Galaxy hall

I’m on my way down to galaxy hall the meeting place of devils and gore 

In the blustery palls sits every kind of horned beast of flamed saw 

And while I yawn my mothers calm breaths and the seas dark depths I am all gone

For about this place, is a bezel and grace that you’d not think would be adore

Flames along the way, and a marshal of the rammer army 

Playing hellish beats, and frying golden meats in the kitchen for the feast

I’m starting to feel welcome and safe which I did not expect to be a part of such a place 

I’m here now and must be making the best I can

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Tendril islands 

Gentle careful aches for touch

Much sense filled to almost brimming

In your kisses I am swimming 

Bring, bring us tendril islands 
Let’s go together 

Lost on our island forever 

Never, ever be anything but us

Oh, flounder and thrust
Tickle, trickles into a caress 

I’m sorry but I might make a mess

Wispering silence as much as you can best

The lick of a breast 
For long our nibbles

Trouble with tribbles

Plays quitely on your TV

I steal a kiss passionately 
Clever girl, your gasping breath says

Tendril of your tounge finds

Sipping your wine, for it’s time 

For partaking of mine 
Tendril islands

Put into motion

Drinking this potion

Lost in my ocean 

Murcury is not dead 

Kill the message.

Kill the messenger. 

Murcury is not death, though

His is as deceiving as any one can tell

A theith and a lair, Larunda will not tell though

For cutthroat Jupiter hastily cut out her tounge 

You may think, that Murder has beseeched the messenger of the gods

You forgot they are just as tricksy as us if not more

But what else is a god, but the very hardened psychosis of us poorly mortals 

Rick and brother 

1. I’m just as bad as all of the rest

Telling the truth today 

It’s just a featherweight fighting for rate

Getting the bell because it’s used

Stony sand and a beer in a half pint 

Singing with motorcycles blooms 
Chorus:

But I don’t see how

Rick and his brother still love 

It’s all 9 hells and a few more to quell

Just down and down and down and down


2. I’m just as hurt as the man in the pond

Shooting up black opium

Hark the herald devils singing you home

Warehouse spaces left empty

Homeless emotions see the memory

Murder distance from trendil energies 

Demons on the Moon

Listen to that screech Hell is about to be unleashed 

Silver death comes to those who are not prepared 

Nightmares born of dusty dreams 

I cannot think to compare
Beyond, beyond, our reach

Demons reign in caverns deep

Black smoke rising. Stench arcrid ensnare 

Step on skulls full of grimy discusting things

A world beyond me doesn’t seem to care
Listening and hiding in this shadow

I’m very sure I’m being drawn to be like them 

Marrow and blood flow from my skin bare

Pick my pistol up

Shoot them, shoot them

I’m sure your going through the same flair 

Girl in the Red Hat

This is a tale, a tale from the past
A story thats told, and you know it will last
Listen to the words and you will find, that this story is in all of our minds

A tale that involves a girl in a red hat, who wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
besides her a man whose standing on one leg, leaning against a marbled pole that looks dank
the distance you hear the a sound of beeps, the scream of some birds and a menacing creep

There are lights that flash on and off in the gloom
the gloom of a morning thats not awake
like an old forgotten god whose at the bottom of a lake

meetings are coming, meetings to go to
opportunities not missed by those who known to

circles and cakes, people you meet
people is people who are at your feet

and still the girl who had a red hat, wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
waiting and watching and seeing these things, doesn’t move or know what they mean

and presently a Seagull whose a little bit bored, waddles aimlessly up to this broad
squarks a pertinent inquiry at the rosette crested girl
who looks at it westerly as if shes unwell

the seagull tells her that it is a man, and comes from a island in a very different land
and she doesn’t think or indeed move at all and simply smiles

for miles and miles there wasn’t one person who saw
the seagull and girl fly to the land of man of the swell

Into that deepness

I gaze, I find myself inside your eyes 

That deepness that blooms warmth around

Arises reflection of souls beyond this deepness

Clouds, dripping our rainbows through the sky

Wispers of lies, wishing for the gentle touch of truth 

I’ll be a roundabout, we have both come out

Tingle of frying fruits, creame and vanilla 

Yet a continuing riddle of what we ask for dinner

Scratch, bite, tickles, the day star yearns 

I’m so deep in those eyes, dark, mysterious / will I ever learn?

Significant halo, insightful tangle

Looking about face

The soup of her favorite song in the air

She takes her halo off

Polishing it for the first time

Covered in crystal hatreds

The mess these mortals make

Chords of their lives weaved in knots 

They scissor hands and scissor deaths

Looking at this moment, at her own thoughts

Knitting, striving, fated black ropes

Destiny, in these times

It took so long for her to be aware of this 

A warm feeling of the subdued grey lingers

Non one calls her by her name 

They have a word for her, and her 

Woefully worshipping, in the hope

Silently despairs, in the hate

Significantl tangles, a messy weave 

She’s not the only one who weaves

They do, themselves make it, their are others too

Like, above and, ever pressent 

Immortals is the wrong word

They are: Longen. 

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Riding the noises in the forest fae

Spiders, birds, books, wombats, nerds

Strange library, evergreen, oh don’t mind me

Pinky promises flowering essence, cool Ghostly presence

Little strange new dreams of machines, none of them clean 

Rocky colors, shook the duller capture 

Fresh kill to the bones of the Trill, they’re after the carrion fill 

Hot cups, gimlet luck, blue blood, true mud

Flicking others, shadows like cothered muffeled mussel 

Dripping with spite their is the spike, and the hill of the place of the armsted respite 

Besides that their it is, a spokesman for the next new species 

A fairy and a robot, a gathering thought, waves

It’s hand is up, sucking on the teat

Newborn, but not a newcomer

How quickly will it learn? 

Of the spiders, birds, books and nerds? 

Endures, the Perl

Well that wasn’t even the justice of the curls in the system 

I’m sore as a whole bunch of petitions 

Piles of cheats and gassing hermits in leering metal boxes

so I hear they melted down the ox’s

Great beanie islands, sitting in a million times their volume of views

Ques, cues

I anguished. I stepped. I swore are you doing not the right sight. That true box of things that weels it’s place, seems to know more about your directions 

Curly, your just like them 

Grenadine, mixed in tears of a virgin

Lonely, like a oyster 

You will blame the system then the others

Never see the ocean of muck you are in

Is that your fualt? Your future?

I’m just a pearl

I’ve got no cleavage to cut with

I’m anguish, I’m hatred, down into the salty sand I will fall when your gone but a memory in the heart of the ocean.

I’m part of a potion

Coming into the second hands higher than thou attitude 

I’m just dirt. I’m not nothing, but it’s how some will see me. 

Spilt essence of light

The cookies and milk served to the star gazing kids

The musings and silt in the bed of a man panning for gold

The name of the police woman who gave you directions

The little eventual feeling of warm you know will come when spooning your soup

The first flower that pokes out of the ground

The thunder that lets you know that the storm is over

The warm screech of the violin that plays afar in the kitchen radio as your parent makes dinner as the other plays games with you

The feelings that that person on the park bench will never be able to remember as the cold cinders of night rots at their brain

That comfortable mystery you feel as you think about something you think is a universal truth but cannot be experienced by all

Five circles of darkness

Battle, a war, a war. We fight, and die and feast on our own humility. We take and give to the hatred of ourselves and pretend it is the others. Take a light, a light, touch on the world, if you are to escape this infamy.

Depletion, reaping the sown life of our gangrenous infection. Any world who would take us, would fight against us eventually as we justify our means by the ends we imagine. Our imagination is a universe which is perfect, the imperfect nature of our world is known, yet we still strive on to create this deception for ourselves.

Balance, candies on a train of life, we must take heed of the warning our mother gives us. She be but a breath away from taking us to a fiery death from which we will be lucky to revive. Revive, survive, a place we must strive to capture the wastes of our infamous industry.

Nature, is a cruel but necessary goddess. She exists in our anthropomorphic imagines but we do not listen to all our own thoughts. The sign on the door is one that can only have one meaning, but we ignore. Ignore.

A key, voyeuristic doorbell, and a blue box, from which we wish to escape within, a universal season. Habitat, full of rats and cats and bloodsucking bats. Our last survivors will know only a few pages of our ignominious law. A thorn on our nation, a call to our station, but never a pause to libation. We will be the creators of our elation, a rapturous capture of all of our extractions. In fires of midnight, we will clasp hands and give thanks to a musky pouch. A key, inside, holds our last hope. A library full of the works we have ignored for so, so long.

NB: The words to start off this poem were given to me by Blair King, whose blog you can visit here: https://peoplethingsandlife.wordpress.com/

Bailey

Root sum of the east

Plating his mustache with an air of efficiency 

Standing guitar ready to play, black leather jacket has seen better days 

He takes his breath, starts to sing a tune that summons

Ideal of summers warm like lime cordial long since past, winters chills that sends shivers that last

The people come and find his song, travel with it to this pretend land long gone

Walls that build a civil society above the sky looking at the land below. A vision of perfection

A mouse sends postcard from the wainscoting, telling us of all his shopping. Is this another story? Song? Or are we asleep.

We feel but meek. Weaker and poorer and happier, as we realize how perfection isn’t meant to last

Comfort

Softness pushing gently touched

Covers envelopes us

Warmth that fills 

Air cleaner than we remember 

Filled with a sort of happy satisfaction 

Realease out relaxing tendrils

Memory of gentleness 

Kindness, a place of settlement 

We want to bundle it up and keep it

Like a old little gentle dog who sleeps on your legs like a blanket

Comfort will go, like the epervesant sinews of dream you just 

Wake and find yourself, 

Starting back

Herald for euphoria

Sound the trumpets of delight,
The mighty wings of joy that spread through our own betwixt might,
In addition to our exclusive flowers, taste the fruit of the hours

Thundering down the plain,
Put forward the Calvary’s domain,
The squelching paps of angelic grass,
Celebrating all that has come and past

For flags are to wave,
On our parapets of ours to cave,
Into the Casino of desires,
A lottery were winning erupts in joyful fires