Rotten Vulture

Atop a statue once depicting liberty,
Perches a foul creature,
An avian actor,
Decaying piece by ruinous piece,
A scavenger feigning regality,
A vulture wearing the feathers of an eagle,
Mould and droppings falling upon a flag,

Nonetheless this animal is loved and reviled both,
Regarded in both sycophantic and tyrannical aviaries,
It wants not for fodder,
The carcass of a republic lies below,
So it rends at putrid meat no longer protected,
Picking at the scraps of the citizenry,
The flesh of a populace with potential,

Each wing of this beast is dyed an opposing shade,
One crimson,
The other a dull blue,
Battling over which part to gnaw at,
Even as they rot and fester,
But make no mistake,
Both factions are wings of the same rotten vulture.

Bassline

Do you feel that bass?
That tone in the atmosphere,
A low hum in sequence,
Pounding like artillery,
You begin to sway at the sound,
Intoxicating as it is,
It’s a legal high,
A sonic assault upon your composure,
A hysteria of the limbs,
It threatens to shatter your shell,
Make you move against your judgement,

It’s only a matter of time,
The beat continues unabated,
You’ll dance to this bassline,
With a grin that’d make the joker blush.

Abyssal

The waves are the embodiment of mystery,
An oblivion of crushing weight and shadow,
More unknown than the dark side of the moon,
Though its wane and wax has a rhythmic aria to it,
The abyss has a song all its own,
A dread tune,
Like tentacles licking at your eardrums,
Distorted static of whalesong,
The crunch of crabshell underfoot,
Its lyrics manifest as thalassophobia,
A warning in the mind,
Sharks teeth and squid beaks upon your nape,
Salt and brine on your tongue,
The knowledge that man is not welcome.

The Screen

I know that monitor is not just a device,
I know what it means to you,
It’s your social safe space,
The real world was always too bitter,
You met these souls without seeing their faces,
Side by side exploring myriad galaxies,
Across battlefields rendered in digital space,
Amicable rivalries upon podiums that never were,
They were and are real,
They are not mere pixels and handles,
They are friends,
Past and present,
And perhaps future also,
People not profiles,
Place a hand upon the screen,
You can feel their palms against yours.

Incorruptible

Life can be a market street,
Neon and sin in equal measure,
Glitzy lights mask the horrors behind,
Roads teeming with snake oil salesmen,
Moral vampires hiding in alleyways,
Vulturine hounds slavering for hours of your life,
You need to keep your chequebook shut and turn away,
Despite their honeyed words,
They do not mean well,

They are artists of heartbreak,
Painting red skies and earthquakes,
Architects of every inferno under the sun,
You need to be strong,
Permit no chink in your plate mail,
No hint of manipulation,
These ghouls would take you into their rotten fold,
Don’t let them stain your blood,
Be incorruptible.

Bad Vibes

As they say,
The face is a masquerade mask,
And the eyes are windows to the soul,
But windows can be boarded up and blockaded,
And a masks purpose is to deceive,

You never know the intentions within,
The bad aura that permeates its design,
The gentlest smile can hold the most umbrage,
A held stare can be pure amorous obfuscation,
Cordial words can hide poison within,

The back of your skull often suspects something,
A defence mechanism for your peace of mind,
That sixth sense hints at hidden danger,
You’ll wish you had heeded the warnings,
That imperceptible lightning of negativity in the air,

The bad vibes,
Rancor hovering about an angel.

Cold Mask

I once knew a man,
Less a friend and more an ally,
A true winterborn soul,
His face was obscured by unfeeling sapphire,
And he wore that azure mask well,
An emotionless shield of ice,
A frost king carved from the keenest pain,

And when he spoke,
Gales rose in chorus,
His breath was the coldest blizzard,
Each taunt and retort shaping the most briery snowflakes,
Cutting in more ways than one,
Ivory shards in each syllable,
Each word a drop in the mercury,

Yet I tell you,
There was no malice in his visage,
Just the indifferent essence of the arctic,
Nothing personal,
Barely any feeling at all in fact,
No more than a heart of frozen water,
An avalanche holds no grudge.

Mad New World

We’ve been savagely chased from yesteryear,
Demons of loss and pain at our backs,
Like Jack Russell’s nipping at our heels,
Chunks of us left in the last year,
Physically and emotionally,
Not all survived the rout,

Yet we must look forward,
It’s a mad new world,
Time waits for no man,
The days ahead are in flux,
Waiting to be crystallized by new experience,
New faces and affairs to be held in glass,

But take note,
It is yet unclear if this new year will also maim,
That same glass may be jagged,
But our assault must be sustained,
For time will not tarry,
So we ought face the year like a hopeful sunrise.

Night In

Is there only one way to spend a night?
While the throng bathe in their alehouses,
Falling down their own rabbit holes,
Drinking up the booze and bodies,
As for this clown,
At times it is better to stay home,
So I do,

A serenity is filling this hovel,
I greet the quiet like a lost sibling,
Embracing my duvet and cushion friends,
The fireplace licks calmly at my toes,
I’m simply existing in my own space,
Catching up on that picture or that tome,
It’s a personal health visit,

You can keep your fireworks,
You can have all of those jazzy shots,
You can have all of the rowdy fun,
I’m having a night in,
Just this once.

Ammonite

A relic was rent from the Earth,
Petrified and earnest within,
Once contains life,
But now a coiled tombstone,
A vision of the past in each radial segment,
Oracular sights in each fossilised tinge,
Mounts and continents long eroded,
Behemoths lost to the dirt,

This ammonite,
This serpentstone,
Left stopped in time during a prehistoric dance,
Dull turquoise in a waltz with emerald and violet,
It’s a spiral reminder,
To a time long gone,
A time before the modern plague descended,
Industrial ages stealing the Earths future years.