Demolition In Process

Demolition In Process,
Bricks and Mortar,
Slaughter,
Hung, drawn and quartered,
Grasping, grabbing,
Slicing, stabbing,
Dad goes one way,
Mum goes other,
Sister goes another way,
Off goes brother,

Demolition In Process
Plaster and glass,
Smashed,
All falls down with a crash,
Crumbling, cracking,
Screaming, slapping,
Sister turns her back,
Mum turns her face,
Brother crumples downwards,
Dad’s a disgrace.

19/05/2010

Beneath the grandfather eyes of the sun,
And the bearded chin of the clouds,
There is a world.

A world of geometric shapes and
Shelved dreams.
Everyday is an observation of the obscene,
Every night swollen with sins.
Upon that rock of the world,
Words dance on forked tongues,
And kisses drip from painted lips.
The news screams disaster,
An oil slick of chaos,
A corpse filled with malice,
A knife stab of sorrow.

Beneath the paper mache moon,
And the painted stripe of sky,
There is a world.

(Let me know what you think!)
(Also - Photo Link!)

What I'd Never Let Him Read

I was a penny in a pocket
Shining bright
But lost amongst the shade
Unlighted, clouded shadows
Grotesque gloom
You brought me out
You illuminated my life
And filled my essence with
Vivid vitality.

But then love does that to you.

(Photo Link)

1/04/2010

Pulsing. Raging.

Furious. Rampant.
Intense as volcanic explosion.
Churning fusions of molten lava and poison,
Seething and swirling.
A sky blackened with spite.
An earth charred with malice.
Pompeii, crushed in seconds.
A human chrysalis.
Destructive as storms.
Walls of water knocking the world idly aside,
Flattening the world,
Snuffing out candles.
And lightening forks,
Illuminating its anger with a crescendo of thunder.
I too have the power of the gods.
One slice. One slit. One stab.
Darkness will descend

(Only a quick 20 minute thing. Not sure what I think...)

photocredit

21/02/2010

We are the lost and found,
Sitting hopelessly like dolls in market stalls,
False smiles bruised into cheeks,
Bright eyes ached into faces,
Please pick me, we say, please pick me.
We do not soar through life like paper bags
In summer breezes.
We sit on shelves,
Waiting, impartial to our pain,
Tapping against the mahogany,
And humming lullabies to ourselves.

photocredit

Autopilot

Autopilot.

Each movement is thoughtless. Every step robotic. Eyes great glass orbs. Face, expressionless. To the composed dog watcher you are just another passerby. You have a destination, you move from A to B, they neither know where nor do they care. To the dog you are just another human to sniff. Around you the early morning light casts lewd shapes upon the glassy surface of the canal. A snarling mongrel, a gnarled hand, a winking eye. You do not pay attention. The plants that line the canal has gone, there is just a knives edge between you and the water. You do not consider this. Your whole essence is incensed with home. Home promises a warm cocoon for you to curl inside, home promises pillows and sofa’s and tracksuit bottoms. Here promises nothing. Here your breath is a spectre in the wind, which whistles like a banshee in your ear.

Today, you are insensible. You do not notice that the sky is a palate of blues and greys or that when the light hits the steel bench it makes geometric shapes waltz across the concrete. On a branch above you a blackbird screams as a black cat stalks it from below, even this does not catch your eye.

The whole world is a live wire, a nerve ending, a screaming child. It is the woman in the new dress, the man with the new haircut, the secret admirer. You do however, notice the man behind you. A jogger, you think. Nothing more, nothing less. But you are alone and you are vulnerable. This you realise. A cat shrieks. You jump. Slower, you make your pace. The man mirrors this. Faster, the man matches this. In your chest your heart is beating like an unruly metronome and suddenly your breath is cut up into rags.

Closer.

So close his breath is upon your neck, sensual as a lover’s kiss. This is the end. This is it. Your eyes are opened now. The colours of the sky, the shapes upon the water. You see it all. You feel his touch upon your arm. Why didn’t you ever look? Why didn’t you ever see? The whole rock of the world just outside your doorstep.

“Excuse me, you dropped your earring…”
“Oh,” a flush of red upon your cheeks “Thank you”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you” a kind face.
“It’s fine”

Autopilot.

photocredit

14/02/10

Upon the seat, beside the window, it lay.
Frowning, as the world rushed by technicolour.
A streaked watercolour.
A single glove,
Divorced or widowed,
Its partner gone, its lover left.
Brown leather, lonely.
Outside the world cried for it.
Outside the wind whispered for it.
And the leaves swirled a search party.
No missing posters,
No milk carton calamity.
But the owner noticed and cursed colourful.
And the sky swirled grey.
And the glove lay upon the seat beside the window.

PhotoCredit