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Ma petit fripon
via Ma petit fripon
Death rattle
Reminiscent of an uprising of crickets ready to battle
Stare at a puffed updiamond heart
Drumming inside an empty cage. Birds ripped apart.
Gargoyle stares ignored.
Folk bumble about unaware what is in store for us all- eventually.
The breathe of Hades-
Lingers then makes a dash for scant flesh and bones.
Meat is not this gods instrument. Lust causes call for more drones
Sponge, moisten parched parted lips
Raven signals the ire of its whips
The ones who don’t loose it in bedlam excite
Death.
Invites all loved ones to rally round
Stands by door. Stands back.Admires its ownpower.
A moment to savour for a while more.
Every door closed, each breath cloys
Begs for enough fare to cross the distance to embrace elysium air.
Today everyone shall know how close we are to parting from brown soil
Lamb,hatched chickens,babies born in Cumbersome air.
the cycle must complete before we can emerge reborn
Death is inevitable as necessary as life is to the Cumbaya
of springs first show of petal.
When you look at the beginning of this new dawn
Know that when you stand back in awe
It is because you have felt the chill of winters soul depart
Shed a tear for the snowman who brought our youth so much joy.
Appreciate death. Stare it in the face
The sun chants
count in rosary beads
tomorrow never dies.
Trying to type something while listening and watching my grandmother dying.
Rasp
Gasp
I support the assisted dying law. This is inhumane.
A selfish farce.
Happy mothers day
Wherever you go
Wherever you roam
I hope that it is a place as magnificent as earths revellers make it out to be
Ma petition fripon. J’taime xxxx
* What I wrote waiting and comforting my ma and my gran before she passed over.
Esther Roe
Charlie met Esther on abortionist roe.
Hedges neatly trimmed – enough to dishevel a bearded vagabond to weep after his latest woe.
No coat hangers to gut the newborn sac.
Charlie stood for hours until her number came up.
Raging
rouge screen screams with a tremulous beep.
Surreal
Conceal
Unable
to strike the star lead role in a Bolly wood film deal.
Unsullied arrived in a cumulous cloud
stricken by a thunderous compulsion to wail.
Esther didn’t hear the bond lust, lilted scream.
memory hazed -by two fat ladies at gate number 8.
Efforts disarmed – inability to count down to the primal odd.
nebulous chlorophyll masked her mouth.
Envy immobilised to an unrecalled dream.
Innocents smile
swinging on tyres.
Freddie Kruger caught in a static slumber loses nightmare credibility to a sterile clinic;
Action paralysing every unconscious scene.
Stratham, London-night defends to keep watch.
Both stumble upon a tidy little room – 1970’s style. No disco defiblerater harmonizing jolts to the beat of
‘ Staying alive ‘
Old granny hoovered up flowers chocked in ivy a patterned carpet,
Mist of lavender lingers. This bitch knows how to spray.
Don’t mess with the O.G.
Peppered, seasoned hair, non-linear lines carve out a facial narrative.
Don’t be fooled by this kungfu hoe.
inebriated illiterates
desensitized to her strategy in a game of cruel cluedo.
It’s all so normal. It’s life, you know.
Scissors ready to stab a beating heart,
Positioned in foetal
Sucked out the uterus.
Pro-choice.
Pro voice.
Pro-life.
Pro midwife.
Tall walled wars.
Bricks bolster the Illusion of affairs in order.
Nobody is scrutinized so fiercely as the woman who maps out her own destiny – navigates the boundaries that her ideas can afford her.
Quality control.
The NHS paid for a private eye.
Two signatures deemed sufficient to see her through the hours of her sobering silence.
Shameless in her flowered disguise.
Ginger nuts, unsavoury tufts.
No, this wasn’t her nine month due – no ice cubes for killing in the name of freedom to govern her own vessel.
No need for pro-life Stepford wives lies.
Sins anoint.
Sins accumulate.
Where would our saints stand without a dissident at hand?
Society sits down, protest proudly.
Part the veil of clouds
Peer piously downwards,
ready to strike thunderbolts of judgement.
Rain down booming terror tactics.
Esther cares not for their gospel band
Society sips, exhaling wafts of fair trade, Ivory coast coffee beans.
Privilege smells of a modern holocaust of starving babies in bony mothers arms.
Who said any of these women consented to consummate?
Penetrative obedience to the phallic statues erected in morning glory psalms.
Civilized society!
What if God was one of us?
a scripture in the making.-
Touch and kiss the sky.
Would he become the true reflection we see, when we catch ourselves about to exhale the final breathe before we die?
Fantasies always signed off with a silver lining and promises of a rainbow.
Reality is cold,
winter serves a plateau of ice.
Frigid flowers are frozen in angst,
Shatter
like glass.
Rebel against their reproductive nature.
Air,
breathe.
One full gasp.
If only a mere raspy rant leaves on its depart.
It’s either them or an urban jungle of homo sapiens collecting another free day ride.
Ready to infect ignorance on every global ocean that has shores that go out at low tide.
