Duct Tape & Daffodyls - Ven (free e books to read .txt) 📗

and serpent's tails
away from shimmering and bright
into the darkness of the night
she's ripped and gnarled though torrid splash in murky depths by claws that clash.

Undaunted by oblivion she stands before the Evil One. and speaks ~ at first,
a gentle whisper
but then her words get louder, crisper,
a twinge of fear but brave unfolds,
uncovers ~ lion-heart and bold !

Sprite transforms and like a giant
refuses now to be compliant,
calls the Dark One "A Son a of a Bitch"
then screams a scream of perfect pitch
which shatters the spell that sent her there and trapped her in this nightmare.

The end is reminiscent I fear
of every fairy tale you'll hear
as magical shades of twilight twist
and hang suspended in the mist
where a vaporous sprite makes flurry in
the labyrinth where dreams begin.


The Last Performance

The whole world sat expectantly,
awaiting the start of the show.
It was billed as a one off performance,
we were all expected to go.
So people came from the cities, towns
and remotest parts of the globe,
then, when all living souls were assembled,
God appeared in a long white robe.
He stood centre stage in the floodlights,
looking decidedly sad and
said "I've been sent by my tutors,
to give you some news ~ and it's bad !"
They've said that my project is pointless.
There are too many names on my list.
So after tonight, once the paper works done,
You‟re all going to cease to exist.


Toward The Word

Falsehood, lies and trickery.
Statements, contradictory.
Twists, propaganda and secret memoranda. Conspiring heads and dignitaries.
Abettors and co-signatories
decide upon the strategies
with little thought for niceties.
The elected and their minion,
rebuff the mass opinion
and the blind go marching one by one,
toward the word ... OBLIVION !


Just An Ordinary Man

.

A man came to the door today,
long hair,
blue eyes,
six three.
He said he was in the area,
giving estimates for free.
He said that he could mow the lawn,
do any odd jobs I could find.
He made no mention of saving souls
or healing the sick or the blind.
I showed him to the garden shed
where the tools and the mower were stored
and I noticed the scars
on the palms of his hands
as he reached for the mower cord.

I said,
"Are you who I think you are?"
and he told me to lower my voice.
He made me promise to keep his secret.
He said he had no choice.
He said he'd tried to walk the road
that he thought he was meant to take
but it left him open to ridicule
and taunts of FREAK and FAKE !
… then psychiatric analysis,
intravenous aid
and tests that just confirmed
the diagnosis that they'd made.

“ They say I'm schizophrenic “, he said
and I think they may be right
because now I take the tablets
I no longer see the light,
feel the urge to help mankind
or foretell of its demise.
I have no interest in God and his love
or the Devils hate and lies.
I simply mow the lawns
and I fix things where I can.
I am not the son of God,
I'm just an ordinary man.“

It seems that modern medicine
has cured him of his ills.
Made him ordinary with its sugar coated pills. Cured him of his caring,
of his passion for humanity.
Freed him from the shackles
of his “obvious “ insanity
but what if he was right
with no real illness or affliction ?
and what if the healing, was in fact ...
a chemical crucifixion ?


Molly's Eyes

They were wide, dead and empty.
They were cry dry, vibrant green.
They were gin soaked drunken ... sunken.
( Molly's eyes I mean ).

She was dead to dread and heartache.
She was numb and would succumb. to the whims of pimps and pushers,
unaware that she'd become.
A crack whore junkie hooker.
Injected and infected.
Disrespected by her peers.
Forgotten and neglected.

Denial kept her ticking
and substance killed disgust,
until sobriety raised its head
and she decided that she must
destroy the rancid shell
that housed this saddened core
so she trod the road to the station
... as she often had before.

But this, THIS time was different !
There would be no going back.
No more hiding in a bottle,
or behind the coke and crack.
She leapt to death rejoicing.
She embraced it open armed
and she uttered a prayer for the others
that the city slums had harmed.

They found her corpse beside the tracks
eyes open, wide and dead.
Death by misadventure,
the coroner had said
and no one now would miss her
or notice that she'd gone,
tell stories of her past
and sing the song of swan
or tell how they were open wide,
tear soaked vibrant green
and no longer cry dry hardened
( Molly's eyes I mean ).


Putting the Cat Among the Pigeons

Humour ? Not on your life mate!
We don't want that in here.
It might upset the sensitive
and fill their hearts with fear.
The blacks will go into hiding,
just in case we call the clan.
The Jews will head for cover,
every woman, every man.
Gays will run to the closet.
The French will beat a retreat
and all the vegetarians
will swear that they eat meat.
Bikers will be automatically jailed,
for being the scum that they are.
Drunks ? … I think we'll shoot „em
~ Line „em up against the bar.
Porkers will flock to the fat farm,
Hippies will cower in fear
and for everyone over sixty five;
Euthanasia Booth ~ Queue Here.
The stupid ? They don't count,
They‟re simple, they don't understand.
Transvestites ! Uh ! What's that all about ?
How sick is a dress on a man ?
The Welsh the Scots and the Irish
Well ~ their just a bunch of Celts
and the Yanks will keep polluting,
'till the whole Fuckin‟ world just melts !
Kids under nine will be sent to the mines,
women will lose the vote
and junkies will all commit suicide
just because of what I wrote.
Uh ~ Doh ! ... I doubt it.

N.B. If you feel hard done by or neglected because your minority group has not been included please feel free to submit your details for the author‟s consideration and possible future inclusion.

The Turkey Thing

Your Mickey D and Pepsi childhood
fails to stand you in good stead for the trials and tribulations
of the years that lie ahead as you submerge yourself in a lifestyle
that makes driftwood of your mind, leaves you wasted, numb and shivering vacant, empty, blinded by those who mix the poison
and conjure up a cocktail of powerful emotions as they try to drive the last nail
deep into your coffin, leaving you comatose and wafer thin. Itchy skinned, shivering, ... considering the turkey thing. In solemn faithless retrospect
your soul becomes bereft and no ripples break the surface
of the empty you that's left.
Down,
and down
and deeper
unsure how low you'll get until the shivers prompt the question
“Are you cold enough, yet ?” Help is for the taking
~ It is granted without question. Father turns from ogre into nurse and with Dali Lama patience
he welcomes you back in. Mother tends, and weeps
... but hides her purse
while the polyester puppy
on the eiderdown cocoon absorbs the sweat
and comforts through the pain. The cramps subside,
the itching stops your looking good,
but soon you'll dress, you'll leave
~ and here we'll go again.


For Sale ~ One Pink Sock

Alas, alack.
poor I ... ( deep sigh )
my gangrenous leg hath fallen off
and now
I am left bereft
( dear God ! )
with one pink sock of oddness.


Oops! Sorry Mum

I think I'm auto phobic ~ I'm terrified of me
I fear my face in the mornings
when it‟s not how I'd like it to be.
I fear my pudgy belly
and the dimple effect on my bum
I'm scared to look in the mirror
cos, there staring back
Is my mum.


Duck !

Bathed in glowing, winter moonlight.
- feathers frosted ~ brittle cold.
No comfort on that icy lake,
yet better there
than plucked and sold.


Dubiety

Unrequited, mute adoration
gives rise to an inimitable suspense
as each loves me, loves me not corolla
is loose-leaf eased from Daisies
fragile heart.


A Bedazzling Death

The scorpions' segmented, metameric tail
arched and poised is stunning in its detail
but instinct tells a curious mind
that deadly and divine often intertwine.

Beware of Pollyanna Belladonna
for as the purple petal oozes fatal digitalis so hollow love will wither bliss
and poison all it touches.


Short Time

As I sit and work.
Times flight, ever increases.
Monday, Thursday,
August, January, June.
Next year, becoming last year,
too soon.


T’was the night before Christmas

Oh no ... that's been done.
Hang on ! Ahem (clears throat)
OK, here we go:

Mother made Christmas

It's Christmas, early morning,
Mam is peeling veg.
She's tired and her nerves are frayed
she's teetering on the edge
of a full blown seasonal tantrum,
her head is thump, thump, thumping
the place is in a mess
because the tree's already dumping
all its needles on the shag-pile
~ the lights have blown a fuse,
the dog just ate the fairy
and there's carnage on the news
cos some idiot reporter
grabbed a mic and said
that there's been a reindeer pile up
and now Santa Claus is dead.

The kids are suicidal,
they will not be placated.
The cat is looking smug,
we think it might have mated
with the turkey on the worktop
(which is incidentally .. Snuffed)
still frozen in the middle
and now well and truly STUFFED !

We throw it in the bin
and Mam cooks beef instead.
Takes codeine (which works wonders)
for the thumping in her head.
She cleans,
dusts,
vacuums,
lays the table for the spread.
Dishes up
and washes up(once everybody's fed)
Then collapses on the sofa
to watch the Wizard of Oz.
Falls asleep and snores a bit
but we just smile because
Christmas is a triumph !
Thanks to her, it always is,
so this rhyme is penned in tribute to say,
Thanks Mam,you‟re the Biz !


Empty Relics

Derelict warehouses
litter the wharf
and silent abandonment stares out
Vacant … from a thousand blank eyed
painless windows.
Barren barges rise and fall
with the rivers ebb and flow.
Flotsam ...
floating unmoored and vagrant through jetsam.
Empty relics of an industry forgotten.


It's All Quiet Now

The toxicity indicator was flashing red.
It's just a glitch, an