We are all speculators on our own stock markets,
Buying and selling our self-esteem by
Trading shares with each other, and
Raising and lowering our investments in ourselves.
Yet it seems the more our bodies develop,
The less we feel we have gained;
And the more we weigh in pounds,
The less we feel we’re worth.
So perhaps we should speculate more wisely,
By withdrawing our shares of self-worth from
Our ever-fluctuating corporal corporations,
And investing them instead
Into the solvent, substantial bonds
Of our souls.
There once was a young man from Chile
Who was exceedingly silly
One day for a dare
He ran round the town square
With just a pink bow on his willy.
There was a young man from Peru
Who was terribly fond of U2
He wanted to see them
Play Rome’s Coliseum
But the curve of the Earth spoiled his view.
We breath each other in,
Our scents converging
In a rhapsody
Strong and sweet
Faint and fecund
As our tongues entice each other
In the dark.
(Inspired by @TastyPoem Prompt ‘Entice’)
Continue reading How I Amuse My Poetry Muse Vol I
Moses supposes his toes were roses
When Moses takes doses of strong LSD
But Moses he knowses to lay of them doses
‘Cause Moses psychosis is pretty scary.
Building Lego with my boy,
Lost in our constructions,
Brave new worlds born from tiny toys –
Who says you need instructions?
I planned to pen a profound verse,
Unraveling the universe,
But since I’m still finding my feet…
I settled for something short and sweet.
The sweet smell of Spring,
Brings forth tears to my eyes,
Is this a blissful feeling
Or hay fever in disguise?
Let your feet take your mind for a wander,
So your eyes can get a good gander,
At sights they may not have seen,
So when you return to your screen,
Your head will be filled with insight,
And your hands will be itching to write.
Misery loves Company
But the feeling isn’t mutual;
For Company wants just to be
With concepts which are social.
So Company spurns Misery
Which suits Misery just fine;
As Misery has cause to be
Friends with Anguish all the time.
The splatter of brain
Matter over virgin snow
Is how zombies paint.
Rain drops drip from damp
Leaves like rotting flesh falling
From grey fingertips.
Hands up who
Wants to get out
Of their grave?
They come in the night
Soft-shod shuffling from the
Graveyard to my door.
Brains are like porridge
For zombies as they both come
Warm and in a bowl.
In cold climates
Get brain freeze?
Why is it
You never see
All those brains
Upon spying the beautifully busty babe,
He rose up longingly from his grave,
With lust illuminating his features
Like sunbeams following a nuclear winter.
Yet the newborn zombie’s priorities had changed –
It saw past the girl’s boobs and went straight for her brain.
Lilith had always sought for her solace in the place where others found their fear; for Lilith loved the darkness. Even as a child, she had refused to sleep with the light on as, contrary to most children, Lilith could not be consoled by the presence of her daily reality. Instead, she welcomed the night, as what she saw, in the depths of its oblivion, was the infinity of her imagination. She always hoped that one day, the darkness might divulge its secrets – for Lilith very much believed in things that go bump in the night. She was convinced that ghosts, aliens and suchlike must exist as accounts of them have existed for as far back as humanity cares to go; that the supernatural must be real because it was around long before these modern fads of science and skepticism came to shoehorn themselves into our psyches. Even the merciless tyrant of Logic can’t dispute the existence of images depicting these spirits and ‘strange visitors from the sky’, that have been discovered through the ages, painted on anything from canvas to prehistoric cave walls. And there aren’t just pictures, either; there are stories too, tales of the unbelievable, the inexplicable; and though the styles of both these mediums may have changed with each passing culture, their content remains the same. This, therefore, formed the backbone of Lilith’s defense against skepticism: that there must be a strong seam of truth running through these depictions – something of substance to bind them all together – as if they really were nothing more but mere delusions, they would’ve died out long ago. You see, to Lilith, our ancestors’ superstitions were not an indication of their ignorance, but rather their awareness of the existence of such things which cannot be cowed by a ruthless need for clarification. And when Lilith regarded the world she lived in – a world now dominated by the digital domain – she felt certain her civilization was growing numb from its never-ending need for irrelevant information. As she saw it, people were so used to achieving a path to illumination through a tap or two of their fingertips, they no longer took the time to search for enlightenment in the vast universe that surrounded them; or that the modern world had grown so obsessed with the marvels of its digital ‘magic’ that it had become all-but-blind to the real thing. Lilith, however, took pride in her conviction that she was different; for she still believed in the those same mysteries with which our ‘ignorant’ ancestors had sought to shape our world. She was convinced that it was they – not us – who had had in their possession a true understanding of the nature of our universe. They were not blind-sided through their admiration of their own brilliance but were wise enough to admit that there were things out there – remarkable things – which our species was incapable of rendering as routine. Lilith had yet to experience such things herself; but she never lost faith that one day, when the universe deemed her ready, these mysteries would reveal themselves to her in all their glory… Continue reading The Light That Stains The Darkness