Quite burnt

Waxy nub

One end worked

Twisted and ground

Tight into square hole

T’other, charred,

Broken wicked

A real effort to relight

Dig deep with knife

Prise and

Lift…

.

.

Maybe

One day

A full year, but not a leaper.

365.
Done it.

Not quite one a day produced.
But net result the same.

So, now what...

and yes, I know this site doesn't have 365, but I started back in the {Minion} days...
I shall redo my Demon pages.

So, no poem today, if they're poems that is.
Possibly no poems for a while.

Feel free to offer suggestions as to what I might do next.

Sooner or Later

And so, knife descends

Kind and loving words

That held its fall at apogee

Finally turning stale in deaf ears

Massive gash hacked through inner thigh

Tang of steel and blood a final kiss goodbye

A fuck you to a world

That hasn’t noticed and doesn’t care

And wasn’t listening anyway

Pain of living is done

Passed on to family and friend

Knife

Take that knife

Plunge it deep

Twist and pull

.

Twist and pull

Watch blood well

Flow and bubble

.

See that knife

Stained to hilt

Plunge it deep

.

Plunge it deep

Again and again

Again and again

Request

If a knife is not your gift
Or poisoned cup ours to share
Then I ask a small boon
A compromise if you please
Give me dreamless sleep
So I may practise death

Scare D Crows

Fake man swaying in field of wheat

Scares avian to fearful flight

Away from feast of insects and grain

.

Yet dead man swaying in iron cage

Draws them in to wine and dine

Pecking carrion eyes plucking at festering tongue

.

Startled by gaseous escape

But soon return to drink of putrid brains

As they drip from mouth nose ears and eye sockets

Lasting Dance

Dance

Sway and swirl

Twist and turn

Be one

With

Natures breathe

As you

Dangle on

Your gallows

Tether

Four more met

These words swarm in shoals

Twisting and darting dodging

Eluding the dredging mental net

.

An unfortunate few caught

Dragged out to flounder and flop

On minds stark decking

.

To be scraped and gutted

Scaled and prepared

For others delectation

.

I think

I may have

Over fished these waters

Cyburan

Once more she recovered herself

And thrust up her clenched hands in frenzy

Imaginations are clogged with other people’s outputs

You also will be men; it will not belong

If at rare moments you stop smelling sulphur

It’s because you have begun smelling gas

Out of the bowels of the earth like a snake

Put sleep as black as beauty

In the secret of my belly

He had dropped his arm

And stood with his hands against his thighs

Like a statue

Plea

Alive

But not living

Performing routines

Day in day out

Automata

.

Rat race runner

Drudge and grind

Disposable replaceable

What

Is

The

Point

?