Creative’s Causeway

on the lyricist’s road
there’s no common code,
naught to describe
what words to inscribe
to scribe ballad, ditty, song or ode.

On the writer’s way
there’s pain and dismay
struggle, addiction
change, malediction
to careful course one must stay.

In an artist’s advance
emotion in colours dance
perceptions, soul-reflection
fruit of the artist’s tool collection,
the scene before them and the Muse’s chance.

each road is but a lane, within each many advance
along the Creative’s Causeway, creative creatures prance.

River of Pain

Under an ashen sky
Saw I
vast rotted towers of stone
streets, overthrown, blown
strewn over this, once the world’s throne
upon the streets once their home.

Beneath a broken archway, upheld
by ruin, I beheld
a meld of madness and mortar, pain
plastered on pillars with grief ingrained
stone with flesh infused, profane.

Behind curtains of tattered man hide
I spied
sluggish rivers of red and black flows
hanging skulls in serried rows
bathed in blood as the foul river grows.

Atop the tenth rise,
what greeted my eyes
in sane faces flies
departs from reasoned ways, or sense
for I witnessed the people’s foul sentence
row by row, machine-caught, suspended
to feed the river via lives hook-ended.

From that hellish vantage,
I gazed
upon one place, still whole, crazed
a place of power, of corrupt vice in loads
a place the sight of, resolve corrodes
the seat of god-kings self-proclaimed
rendered by power unrestrained
inane
servants to every whim or wish insane
for at their feet ended the river of Pain.

A poem elaborating my feelings on various aspects of humanity, from the power-hungry to the poor, machines and madness. I’m currently deliberating whether to create a dark poetry anthology based around the vampire. Please comment some views on this, dear followers.

More poetry, more!

More poetry more!
now, then, forevermore!
from the shadows to the fore
comes timing, rhymes and words galore.

Explore with me the lyricist’s world
blank pages by candlelight
devices digital that record byte by byte
the writer’s will, his soul, his life.

language lingers
in the poet’s fingers fast
finally, success!

To digress is the poet’s art
to wander with words between finish and start
keeping the theme, the message at heart
be not to hasty, nor to slow to impart
the golden words that led you to start.

More poetry, More I cry
for it is my greatest love, for I
love word, live words and when I die
with a pen in hand through the gates I’ll fly.

Souls to Thresh

Wandering the moonlight maze
lost in shadows adrift in dreamy haze
She sought an escape to dreary dull days

This powder, that pill
contorted her will
till all her coins, her money did spill
into dealer’s hand who sold her fill
of this pill, that powder, stuff to time kill
till debts brought trouble, pain, the old Bill.

Thus in the dark of graveyard cold
in a street of the dead she lay on the mould
bruises sore, though many weeks old
cover by her feeble blanket unrolled
healing slow as on the stones she lolled
done with deceit and being controlled
for death she waited, calm, foretold
of freezing death, and to death she sold
her soul, on life she released her hold.

Shivering dark descended
vision clouded, thoughts distended
misery’s avatar she waited to be ended.

“Not this night, my dear sweet
your not meant for this quiet street.”

One stinging touch on gentle flesh
she clung to life, renewed, a-fresh
for the reaper’s scythe had other souls to thresh.

His Night, Her Need
Abandoned By Darkness

Abandoned by Darkness

Power and pain
flower’s stain
touches her inner self insane

nights and nights she waited, grey
grieved and shunning the day
as she waited for his lordship to play

within the darkling child sleeps
without the darkened mother creeps
shivers bewildered, shakes and weeps

there! grand, gross amid the grime
one she’d thought hers, sublime
powerful still, strong, in his prime
yet it is not her against him this time

a soul’s scream is bodily pain
for one who’s lost love it becomes plain
what is this life, but loss and gain?
she’ll never come for him again.

Homeward bound she stumbles
between fear and fury door’s key she fumbles
failing, falling upon the step
knowing loathing then, for her womb’s secret kept
from the dark
someone crept
another! How long had he slept?
‘neath her window when she wept?
he was hungry, he could take her,
she was not strong, this late riser
could be her end, her un-maker.

A stare, a hiss
prostrated bared it comes to this
she awaits, oblivion’s kiss

denied! into the night
flees this one from the coming light
on her step, she sobs with fright
darkness made her and  broke her tonight.

 

His Night, Her Need

Wild Ideas

Wild Ideas
breed idle fears
if madness an active mind nears
that grey matter betwixt the ears
cant hold back the chaos of passing years

Here enters the additions
plants, potions, things prescribed by physicians
tools of the healer and of ancient magicians
abused and used according to ancient traditions

Contradiction concatenates vice and conviction
allow addicts to maintain the maddening fiction
that their image fits their own mind’s depiction
such are the subtleties of one’s addiction.

Now the addict will tell, for the drugs they’re no worse
actually they’ve improved, dealt with this or that curse
of course its a lie, one they rehearse
for with every consumption draws nearer the hearse

Political Point

Now my dear followers will be expecting poetry. Sadly this is not so. This is a call to arms, if it is anything other than angry words.

I am young, and in this country, one  feels doomed. Everywhere the enemy closes in. Britain is beset by enemies, but not ones we can meet on a battlefield and fight. Instead, our enemies are decadence, social division and a destructive financial attitude, one which I have been a willing victim of myself. This short piece will highlight three things I feel MUST change if we are to achieve true freedom and the chance to stand tall again as a nation.

1st. Governmental overhaul

David Cameron is a laughing stock. Across the world and here in Britain, David has utterly lost the respect of the British people. Scotland is quite rightly likely to vote for independence and who can blame them? Under their current leadership they’ve seen the poorest suffer, the richest made richer and everyone else take a huge hit to quality of life. Mr Cameron is a fool, a fraud and  a liar, things which any amount of quotes could prove, just look at his years in power. Like so many politicians, he promised big then once he had power failed to deliver. But he’s not entirely at fault, he is part of a political system that CREATES these politicians, through a dubious voting system and politics that is little more than three gangs shouting at each other in a room, then passing laws that line their pockets and keep their core constituents happy.

But I’m not here to be-labour the point on the problems Britain faces (we all know that.) Here’s how I think we could really change things for the better. 1. Introduce a vote of no confidence.
2. Make voting mandatory for all those over 18 (then ‘proportional representation’ would actually be PROPORTIONATE)
3. Reduce MPs pay by half. becoming a political representative shouldn’t be an attractive career option. It should be for people who genuinely care about their neighbours, their society and ultimately, their country. One cares for a society by giving it goals, giving it reasons to exist and to flourish. Our politicians do not do this. They care only about their party, about power and money.

This has gone on longer than expected, so I’ll leave it there. More will follow friends, please consider these words and what the future holds for England. Cameron will not listen to dissenters. He will not listen to preachers of rebellion. But we must preach rebellion, we must rise up and fight, for in the simplest terms his way is wrong! We know that much is right!

His night, Her need.

Shadows surround
and on the ground
a heart beats a sweet tempo

in the shadows it bounds
across  the grounds
she awaits the night’s crescendo

from the shadows he flies
lord of night skies
her taste an airborne spur
he reaches her
and leaches her
for them all things blur

young, ancient hands know no fear
her instincts plan a message clear
sweetly, swiftly, Dawn is near
lust rage and greed meet bloodily here

in the shadows touches see the shape
in the darkness ecstatic faces gape
gasping, growling, moaning, howling
terror to other’s whom the night are prowling.

Tattered and torn, spiritually spent
she leans on his body, feeds on his intent
his mark she bears, blood and seed
as night’s ranks recede
she dreams of the deed
of the next warm night he is to feed.

Losing Faith

Losing faith
cant relate
to this darkening state
from light into shadow I deviate.

Losing faith
with elegance
via stylish vice and gilt-edged decadence
slave to vice’s device’s their whispers purred eloquence.

Losing faith
comprehend
this approaching end
in Change’s gale all must bend

Losing faith
in the old
adages told
curbing the creative, burdening the bold

Now no faith remains, to be bought or sold
just heart and hope plain as the future unfolds.