Spectre Of Not Enough

I’m a ghost,
But not of an afterlife,
I’m not dead,
Just not entirely here,
A hollow spirit,
I gave myself out too much,
Charity for too many hearts,
There was no blood left for me,

Each call for help,
Became a funeral invitation for me,
Burying more of myself,
I lost my form,
I wasn’t enough,
No more flesh,
Wasn’t enough to give,
It hollowed me out,

So now I float about an old house,
I wail in the twilight,
Gasping stridor in the black,
But I’m not here to startle,
Just to wallow in my own eulogy,
Ectoplasmic gibberish,
Among guttering candles,
And black cats,

Not enough,
Not,
Enough.

Skidmarks

What went through your mind,
In those terminal moments?
As control was lost,
As the tyres cursed the road,
Before the impact,

Was it your family?
Your soon-to-be tearful spouse?
The little ones left behind?
All those holidays you’ll miss,
That place at the table nobody speaks of,

Or was it that last drink?
The sweetest of the evening,
The one your friends proposed,
The one nobody stopped you gulping,
Your conscience included,

Was it how you’d be if you made it?
The changes you’d make,
You’d get that new job,
Stop seeing that other woman,
Stop getting bags from that bad man,

As the vehicle careens,
It leaves tyre tracks,
Not only of obsidian rubber,
But also of a life of mistakes,
A car wreck of a life.

Wendigo

Among the great northern forests,
A being of folklore prowls,
All claws and antlers,
An emaciated spirit of famine,
Leathery skin strewn taut over elongated bones,
The very image of a corpse animated,
The pines whisper its name,
Wendigo,

Once a man,
During a cruel winter,
Driven mad by hunger,
Contorted into an abomination,
His mate and cubs became fodder,
But even such a massacre was not enough,
More meat,
Find more meat,

So many have fallen prey to its appetite,
And you may be next,
Sniff the air,
If you smell rot and decay,
You ought to flee posthaste,
The fallen leaves herald its coming,
More meat,
Never enough meat.

Keyboards

This keyboard,
This plastic muse,
An instrument of your will,
Like the typewriters of old,
With these keys,
Q and A and N,
You can fire off a qwerty salvo,
For ire or peace,
Be you philosopher or troll?

This keyboard,
It’s a portal to the world,
A bridge for communication,
Or a facade for animosity,
Your hands become megaphones,
For complaints and poetry and belle-lettres,
The keys enable your artifice,
For ill or morality,
Be you dictator or philanthropist?

Land Of Red

When my mind wanders,
Satchel in hand,
Along that silk road,
Passed borders and ideologies,
To those far eastern lands,
I cry tears of cracked sapphire,

My pleas may be silent,
But they are well-meaning,
Please reconsider,
Why not be a peoples republic,
For the actual people?
A land of plenty,

Such an elaborate and beautiful culture,
A land of swirling dragons,
A survivor of eras,
You should share your ways,
But not through a lense of conquest,
Join the party,

Is building a world,
With smog and meat wagons,
Wet markets and pointed heels,
With tear gas,
And censorship,
The only way for you?

Do you hate us so much?
Is control that important?
Are the parades of pride or of intimidation?
That great wall of yours,
Is it emotional as well physical?
Is it a bulwark against humanuity?

You’ve survived tyranny,
The burning rays of a rising sun,
And the hordes of mongolic composite bows,
You can be better,
A guardian spirit,
A watchful red dragon,

Please reconsider,
You can be better.

Misanthropy

I hesitantly watch through my grimy window,
I spectate the mad streets below,
They are bloodcurdling places,
There be monsters,
There be humans,

I was once full of naive optimism,
I have the claw marks to show it,
Scars that were once sweet nothings,
Let down far too many times,
Now I find myself disliking you all,

I don’t like your looks,
Grey and black conformity,
Societal cannibalism,
Anthills of suits,
Fake eyelashes and manbuns,

I don’t like your sounds,
Hollering and ranting at one another,
Rudeness grates on my brain,
The diamonds among you,
Do not improve the haul of coal,

I may be repulsive,
Built on contempt,
But you are you,
Human unkind,
Human lose the race,

Why are you like this?
Why does your kind only destroy?
Are you truly mere monsters?
Manticores and medusae,
Or are my eyes blinded by isolation?

The Eclipse

There was an eclipse last night,
The atmosphere grew heavy,
I scanned it with bloodshot eyes,
And I grew fearful,
To witness such beauty being obscured,
By a shadow of such an evil thing,

Witching hour…

As the lunar goddess was enshrouded,
The voices began their furor,
Rageful claws bore down,
Driven insane by the night air,
Be they spectre or succubi?
I was not privy,

New dawn…

I awaken sore and beaten,
Crimson scratches down my back,
A bruise or four,
I leave the abode into daylight,
The sun has taken the sky,
And I grow fearful.

The Rave

The party of the year begins,
Stretching from dusk until dawn,
Tonight we are all lords and ladies,
We come to wage war upon the night,
Music blares like a trance,

Speaking in tongues,
We dance in vivid masses,
Our forms jig madly,
As if possessed,
And perhaps tonight we are,

The stars pour glasses of glitter,
We cheer like demons,
Just radical energy,
Just primal spirits,
The moon twirls with glee,

There are no races or colours here,
Civilization fades in the haze,
Only bodies and love remain,
Tonight we die,
So we can live again come the morn.

Slaughter Brewery

Tonight we go to the old pub,
To revel in the end of days,
A pale ale cloud aloft,
It is not as we remember,
Much has changed,

Perspex pubs and gloved gatherings,
Alcoholism has overruled common sense,
And likely common decency,
Impatience has crafted a short memory,
Of a plague put by the wayside,

Merrymakers stay at their tables,
Masked mutterings,
With their bottles and glasses,
Served by fear,
Only death drinks at the bar,

Lets jump pits of fire,
Sharks teeth,
And toxic clouds,
All for a pint,
All for the alcohol,

Last call!
For good!

Blogosphere

Blogging,
The blogosphere,
This bionic web of broaching subjects busily,
Akin to a brother of a gallery building,
Bringing beauty to the bustling bunchs,
Beguiling brainchilds,
And boisterous begetters,
A bible for bibliophiles,

A bountiful ballad of books,
A bedlam of benign braggarts,
Blue art and burgundy art,
Babbling and baying,
Blending like a beautiful wine of bravura,
Bring on the baroque banquet,
More blogging,
Let’s be bloggers.