Friday, 31 January 2020

Earliest Memories

Earliest memories
Of the same
Death complex
Mother knows best.

Earliest memories
Huddled, insane
In a rented home
Shake stained, thin walls
A histrionic mess.

They’ll kill us, you.
The bikers next door
Rev engines, Spit
Blind metallic grit
To be segued
To the death rattle
Of an X-ray machine.
Your tiny limbs, unsafe,
Pumping blood no more.
Her crying, twisted face,
Somewhat ridiculous,
Ravaged to the core,
Conveys, betrays...
I brought you here,
So why not let you know,
“Life ends in death.”

So I felt death’s cold hand
Before my mind crafted
Memories and expertly
Learned disdain
Of my own body,
Sure to rot, taught,
No - a message ingrained:
There is no escape
Except the worst kind.

Earliest memories
Of the same
Complex unfiltered
Purged from her mouth
And to keep sane
I developed a self-upholstered skill:
A strange, warpaint
To self-soothe, remove,
And reject the taint
Of her imposition.

The skill is now lost.
The decades dry out,
And time hits its drought.
And I am eaten, slowly, by
Earliest memories.




Friday, 15 February 2019

Minister Of Sinister

I wrote this poem about this weird guy that is staying with my religious culty landlords:




Minister of Sinister


I am a mentor
Touring to
Mentally help the meek
Downtrodden through bad deeds.

I am a mentor
Ordained to
Praise the six day work week while
Falling on Bible belt knees.

I spread the word with
An original sin-tainted tongue
I spread my seed
And carry a concealed handgun.

I am against a woman’s right for
Abhorrent abortions,
and I don’t pay taxes for drunks.
I travel with a tattered briefcase
And a rolled-up carpet in the trunk.

I am a mentor
Untormented
By fermented first-breath sin
I keep my hand in the collection tin.

I am the mentor,
Aforementioned.
And I despise science.
It’s so easy to sleep
When you don’t have a conscience.

Tuesday, 11 December 2018

Self Hatred Slumber Party


Can you fix yourself
Time's grip twists the shell.
Don't sell yourself short;
You've got a few good years left.
Well time it always
Reeks of theft.
Just a pump in there,
Some injections for rejections.
Did you not find love?
Do you hate the mirror?
Men love with their eyes -
Did you know?
And they come and go.
Plastic face to nix decay:
An avoidance of
Admitting your dismay.
And when your spirit died
Around twenty five
You wanted something more
Than this loathsome slumber.
Filters at an angle
Used to feign late summer.
Now there is no good side.
And the men they come and go
Talking of silicone and blow.
Oh, there is no good side.
No there is no good side.