Rhymetime


DISSOLVE

In the moment we fade, into shadows and dust.
Corroded and broken, like heartache and rust.
For time is motion, both forward and back.
And into the darkness, our minds birth the lack.
Of knowing limitations, of body and mind.
That we all fade away, over spread golden time.
Once oh so pretty, that the angels despaired.
How a dream would unfold, how souls ceased to care.
And the ghosts swirled around in a sad misty dance.
Where the passage of fate, and time took their chance.
To rob them of hope, to turn night out of day.
Where love and of beauty, will dissolve away.


 

FADE

Hold me and heal me. Chase the darkness away.
Rock me to sleep.
Cut your wrists and then stay,
forever in this palace of darkness and time.
Locked in a dream.
Beautiful and mine.
And forget all the world, with its promise of pain.
Hold me and fade,
like a tear in the rain.


UNEARTHED DESIGN

These dreams that held you, turned you over in time.
Made you everything but mine.
They smell like morning peonies, precious symphonies align.
You found the bones of a long lost soul, turned up in the tide of your blood.
Washed away in monsoon floods.
Seeing if your veins could fly, coughing dandelions and mud.
Crack this dream like and egg, stitch up the wounds that never heal.
Stretch is over the world.
Pulled into another paradigm.
Live now for those golden days of charm, pulled out deep from the mire.
Throwing us both on the pyre.
Setting your soul on fire.
Then leave all this decay behind.


MOTHER’S MILK

Grow up big and grow up strong.
Be nice to others. Get along.
Don’t do drugs, and don’t’ drink coffee.
Savour each day like a delicious toffee.
Always colour inside the lines.
Say your prayers, once; two times.
Be still, be quiet, be seen not heard.
Be small and quiet like muted bird.
Play nice, play well and be enamoured.
For the nail that sticks, is that one that’s hammered.
Those thoughts of lofty aspirations.
Are just a sign of desperation.
So do not fall into the abyss.
Of needing help, to love or kiss.
For the witch is what they’ll call the other.
The fallen woman.
The post-natal mother.


LOVE SAVES THE DAY

 In his heart, he couldn’t say.
Why on earth he was born that way.
And in his mind, his thoughts progressed.
His soul did ache, heave and compress.
For when he learned that there were others.
He pulled down deep within his covers.
And smiled a smile of understanding.
A powerful notion that was commanding.
That it didn’t matter if you like either gender.
It only mattered if the love was tender.
So he took their hand then stated proudly.
A message to the world yelled out so loudly.
That he loved them the most, come what may.
And in the end, love saves the day.


THOSE EYES

In those eyes, there came a knowing.
A glance and fall, like a candle blowing.
Within that heart I felt a tear.
A wounded bird, tumbling in air.
And though tears cannot blur from view.
The rushing ground, the distance from you.


LUMINOUS LAMENT

She knew, she hoped, she begged it true.
But despite her efforts, away they flew.
She always thought they’d come to save her.
To take the dark and be her saviour.
A light would flicker inside her heart.
A smile would spread, then tear apart.
She never found love that ever endured.
Or took her sickness and made her cured.
From a loneliness that ate away.
A sadness that had come to stay.
Until she read deep in a book.
That she could change her fate, and all it took.
Was to love herself and believe deep down.
She was a spark from god, with her own crown.
A little flame, could burn up bright.
If she believed, she could banish the night.
And though it may seem trite and sappy.
She could not rely on others to make her happy.
And by doing this and loving her heart.
She found her soul mate, her other part.
The light now shone for all to see.
A neon blur of serenity.


INTERTWINED

Our souls so pure they all align.
Separated only by thoughts and time.
Which hold a love that extends to all.
Who reign above, or those who fall.
And do not let the world go dark.
But ignite the hope within each spark.
This alchemy that turns hate to kind.
Our lives, our world, all intertwined.


STICKY AND SWEET

Any flavour, is yours to take.
Try it now, have a taste.
Lick it quick and chew and crunch.
A delicious treat, for dinner or lunch.
Nibble off the skin that’s sticky.
Around your tongue it can be quite tricky.
Chocolate kisses and candy canes.
To melt and fizz upon your brain.
While under your skin, my honey will creep.
Like salted caramel my love will seep.
And once you’ve tasted, you won’t go back.
To eating junk of casual snacks.
For under the clothes and beneath the foil.
Like sprouting roots underneath the soil.
Lies a feast for your soul to devour.
A chocolate heart, not bitter or sour.
And while you let your feelings digest.
Lay yourself down upon my chest.
And let me sing you off to sleep.
Into sugared dreams and my heart to keep.


HOME OF THE NAÏVE

Disentangled child, cut from the spangled banner.
Speckled in manna, and the god they trust.
As unique as a snowflake.
Beyond the dawn break, of a new and troubled ice age.
Call me on your cell phone.
Buzzing in neon, and a blood point too high to tally.
Covert the freedom.
Sensibilities you need them, as the world cracks and crumbles below.
Oh say can you see?
Beyond all the misery.
There is a land open and free, still waiting for you.
Topple the gods.
In a system at odds, which crackles with such hellish flame.
Pledge allegiance to the drag of a drug in your veins.
Which splits the world and mottles your brain.
Until you die and are reborn again.
So proudly you exhale, a revolution of love.
And a change that cannot fail.
Splattered in white, red and blue.
Be strong. Be courageous. Be you.


CRAWLING OUT OF A DREAM

My apologies please, I did not mean to interrupt.
Floating in my own dreams, a million miles above.
You tiptoe towards ascension, drinking in thoughts divine.
But fumbling in reality, and faith you think subline.
I folded your bones in your sleep, cupped your tears as they fell.
Watched you swim in the shallowness, in pools of personal hell.
You want me to dream like you, and strip those trees bare.
And play forever with diamond sand, bowed deep in earthly prayer.
From vantage I watch the injured birds, in circles with broken wings.
Kept together by the glue of self, played on by other’s strings.
Chew over these observations, and golden words from God.
I apologise again once more, for the lesser things forgot.
So I cup you in my feathered hands, and wake you from the dream.
And do my best to understand, that things aren’t what they seem.
Vous êtes déjà Dieu, et déjà ce que vous connaissez.
Il est posé comme une graine immaculée, en attendant sa chance de grandir.


INTRAMURAL

These times of danger settle within.
On your eyelids and under your skin.
These creatures dwell out in plain sight.
They do not only pierce the night.
While people sleep and dream such dreams.
Dancing devils grow black and mean.
And they toil and think, and plot most secret.
To enter your soul, corrode; then keep it.
The ogres lick you with loving words.
That churn in your brain like diving birds.
That peck and splinter all hope and trust.
And spit on dreams until the rust.
But these monsters don’t hide under your bed.
These horrors are the ones that reside in your head.


BRUISES FADE TO RAINBOWS

She wouldn’t talk about the pain she was in.
The hurt that dwelt beneath her skin.
She didn’t cry, or even murmur.
As he made her flesh, that little bit firmer.
With each punch that found its destination.
A martial disturbance of accustomed agitation.
Bruises showed he really cared.
As he threw her skeleton down the stairs.
The neighbours tuned a blind yet curious eye.
To her haloed face and bloodied thigh.
No-one asked if she needed help.
A shoulder to cry on, or how she felt;
being married to a violent creature.
Who tortured her mind as well as each feature.
She couldn’t escape, or at least she thought.
Which is why she stayed, and perhaps why they fought.
Until one day, when she hit back.
Her own rebellion, when her mind did crack.
She took off her clothes and burnt them there.
Along with his flesh, his eyes and hair.
And painted herself with the most brilliant shades,
to hide the bruises which had yet to fade.
She then went out into the street.
Head held high, no shoes on her feet.
As her house and his corpse burned to an orange glow.
She was now her own liberated rainbow.


SHE DWELT ON THE MOON

She lived up there, where nowhere went.
A sparkled silent sky just for her.
And her dreams and diamonds, all well spent.
As she walked through this world in a blur.
For it was on the moon her soul resided.
In lunar craters she crept and hided.
Watching the world from the safely of space.
Removed and distant, from the maddening human race.


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OH DEER

She lived her life in seclusion.
Away from the world beyond.
Lost in a forestry delusion.
In a time that’s long since gone.
With a wounded heart and stolen child.
She fed and ran with her kind.
Hunted for her meat so mild.
Life and death so intertwined.
Despite it all, she raised her young.
On her own and with no other.
Help from a male, and though it stung.
She did her best to be a good mother.
A quiet creature, rarely seen.
Yet magical to the eye.
Fur so soft, and eyes of green.
T’was a shame she had to die.
On that snowy day, when the men with guns.
Were hunting, and being hunted.
And other beast were forced to run.
Two worlds collide, and then were shunted.
For a wolf you see is not so aware.
Or prone to live in fear.
And this is why, she fell and died.
Trampled to death by the startled deer.


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EARTH MOTHER

She never needed a woman or man.
To give her what she needed.
For Elspeth had another plan.
To pass through this world unheeded.
She studied hard and read the books.
And conjured in her sleep.
She boiled and troubled and baked and cooked.
In magic and power from the deep.
But she didn’t turn black, or any other colour.
That her witchy ways suggested.
In fact she became the perfect mother.
To earthen ways she vested.
Her time and love and all her thoughts.
To breathe life into that dying world.
The green and blue was what she sought.
The leaf of life she wished to un-furl
But not having and man or even a wife,
was wrong in the eyes of society.
And though she led an ideal life.
She left others with unease and anxiety.
For she didn’t fit into that mould,
that others could deem right and proper.
And her ways and airs were ever so bold.
So they conjured up their own to stop her.
They took their chance on a February day,
And stole her away in great pain.
Then into a court, before she could have any say.
Poor Elspeth was certified insane.


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DELICACY

You cannot tell me why it aches.
Why it crumbles.
Why it breaks.
All you cough in your dying throes.
Is that when trust dies.
Love cannot grow.


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FLY ME TO THE MOON

Into the shuttle, with a clink and clank.
Climbed old Richard, the adventurous Yank.
He counted down, from ten to zero.
Puffed out his chest, as America’s new hero.
And he soared into the sky, with his hands in his pockets.
As he shot to the moon on the back of a rocket.
And the earth dripped away under the clouds and his feet.
He smiled at his fortune that was ever so sweet.
Yet alone on this flight, bound for the lunar oasis.
As his body hung on earth in a medical stasis.
In the nursing home called Cherry palm, Richard resided.
At 92, was the best place his children decided;
For him to live out his days in comfort and care.
Little knowing each day was full of lonely despair.
And that is why, though medicated it’s noted.
He navigated the world, and now space where he floated.
And he went where he wanted, on his own in his head.
He had travelled to the moon without leaving his bed.


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INTERRED

He was buried on the Tuesday morn.
While the rest of the world slept.
Into the ground, like being unborn.
Darkness around the coffin crept.
And they left John there, in that hole the ground.
After covering him up with earth.
In spirits they wished their sadness to drown.
So drank their sorrow away to mirth.
But after a while, inside the box.
Poor John had started to stir.
From the top of his head, down to his socks.
Some chaos was about to occur.
For John wasn’t dead, he’d only been sleeping.
When they’d thought the worse and put under.
And now the panic, inside him was creeping.
To get out of that terrible blunder.
But the panic was not down to being buried alive.
Or confined in that horrible space.
For John was nearly ninety five.
And it was heaven he knew was his place.
So he did what anyone would down there.
In the dark and no longer young.
He crossed his chest and uttered a prayer.
Closed his eyes and swallowed his tongue


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REVENGE

In the dying light, and turning time.
When all around had slept.
She covered herself in turpentine.
And out the door she crept.
She made her way to the darkened wood.
Shivering in the snow.
And found the den, which outside she stood.
Waiting for the wolf to go.
Out to hunt and catch its prey.
To rip apart another creature.
And when saw the fur of grey.
She planned to add it another feature.
To its snarling mouth and matted fur.
Her knife she slid out from her pocket.
She pounced and ran in a hasty blur.
And plunged the blade into its socket.
The wolf snarled and snapped and howled in pain.
Pouring blood onto the woodland floor.
Yet struggle and fight were all in vein.
For to kill the beast earlier she had swore.
To do it that day, upon finding her child.
Taken last night while she slept.
The poor infant so small and ever so mild.
Eaten they’d said, so she’d wept.
And then formulated a plan, to go kill the beast.
While the others did little or fight.
And now it was done and the wolf was deceased.
She prayed to god and set herself alight.


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DEATH TO CINDERELLA

Back then and when, and add some more.
Young Stacey Tyler was only four.
Though good at math, and loved to read.
It was baby dolls she sadly received.
All pretty in pink, with a matching dress.
That fit young Stacey, her parent’s princess.
Feed and change that plastic thing.
Clean up after it, no time to sing.
That was left for Sleeping beauty.
It’s Cinderella that’s your call of duty.
Be pretty, be quiet and wait to be saved.
Forget independence, or being so brave.
For that will be your stories’ end.
No adventures after, no lovers or friends.
Give your man a home and then a child.
With smiles for him, well-mannered and mild.
Subservient is the way to be.
Come now Stacey, copy me.
Her mother had cooed from before she could remember.
Trophied on a pedestal, her brain now a dying ember.
But Stacey, though four, knew better than this
And knew there were things that she didn’t want to miss.
She didn’t really care for babies or bottles.
It was Dr. Seus she craved, and even Aristotle.
To save her from her mother’s fate.
Of giving birth and gaining weight.
Stacey pledged that very day.
To speak up and out, and have her say.
Out with the pink and the notions of gender.
A determined mind, and a heart so tender.
And that is why, with thirty years spent.
Little Stacey is running to be president.


JOAN

I confess what’s in my heart.
Then cough out a prayer, deep in the dark.
I aim it towards heaven, and smile in his eyes.
Yet all around me I notice, it’s me they despise.
Though I hold my head high.
A trick I learnt from youth.
Never let them see you cry, drown them with the truth.
So they kill me with words, and burn me in their fire.
Scared of a dream, haunted by desire.
So onto these knees to pray, flames lick me as I knelt.
And all that I can think, deep within my skull.
Is that now I know how Joan of Arc felt.


DIALING GOD

Oh sweet lord, I pray to thee.
Even when you abandoned me.
I prayed on through, and kept believing.
Knowing deep down, you were deceiving.
All of us, who ask for help.
On empty ears, our prayers are felt.
But unresolved and in desperation.
I pray once more for my salvation.


DIRT

Down the garden, over the wall.
Quick like a cat, careful not to fall.
Into the dirt Toby dug.
His nails all black, his fingers snug.
With haste and intent the rocks were hurled.
Over his shoulder, out of this world.
He dug fast and deep, it had to be.
As wide as the ocean, as deep as the sea.
For into the bottom he placed his treasure.
And though he felt safe, he took no pleasure.
To fill in that hole, and cover for a lifetime.
This was a precaution, his own tiny lifeline.
For it wasn’t gold, or silver he hid.
It was something most precious he wanted protected.
For down in the ground by the worms was his heart.
Before it got stolen. Before it all fell apart.


MOTHERS MILK

In the night, she heard her crying.
A piercing scream, like someone dying.
She flew to the cot, and stole up the child.
Into her arms, like a wolf in the wild.
She rocked her forth, and then rocked her back.
To calm her down, a mother’s knack.
To soothe the tot, and know her needs.
Like when to rest, and when to feed.
A natural setting and lovely sight.
A mother and child, together at night.


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BENEATH

To live alive, and breathe and sigh.
Is folly to an untrained eye.
But to harken devils down in the depths;
of that blackest sorts. Whose intent unknown.
Leaves me shaking to the bone.
But in that sea where monsters dwell.
There lies a ruin, an unknown hell.
Yet I cannot bask in that sunlit waste.
It leaves me breathless, returning home post haste.
Into myself where I shine and glow.
A truthfully tale.
We all swim below


SOMEBODY ELSE

‘You cannot say that’, he heard him say.
Late in the evening on that autumn day.
You do not know, and cannot see.
The way she acts and thinks of me.
He sighed in the mirror and captured a glance.
At the scene around him, and as if by chance.
The phone beside him, rang out in alarm.
So he put the gun down, and out stretched him arm.
‘Hello, it’s me’; he heard them whisper.
Down the line, in words much crisper;
than the vision before his eyes.
Which was strange and blurry, and full of lies.
The body lying there belonged to the voice.
Which then quite suddenly, gave him a choice;
‘Come with me Michael and leave this place’.
It cooed and called with maximum haste.
But just then a shadow entered.
Another spectre, in his life now cantered.
And beckoned him with a bony finger.
Calling him hither, and as it lingered.
The voice down the line demanded the gun,
be picked up at once, so around he spun.
To face that image glaring back.
He fired three times, until all was black.
The voices had silenced, gone away forever.
That pulling thread, cut and sever.
From poor old Michael and his mental stage.
That had plagued him from an early age.
He was now adrift and finally free.
From somebody else, someone not me


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FRIGHT NIGHT

All year round he kept to himself.
Quiet and content, like a book on a shelf.
It was Halloween when the tables turned.
And in his head, those thoughts had churned.
To live it up, go mad and wild.
To put on costumes, like any other child.
He loved that night, when he fitted in.
And wasn’t shamed or drenched in sin.
He could go out, and talk to others.
His friends, his mum and all his brothers.
Accepted him and played for ages.
Some souls to flick through his dusty pages.
It was Halloween he loved and longed for.
The candy, the skulls; the dismembered gore.
That was the time he loved the most.
For poor Charlie was such a lonely ghost.


CONJURE

T’was all hallows eve, and the office was manic.
Like most Monday mornings, full of papers and panic.
Yet Sally was calm, as she sat at her desk.
Watching the world swamped in a buzzing work mess.
Her phone rang out, but she didn’t even blink.
She just watched Katie Brown make her way to the sink.
In the corner by the kettle and the coffee machine.
The only place spotless, and kept crystal clean.
And there Katie vomited, violently and quick.
Plastering the sink and the walls a sticky brown slick.
For minutes before Sally had made her a coffee.
The cheap kind they had there, all milky and frothy.
But with it she’d placed a special little treat.
A dose of rat poison, here own little sweet.
For Katie to have on that rainy bleak day.
When goblins and devils stalk about for new prey.
It may seem extreme to bump poor Katie off.
In a manner so gruesome in that sickly bloody cough.
That had thrown her now to the floor in dying gasps.
Clutching her throat, he last lingering clasp;
onto life there in that administration cocoon.
Her light snuffed out, bitterly too soon.
But don’t feel sorry for Ms Brown, or malice for Sally.
Who had caught Katie with her husband, alone in the alley.
Behind their house as he’d crept out to see her.
And not just one time, but for nearly a whole year.
For Sally had stumbled across this only recently.
And had conjured a plan to rid them both quite decently.
She watched Katie die right there on those tiles.
That were coffee stained and worn, she burst into smiles.
And wondered if her husband would act just the same.
When she poured bleach into his beer later, instead down the drain.


THE BOY IN THE WELL

It was cold inside, at the bottom of the well.
He’d banged his head on the side as he’d fell.
Deep into the hole like a monsters throat.
Yet it was Andy who felt like he had just choked.
He’d winded himself in the terrible fall.
Smacked the hard damp bottom like an egg to a wall.
He looked to the surface, where he could see the moon.
Its silvery sparkle, failed to lift any gloom.
And so Andy cried, and he sobbed and wailed.
As he looked above him, at a sight he couldn’t scale.
So poor Andy died, alone in that well.
But it wasn’t just because, down it he’d fell.
For Andy was pushed down into that void.
By his mean older brother, that devil called Lloyd.
Who was jealous of Andy, and his passion for life.
Took a chance to snuff it out, like a throat on a knife.
But it wasn’t the fall, the pain or the dark.
It was the fact no-one came looking, that really broke Andy’s heart.


LITTLE TERRORS

Once upon a night, when his mother had gone to bed.
Sam took a loaded gun, and aimed it at his head.
He did this for reasons that were many and few.
And you would have done the same, if only you knew.
What had become of Sam and the nightmares in his brain.
The horrors that sped into his soul, faster than a train.
He had tried to subdue them, pretending they weren’t real.
But they’d come all the same, leaving no other appeal.
But to end his life and to disappear completely.
So he tied up his world, and ended it so neatly.
He closed his bedroom door, and took a sip from his glass.
Placed it on the table, then watched the clock till ‘quarter past.
The midnight hour, when the ghouls were at their most.
The demons that terrorized him. The sad haunting ghosts.
He placed the gun in his hand, shot once after praying.
Fell to his knees, as another innocent slaying.
For Sam wasn’t mad, and he wasn’t even crazy.
Sometimes he was wrong, and definitely lazy.
But the devil was alive and well, and spoke to him every hour.
Wanted him to do these things, and made his dreams so sour.
But Sam was just unhappy, and mentally possessed.
And he saw this his only ending, because he was so depressed.


HAIL MARY

Hail Mary full of grace.
I thought you were with me?
When I needed you the most.
Whisky, smokes and the Holy Ghost.
Forgive me when I sin in your eyes.
When I hitch my skirt, down beyond my thighs
When I pray and pray for my love to return.
When it’s him I want, and need and yearn.
For in the darkest hour, when he holds me close.
And protects me more than the wafer host.
In this messed up world full of hate and war.
And the bombs that rip bodies to the floor.
A simple kiss beneath this veiled disgrace.
Is seemed too much for your church to face.
Yet Jesus kissed and touched and loved.
Now sanctified and tabooed above.
Yet I’m sure the apostles were human like me.
Sinned and repented, so easily.
Were excused for having human hearts.
And not asked to change or fall apart.
For I could have loved, and held onto him.
If you hadn’t said it was original sin.
I could have. I would have. I should have known.
If it weren’t for you God, pulling strings from your throne.


SURVIVING IS THE BEST REVENGE

Into the bath he jumped fully clothed.
The water boiled, and curled his toes.
It shed his skin, his hair, his eyes.
But acid not water burnt away both his thighs.
A ghastly end, but one incomplete.
For his bones remained from head to feet.
So out he jumped, forgetting his pride.
Down the plug the water went, with his thoughts of suicide.
And in the mirror glaring back.
Was his blenched white skeleton, from front to back.
He saw his skull, its sockets so deep.
Out of his mouth a little whimper did creep.
But not one to dither, or dwell in his state.
He ran down the stairs, and out the front gate.
And he came to the house that had made him so morose.
And he slipped through the door, as quiet as a ghost.
He crept up the stair, to where he knew he would find them.
And he brought out some rope, and some tape so to bind them.
Both lovers were sleeping, intertwined while they dreamt.
Their hair and their clothes, all wild and unkempt.
So he tied them together, then he set fire to the bed.
He watched as the flames roared up to their heads.
But before they departed, before their own bones were charred.
He slipped off his fibular to play a tuneful bon voyage.


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TRAVEL IN DISGUISE

Keep out of sight, and don’t talk to strangers.
The things that lurk in the woods!
Curious creatures full of wonder, yet dangers.
Will spirit you off in a blink if they could.
So travel if you must, but travel quickly.
Be like the wolves, as brisk as the wind.
For there’s things that that dwell, sweet yet tricksy.
They’ll have your bones out before you are skinned.
So go into the woods, but be careful.
Do not stray from the path or get lost.
Don’t ask for help, be quick and be mindful.
And avoid the small children at all costs.


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MEET THE MAKER

Grandma died at a quarter to three.
Right before her cake and tea.
She’d gone to church and prayed like the rest.
Hoped for peace, and always tried her best.
To be like Jesus and love each other.
She even prayed harder for her sick older brother.
Yet it was she God took, that lazy Sunday.
At number 40, in her living room doorway.
Collapsed on the floor, her hands to her chest.
Stricken in pain, nearing the final rest.
For it seemed God had for her a different plan.
Then tea and cake, and the weatherman.
And what is more, it pains me to say.
That Grandma was not even in her twilight days.
For poor Grand Ma Ma was only 70.
And had gone the bathroom for a short pee.
Yet down she was struck, tripping over her pug.
Smashed her head on the door like a hand to a bug.
It was a silly demise and lacked any dignity.
As she’d glared at the dog before meeting her destiny.
No moments of poise or thoughts of her brother.
Her last action on earth was to exclaim ‘’Mother fucker!’’


PAINTED PONY

Kick kick, pick up sticks.
Silly words and magic tricks.
Happy to smile, angry to cry.
Rub in reasons, formaldehyde.
Hold on, breathe it in. Think of England and let me win.
Drink it down, ask for seconds. More than you can chew? Who knew?
Cup of coffee? Cup of tea?
Mind your manners, some sympathy?
The devil is here, the devil inside. Exorcise or exercise?
Praise be Jesus, praise be Allah. Bang bang, the final hour.
Mangling words of meaning mouthfuls. All this starts to feel too phoney.
Rip it up, call me out. Your loveable and lonely, one trick pony.
Going round and round and round and round.