Archive for Nov, 2014

Priestess Of Three Hearts



A woman,
A shrewd lady,
Fair of heart and strong of mind,
Mighty conviction and elegant features.
A loving wife and a better mother.
Torn in three by her three hearts,
Her three secrets,
Her dark trinity.

One heart for her faith,
Intolerant and genocidal as it is.
Her church preaches nothing but hate,
Her holy book preaches distorted lies,
Her priest preaches nothing but rancor.
But she is a pious woman,
She loves her faith.

One heart for her hidden addiction,
Her adoration for absinthe and the needle.
It alleviates the stress of a hard family life.
The absinthe helps her sleep,
The narcotics free her mind,
It lessens the mental trauma,
She loves her hidden addiction.

And one heart for her paramour,
She’s a secret adulteress you know,
Her husband doesn’t truly perform,
He doesn’t satisfy,
Her lover is everything she ever wished for,
He’s caring, sensual and…

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Oh stranger I see in the night,
What drives you?
I see you from my window,
You’re draped in black,
And you wander the streets as if lost.

Are you lost or perhaps searching?
Are you afraid of sleep?
Are you going to heaven or hell?
Are you a scourge or a saint?
Are you even human?

What compels you?
Are you a thrall to the moon?
The night?
Are you a villain of the city?
The dark?

What possesses you?
What fuels you?
I think I must know,
So I open the door into the black,
Now I’m a stranger in the night too.


The World Is An Asylum


The world is an asylum you know.
Think about it.
The world is crazy.
You don’t know what anyone is going to do one minute from the next.
Everyone is unpredictable.
Everyone is dangerous.
Everyone is manic in some form.
We are all brothers and sisters in madness.
We are all inmates.

If God is real, he’s definitely head of a wing.
His followers blindly and obediently follow.
Preaching the words of long dead prophets.
Voices in the heads of the god fearing.
Faithful schizophrenia.

The banker too is an official of this asylum.
With his abhorrent condition called wealth.
He enslaves his flock with earthly desires.
Kleptomania for the masses.

Politicians would be wardens of course.
Fooling the inmates into obedience.
Flip-flopping opinions.
Flip-flopping personalities.
Multiple personality disorder governance.

We all must be mad.
Absolutely crazed.
We made the world the way it is.
Mad world.
Mad populace.

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The Sailor

Posted: Nov 11, 2014 in Poems, Random thoughts, Reblogs, Writing

The Sailor



What will we do with a lively sailor?
What will we do with a lively sailor?
What will we do with a lively sailor?
Early in the morning

Weigh heigh and up she rises
Weigh heigh and up she rises
Weigh heigh and up she rises
Early in the morning

Beat his legs in with a ruthless cosh
Beat his legs in with a ruthless cosh
Beat his legs in with a ruthless cosh
Early in the morning

Tie him to the gunwale and crack his jaw
Tie him to the gunwale and crack his jaw
Tie him to the gunwale and crack his jaw
Early in the morning

Weigh heigh and up she rises
Weigh heigh and up she rises
Weigh heigh and up she rises
Early in the morning

Butcher his love and kin before him
Butcher his love and kin before him
Butcher his love and kin…

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Beast of Eyes

Posted: Nov 10, 2014 in Poems, Random thoughts, Reblogs, Writing

Beast Of Eyes


Fear the nightmarish Beast of Eyes.
With its overpowering azure gaze.
With its writhing tentacles ready to choke your soul.
With its disturbingly soothing speech.
With its abhorrent expressionless countenance.
It wants you to feel no hope in this life.

Dread the evil Beast of Eyes.
It sees your deepest secrets.
It knows your innermost desires.
It glares at your hearts yearning.
It preys upon your dreams.
It wishes nothing but the ruination of your soul.

Despise the disgusting Beast of Eyes.
It’ll whisper of deceit to your lover.
It’ll plant seeds of betrayal in your friends.
It’ll cackle as your family splinters.
It’ll hound you for all of your years.
It will turn everyone and everything against you.

Before it strikes, you’ll wish death upon yourself…


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One For The Magpies


Always fear the magpies.
One for suffering for all eternity.
Two for a happy, but fatal addiction.
Three for a plague.
Four for a parasite.
Five for eternal inferiority.
Six for a victory stolen.
Seven for a secret,
You were never meant to know.
Eight for Heaven.
Nine for Hell.
And ten for the ire of a supernal clown.

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The End Of The World


Where will you be at the end of the world?
When the sky is aflame,
When the very ground shatters,
When society is a distant memory,
When all the states of the world crumble,
When lives end aplenty.

Will you be with your families,
Comforting one another in your last moments?
Will you be be with companions,
Celebrating and dancing among the flame?
Will you be in the streets,
Flailing feebly at the falling sky?

Will you be praying,
Begging non-existent entities to save your wretched soul?
Will you be raiding,
Clinging on to notions of greed even as mankind expires?
Will you be fighting,
Attempting hopelessly to save your fellow doomed souls?

Where will i be?
I’ll be at the epicenter,
Arms outstretched,
As if doting on the devastation,
A great big grin on my face,
Watching as the world burns finally.
Waiting hysterically for the screams to…

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Stained-Glass Mind


My mind is a stained-glass window,
My morals and ideals are the glass,
My thoughts and opinions are the colors,
Vivid greens and ethereal blues,
Lavish golds and dazzling maroons,
Elegant purples and magnificent beryls.

The outside sunshine of ideas bursts through my mind.
Invigorating me and corrupting me.
Teaching me and enslaving me.
Inspiring me and daunting me.
Caressing me and challenging me.
Making me human.

A sudden trauma.
An unhappy incident.
A man-made hurricane.
A terrible crime.
An attempted murder.
It shatters my stained-glass mind,
Sending fragments of ideas flying here and there.

My mind’s a mess now.
Fragmented, you know.
Sentences begin here and end over there.
Ideas are ruined,
Sent awry,
Spilled over the floor in bits.

Wonders live in my mind no longer,
Only horrors.
Greens become horrific snakes,
Red become heartless demons,
Blues become contorted clowns,
Made of stained-glass shards all.
My stained-glass mind…

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Bandits Jig

Posted: Nov 8, 2014 in Poems, Random thoughts, Reblogs, Writing

Bandits Jig


Standing proudly on your stage,
High above the crowd.
They’re cheering just for you,
Or is it jeering?
Your hangman co-performer beside you.
Your only prop around your neck.

Your performance,
Your time to shine,
Your noose,
Your death sentence.
Even an execution can be a masterwork.
All eyes are on you after all.

Your co-performer nods,
The lever says “GO!”,
A short, sharp drop,

You begin your great dance.
Feet twitching and pirouetting,
Arms and hands waving and prancing,
Head flapping and waltzing,
Pulse vanishing.
Neck broken.
The papers say you’ve broke into the big time.
The bandits jig, your Pièce de résistance!

You were headline news yesterday,
You were “Wanted: Dead or Alive” by all,
You’ll be headline news tomorrow,
Remembered forever in the obituaries.
You’re a celebrity.
A legend.
An epitaph.

Your final dance,
Your final performance,
The bandits jig.
Next stop: the underworld!


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Recipe For Disaster


isolated skull

3Ib of the so-called Human condition.
41/2oz of misplaced optimism.
1oz of doomed high spirits.
2 pints of perpetual envy.
2oz of ill-fated and untoward romance.
7oz of laughable piety, at room temperature.
5oz of spurious charity.
1 pint of ruthless greed.
1Ib of the desire to destroy, at room temperature.
1oz of constant melancholy.
31/2 pints of spilled blood.

Leave for approximately nine months.
And there you have it, a recipe for disaster.

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