New Year's Eve

Nothing's changing, for it's only time that's passing
Every tick of the clock though is the past amassing
With everything eventually there is nowhere to go
Years will always melt away like sun-drenched snow
Elapsing unseen, for it's eternally an intangible state
As the burden of time becomes an unbearable weight
Running like an underground river it's hard to perceive
'tis marked though, by this old date, of new year's eve
Somewhere, in the darkness, there is an invisible line
Ending what was, for the now, our intelligent design
Vagarious memories will remember our fanciful ways
Everything's fleeting though, until the end of our days

Santa's Dead

Santa's dead (ho ho no!) his head took a bullet
And his white locks soon turned to a claret mullet
Naught survived, with all his reindeer butchered
They were sleighed, when their guts were ruptured
Alas Santa was savagely felled, 'twas his final hurdle
Somewhere cold, is his grave, beyond the Arctic Circle
Decembers will now come and go and we'll fake the news
Even though Santa was murdered, we'll hide the clues
And let's not tell the children, they don't need to know
Dasher and his deer friends died with Santa in the snow

Into 'The Darkness' Within

...and this trench is my grave, framed by a shell burst

An empty pit, save for the lost soul of a ghost cursed

And I can sense its sodden soil upon my rotting skin

Not even a rat is wandering; into 'the darkness' within

A whistle blew and I went over the top, as planned

And now I'm somewhere in the dark in no man's land

Slogging through the mud and ankle deep in the shit

Lost in a noxious gossamer fog (I'm in the thick of it)

I'm grasped by cutting barbs, that dig in, then shred

I try to escape, but I realise I'm going nowhere instead

And it's so cold and I'm bitter and chilled to the bone

But I'm trapped, like a rat, in a fetid bog that was loam

Now there's a flare in the air and it's burning bright

Illuminating this nowhere place from black to white

So I look around, for I need to see what I can see

But there is no one else here, there is only me...

...on my knees between the lines in a muddy mire

Being torn asunder by the rusty barbs of coiled wire

And I'm praying I'm not prey caught in the crosshairs

But I've lost my faith and I don't believe God cares

There's a report of a shot and a sickening... THUD!

And I know it's the end for there's blood in the mud

My sight is waning and I'm paralysed in novocaine skin

And now the angel is fading; into 'the darkness' within...

Jack-O'-Lantern

Jack-O'-Lantern is aglow on this night, like will-o'-the-wisp
As the wicked witches cast the spells of their black magic tryst
Cackling old hags from a dimension that should never be seen
Kindred spirits of the ghouls and the creeps of this Halloween
Over an open fire a cauldron's oil boils every butchered part
Liver and guts, the eyes and the brains and a still beating heart
As they worship in a pentacle with their blades tainted red
Nefarious necromancers calling on the lost souls of the dead
The Jack-O'-Lantern's mouth is agape, for it once had a name
Empty eye sockets are alight, inside there is a flickering flame
Run for your life, trick or treat, but there is no looking back
No one is safe, who can't escape, when the only magic is black

Echoes

Am I blessed or cursed, or should I be aghast?

For those veiled voices are from futures passed

But the dreams are worse for then I'm an invisible man

And though I can see them there I cannot bridge the span

In the quiet hours of the moonlight's cataract shimmer

In a semi-conscious haze I sense the threshold's thinner

And I want to be there under a rainbow's parhelic circle

In that elusive paradise where there is nothing hurtful

They are there, I know, where nothing's planned

But the echoes confound, as time pours like sand

There's nowhere to cross and every path's a maze

Along which I might wander until the end of days

Perhaps I can escape in dreams and find a door

To enter a new world where there is no before

And when I'm there I'll be heard and seen in focus

Beyond the reach of time and my own neurosis

I'm lost in my darkest reveries where I know I'm trapped

But there is no past or present, for in these dreams I'm rapt

So I'll hush now, for those distant echoes will be here soon

And perhaps tonight's the night I'll be guided by the moon

Horrid Lore

Have the flaming pits of Hell been forever in your every thought?
Or perhaps in a loop of nightmares is where you're permanently caught
Raising the wraiths and the phantoms and the faceless spectres
Restless malevolent dreamscape creatures and black plague vectors
In that empty place of your heart, you know you're the Devil's whore
Drenched in the blood of humanity and a disciple of the horrid lore
Lingering in death, not living at all, for it's the scythe you'll always wield
Over the fearful massed mortals, who will inevitably weep and yield
Razor the blade will pare the somatic from their bleeding souls
Each and every last one of them, forever yours, to burn on coals

Wyndham Lodge (A Home For Ghosts)

Wandering, he's still wondering and the Colonel always will
Yesterday and tomorrow, in Wyndham Lodge, on Ankle Hill
Never alone, for there're others there, within the bricks and mortar
Dormant and cloaked, until they approach, like insanity's stalker
He is the quintessence of 'haunted', a presence who roams in silence
And with him now are the godforsaken phantoms of an old alliance
Maudlin souls, they possess, for they are the gathered dead
Long lost to the world of humanity and by the Colonel led
Outside and within, those of flesh and blood, strip away the rot
Disturbing the shades in shadows, but perturbing them not a jot
Gone for now, but their opaque proximity will always ebb and flow
Easily drifting unencumbered, back and forth, in the last lights glow
And the Colonel's forever there, from eerie attic to oppressive cellar
His gift the lodge once, but now with the others, a hallowed dweller
Optical illusion or delusion, but many saw more than just his trace
Meandering along the corridors and landings, now a man of wraiths
Empty buildings were abandoned at the end of an ascending drive
For too long forgotten and only fit for the dead, not for those alive
Others sought this place of sanctuary and 'tis now a home for ghosts
Renegade twilight apparitions whom the Colonel, in petto, hosts
Gregarious are the dead, for two stragglers heard their chatter
Halfway somewhere, someplace, though it really didn't matter
Ousted, they escaped from a place where they could not belong
Stealth-like the silence, as they departed and were finally gone
The Colonel still wonders, as he wanders and he always will
Surrounded by those of the past and the new folk, on Ankle Hill

Ankle Hill

They came to slay in battle and their brothers kill

So the blood flowed down the slopes of Ankle Hill

Muskets, pikes and blades vied in a wars discord

As they churned the turf and soaked red the sward

Theirs was not to think, or ask, or even reason why?

But death would find them between the ridge and Eye

Up the slope they went, as their Royalist foes bore down

Mayhem and carnage, all for (or not) a tarnished crown

It was a day to die in hundreds, like slaughtered sheep

As the blood and gore poured and pooled to ankle deep

All those lost souls, for what and why? No one can tell

On that cold February day, borne from the fires of hell

Memories lapsed, a century passed and a house was built

Upon the killing grounds where so much blood was spilt

Renamed, rebuilt, more than once, with bricks and mortar

'Twas Wyndham Lodge, on Ankle Hill, a place of slaughter

N2,O (Dragon Slayer)

Nothing is clear when she's tripping on gas
Inside, the outside, is just dripping wet glass
Takes another breath in (phfft), but she's not laughing
Reality is waxing and waning and her sanity's crashing
Oh My God! What the fucking hell has she done?
Undermined by delirium, she's completely unspun
Shaking and sweating, she's gripping a bloody cleaver
On the floor, a body and gore; did he try to leave her?
X-ray eyes are alight, for she's with orcs and dragons
In her illusory world, where her serenity slackens
Disembowelling the demons, but her monsters are faux
Except everything flips when she's on N2,O

Demons and orcs and of course, dragons too
Roam in gossamer clouds; some fly high and through
All atrocious creatures, they have all come to bait
Goading her into the neurosis of a nightmare's fate
Outside, the inside, is awash with delusional gas
Neither here, nor there, she's in thrall to a mask
She's a deranged monster killer, she's a dragon slayer
Lost in the mumbling tongues of a mad soothsayer
And now her end is nigh, for her end is death
Yearning for N2,O was always beyond her depth
Everything flips and fades, as the cleaver cuts
Reality trips and lies, amongst the blood and guts

Straw Man

He's there in the field, he's guarding the maize

Like a crucified effigy, his barren eyes gaze

Into the embers of dusk, where darkness now grows

As another day's done of scaring the crows

Perhaps you can see him from the place where you are

Or is it a thought to avoid, or is the distance too far?

Why not conjure up his image, you can, if you try

In your meandering musings, until you're caught by his eye

He's still where he his, for he has nowhere to run

And though his work might be creepy, it's never quite done

For he's often possessed beyond the evening's last caw

And there's only mulch for a heart and his body is straw

You know where he his and you know he's too close

There's fear, that is clear, for you know he's a host

And now he's animating himself and departing the soil

For the day maybe done, but there's still the night's toil

He's clearly been baiting, while waiting for you to arrive

For he's quietly expectant and holding a rope and a scythe

But you know in your head it's a nightmares perception

And the fuel in the can will end this deception

A finger is pointing at you from sackcloth and rags

And straw is protruding from openings and jags

But nothing is moving, 'cept the wind through the crop

The rhythm of the swishing like a blade on a strop

The dank smell of his rot pervades, for it's a reality check

And the rope that was his, is now a noose round your neck

You're gagging and choking, you're fumbling with panic

As you sense he is creeping; from straw man to organic

He's doused in accelerant, you're creating a flame

The fire's in your fingers, before you take aim

A last look into his smouldering eyes... now you understand

And the world's an inferno, as he hacks off your hand

Maybe you died in a nightmare, or in a scorched field

For you couldn't possibly know of what he could wield

But the embers of a fire are to the dawn juxtapose

And now another day breaks for scaring the crows

We Can Dream of Mars

We can dream of Mars, with our conscious mindset focused
Even evolve ourselves into a rapacious swarm, the 'cosmic-locust'
Can we go from here to there, the red planet our first stepping stone
And then onto a plethora of distant worlds that we can make our own
Not now, but maybe sometime soon, we can spread our wings
Drawing on the sunlight's power, to sail away on solar winds
Racing on invisible tides, we'll not ebb, for we'll be in destiny's flow
Earth left behind, plundered and pillaged, bereft of the status quo
And we'll be gone, from what's left here, to unspoilt orbs elsewhere
Malnourished droning droves, who need to feed, but cannot share
Our father who art in... Heaven and Hell, for we are the swarm
For ours is the kingdom of power and glory, ours is the norm
Maybe the future is ours alone and we can dream of Mars
And thereafter feed like ravenous locusts on the worlds of stars
Resource conquering, we'll bring chaos to the natural order
Subjugating all that's afore us, to the event horizon's border

Bewitched

It seemed her quivering white flesh was all patched together

Like she had lived lives before, or had been alive forever

But her beauty shone through when glanced at an angle

Before her raven black hair went from kempt to a tangle

In reflection I was bewitched and under her spell

For my blood was cascading in a bore to the swell

Her clammy hand was demanding and I was feeling the brunt

But I didn't give a fuck, as I reached for her cunt

I kissed the mounds of her breasts, she had hairs on her nipples

As she gorged on my member, I felt the sweat between ripples

And then I was locked 'tween her thighs, trapped in her shackle

As she cajoled me harder and deeper until she came with a cackle

We both spoke in tongues, her alien words that of a linguist

As she held my head down for the need of cunnilingus

But she was cold when it was over, as if borne from a barrow

As she recollected past lives and the future in tarot

The dark pools of her eyes reflected the moon's next eclipse

Before she left, she kissed me goodbye with her ruby red lips

I was bewitched and under her spell whilst we were together

For she had lived many lives before and she would 'be' forever

Solstice

Standing stones, henge of ancient tribes
Ominous sacred presence afore the scribes
Ley lines lure with a subliminal incantation
Sourcing souls of a hidden shadow nation
The sun holds sway over the gathered mortals
Ignorant tongues obey to open unknown portals
Calling to the cohorts of those once dead
Empire of Legion, diseased and by Satan led

Just Smile And Remember Me

You're so gorgeous my love, you are truly beautiful

Inside and out, a loving soul, who is forever immutable

And that dazzling smile! It's so wickedly warm, it's a real teaser

And I'm sure it could melt the gathering ice trapped in a freezer!

I could wax lyrical about you, I could go on and on and on

I want to my love, but to do so would be recklessly wrong

But you know you make me so happy, you make me laugh and cry

Tears of joy, of course, but sometimes surreptitiously I cannot lie...

Because nothing's forever and we were never for ever

But time ticks by and we're still tied by an invisible tether

For now, for a long time now, but it's time to look ahead

And see what's looming, for it will tear apart our last thread

Though I know you live for today, but it will soon be tomorrow

And nothing's clear, as dusk descends, there's only time left to borrow

The inevitable doesn't stop and wait and fate's not for stalling

And we can't stop (tho' we tried) and we'll be lost, for twilight's calling

For when we tread our different paths, we'll find that reality's stark

As our parallel paths find different tracks, in the bounds of the dark

And when dawn realigns and the sun shines down once more

Don't look back my love, for what is next is set before...

And if you look around and I'm not there, just smile and remember me

Because nothing's forever and I'll be somewhere, for our fate's 'pro tempore'

This Halloween

They skulk in shadows, those with hideous painted faces

But 'tis now this Halloween and they'll not be so evasive

And on this frightful night akin to the Grand Guignol

They'll play their gruesome part and take a bloody toll

So all the frightened little witches, ghosts and ghouls

Should run for cover to escape these demonic fools

With their trick or treat, no treats, just tricks

They will shatter glass with flying bricks

A jester's harmless humour, their aim is neither

As they walk the streets with meat slicing cleavers

With their sinister smiles and malevolent eyes

On whitened features the daubed crimson cries

Safe for now this evening, your street is quiet

Mayhap you're calm, mayhap your heart's a riot

Bolt the door to repel the night, if you desire

But from afar "trick or treat", a shrill childrens' choir

Are you alone? For 'tis now this Halloween

And those out wandering have thoughts obscene

But surely creepy clowns wouldn't hunt in packs

So you'll be fine...... a thud; a window cracks!

Cold sweat, hot flesh, a breath caught in shock

A motionless moment; on your door a knock, knock, knock

A death knell chimes from a church bell tower

Pitch black; darkness reigns; someone's cut the power!

Tinkling, falling, shattered glass

Etched your fear, on your face, aghast

But 'tis now this Halloween, no treats, just tricks

As somewhere, close by, a cut-throat flicks

There're hideous guises, with saliva dribbling

With manic grins, but no one's giggling

And the glutinous whitening of sanity's lost

And gone for good, like the sun-drenched frost

The vile creeps are abroad in towns to woodland glades

Carrying knives and razors and butchers blades

And now your last scream has been curtailed

And 'tis not the sweet air, but your blood inhaled

For those alone on this Halloween

Fear not the crazed clowns of a disturbing dream

So sleep well tonight, but turn the lock

And worry not of the knock, knock, knock

October

Of callous thoughts, of basest evil reason

October falls, to call, to the heinous heathen

So hail the hail, in storms and violence

And praise the darkness and an old alliance

The sun will set in non-shifting shadows

Hiding the arrival of New Drop gallows

And the howling wind will sing through garrotting wires

To fuel the flames for the witches pyres

And they'll await the date of All Hallows' Evening

For the innocent, caught, will not be leaving

In satanic black, wandering ghosts in masks

Will hunt to kill, like wolves in packs

There'll be creaks and groans of wooden decks

Before trapdoors open to stretch ropes round necks

And those twitching corpses with lolling tongues

Will be celebrated amongst the heathen throngs

Of callous thoughts, of basest evil reason

October's last falls in the killing season

Hidden blades and wires; the pyre, the necromancer

A knock on your door that you shouldn't answer

Silent Satellite

Our place is upon the crust and waves above a molten core

Betwixt the perpetually silent satellite and the ocean's roar

For only an internal vacuum fills the eternal space

This void of myths and mysticisms of the Sapiens race

For reverence sake we remould reality for beliefs and idols

For the forward thinkers need the fealty of massed disciples

So we're coerced in herds with our facts and works of fiction

As in our troubled bubble we try to quell the pernicious friction

Cults and creeds, revering wraiths and burning candles

With faith or not, we tie the knots, until we're tied in tangles

And now the air is filled with phantom words, amidst the gas and static

As we lose control and reason to the egocentric new order aristocratic

We're passive flocks, or brutal packs, we've lost the plot

For we are the orphaned species that's, forever now, forgot the lot

But I'm alright, for I'm turning the cards of the tarot's truth

And I'm sure I'm right, for they wouldn't lie and here's the proof....

I reverse the deck, one by one, of brightly coloured pictures

Invoking bespoke interpretations, like epic fables found in scriptures

And I can imagine with my minds eye, a portentous tale of doom

As I cherry pick The World and Fire and the final card, The Moon

A silent satellite is a foreboding presence, but a sea of tranquillity

And it's reflecting light tonight upon our place of pandering servility

Our fictitious realm is the crust and waves above a molten core

Betwixt the empty heavens and the reality of the ocean's roar

Emily Blaze

Crystalline blue eyes cut through the haze

Golden locks cascading, Emily Blaze

From nowhere to here, from darkness to light

There's only the ruffling of hair and the ease of her stride

The glint in her eyes is akin to a benevolent smile

But beyond the lingering looks captured for more than awhile

'They're all looking at you,' words observantly said

...of course they all are, is the response in my head

Mother is there, a wonderful whirlwind of carefree confusion

A spirit esprit, looking at me for an answer, an alluring profusion

It's not about getting there, it's about linear motion

The journey you're on and the company that's chosen

And so it begins, from one port to another, from harbour to quay

From island to island, across the land and the sea

Though from the same place, I'm afar from where they are, to put it quite bluntly

A distance from the bright lights of London and a leafy Heath in the country

'I do many things,' says mother Mary

...as the conversation heads in a different direction

And Emily's there, somewhere, someplace, but so serene in reflection

The ferry's gentle pitch and roll, the aquamarine water

Just casual hours in time, shared with Mary and daughter

Happy smiling faces as tentative questions are asked

As reminiscences are exchanged, anecdotes from the past

'I love the sea and the journey and all I need now is to be in a hammock to write'

Confides Emily Blaze with her playful eyes dreaming, before flashing alight

And she curls up with notebook and pen to scribe a different day's story

With her golden locks cascading in all of their glory

All journeys must end though

...this time upon the sun-kissed sands of an islands shore

A farewell and maybe 'see you later'

...but the time has now passed and there's only the journey before

Back from somewhere to here, from lightness to dark

It's just a moment in time and a tale to impart

It's all about getting there, for being there is lost in a haze

And the journey's always better with Mary and Emily Blaze

Just Wondering Why?

And there I was, just wandering by

And now I'm here and just wondering why?

Why am I hanging from a hanging tree?

For in a sepia haze I can see that it's me

Hanging there; hanging from a hanging tree

Strung up from a branch that's been stripped bare by November

My neck in the noose of a rope, how I got there, I cannot remember

I was there, but now I'm here, in a different place

Gazing up at the bloated facade of once upon a face

But it's so quiet here and there's no one mourning

And the silence is deafening and a fog is forming

Did I lose an unwinnable war and in the darkest hour succumbed to 'surrender'?

I really don't know, I can't find that memory, I can no longer remember

I've been gone for a while and that's obvious to see

But in the gathering murk I can see that it's me

Hanging there; hanging from a hanging tree

And now I'm here with my wandering eye

And I'm not feeling, I'm just wondering why?

Something Creepy

If you knew all the facts you would surely agree

That this isn't a place you would choose to be

So adjust your focus from the slumbering sleepy

For in this dark place there is something creepy

Sweet smell of the rancid, as you taste the fetid

With the rise of the bile invoking the wretched

Do the nightmares gather with naught to atone?

For in the festering silence you're far from alone

There's a presence in delusions, but it's actually here

And it's hunting you down like a phobias fear

It's waiting and baiting, it's got a surprise

And it's finally past time to gaze at its guise

Trapped, as if by rigor mortis, you reawaken

And Amon awaits and his brother is Satan

There's no escape, there's only destiny's lethargy

As amidst the flames you burn like an effigy

The heat's an inferno and you're melting like wax

And your fat is now dripping in lava like tracks

He's fanning the flames, he's billowing smoke

Before he grabs and he grips and rips out your throat

And the scream that is there is locked in a place

Where your heart is now racing at thrice of the pace

Soaked in your sweet sweat, you now realize

3:15 am is glowering, as if demon eyes

Now you know all the facts, I'm sure you'll agree

That what awaits beyond, you don't want to see

So rest in peace, if you're haunted and sleepy

For death is the dark place of something creepy

All is Well (Welcome to Hell)

He leans upon the railing circumventing the eyries wooden deck

Through bloodshot eyes he looks around and down, he even cranes his neck

He sees his see of heaven and earth and every grain of sand

Though he was just ink in scriptures his prophecy was carefully planned

There's a whispering wind as ashes alight in a tinderbox of crops

And a wind chime tinkles as if counting time whilst reversing hands of clocks

But there's someone there, beware, there's someone in the maize

Just a silhouette with a sickle, with vermilion eyes that gaze

And all the deluded rats are running, for what they've lost they need to garner

All those self preserving vermin seek the old lore and the solace of his karma

And hear their squeals of fright as electricity storms the skies

As the lightning bolts, in the choking smoke, an apocalyptical arise

All is well, for he has dealt the cards upon a marble plinth

All is well, atop of the stairs above his labyrinth

Aries, Leo, Sagittarius, The World is set in fire

Reckless actions lead to conflict, consequences to inspire

He retires from the railing circumventing the eyries burning deck

With one last look around and down, he sees, but chooses not to beck

He's seen it all, the broiling waters and every broken land

All scribed in ancient scriptures, the blueprint that was planned

The wind whipped flames dance amongst the incinerating crops

The silent sirens cannot wail, becalmed are all the clocks

And all the snivelling rats have gathered in the last oasis of the fickle

But there's someone there, there's someone with them, someone with a sickle

The acid rains have scarred the land with a pattern like a maze

Through which a silhouette wanders, with a bloody sickle and vermilion eyes ablaze

All the cards were dealt to see and there was nothing to surprise

Now all is well (welcome to Hell) it's Armageddon's new reprise

Friday 13th (Zombie Apocalypse)

Friday 13th (again) and again I'm in hiding

For this might be the day when worlds are colliding

Or maybe the dead will rise in a zombie apocalypse

When all the rotting roamers swarm the metropolis

I'm under the stairs, with nitrous oxide already

I'm supping on gas, I'm feeling quite heady

But it's all darkly calm, beyond the rays of the sun

Just me and the gas and the nails of the gun

I'm honed, but alone, I'm ired not placid

For it's the ides I abide when I'm dropping the acid

Of  Friday 13ths there's never a dirth

So I'm numbing this calamity for all it is worth

An hour to go and..... and all is well

But there's a distant rumbling, an artillery shell?

I'll suck it and see, but my head is now spinning

For the end is nigh, it's the end's beginning

I'm waxing the light, I'm burning a candle

And I can see it now, the turn of the handle

The creak of the door, a sinister snigger

I sup on the gas and then I'm pulling the trigger

Friday 13th (again), but I'm out on the street

Nail in my head and shuffling my feet

Dawn's quickly approaching the desolate metropolis

As I search for the herd of the zombie apocalypse

I'm shaking, I'm breaking, I'm as brittle as ice

For all that there was, was gone in a trice

I'm frothing and foaming, an unhinged rusty bracket

And I'm alone in this cell, I'm in a straightjacket

The Devil's Breath

The horror's borne in the Devil's breath
His hidden touch from the darkest depth
Evil eyes ablaze, burning red on black
Disturbing dreams of the butcher's rack
Every inhale's taken through a constricted throat
Vice like the grip of the unyielding choke
In silent death throes he will never shirk
Lungs clogged with disgorge is the Devil's perk
'twas a horror borne in the dragon's fire
Sent from Hell 'tis an emesis nigher
Brimstone in flames, he will sup on souls
Rendering to brine over burning coals
Every last one, every dragon's chastened
All corralled together when death is hastened
The horror's formed as the vomit spills
He works with delirium, in dreams he kills

Skylight Murder

Skylight skulkers, with bills as sharp as razors
Keepers  for the reaper and carrion grazers
Yclept Murder, they will tap the glass
Lamentable creatures, his own black mass
In times of penury he'll take souls for tithe
Given in nightmares of the glistening scythe
High above, watching, on the portals frame
The ebony eyes await his devilish claim
Midnight passes to naught o'clock
Under the skylight, within, there's a turning lock
Raucous cawing curtails with his arrival
Darkness forms to claim a new disciple
Eldritch presence taints a soul to steel a heart
Raptured; the skylight murder, in silence, hark

Buried Alive

The dead maybe gone, but not when they're buried alive

To escape from the grave they will desperately strive

For they're entombed in the dark, they're trapped in the soil

As they scream and they scrape with insanity's toil

There's a raven atop, upon a headstone of marble

Sensing what's 'neath, but its cawing is garble

It's dancing, it's prancing, it's fluffing up feathers

Anticipating the rising and the escaping from tethers

'Tis a 13th of winter on a night of the ides

And the full moon is pulling, as the dead rise in tides

There's a resonance, a presence, ascending through earth

As the sentinel cackles and caws for all it is worth

The restless in peace become crazed by their fate

When time is forgotten, but not so the hate

For insanity is sired in satin and wood

When the screams are all silent, there's no curdling of blood

In the eyes of the dead there's not a glimmer to seize

As they contemplate the rot of their flesh in minuscule degrees

To be ash cast from the inferno the departed will crave

But those buried alive will avenge from the grave

So they rise on a tide, like fetid murk from a mire

As moonlight etches a silhouette of a heavenly spire

And those tendrils of the dead escape under cover of night

To roam and to prey, to seek out and smite

There's a raven in flight beneath the orb of the moon

And above the swirling mists of a gathering gloom

It's looking, it's searching, for the fearful in hiding

Borne on an invisible tide it's flapping then gliding

3am, someone, somewhere, is sleeping like the dead

Until a tapping on a window, then into a nightmare they're led

Suffocating; trapped and alone, but they're shapes made of mist

And they're all gathering together in a smothering tryst

The haunted aren't dead, but they can be buried alive

When those from the grave, like a nightmare, arrive

For they'll be entombed in the dark, as if trapped in the soil

As they scream and they shake with insanity's toil

The Graveyard Shifts

The moonlight motes give rise to suppositions

As the graveyard shifts with ghostly apparitions

And there's a running man and he's running scared

For he is a witness, who has observed and heard

He was alone with silence, but whispered words were spoken

As those once at rest slipped into a mind exposed and broken

And in an open journal his scribing made it grimly clear

That he could not be there, for he had succumbed to fear

For there are those who will rise and escape the grave

To haunt the receptive with their 'in situ' waived

They're gossamer threads that choose to wander

Like moths to flames they seek the light's responder

On his own, with them, in a desolate moonlit building

He felt their oppressive presence, as his will was wilting

Goosebumps and anonymous footfalls is when he knew

Before a whispered breath, 'we're always close to you'

He's running fast, but he's a haunted man

And they'll search to find him, wherever they can

He'll never escape as his rationality sifts

For in the moonlight motes the graveyard shifts

Crown of Thorns

Born in a fable, someone's son, a charismatic leader

Was impaled to a gibbet of olive wood, or maybe cedar

Violated, naked, excruciating death throes shudders

Left to rot with kith and kin and Judean brothers

Nails and ropes, broken legs, tortured, scourged

From the mists of myths tales are told, scribed and merged

Bloody beads upon a lolling head, a crown of thorns

An oppressive empire suppressing freewill and raising storms

From eternally disputed lands and a realm of authoritarian ways

A seed was planted for the nativity and the passion plays

Post the ancient prose of the world of Moses, Noah, Cain and Abel

A new testament created a heroic saviour, born in a fable

Conjecture aspires to an incomparable crucifixion upon a Latin cross

And history tells of two thousand years revered, at a calamitous cost

For all those heretic souls of the Inquisitions, that no one mourns

And for the holy wars and sectarian divisions, we bear a crown of thorns

Various Degrees of Insanity

Hush now, hush now, for The World's still spinning

But our end is nigh, without hope of a new beginning

For we are the sheep; we are to be the slaughtered lambs

Our demise prescribed in barbaric ethnic cleansing plans

Terra firma's to sea, but heaven is purely vapour and gas

As ghost memories and fables (fallacious) all gather en masse

We're deluded, we're mad, we've been covering the facts of our inanity

And now it's the deranged leading the blind in various degrees of insanity

So I spoke to God and read the words ascribed to Jesus... and as one they told me...

"You don't believe us"

"'You don't believe us', are my thoughts recited," I said. "As is the Creator never was and no son of a god has ever bled."

So I spoke to Satan and found comfort in analgesia. Then I ascribed his death hallowed words on my board of Ouija.

>They're gonna fucking kill you all if you don't at least inverse the cross<

With this sentence formed I was at a loss...

When I say 'I', I mean them and me and including you; Him & Her and all our demons too.

So we called to both God & Satan and wept like Jesus; but there was no one out there to hinder or help, scourge or please us.

And now, alas, with Heaven & Hell we can disconfirm it, knowing that our barbaric tongues is the kindred language of The Hermit.

For there're those amongst us who have roamed from a different region. They have slipped into our dimension through the open portal of an internal lesion.

And in the final hours before an interminable darkness, in a post-apocalyptic meltdown. Mayhap The Hierophant will fill the yawning gap and claim what is vacant to be his crown. And then will there be a collective moment, a gathering of rational conscience, and a moment of clarity? And a 'what the fuck have we done?' After all, it has always been about, various degrees of insanity.

For there is no Magician and we've been dealt The Fool, as we conspire with Death.

And with every card that's turned The World will shrink and decrease in breadth.

We're all fucking mad, we know between nothing and not a lot. And those who think they've found an answer will eventually lose the plot.

The heavens are alive, but they're filled with dragons and harpies

As the wailing ghosts align themselves in sectarian armies

Of the crumbling holy houses, they're now renamed 'calamity'

For they spoke too long in tongues in their various degrees of insanity

Hush now, hush now, before The World stops turning

For our fat is dripping and our skins are burning

They killed us all when they reversed the inversed cross

For the crescent Moon was barren and now we're forever lost

Ligature Point

A nightmare, a night storm rages
Rattling poets in cell block cages...

And so it begins, pen and paper and then the pandering to the pixels. It's not the writing that's frightening, it's the constant search for inspiration, beyond the mental constipation. The ideas and the words, all dragged from within, the ending, the middle and from where to begin. It's all in the head and so is the dread.
Outside: The hail and rain is cascading down from a summer storm's lugubrious low pressure, the thunder rolling and crashing, as the transient lightning is flashing.
Inside: Inside a poet's weary head, there is nothing but cataclysmic cliches and the numbness that's been left behind by that which has fled.
Feed off the storm, the poet thinks, embrace the outside rage to quell the inner turmoil. Cliches, cliches everywhere, but not a drop of ink... is what the poet thinks.
'Fuck it,' uttered, as thoughts run amok. 'Fuck the insipid deep shit, let's write something really fucking gory, a sicko badass horror story!'
Hail rattles on the window as the wind howls like a banshee.
Let's have something akin to King and Herbert, maybe a crazy fucking clown killing kids with poisoned sherbet... or a psychopath stalking couples and spiking their drinks, is what the poet thinks. A psychopath who gives you no hope, just a ligature point and the noose at the end of a rope...

...maybe not, stick to what you know...
The poet shifts uneasily on a chair; outside the storm rages in the electrified air.
The block is unflinching, it's solid, the verse a curse, the rhyme a crime.
Ditch the pen and paper, maybe scratch some ink later, is what the poet thinks. AC/DC for the PC, that's what's needed. Press a switch and light the screen, outside the banshees scream.

The gale whips through concrete courses
Gathering strength for its evil forces...

The weather is a horror of symbolism and has been used too many times before, is what the anxious poet thinkety, thinkety, TH!NKS, staring eyes eventually succumbing to the inevitable blinks. The poet is so tired, head pounding after too much thinking, always thinking. Heavy eyelids and the poet is close to napping... on the window, outside, is that a finger tapping? Or the hail from Hades borne by the beast of the gale?
Lightning flashes, the power crashes, a PC fades to dim. The poet thinks this is slightly scary and close to grim.
Thunder rolls with the next electric bolt, as one, conjoint; walls and windows shaking and illuminating the place of a ligature point.
'Fuck it,' uttered, as thoughts run amok. 'Fuck the poetry and fuck the horror story!'
The power reconnects, a relieved intake of breath; breath rhymes with death, that's why rhyme is a crime, although transitory. A screen re-enlivens and a bright light is back. This is all too sapping, the poet thinks. It's there again! On the window a finger, or maybe a talon, tapping!

The night thickens to tar as the storm abates
A pause in its course, but it merely awaits...

There's a tap, tap, tapping on the poet's window.
'Let me in, it's me, I can help... just let me in,' whispers an all too familiar voice.
'What the fuck!' The poet declares. 'I'm so tired and now I'm fucking wired!'
Thoughts are racing, as they run amok. The horror cliches live and the poet's mind is leaking like a sieve. The interred rhyme is the crime and the verse still a curse...
Fuck! Silence...
There's sanctuary in the silence, but the silence is leaden, oppressive and cloyingly aggressive. A minute passes, then two and three and then...
There's a tap, tap, tapping on the PC's screen, on the other side, on the inside of the screen... from within.
"Fuck," is the thought and it is a thought and not a dream, for the poet's awake, wide eyed and alert, of that there is no mistake.
'Let me in,' is a repeat of the improbable request. Then more urgently...
'Let me the fuck in!' It's the poet's voice, of course it's the poet's voice. It's not some fucking demon, thank fuck!
...when the pressure's on you'll be observing that there's far too much fucking swearing...
Someone's knocking on the door, knock, knock, KNOCKING.

The eye of the storm has passed and the wind is howling
As the petrified poet sits there, slack-jawed and cowering...

There's a knock, Knock, fucking KNOCKING on the poet's door.
'Let me the FUCK IN! You know who it is and we'll know where to begin.'
There's no lock on the door, because beyond is the hall. There's no key to turn, no bolt, not even a wedge, there's nothing at all.
'Oh fuck,' the poet reiterates, as a racing heart sinks.
There's a bang, Bang, BANGING on the fucking door!
This has to be a nightmare, or the poet's imagination running wild, detached from reality and completely out of sync. And so many fucking swear words and cliches; cliches, cliches everywhere, but not a drop of ink.
The keyboard's clicking; click, click, clickety click! On the screen letters and words appear within...
>Hey, cunt, open this fucking door and LET ME THE FUCK IN!<
Fists and talons are pounding, Hammering, BATTERING the door!
The poet might be you, but it's certainly not me...
So, just open the fucking door! Honestly, there aren't any vampires in this world and the insane don't really wander around in storms knocking on windows and doors.
There's a pungent smell and a pregnant pause...
Get a grip! There's a hand on a handle and the turn of a knob, the poet opens the door.
Why! What the fuck for? Another big mistake!

A nightmare, a night storm rages
Rattling poets in writer's block cages...

'FUCK!' Is screamed, and rightly so, for before the poet stands a fucking monster!
Cloaked like the reaper, its hooded head is a feather and tar skull with a raven black beak; soulless pits for eyes bulging, remorseless and blindingly bleak. Of course it's an impossible creature, but it's there and it's happening and the poet's high in the air, impaled on talons. Ribs are cracking and crushing as the blood is flowing and gushing. There's the smell of piss and the touching of cloth. Spinning around a light bulb there's a mocking moth.
'Hey cunt! I'm everything you're fucking NOT!' The words rage in the poet's head and more words are said. 'Is this fucking dark enough? I said is this FUCKING DARK ENOUGH!' And then in a barely audible whisper. 'Is... this... dark... enough, for you? You're a fucking clown, but there're no jokers in the pack; no jesters. So let's have a look inside and see what fucking festers... and then, perhaps, I can put you out of your wretched... fucking... misery.'
And it's all there, from the Hanged Man tarot to a hooded figure on the boards of the gallows. Horrific creatures are rising from an open deck... and there's a noose around a poet's neck. And the smell... the gagging, fetid, stench of putrefaction and the rancid sweet sweat, purging the venlafaxine.
New words are hissed and the world is spinning. 'Die, fucking die, you fucking faker! You can't see it, but inside I'm grinning... that should unblock the block!'
The poet is hurled across the room and crashes, outside (symbolically!) the lightning flashes.
And there's no more silence, just torture and gratuitous violence. A beak plunges into eye sockets, devouring the juicy morsels. Guts are ripped out and blood splatters walls, floor and ceiling and the screams are soul wrenchingly revealing. But there's no rush as the poet's head is slowly cracked until it snaps and implodes. Fuck! There's blood and guts everywhere and two empty eye sockets. A detached heart has stopped beating, as it's being eaten and there's vomit and gore all over the floor!
Feet with talons slip on the gagging gore, on their way out, back through the open door.
'Fucking charlatan!'

Epilogue: After the storm
It's early, on a sun-drenched morning...

The poet awakens, head on desk, groggy and half numb... feeling glum
Sunlit motes pour through the cracks in the curtains.
'Fuck,' uttered. 'What a fucking nightmare, I'm on the brink.'
But something has unblocked the block, for the cliches have gone and there's something etched in ink. It's the poet's handwriting, >Same scenario, same place, see you later, you fucking phoney. Kill yourself when you've had enough<
The poet breaks down and sobs with despair, reliving the horror of every nightmare.
Covered in livid scars and a throbbing head, the poet remembers everything and every word said. There's a sense and stench of faeces and piss; stains that could be blood and gore on the floor and a cool draught swirling through the yawning door.

'Fuck!'

The poet draws heavily on the smoking weed of a joint
Beneath the identified place of a ligature point
The world is now calm, not heavy, the world is dope
And attached and ready is the noose of the rope

Now there are no more lines to write, no more improbable monsters to ponder
It's The End; the insane may be lost in storms, but they have no need to wander

If Only I Could

I know I can't, but if only I could...

I'd be there beside you and not in faded dreams we keep

I'd be there for you as you awoke from your restless sleep

I'd plump up your pillows, I'd make and mash a nice cup of tea

To make you feel better, to some small degree

If you needed extra warmth, or just some solace

I'd snuggle up with you and those sad thoughts I would abolish

You know that if I could, I surely would...

Share your sickly sniffles and calm your qualms

As I held you closely in my loving arms

Though I am here and you are there

I know you know how much I care

So I'll send you happy words and emojis of tea and flowers

For I cannot properly fuss you, it's not within my powers

...but you know I would, if only I could

Our Trojan Horse

We hoped that we could, but we thought that "we can"

For in reality we were apart, but we had an ingenious plan

All our thoughts and desires we would program and shift

Into a quixotic reverie for our amorous tryst

We had selected the cards until they had told us a story

'The Lovers', 'The Moon' and 'Judgement'; memento mori

And all of our desires were turned into fanciful notions

So we could be hidden together, as if in a horse for the Trojans

We synchronized and focused and uttered our mantra

Separately self-fulfilling erotic rites to awaken the tantra

With our myth-guided faith, it was a step and a leap

Into the delusory domain of illimitable sleep

In the glades and the forests of a black and white scene

I was in the pitch of a night of an elicited dream

I sensed foreboding and ire; I heard an ocean's waters pour

And I was stumbling from cover to find the sands of its shore

And she was there! (In my chest my heart was pounding)

On a moonlit beach, a lost soul, a mermaid floundering

Beckoning she implored, her eyes alight, reminiscent of flames

As I ran through the gorse, to the sands, we were calling our names

Under the glare of The Moon of a questionable Earth

Hand-in-hand, we walked to the waves of a soporific surf

All of our desires were that of an elixir of erogenous potions

As we escaped, for the moment, from our horse of the Trojans

We were out of sight, in our minds, but with murmuring lips

As the praxis unravelled and quickly became illusions and tricks

And there was a rage that was burning, there was a knife in a bed

With somniloquence the treacherous Trojan that alerted and led

In a quixotic reverie of an amorous tryst

The ephemeral sands, beneath our feet, began to shift

Her fading eyes were pleading and she was dragging me under

As my body cramped in the place of reality's slumber

We had turned selected cards to find our dreams to share

But the final Judgement rendered was not to spare

We had thought our Trojan horse was an ingenious plan

Covertly salacious, we had hoped, and thought that "we can"

Now the night is an ocean of silence and a forest fire has burnt its course

And there's nothing but darkness and the ashes of a wooden horse

'The Lovers' reversed was the joker, but not the end of the story

For 'Death' was the last, but unturned; memento mori

Random Moments in Time

He sits as if transfixed, behind a gloom laden desk

Around a flickering candle the Painted Lady pirouettes

But his wandering thoughts transcend to horizons wider

Where in sun-drenched motes climbs a Ruby Tiger

What shouldn't be, might be, for dimensions ebb and flow

As time can shift and be cast adrift from the status quo

Akin to a transient moonlit rainbow of a spectrum's breadth

It's the haunting invisible presence of the stranger's breath

He's lost in the thoughts of random moments in time

Where Magical Unicorn Oracles and Angels align

He looks to the past and every fact of the future

But the night mares are charging, a new chimera the suitor

Cold hands hold on to reality, waiting for the shaking to stop

As the glistening sands of the hourglass pour from bottom to top

Wide awake, yet asleep, the current is dragging him back

For time is the tide that is rising and will never retract

He sits, as if transfixed, behind a doom laden desk

The Painted Lady approaches in dancing pirouettes

He grabs and he catches and he feels the crush

In sun-drenched motes a Ruby Tiger is drifting as dust

He's lost in the dreams of random moments in time

An alien in a rancorous realm where the Unicorns repine

The agony is as searing as bile, he's starting to retch

There's a hand above a candle and the crisping of flesh

The guttering flame, that caresses, dwindles and dies

There's only pain without dreams, so with interim time he abides

But there's no warmth in the dark and he's beginning to wonder

For abroad in the void the night mares are charging like thunder

There's a sandstorm in the glass as a conjuration begins

Above the roar of the stampede there's a whispering of wings

And he's awash in the flow as every nightmare's recycled

The drowning in flames and the blessed unbridled

He's lost in the dimensions of random moments in time

Where the candle's a moon, but afar and malign

But he reaches for its comfort, with a hand made of wax

For he senses the breath of a presence; the stranger's perhaps?

Only Ghosts

Clowns and despots with their power games

Let the storm clouds gather with their noxious reigns

Demented posturing as they sabre rattle

They stand their ground, all set for battle

A call for calm, but the wind just whistles

As they prep and aim their ballistic missiles

They hide behind their vicious vitriol and MAD men's boasts

But from post-apocalyptic ashes there're only ghosts

It's our last mistake, the end is nigh, but we're in too deep

The shepherds lost, we're the devils flocks and we're led like sheep

So lock and load and come outside from that darkened corner

For the fuse is lit and soon the world will become a whole lot warmer

Only ghosts, as all those gods abate................

Need not fear our last mistake..........................

Left to roam in perdition's fields of fire..............

Yesterday's tomorrow was a MAD desire.........

Gone in the flash of nuclear fission...................

Hideous the act of insanity's vision...................

Only ghosts, as gods will die with men.............

Slake in the fallout, without need to fend..........

The wondering souls of the impenetrable pall..

Silently drifting through a wasteland sprawl.....

It was the final act, as the MAD men's sanities failed

And so it finally came to pass when the sirens wailed

The end was seen by the sagacious and the old world prophets

As hellfire flew with nuclear missiles and chemical rockets

There're no tears to cry, for there're no eyes to moisten

The broiling sky is toxic and the billowing smog is poison

From the shattered mountains to the corroded coasts

There's nothing left crawling, there're only ghosts

Clowns and despots with their power games

Left naught behind, but a world in flames

Gone in the flash of nuclear fission

Hideous the act of insanity's vision

No Escape

There is no escape...

There is nowhere to run, there is nowhere to hide

There is no comfort in dreams, I've been there, I've tried

It knows where to find me, there's no refuge, no sanctum

As it walks through those locked doors and appears like a phantom

There is no peace in my head...

There is nowhere to run, I cannot take flight

And the worst is to come when I switch off the light

It's a shape-shifting shadow, it's a ghost made of smoke

It's the insanity inside me that chooses to cloak

There is no hope for my soul...

There is nowhere to hide when I look in the mirror

For the effervescence of life is receding and dimmer

So I stand there and stare and sometimes I'm laughing

Because it's impatiently waiting, as I confuse it with chaffing

There is no respite, so I jump from the fire...

As I slumber it's slinking and opening a gate

And hunting my reveries, with a nightmare the bait

But now it's sluggish and floundering in my paralysed head

For on the flip side of sanity I have chosen to tread

There are increasing moments in time away from its clutches

In the numbing embrace of when insanity touches

For there is nowhere to run and there is nowhere to hide

And there is no comfort in dreams, I've been there, I've tried

...there is no escape