seeking purpose,
Sometimes apathetic, sometimes guiding,
But never truly in control.

Subconscious has a death wish,
Manifesting itself by self neglect, self abuse, risk taking,
Distracting consciousness whenever it can, to further its aims.
Exerting considerable control on its host.

Body, body is vitality, is nature,
Is pure will of self preservation.
Its goal is life, continuation, it too has little control,
But when it does, it does with vengeance.

All three battle on in their manner,
Each one exerting influence.