#The Invisible Man #Mandarinfish #Poet

#The Invisible Man

The invisible man has gone to ponder and think
About writing his manuscript in his invisible ink
It's a novel idea, but he won't reach the masses
So there's nothing to write and he can't find his glasses

#Mandarinfish

An illusion of a tangerine dream? No, I'm a mandarinfish
And I'm a rainbow siren and mayhap your reality's wish
So come swim with me in the briny, tho' I'll not be specific
For I'm shoal you'll never find me in the depths of the Pacific

#Poet

Penning lines of turgid words
Obliging with adjectives like smelly turds
Eternally whimsical and they know it
The everyday life of any poet

She's The Ice In My Blood

She's a memory in the mist
And she's a silhouettes shadow
When she's gone it's like a trick
That chills down to the marrow
But when she's there, she's a flare
She's a luminous rainbow...
...and no honey is sweeter
She's an apocalypse pending...
...and a lotus eater

She's the famine and the feast
And the drought and the flood
She's a gentle caress of a zephyr
And she's the ice in my blood
She's an emotional sinkhole...
Or have I misunderstood?

But when she's there, who cares?
She's an hourglass pouring...
...and a passionate schemer
She's the most dangerous tryst...
...and a bohemian dreamer
But she's gone, without a trace
And there is no way to follow
In the shadows and silhouettes
Where she was, is now hollow

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Cities In Flames (Fear)

(The Wrath and The Fear)

Consuming flames, of molotov cocktails, are borne from latent embers
Inside the burning metropolises will be the skulking anarchist pretenders
The renegade brigades, with their middle fingers raised, will run amok
It might be their time tomorrow to worry and intimidate the placid flock
Ending the days of law and order, they'll hide under the hood and mask
Self-righteous firebrands, fanning wrath and fear, is their egocentric task
In tomorrow's hours their movement will stake their unfounded claims
Nothing will be left to loot though, in the toxic waste of cities in flames
Fanatics of the delusional will reign when the modern civilisations fall
Leaving only ruins and bedlam, for we will have lost the urban sprawl
And nothing will stop their ravaging revolution; for the fire is stoked
Marauding in herds, when the lighters ignite rags, in kerosene soaked
Eerily quiet for now, but perhaps tomorrow we will be under attack
Somewhere, out there, are the anarchist arsonists readying to sack

Cities In Flames (Wrath)

(The Wrath and The Fear)

Clinging cinders from raging flames, are borne from a red hot ember
Inside the metropolises will be razed, for the urban guerrillas agenda
The insurgencies with incendiaries and kalashnikovs will run amok
It's their time, perhaps tonight, to readjust and turn back the clock
Executing deliriously barbaric plans, for the dragon has finally woke
Sending us to Hell, in the ash and smog, of the toxic burning smoke
In the hours of wrath and fear they will make unenlightened claims
Nothing will be left though, but the scorched earth of cities in flames
Fire will engulf us, for those mad messiahs will want to kill us all
Lest we bend the knee we're going to die in the nihilists pyres pall
And not even death will stop them, the bedlamite fire starters
Madness will be idolised and reborn in the usual myth of martyrs
Empires of evil will flourish as we hide and watch another city burn
Sending us into hellfire, if not tonight, then soon an evil eye will turn

Dirge Of The Dead

Do you hear somewhere, in the darkness, the sirens' song?
It's a pure and enrapturing choir, beyond mortality's throng
Rendering the blackest incantations, of a bewitching spell
Ghostly ephemeral, juxtaposed to a sagacious solemn knell
Each restless night's, unending passage, of troubled dreams
Opens the potential portals, of unnerving post-life themes
For those enchanting charms are by dark lamentations led
They are lifeless threnodies, they are the dirge of the dead
Hauntingly seductive and as alluring, as an umbra's clutch
Every note of conjuration is a caress of the othersides touch
Dystopian nightmares merge, where demons die in its thrall
Evaporating like misty phantoms under the approaching pall
And beyond ethereal psalms are seas of silence to be among
Do you hear them now, or are you already where you belong?