Seven Legs

 With these seven remaining legs, I scurry onwards into deep space, at a pace that doesn’t reason with the pain,

My hairy joints unoiled and sore, sing a song with a confused rhythm, this acute living, paying out full dividends,

Even here where far seems normal, where hurt no longer disturbs, an axis turns odds against the evens we had,

The landscape folds over until the stars kiss the Earth, and in scenes of forever I search, eyes search like probes,

Deep in orbit reflecting , inner ghosts with dragonfly wings, lagging time brings all of it back with ghoulish glory,

Innocent youth engulfed in flames, screaming elders crushed by trains of thoughts, caught in a dastardly web,

Not unlike mine, as grey as a solar system with a few missing stars, questions asked by those pests I laid with,

Just before I ate them, gravely battling my instincts to lure and prey, lure and prey, lure and prey on Virgins,

As they skitter and flutter about with the zeal of fools, oblivious to the chaos that echoes from the walls, calls,

From the sentient watchers, with their invisible hands, and incomprehensible plans that tinker with my trail,

A path I’m yet to tread…away from here… gone…to that same place where I lost my other leg…


Aquatic Dream

An aquatic dream,

Cool turquoise pouring,

Something in me,

Melodious in its movement,

Deeper there in that place of bubbles,

That carry endless smiles from every outlook,

Flashes from a chorus,

A tingle that spreads,

Reflections awash as if though dancing,

A rising chant that sings itself,



Under the surface…

Killing Poetry

Plunge the cold nerveless steel of a blade into the heart of the page

Feel whatever you thought you couldn’t take, throb in the final day,

The fate created by wounded words displayed, staggers at the loss of age,

Attempts that once seemed brave, expressions of foolish love untamed,

Are now the blame that bleeds scarlet and has me wishing I’d never claimed.

Every sentence constructed was a spell that was cast, but the meaning was hardly,

With fingertips stained harshly there is no more innocence in this body,

I’m partly what I have written, the rest of me swept under the carpet

From there fantastic dreams have started, casting shadows in darkness,

My tears can’t be dried by my open hands: that would surely disturb the calmness.

The lovers have tried in earnest to understand, hoping to escape a life so bland

The admirers too have read what they can, travelling joyously to forbidden lands,

I give a gland for every paragraph they see and use in their own plans,

A tremendous sting for every taken chance whether bad or for advance,

I feel it like a breath taken back: I feel it like the questions I failed to ask.

What the words sometimes seem to lack, manifests as fears, real and exact,

For once they are out there intentions cannot lapse: white pages have no cracks,

Feelings and thoughts are divided by a gap, unable to describe each other as fact,

Whenever I reveal either without watchfulness, my energies are zapped,

And like a thief I soon forget what I owe, taking everything as a personal attack.

You would think that what each poem has told has some romantic relevance to hold,

At least in the mind or the soul of my existence that scarily unfolds,

But by the evidence and indifference of those who read me awkwardly exposed,

Everything that I supposed matters little when fantasies start to grow mould,

So the next time I have something hearty to say, I’ll start by killing a poem…


Ages Away

Ages away at future’s end,
bound by timeless memories shared

Touched by waste in a vacant space, the
stuff left over when angels descend,

Given without purpose, I seek thirstily
below the surface

Blindly perceiving shapes behind my
face, doing myself a noble service,

Unknown but undeniably there, a clear
conscious is precisely rare

Stripped of this life’s grudges and
colourful smudges, beyond the need for air,

Taken beyond reasonable measure, love is
a feasible adventure

Journeyed while on journey wisdom comes early, before you’ve known the pleasure,

Living outside circles of ways and
expectations, the dead pass on no recommendations

Sharing in their lostness I’m burdened
by options, to come or to go without lamentation,

Learning through the intellect, thoughts
amount into debt

When seeing becomes freeing, the God of
Karma will come to collect,

Actions cruel behaviours habits abound,
the deeds the fate the lessons amount

Brought into existence from nothing like
mystic gypsies, I return without a sound,

Bloodless, still, ghastly alive,
galvanized by a heart that’s oversized

I hunt for the kill like a nomad with a
bolshie will, trying to feed my mind,

Plagued by the fear of not fearing,
obsessed with the need for meaning

A wary soul that never seems to get old,
grasping at dreams that keep disappearing…


At the distant past’s beginning, basking
with the forgotten still living

 Unfelt is the abundance of my closed inner
substance, like devils with no misgivings,

Taken for what I am, barely looking for
anything on the ground worth a damn,

Analytically deceiving the world beyond
seeing, undoing the indecent obtusely bland,

In denial and known I’m somewhere safe,
with a common guilt vaguely brave

Dressed by death’s blessings and dull
messages, I’m suffering from a nourished age,

Given within a justifiable boundary,
hate is always floundering

Stuck in an unmoving place naivety is
cured late, after I’ve known doubting,

Dying inside spirals of the unforeseen,
the living give counsel through what they have been,

Estranged from their findings I’m free
from deciding, to be or not to be every single deed,

Unlearning through the heart, feelings
become a prospering art

When touching feels like nothing, the
God of Dharma will remind me of what I am not,

Instincts benign sentiments all novelty
perishes, the undone the nameless the soul cherishes

Taken back into decay like something I
cannot say, I leave with all that my spirit embellishes

Bloody, twitching, nicely dead, weighed
by an emptiness inside my head

I wait in a dastardly web for my kill’s
life to ebb, turning my heart to lead,

Uninfected by the love of loving,
oblivious to the denial of what’s coming

An invigorated body fresh with worry,
releasing a reality so real, it’s numbing…

The Death of a Black Rose

Whispering Shivers Tickle the Spine of Life

like Shimmering Rivers that Trickle Out of Sight,

The Might
of the Tremors is Felt in Distant Lands

the Raving Murmurs of Gods with Tears of Sand,

A Gigantic
Hand on a Shoulder couldn’t Steal Misery Away

Not when the Loss of a Black Rose is the Cost of
Each Passing Day,

Finding a
Way through Waterfalls of Crystal Clear Waters

on the Planet where Comfort has no Borders,

Tortures the Body Endures While Donning Brave Armour

Encouraged to Live Life and Die with Vain Honour,

To Take Each Trauma with a Toothless Smile

Give Each Hurt Cause by Remembering it for a While,

Who can Find Fault in the Perfect Day of Searing

Make the Mind Jolt In the Perfect Night of Dreaming Sublime?

the Line Ignoring Both Sides with Foolish Agility

Vanishes Each Dying Second With a Deliberate and Fluid Ability,

During Dark Nights When Fears Abound in Perpetual Flux of Uncertainty

The Flickering Memories of The Black Rose Rain
like Ashes from a Bonfire of a Life Lived Fervently,

With an
Aura of a Colossus Towering Over Kingdoms of Strange Beings

Brawny Roots That Descended Straight to the very Core of the Earth’s Feelings,

She was a
Doorway to an Ancestry that Defined the Finer Things

Captivating Force Undeterred by the Lies Others Think,

Her Shadowy Velvet Petals Absorbed the Pains
Others Dreamed

Veins Thick with the Venomous Ink Bulging until they Gleamed,

so it was Written: The Succulent Poison the very same Blessing

Death of The Black Rose Our Subconscious Confession…