Wednesday, 17 August 2011

The soap box rant

Confound these cads!
their comfortable climaxes and crucifix’s.
Triumphant I stand in my own dignity.
you who bask in the light of falseness,
your life dreary and diluted
searching for that which is placid and unobtrusive,
you dignitaries and destitute bankers
unaware of you actions and there results,
you deranged buffoons!
bloated and bashful
blind and blistered
bullies and bastards!


Life is dream of delicate complexion,
an obscure interaction lined with pity,
the silver lining smeared sloppy and crumbling.
Is this what we want?
Is this our sublime sunset?
or is it a slippery slope.
the pebbles fall unceremoniously from our feet,
a ramble,
a scramble
through the thicket of an unforgiving uterus of love and affection,
an inconsistent joke played without contempt,
a subtle affair that lingers on.
All around we sing a song,
oblivious our prolific magnification persist,
based on self importance and corruption,
an obscene interaction planned but lost
among the slivers and slides of our contempt and arrogance,
our inconsistency gives us credit.
We who’s delusions dilute the world,
bring truth to its knees.
never shall we neglect our development.
We shall destroy our destinies
with the lethargic leprosy we project forward towards those who live without sorrow,
those men who leap in your dreams and fondle your feelings,
those men of power,
those men of sin and sensuous pleasure,
those who may free you,
but you ignore

The tiger and the crow

make it rain twisted blackmail the crow cries,
i apologize to the knife,
the blade slices at my knees,
a passive aggressive blow just annoys a tiger,
I keep my claws in and growl,
the crow laughs.
I bide my time, pouncing is unnecessary,
a limp threat dangles lifeless from its beak,
no meat there.
yet still the saliva curdles in its wake
the appetite for feathers smiles knowingly,
crows are a satisfying lunch,
such delicate bones! so easily shattered.
An illusion of power plays in the crows eyes
i can make him go away she thinks.
The cards fall from her pockets,
I smile...there is no jungle without the tiger.


the triumphant howling of the wind through shattered glass,
the fleeting fancies of a decadent soul,
all and nothing entwine in open windows of a delicate mind.
Am I to yield to such lethargy?
Am I to rest while the gale roars?
the slender inclinations of a serpent rule my actions
promices politely pluck at my heart
while the stampeding herds muffle my intentions
a languishing song echoes outward
trust is lost...
in tangled thicket of melancholy brambles it lies bleeding
a severed conscience and a broken mirror at its feet

False Flag

lavishly languishing in a falling flag,
singularly perplexed by alterations of opinion,
our audience is senile,
our state corrupt.
Disheveled deities suspend our hopes in a vacuum
relying on our ruthless flagellation of self.
Crickets and critics alike falter in the sun,
their song enslaves our ear drums;
treat it with care this lamentation...
it may be the last.
Let all that lives cultivate our cynicism,
let us plunder this sick stage
trespass on the truth of our knowledge,
our knowledge of lies.
Our ostentatious servants are frauds,
elaborate eloquence is no excuse for folly.
Flagellation is a necessary nihilism in this
our flag of falseness.

Tuesday, 16 August 2011


Unbridled arrogance
stampedes impetuously pompous
trough our righteous anger
hazing the light of our actions,
thick and malevolent,
teeth bared,
banners flapping malicious misinterpretations
dragging our white robes through the mud.