~Collection~

I've included a bit of everything here, mostly free verse, a couple of forms, scathing sarcastic writes, social issues, story poetry, funny, adult, dark & abstract.

If you get through them all I'd be interested in your views.

-----------------------------------


Derelict Youth

Derelict youth,
residing in dusty memories
of old family residue.
Rendered space,
complete with open plan view,
somewhere to sigh at beauty
[or loss]

Like broken trust,
foundations lay in disarray
uncaring, unloved,
left to degrade in morass
of anoniminity
with spectres past
[or present]

How long before barricades break?

--------------------------------

Barflies & Bitches

Warm wet circles were bar clinging
fighting for their life’s.

She was chest deep in drunk,
just waiting for the final wave
to drown her sorrows,
[or a lifebelt to cling to.]

I could see her eyes flicking in rhythm
to ice chimes of straight rye,
lips waiting to be glossed
by alcohol,
[or body fluids.]

Dali-like she sloped against my side,
sloshing around on her high heels.
Her arse so tight in leather,
it could crack walnuts,
[or break backs.]

A taxi growled from its slumber,
we fell willingly into its stomach
where we stewed in juices,
marinating each other in palms.
My finger replacing her gusset
slick with natures KY.

          Our clothes crashed like waterfalls
          to the floor.

[Hell this girl was a lollipop queen]

Dew nestled on ermine pubis
and like arid earth I drank its nectar.
I could hear the pipes moaning
as she conversed with her god
through my pocket phone.

Her sanctum walls welcomed me,
hugging me in warm embrace,
squeezing love from this rocky outcrop
and I obliged.

We were Siamese twins
melded together in centigrade lust,
abandoning tenderness.
Like ripped and torn lingerie
we were discarded in sex,
pheromones drowning the whisky sweat
drenching our skin, staining each other.

Her feet grafted to my spine,
her body a bandage, my body a wound
and the only relief was a cry of release.

Clock ran too fast and morning
danced across my shuttered eyes,
as if to say “wake up”.
Twisted sheets clung, reluctant
to allow my freedom,

and there she was,
a flower too long
without water,
wilted into the pillow,

oh so beautiful

--------------------------------

auburn mornings

scattered smears
crash to shoulders
of autumn flared girl

saffron halo like
fallen leaves

waiting

for a rake
to bring order


auburn
mornings
are so breathtaking

--------------------------------

The love that dares not speak its name

So slurs are thrown about
like September mist coating
the twilight of summer’s age.
I will champion my reputation,
stand before twelve good men
and defend the words between pages.

Words that are twisted into guilt,
layered upon casual innuendo and
bar room gossip.

Trapped within nemesis
of my attire, a dandy fop,
who befriends loves gaiety,
whether it be given to Venus or Mars.
Is love not equal?
Or should it not speak its name.

Eloquent derision drips from
your verbiage, plagiarising my
Innocent ink, plundering my letters
to steal my thoughts.
Turn-coats against art for the
sake of society.

Quoting indecency like
soap-box politicians,
simply because you can’t understand.

---------------------------------------

Composite Collision

Car
crash,
melded
bodies meet.
Symbiotically joined,
Steel, bone, blood, oil, a maelstrom broth,
curdled by singing shrapnel of temporary hell.
Metal screams breaking the rhythm
of organic song.
Crow's lament
carries
lost
souls

---------------------------------------

Neuter

This open wound
labels me a woman

and all that this implies.

          Expected satisfaction,
          infraction
          laying in beaten cur pose.

          Mindless masturbation,
          penetration
          of a hole any whore can wear.

          Systematically abused,
          confused
          as to where affection resides.

                    Bleeding bullet hole
                    at each calendar turning
                    an accessory after the fact,
                    spin me around
                    my face has a twin,
                    there’s no real change in the act.

          Eternally confounded,
          bounded
          by virtue of Venus genes.

          Desperate inspiration,
          annihilation
          of vagina’s hypnotic appeal.

          Final conclusion,
          Fusion,
          thread and flesh as one

and all that this implies,

this closed wound
labels me asexual.

--------------------------------------

Love + Betrayal = Minus

Can you twist a fraction
make it a ringlet upon my brow,
or round-down smudges in my life.

Can you measure the circumference
of my dream, calculate its radius
from reality and tear a hole
in its arc.

To ire is to err
when stones are lost or gained,
there are weights, measures,
that must be born;
must complete the circle.

How many angles
are acute; obtusely forced
to a greater degree,
just to make it right.

Like pi, you are never happy,
always adding recurrences
to never ending calculations
of who, or what, is prime,

and I;
a fraction buried after a whole,
forgotten in memories round-up,
a part that no one needs.

-----------------------------------

Court in the act

They sat wooden backed,
like pews on Sunday,
serious lines of self importance
imprinted on paparazzi celluloid,
living Warhol’s dream.

Vigilante justice of ignorant intelligence,
caught in the spiel of velvet words.

Bridled scolds
tongue tied to silence,
milking misery from bottled statements
as handcuffs lock probable cause.


Remanded in five star gaol,
debating innocence of American wines
and European waitresses.

Twelve good men's shyster facade.

-------------------------------

Club Observations

I see,

Prewritten promises,
stitched into heartless sleeves,
sealed on the lips
with love-bite intentions.
Dance-floor parade
of egos and kisses
and an erection
that beats to impossible bass.

Sweat induced robbery
of hydro orgasms,
handcuffed in swirls
and cocktail charms.
Peacock standard,
strutting the shade,
spotlight glare,
blinding the prey.

Kaleidoscope colours,
tear holes in darkness,
highlighted leeches
that boa embrace
victory’s sweet taste.

Panty-less maidens,
drunk on fairytales,
seeking the rhythm
of squeaking beds.

chain-gang of taxi’s
rise from their slumber,
scenting pheromones
of silver and gold.

Suburbia’s habit
of Sunday regrets.
Confessional monologues
to morning-after pill.

------------------------------

Stained In You

Another whispered kiss
etches its place into my skin.
Hands that seek a taste of pleasure,
the intimate sigh of silk on satin
when bodies collide in abandoned desire.

half moon lips, sensually split
and eyes that cry “I do”,

fingertip brushes communicate
with thoughts that meld to one.
Bodies meet in liquid high,
stealing breath, stopping time,
as love drains into crucible of life.

curled into companionship,
a shiver upon stained flesh
and a scent that cries,

“je t'aime”

--------------------------------

Reality TV (Edited Highlights)

Voyeuristic colours spit “truths”
from corners of obsession,
edited highlights to escape the real.
A desensitized population fed high fibre ignorance,
cowering behind discrimination
and educational flaws.
Follow the ticker-tape, join the parade,
of body-bag processions down posthumous way.
Fighting for freedom, (fucking for virginity)
knowing God / Allah* is by your side.
(*delete as necessary)

Blame the blacks, blame the Jews,
blame man-made religions,
but never leave door-step-shit.

Plug in to fantasy, ignore reality,
propaganda puppet, whose pulling your strings?

Just continue saving pennies,
theres another war to pay,
(buy one get one free)
at the center of evils axis.

------------------------------------

Idee Fixe

In synapses birthed,
morphing, grafting,
countervailing sensibility.
White nothing as
opaque as glass.
Eating seconds, minutes,
hours - becoming all.
A beckoning, crooked finger
tempting nerves to fire.
Mesmerizing,
overwhelming,
omnipresent.
Incipient to pantheon hordes,
a veritable tenet -
enclosed.

----------------------------------

Fabricate The Web

We were fickle creatures,
in pursuit of maypole merry summers,
interlacing life’s ribbons
to fabricate the web.

Forever racing as fast as seconds would allow,

we skipped through youth’s playground,
greeted experience with disdain.
Like rainbows gold, death
was the fairy at gardens bottom.

Hours lined our faces,
in cracks, creases that mapped
our passage, and still tomorrow
was another day away.

Firefly eyes, now shadow tainted.
Ribbons faded, frayed, unravelling
the web and time was the enemy
we never saw, tracking, tracing
then ambushing,

no survivors ever left behind.

--------------------------------

Tittle-Tattle

Polished floors ease passages
of sharp lies,
tripping into pseudo-smiles
drawn on soft façade.

Courtiers beg to be Privy Council,
while blades are drawn
slicing, editing to suit,

and Teflon shoulders shed tears,
slipping into there-there hugs,
while pheromones start drifting
to catch the wide-boys eyes.

Tittle-tattle echoes across divides
boosted by behind-the-hand-whispers,
easing passage of a broken heart
as it slides from shattered sleeve,

and as the love bites fade,
and handkerchiefs dry,
ruby lips still drip diamond lies.

--------------------------------

Death Of Virginity

Cankerous moon drowns sallow shadows
in phosphorous, scolding stares.
Biting stars to ruddy their cheeks,
sprinkle false wishes to lover’s lips.

Pain-filled ecstasy screams virginities lament,
It’s epitaph marked in blood.

Sated thief, of hood-winked innocence,
peels back foreskin of deceit,
reveals truthful intent of conquest gained.

Her dignity lies, like her dress,
discarded.

There is beauty in her broken smile
and guilt that shrouds her eyes.
This secret she must keep,
is spilling already onto her thighs,

and the moon and stars skulk away
their ransom paid in full.

--------------------------------

She Was A Lady

She was a lady

Had that chemical glow
from straw-sipping vodka-red,
or was it the strobe that highlighted
her sweating cold-turkey attempt.
I could see veins joining the dots,
like a lunar landscape with too many
comet hits, but even the moon would
be jealous of her wafer-paper silver skin.

Her once brown/blonde/red hair,
dreadlocked its way across her
blackberry face, looking like someone
had sucked all the juice out,
and I bet that given a mallet her ribs
would have made a fine xylophone,

or snapped like deadwood.

Even now she drew a crowd,
but after the rent money runs out
sympathy only buys so many drinks.

In the cavern between her thighs
a bullet wound hid. A warm wet circle
surrounded by skin that others called a woman.
She would be spit-roast at a
carnal barbeque, a little over-done
but still soft, warm on the inside,

just add a little bread sauce,
makes it slide so much easier.

She’ll wake in the morning,
Saturday night’s sour-cream stench
lacing last seasons Victoria’s Secrets,
and her dignity, once again, lies
like discarded armour on an unmade bed,

and she remembers when
she was a lady.

-------------------------------

Spring Days & Broken Toys

Flagitious scandal blankets suburbia peace,
guilt runs in gutters washed from fearful crowd.
Seeking answers in make-believe religions,
all eyes had turned away.

Lying like a derelict, rusty stains mar her virginity,
underlining violent bruises scattered across her thighs.
Sunday best ripped, torn,
a cartouche haloing shattered pubis.

One of theirs has spilled seed
to dry upon her lace, to coat her innocence.
Not thirteen summers young,
twelve winters recorded in life’s diary.
Amongst pseudo-sun daffodils,
purity expunged in orgasmic amnesia.

Just cast a glance to rain filled faces,
does regret dwell behind grief?
For now his toy no longer dances,
there are no more games to play.

----------------------------------

Blame, Champions & The Spaces

Foresight is an appreciation
sitting squarely upon furrowed fields.
Banishing nurture to perpetual silence
in its non-meaning, intentional way.

Sperm ejecting from rumored couplings,
nameless offspring slipping beneath sods
of radiant maybes,

all motes in infinities grasp,

and what of their promise?
Its circumference measured
in aerial battles of misplaced thoughts;
intrigues of wishful thinking.

Sentinel to worthless causes,
Mumbling metallic undertones from half-chewed lips.
Blameless blame pelting idle discretions,
casting a grievance to fallow ground
hoping it will blossom.

But in retrospect all must wither
between spaces of time.

--------------------------------

Fatal Attraction

Supine in surrender,
moth bathed in cascading neon pollen
from wall-flower fluttering fans.
An Icarus syndrome
in its senseless suicidal flight,
within the spiral of scented candles
and thunder of glasses toasting,
where social columns are assured,
this veritable battle begins.

A feint; testing defenses,
a sagacious strategy bears nothing,
baleful, unyielding, the golden child
seems to mock.

Coy as a debutant, teasing her beau
with fluttering eyelash wings,
patrolling the perimeter; to acclimate.

Irenic blush of warmth coats hesitation,
shrouding shyness in wishful thinking.
Trapped within the embrace of fascination;
midnight queen chars her wings and
is swallowed by the night.

Another notch, another conquest,
no time to gloat.
Just cast a yellow hypnotic eye
into the gathering crowd.

-------------------------------

Madeline's Cellophane World

It was a night
when sky gave wet dreams
to over-used sidewalks,
and streetlights battled
to keep heathen dark at bay.

The asphalt macadam glistened;
A mirror, cracked along white lines,
calling dancing headlights home.

Gaudy moth; painted to a wall
like some chalk-heart-love affair,
faded from times misuse.
A midnight-Madeline with promises
to make the heartache disappear,

If only for a while.

Her sermon stuck in the groove
of two hundred Francs for sanctuary,
like most churches
her congregation was dwindling,
as less sipped wine from the
Communal vessel, claiming
It tasted cheap.

How many times had she told her story
to Dali winos decorating shop doors;

at sixteen, her mother thought here beautiful,
while for daddy she played the whore.

Another failed chid slips between her fingers,
as bank-notes count down the time,
that she can conjure phantom lovers
from her tattered shreds of dawn.

At the end;
buried in her cellophane world
of glitter town.

-----------------------------

Is A Man Better Than A Glass Of Wine?

Often I heard those words
of infatuation,
squeezed through picket teeth,
always sounding Hebrew
with emotional vowels sifted out.

That speaking clock voice
that had repeated messages,
recorded for all occurrences.
Automatizing casual affairs.

It was your dead-hound-dog song,
complete with doleful eyes,
that surfaced like a dead fish,
bloated and gray,
each time a wide-boy
promised me rhythm and blues.

Even pity took a left turn
into contempt.

Pouring another schooner of memory loss,
refracting a sneer to a smile,
realizing that lust was still a bottle away.
I caught myself between the swallows
wondering if,
a man was better than a glass of wine
or after three or four did
forgetting became easier,
And the taste not so bitter.

---------------------------------

A Slice Of Clerk Pie

Relinquishing the reigns of work,
sleep poured through my veins.
Wrapped in boa-embrace of a quilt,
I succumbed to intoxicating dream.

How cunning for my mind
to smooth away those golf-ball dimples,
formed from three-iron requests.
(a beautiful thing, but so hard to perfect)

I soaked in the bible black night,
easing its way past the day
to sit upon my eyes, sealing out deadlines.

As I devoured the stillness,
dancing lights carved through the streets,
briefly famous in street-lights glare
then slipping, with a growl, into obscurity.

Coma-type, peaceful night,
vanquished by jigging shafts of laughing dawn,
playing peek-a-boo through slatted drapes,
and neatly filed memories scatter
to electronic-techno Big-Ben bells.

Another notch lost in my waist-land war,
Muscles; casualties in cheese-burger battles.
Suitcase eyes carry the baggage
of mortgage repayments and final reminders.

number forty-nine leaves my soul anchored
to some obscure Scottish tartan clan
(or is it Burbeck)
and the sleep finally drains,
leaving me ready for the first slice
of the day.

------------------------------------

Virginia Love

Because I couldn’t bleach the white away
I dyed my conscience black;

only to hide its floors

I smoked your last cigarette,
learning you in its spirals.

Contemplating similarities,
between epitomes of pseudo egos.

I have inhaled your presence,
filled lungs with your pleasure.
Engrossed in hackneyed seduction
of stale innuendos,
you infected upon my health.

An attraction of cool
jutting from lips,
slopping about your arms,
but even in the haze
of your allure,
destination was pellucid

The death would be the same;

racked with pain, battling for breath
until it hurt no more,

and floors were cleansed.

--------------------------------

Another Night

I dreamt your illusion
                    {In voyeuristic colours.}

Bedded down the rust
of wizen memories
                    {sun dried.}

Laid harvest moon
upon devils night;
drank vacuous images
it produced.

In the saw-teeth bracelet,
I read another epitaph
                    {and learned your name.}

A bible, sewn to your heart,
Kerouac’s roman candle
burned bright,
                    {not a tiger in sight.}
Yet you always purred,

so loud.

I watched as you
overflowed,
drenching the thirst
of arid admirers.
                    {Laughing at drunken egos.}

That frown you dropped,
landed upside down.
I watched as you picked
up a smile,
then wonder who the madman was.
                    {It was always you.}

Macadam was missing
(in)sanity that you threw
at empty spaces,
while trying to hide,
                    {in between raindrops.}

At least in tomorrow’s birth
we can douse explanations.

--------------------------------

Pulling Saturday's

I watched the false diamonds
giving birth to temporary halos
wrapped around pretence,
and I wondered
do fairies wear knickers
atop the tree

Torrent of words fell muffled,
faded into softness against
deer-stalker.
(flaps down … of course!)

~For a non-smoker~
The fog I produced would make
a silk-cut addict proud.
(Though the cough was amateurish at best)

She was pinned to my arm,
like a second skin.
The type you wanted to peel away
and flush with mornings waste.
But for tonight she was meat.

A tower-block blonde
with belt wide skirt,
Cellulite dimples creating
an interesting journey for wandering hands.
Nipples that could be sucked
while your head still rested on her lap.

Town tandem, as she often proved
two into one will go,
but there again
She knew the right moans.

~Bedroom scene.~

Tomorrows laundry
slopping from the bed
like a Salvador Dalí painting,
Yet more reality.

She was already greased,
Ready, waiting,
by the time I’d rubber suited
(double coating, just in case)

As I looked at that brillo-pad
haven I wondered would I
need planks nailed to my ass
(After all I didn’t want to fall in.)

Entrance really wasn’t an issue,
goes in as easy as vomit comes out.

As I rode to the rhythm of false groans
my eyes were drawn to rich red spot,
calling to me from her ample mound.
Just had to resist that urge to squeeze.

To the sarcasm lyrics; “Your beautiful”,
I relieved that ache that all men know,
then wished she turn to a four pack
and a couple of mates.

--------------------------------

Possibilities

On a highway to somewhere
never heard of,
in the candle bright, flickering light,
“I already know I want to fuck you”
Invades the sweat moist air.

                  (Unknown passenger loudly whispers
                    Their distaste to a nonchalant driver)

Diamonds trapped in black ice
reflect headlights glow,
lulling me into hypnotic melody.
Disturbed by picking nails,
a faint spearmint scent caresses
my nose, still moist gum clinging
to cheap checked fabric.

Trying not to be drawn to the empty landscape,

                    (just 3mm of compressed silicon away)

her reflection appears. Teenage gaudy moth,
dread-locks hanging low; attracted to bright ideas.
Meds for music seems to be the “in” thing

Caught by my conscience, I avert  my eyes.

Twenty minutes of nothing,
leaving a trail of déjà vu words,
re-read so many times.

Nutter Butter peanut butter pheromones
cause my stomach to growl, as if asking
if my throat has been cut.
The object; A cookie, is offered
in slender hand of the classroom butterfly
and a question, “Are you single”, lays
an offer of much, but promises nothing.

For a second I consider possibilities
then smile.

----------------------------------

Demise of man

Smoky spirals of dawn’s mist
meandering along breezes path,
refracting the sheen of night suns rays.
Draping willow kisses meres surface,
unknowing angler enticing fishes below.

Age old oaken boughs, twisted, gnarled,
Reflecting time they have lived.
Seemingly waiting to strike the unwary,
should they stray to close.

Frosted diamonded adornment;
pathway blazes cold white,
leading to lych-gate sentry standing stolid,
emotionless in dawns gathering birth.
No biers rest here, just the stains
of long past sorrow.

Saviours cross, lichen shrouded,
a symbol to love, peace; nothing now,
but a tainted auspice, harbinger of unknown.

(Death resides here, forcing its place
amongst the world surrounding it,
fear protecting the boundaries.
No person can enter without feeling
cold hand of fate, rest upon their shoulder.)

Secreted in shadows, almost lost against the wall,
A lonesome stone stands. Still proud. Still straight,

yet ….

…. sadness extrudes from its solitude.
In a sea of epitaphs, here,
bare stone waits, indefatigable.
For a day will come when words will be carved
upon this facet.

No one will read those fresh, harsh words,
For they will proclaim the demise of man.

-----------------------------------------

Morass of anonymity

I sit,
forming kisses on memories,
striking them from time,
as it whispers away.
Recollecting venomous verbs
cast to empty shadows

Eradicating the spiel.

Adjectives of annihilation,
blitzing barren minds,
reflected, returned in silent echoes.
Notches gouged into the family tree,
tearing sons from fathers,
mothers from daughters
‘till desolation offers comfort, disconsolately.
Tears, oil my fluency.
Chagrin deliverance to captured celluloid puppets,
hypnotized by neon stars. Concrete castles
raping biblical heavens, falsifying resurrection.
My scathing peers judge me.

Relationships extirpated.

Sentenced to rejection
in the morass of anonymity,
I bleed sarcasm to arcade mannequins.
Deaf to empty responses,
while they crucify my heart
within the depths of a satin grave.
Abused and still forlorn
in the spiral of the cigarette,
I recite musings to shattered coble aisle.
Turn my back on opportunity kicking in my door.
Scanning faceless faces,
in vain hope of another easy conquest

Charon awaits.

Abandoning relics
to my playground of yesterday,
I beg the boatman’s coin.
Seeing my name on the grease stained roll call,
I fade.

---------------------------------

There you have them