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

right,
I met my love, a righteous knight.
He whisked me away on a horse of white.
(OK - It was a Honda but that didn't sound right)


Twenty four Hours

They say that at this time tomorrow,
life here will come to and end.
You ask how I'd spend my last twenty four hours alright .. I will tell you my friend.
I'd pray for the souls of my kin.
Say farewell, for I can't watch them die.
Fall to my knees, desolated.
Wring my hands and ask my God WHY ?
Dry my tears .. on the way to the bike shop
and steal the ultimate ride.
Cruise to the beach and sit on the sand
a pen and a pad at my side.
I'd write of the very last sunset,
Of the waves, the dunes and the sky.
I'd write of the wonders of living
whilst sitting there, waiting to die.

I'd write of love and beauty.
I'd write of hatred and death.
I'd write of my life‟s experiences, from the first
to the very last breath.
I'd take out the knife from my pocket,
blade glinting in last rays of light.
I'd lay out my wraps on the sand
and ponder the wrong and the right.
Then I'd cut, just to see what it feels like.
Jack smack, to understand WHY ?
Smoke crack cocaine, again and again and get high.
All these things I would try.
I'd pop out one of my eyeballs,
for I've heard that this can be done.
I'd pierce my eyebrows and nipples
and tattoo "F~CK OFF" on my tongue.
I'd doughnut the bike on the sand.
I'd yell and I'd shout and I'd rage
and now and again, I'd stop ~ take my pen
and commit how it feels to the page.

For the fear of death has prevented
the experience of so many things.
So I'd do all the shit that scares me
and I'd bask in the freedom it brings.
I'd write of it all on my notepad
and as there'd be no-one to read,
it would matter not, how deep I dug,
how hard I let my pen bleed.
I'd compose an amazing last write,
that I'd sign and throw to the sea
and at twenty three, fifty nine, fifty nine,
I'd scream out, "I'm done .. TAKE ME !".
And I'd go ... with little regret,
when the sixtieth second came and all that I'd ask,
if they'd got it all wrong
is that Someone remember my name - Ven.


The Wardrobe Monster

The tingle of hairs that stood on end. A goose-bump extravaganza.
This musty cobweb zone was cold spot central.
Icy spinal shivers racked as imaginary fingers probed those, all to real, emotional wounds so often salted by nearest and dearest. For kin made the fiercest of foe. Armed with knives of knowledge they would prise my skeletons from the closet and smug and smiling lead my ghosts kickin‟ and fucking screaming from the attic. Parading them before me, while I sat in silent hurt upon that three-seater draylon pew of holier than thou parental scorn. But hey ! ~ Newsflash !
THE DEMONS ARE DEAD. I fought them ... I won. Job done ! Now ... nothing scares me and I piss on their wardrobe monster.


Let Mum sort it out

She smoothes down the hackles of animal family
with practised Doolittle speak.
Smothers the flames of dissention
for the umpteenth this week.
She can halt a conflict with cookies !
She rarely resorts to attack.
Me-thinks we should round up a bus load of mums
and send them to sort out Iraq.


Man-ipulation

Professor Peek arrived last week
and said, “I've invented a theory !
I've discovered our lives are run by our wives
and it's making me feel a bit weary.
I'm going to take charge, by having it large
and living it up at the disco.
I'll be dancin„, Drinkin‟ and smokin‟ the herb
with these dudes called Marvin and Sisco.
I'll be pinching the asses of many fine lasses
while Marvin and Sisco keep score.
I'll stay out all night and I might pick a fight
with the bald headed ape on the door.

It's a quarter to eight, I'm gonna be late,
the guys will think I ain't showing.
The Mrs. is smiling, she's looking beguiling
~ I'm thinking about not going
cos she's wearing that vest
that enhances her breasts,
a skirt that's cut to the thigh
and a pair of boo-ties
that come up past her knees.
I find myself wondering why ?

Has she got a plan ? ... Is she meeting a man ?
or is this man-ipulation ?
I can't take the chance and go to the dance
so out of complete frustration
~ I'M BLOODY STAYING IN AGAIN ! ”


Fabricated Self.

Test your metal,
twist it,
turn it,
hot,
cold,
temper ?
lose it.
Take a risk
now and then
snap a support
or two,
or ten.
For a welded joint
can be much stronger
and is prone to last
a little longer
than those
of which you never spoke
or those
you never broke.


Fatal

She sits beside him in calm equanimity and speaks in dulcet' horse whisperer tones. He just lies there, no motion, no sound. Closed eyes, torn flesh, shattered bones. Sedated. Outward she shows her sweet disposition but inward in turmoil she screams, that his careless frivolity caused this hell and rendered her hopes and her dreams over-rated. She thought back to early that morning and the look on his face when they came. Those leather clad junkies of red line revs, eager to join in the game actuated. He picked up his helmet, kissed her goodbye and straddled his iron whore. They rode off together in search of the buzz the motto was "More More More". Un-sated. She knew as he left, that all was not well. Intuition ? A hunch ? Who knows ?

She just knew in her heart that he'd take it too far. One word sprung to mind and she froze. Ill-fated !. So now, here she sits in acceptance. For she knew of all this from the start. She'd accepted his love of the iron whore and the speed and adrenaline tart and waited. Each weekend for his safe return. Taking comfort from the fact
that from Monday to Friday he was hers alone. In accordance with a pact They'd created. A contract soon to be null and void for nought carries on past the grave. Except ... perhaps for this love Which she believes fate desecrated. She returned to the bed they shared soon after he took his last breath and swallowed the pills from the cabinet shelf hoping the act of death, conjugated.


Join Us !

Come all ye faithless,
no one here is worthless.
Come ye who transgress.
We'll lead you to the light.
Come see what we see
dip your heart in beauty
We are here, on duty,
to help you get it right.
Come all ye cynics
to the faith injection clinic
We'll fill your head with lyrics
and ritual ~ and rite.
Come ye and consult
integrate with our cult
We promise you the result
will bring you such delight.

Blessed Be

If I do not understand your God
and if I do not believe.
You preach to me of suffering
my conversion to achieve.

If I do not understand your God
your God of grief and pain.
You preach to me of afterlife
and what I stand to gain.

If I don't understand your God
or do not think like you.
You'll preach to me of mortal sin
and war until I do.

If I don't understand your God
don't hear my reasons why.
Your sure in your faith,
so He truth, and I am lie.

And yet My God is beautiful
made of water, earth and fire,
My God is in the air,
and in my passion and desire.

She is, “do as you would be done to”,
and “love as you would be loved”,
She is everything that fits together
perfectly, hand in glove.

She is sunshine, snow and rainbow,
flower, tree and bird.
and in the breeze through autumn leaves,
Her whisper can be heard.

and the whisper never preaches,
your conversion to achieve
She'd never wish you harm,
just because you don't believe.

You do not understand My God yet
I defend your right.
For you having your God and I having Mine ,
should never be reason to fight.

Blessed Be.


Dissin' Fish

It's summertime and August heat persuades the helium light morning mist to float like angel breath above the soft green breeze swayed sapling oaks. Thrush and blackbird chorus and an early bee flits from chrysanthemum to honeysuckle to daisy and back. Limpid water laps the lakeside, softly whispers, "take a dive. Swim in me". A trio of rainbow trout jump and splash as if to endorse the invitation and as four and twenty stickleback echo the call the old, wise, patriarch pike nods his approval .. So I disrobe and tip toe in. Wade to waist and more before Pike (with perfect diction) booms,
"Who do you think you are ?" "I don't know " I reply, " I ... I … I was invited,
and you, (I'm sure) approved" In deep gargled voice he shouts
"Invitation revoked ... GET OUT !
You are not the apostle we waited for. Take your hippy, nature lovin' pretence, your skin cream, your hairspray and your fancy antiperspirant and go". You are walking pollution, our Faith in you was misplaced. You irresponsible creature,
consider yourself disgraced.


~ Pheasant Feet and Juju Babies ~

Miniscule wax dipped effigies
and desiccated foot of fowl,
strung from wailing willow bough
'neath silver, slivered, waning moon
left the Slack-jaw jibbering now
for lack of sense made fear intense
and the simpleton was anti-sensed
~ laid open to suggestion
and Faye (who spun this mind game spell)
was capable of evil deed
for she who twists the will of men
can sow a heinous, wicked seed
and he, with will not of his own
strolled along a path unknown
suspended like a marionette
on arcane flax that she had grown.

Yes, onward now he strode by hex
as she sat with the juju child,
pushing needles through its form
and chanting words she had compiled
from ancient scripts, books of death
and personal soliloquy
she waxed, evil, lyrical
~ and cackled at the imagery.

He foot-slogged through a brambled lane
toward a goal not yet unveiled
and as the dawn crept o'er plain
he saw a cottage, iron railed,
that stood, it seemed, in solitude,
though watching from its curtained pane
was Lady Constance Castleton
and at her breast was baby Cain.

Cain was heir to all the land,
as far as mortal eye could see.
Off summit of Mount Evermore
~ from left side coast to right side sea
and all who lived within its lines
were duty bound to bow and scrape.
From times of wealthy noble rule,