Monthly Archives: May 2017

Trish – the venerable

When Trish was  of a venerable age
 Sat upon her own Fate.
Ignorant to all counsel -All those who dictate
Lack in common sense for a daredevil debate.
Needy, Trish  made from unusual , voodoo cut cloth.
Rarely  mixed  with other groups -Saved her memory for  counteracting Nature's E.C.T.  shocks
Outside her fear
 Impend  her wrath.
Congealed 
 Third degree burns 
Bloody 
 Rare  foot shuflle  led to her sudden upturn.
Oh prompt of  muses ,Why did Trish choose to emulate in this  manner?
Speak in  emotional intelligence IQ 
lower than the made up abyss in, Alabama?
Stumbles not long after her daily walk  down yellow brick road
Regret signs 
ignored at those gallant heartless  tin, roars. Inacknoweldegded when they  heled to find her  an abode.
Why ,put the world on pause when time is has its own entity?
reality is independant of thought-yet 
Trish  thrashes about  
throwing out shapes revealing   insecure perception in her  identity
She walks a line , chokes 
Trish becomes imperceptible  to sight.
Sore, 
`Cos, maybe she's contary. or she found a fucked up Knight 

pycho phantic heathen

Write to recover is what I always say.

I’ve discovered,

Is  few of my words  leave me whirling with  – I’m proud to park,  pay and display.

Deals are made,

devils I summon.

People are abused, Charity leaps to a new order of Coven.

I write this way, with careless affray

to not lose a sense that words are tangible,

if  I work my fingers to imprint my genetic copyright

Confirming my DNA.

Some might say,

I try too hard

To write for better days .

Left to my own devices. I would live in clouds wrapped up in  grey hues-

a cemetery for all the left over  fillings

Thrown away, because of corrosive mouth decay.

In yer face!

Borderline – on the rocks.

I write to prove I’m far removed from serving  more time, in a straight jacket in New  Jack City.

Gangsters running around with silver bullet signed glocks.

I’v’e spent my better days basking in  previous glory .

Like butter it melts away the fear  of sleeping dormant .

One wrong box and I’d have been mistaken for a Tory.

Liberal with my words, eager to serve and love all my friends with creative pulses .

Tic tacs, I guzzle-colours textured in obscure.

I fight these escapism ,  inauthentic, paradise bomber  impulses;

To get high with — to lose track of time.

To think

I need a  potion of artificial wired, chemistry alternatives.

Usually these act as a placebo.

Serve to knock off my crown of  free willed determinism.

Courage lives in a mane,

a city  near Massachusetts

Puritans might discover I’m Freud in a ghostly slip.

I’ll be hung ,

Hands lie limp by my side.

Bled feathers  will tickle  the crowd-

Show I  bluffed my way into the inner circle of creatives who have a grasp of the

same

sane

 mundane

chain.

Heads up!

Forever chasing  the dragon of stream  of consciousness .

My thoughts fail me,

I’m beginning to think,

I’ve become presumptuous.

The kindness in others  words — to allay my anxieties,

Overwhelms me .

I tie my own tubes.

Disgraced.

I refuse to give birth to a dancer  with stubs for toes, phalanges pimped out to strike a  quivering echo-like ,   Margot  Fontaine pose.

Inner fear corroborate with the sinner without a legitimate C.V.

Write nonsense-

The Lakers swan to the crowd

I’m a nutter.

I’d   crack a prince just to see a picture  of  a colourful scene.

Abstract,

Mindful – in  the lines.

It’s not important.

Just a visual spray of shamanic chakras to impregnate the rainbow-I foresee.

Leprechaun leave my latin beats to breathe.

Mouth the words of soft brie , camembert and  wild boar.

Grant me a baguette —    riddle away, and I’ll gather my thoughts to satisfy thee.

Goddess Luna grants a cycle to merge with my  rites in fertility.

Thoughts exiled to Siberia-paid to be alone.

My government  saves me.

My soul

I will put down-

Though I know I won’t gamble it all away.

I win back my losses

Trust me, I know there is always another day.

Write, write , write.

Each word is a  middle finger at the writers academia  establishment .

I don’t want to be even  almost famous.

I don’t need a book with my name on it.

I blog merely to pour my inner most thoughts out — free up my world.

It’s about as poetic as I can get.

How about I insert the word fragrant?

I’m not academic.

My passion is not systemic .

Always in a position to sky dive.

Risks thought about

After I land in the hornets hive.

Stings heal .

It reminds me I feel.

I live by my words ‘cos I’m irksome and caustic within.

I was born walking into  webs of contradiction

and, now,

All I beg is for  is a hint  of credit

For expressing myself in this audacious fashion.

I’m not here to chat ’bout literary success.-

I’m already thinking about my post party dressed as myself-

the bodacious writer ,

Who is in fact a sycophantic heathen.

*INSPIRED BY A COMPLETE MELT DOWN IN MY ABILITY TO WRITE AND FINISH MY MASTERS*

 

Head Mace

*Inspired by daily human observation* 

Citizens arrest a seizure

exploding out of her chest

Detest the demise of optimism- look aT that crumpled face

bereft.

Raging carnival trying to stay straight

‘Nature welcomes me’

Though not blinded by an attempt on her savage drinking spree.

Moments owned  in contemplation

Detest she caught a Jack Wills scent  immersed is  his idealised rave nation.

How many  t – issues to imbibe.

Called her his inbred so he could remain high

Sensational arrest

No mirror to attest to the beauty she finds.

searched google maps for Scalifax’s finest hearth.

Should she lay down to rest?

Wait for a sudden epiphany?

Her mind can’t take twocker  ignition games from kids still wet behind the ears,

straggling their momma’s rancid pyjamas

Searching for a place to settle in between her knees.

Scrumpy Jack persona

she assumes

Is she really a cut above the estate who try to convince her they have answers to all the clues?

She’s not like them.

This species are not her brethren.

English cider tasters of blood from a irrefutable provider

Knock heads against tombstones and concrete walls.

Green-eyed,Winkie  slept behind a grill gate to keep out the flybys.

Vulnerable heart -veil lifted from day one.

Chinese whispers of some busy blasted scum

Common decency leaves the palm of her hand -slaps a face hard – its body turns

enthralled at the chance to appear overly occupied.

Enjoy chillled !at 6 percent 

Bad move to guide to her to her own whereabouts

She paid for her own calm connotation.

Guideline on  how to  avoid walking  into a web of sin

Tanned face betrays  that her heart hasn’t felt  akin.

There’s nothing of substance behind the beer goggled eyes.

Monotone life

get up

get dressed,

smoke a roll up

take a sip of the brew that simulates a disguise of content.

She’s not one to say she’s any better than these numbed, train fare skivers

Fun when a teenager…..

Numbers on the  increase –

She thinks they should at least have figured out how to suit up and boot up

Yes, use your all your  ties.

Bound up in this place of besmirching death

Positive energy sniffing up the vibes

conflicted as the amish addicted to meth

Red ant crawling up her thigh

more focused than most humans she has the pleasure to relate to

One mighty jump off this stony  hearth would not be

how she would want end her life

not nigh.

Sun in her heart

Moon never far to seduce her into a twisted cadence with

legs defiantly apart.

‘The settle’ calls her home –  shrieks filled with the ego of the Saint Lies -a Spinne.

What business has she pollinating with  the  bees?

It’s her playground too.

She won’t  let the bastards inject their humdrum existence –

unleash their quiet, unpalatable disease.

Point fingers at an indecipherable colour or sound

The ku klux clan live but one gate from the smack head who sleeps with the blood hound.

Remove these walls ineffectively

Family values, Adams apple samples the hit of threes company too

Humour her, she never  preached to know every pelvic beat.

Extend a hand

Forget not

that one gaze will settle reflectively

Don’t make another feel uneasy

Solely because it’s you who feels Queasy.

Smirking at them playing it cool

Do they think she is a brassic , court  jester fool?

Indulge  them she does.

but only because she knows the truth

They live a life that’s  ambiguously impenetrable.

The difference between the simple life and herself ?

Empathy.

Compassion.

An open mind.

Sentiments branded on her – costs three lifetimes in wages to wear her kind of fashion.

Attempts at making her feel she is wrong and potentially illiterate.

It’s beyond a joke – she plays naive – she knows  they are a hoax

She treads through a land full of tossers

Pity not more of them get fired off into a land of terrorist moshers.

Feelings misgiven

This drink was an attempt at a pitch

It’s not her style.

impetigo limper

brewed up to tease pacman eating jack and jills in a ditch .

Irate she  saw integrity  in one other smothered core.

Ineffectual – yapping up intoxicated mummies three day old pyjamas.

Think it’s an accomplishment to shove her mistrials in front of her face?

How many more fuck you’s  and put up’s must to deal with?

Momma doesn’t need their  drama’s?

The issue with people who stick together in stitches

is that without an audience -without a chase

they will dangle that carrot

especially when their  life is on the down

squinting them  into the glitch.

They need her kind more than her kind needs theirs .

Empty out  the contents of a full can of scrumpy poison

One factor in blurring all boundaries.

Is it fair to intoxicate nature with man -made hootch?

She’s repulsed – she sees them all  their stark naked  form

such is her clarity

who to label as a warning ‘ there goes another douche’ ? 

ethics, medics, system of values- it’s an appeal to their humanity.

Need to get out

Get out of this space

She can see she’s playing into this heinous fate.

She makes her rules

She breaks the rules

only because she knows them so  well- lets state she knows how to present the look of

I’m off my face 

Temptation heel to her command

She regrets inaction of  strength she  usually ordains

only this time she lacks

Fuck it , she is done with the cloud of visual  mace

She’ll get hammered at a location ,

on her request,

digest

satiate

Can she have a mirror?

Third eye awaken to  the true head case.

Photocredit Francessa woodman