Posts Tagged ‘Fiction’

Oh my,
She’s a laser beam,
Full of energy and warm light,
A powerful streak of colour,
Blazing through my dusky skies,
Inimitable,
Unobstructed,
Prismatic,

As quirky as a disco ball,
Shimmering under glitzy rays,
She’s energising as the suns glare,
Yet cutting as a Goldfinger laser,
She’s almost like science fiction,
This laser beam lady,
She lights me up like an x-ray,
A pale heart in an irradiated skeleton.

Conversations can often go awry,
Common ground crumbling underfoot,
If harmony is a creature,
A living thing,
Misunderstandings are a stake to the heart,
A fact or thought misconstrued,
Is the death of agreement after all,
A glitch,
A wound,
Emotions can be tarred,
Until logic is applied again,
Misinterpretation isn’t malice,
No harm is meant,
But misunderstandings happen.

Within a family unit,
There is often a black sheep,
A knife that doesn’t fit in the drawer,
Making incisions in its own style,
Shunned by the whole kitchen,
Reduced to a sad anecdote,

At times that individual is at fault,
A blade used for untoward purpose,
And rightly discarded,
Other times it is the family that’s wrong,
Perhaps through hate or bigotry,
Slicing haphazardly like a machete,

In that event,
Don’t succumb to the same nasty rust,
Be the blade that severs generational evil,
Don’t inflict a cutting legacy on your children,
Be better,
Cut the ties.

What inspires you?
Is it your experiences?
The scrolls where your life is written?
Is it the raw state of the Earth?
Notable or heroic figures?
Beings of fiction?
All of these are valid my friend,
Keep on being inspired,

As for me,
I’m inspired by the bizarre,
The strange and macabre,
Those whorls of the surreal I wade in,
And like psychedelic koi,
My ideas evade even my own comprehension,
Sense is a lost cause you see,
So I too shall keep being inspired.

When I wake up in the afternoon,
I put my socks on my hands,
And it’s like having friends over,
Oh the conversations we have,
The guffaws we share,
A daydream in thespian method,

I’m a weird guy you see,
A certified eccentric,
A brain of butterflies and pendulums,
A clown in pyjamas,
I have a grin of ball point ink,
And a Cheshire cat in my chest,

I’m not normal,
Of this I cannot be ashamed though,
It’s a medal of honour,
Made of teaspoons and timepieces,
It’s insanity you see,
And that’s a mindset I cotton to.

Humans are made of all sorts,
A host of exotic ingredients,
Sugar spice and some things not so nice,
Herbs and poisons,
Garlic and cyanide,
Ore and gemstones,
Don’t forget the dead flesh,

The recipe isn’t always followed,
Or perhaps one doesn’t exist,
No human is a carbon copy,
The ingredients act in flux,
The outcome always a coin toss,
Sometimes an angel emerges from the hearth,
Other times a devil.

We are spawned as a blank slate,
With no rhyme or reason,
A doll not yet painted,
A straw fetish not yet burned,
We’re a biological puzzle,
A mutable disasterpiece,

We shift and grow over the years,
Mutated by our experiences,
Adapting bodily to lifes toils,
Given hardier scales after each betrayal,
Sharper talons and fangs for every struggle,
Sprouting wings to follow our dreams,

Each of us adapts differently,
The beauty and horror of nature,
Decade after decade,
And trial after challenge,
We keep evolving,
Until we finally go extinct.

Who can put us down the worst?
Whom do you think?
Those closest to us of course,
Our inner circles,
They indeed have the most volatile ammo,
The most cutting,

Friends know things that enemies only guess,
They know our weaknesses,
The nicks in our cuirass,
Whether intended or not,
They can get the closest with the blade,
And strike the most vital zones,

Keep friends close,
And enemies closer they say,
But a knife is still a knife.

He comes,
In blood red overcoat and fedora,
The ultimate vampire,
A count of the night,
Now a leashed hellhound,
The charge of Sir Hellsing,
And subject to her majesty,
Hunting his own kind,
By bullet or blood magic,
The things that go bump in the dark,
Get bumped right back,
Even in the most inky of nights,
He comes.

There once was an empire,
Lost in time,
Where bodily autonomy was fiction,
Profaned by a cult of suffering,
A power structure built upon hate,
Ivory towers built upon little girls backs,

This empire had been divided long ago,
Called united only by the mad,
Its women failed by those on high,
Some condemned to death or abuse,
Some reduced to incubators,
Liberty swiped by old men,

Evil is the herald of an empires collapse,
Some courts hear no justice,
And lessons are never learned,
Domination is not unity,
Red white and blue stained in ash,
The flag doesn’t represent the whole,

So rightly protest dear sisters,
Like Rome and Xerxes before it,
All empires fall,
And just like the Ostrogoths of old,
It’ll be torn brick by brick,
Burned down by its women.