The Red Death of Edgar Allan Poe

He held in his mind the fear

Of every human fool,

Clown

Or jack-in-a-box.

He rang the slow bell

Church chime

Death walk

No crime

Assassin

In his head so many times . . .

So many times he

Caressed the barbed wire of his own lines

That chilled his own skin

That bore his own death

Like he haunted himself

With his own breath.

He carved his name

Into mountains of depression

And he hastily drank river water

Where the dead sheep lay twitching.

Twitching in nervous song, he so often

Scaled the ornaments of his lonely

Mantelpiece.

Couldn’t

Find

The

Coal

For the fire

Edgar Allan Poe

Couldn’t

Find

The

Coal

For the fire . . .

Trying Me

Trying Me

Patience,

The dew drop dangling

On back-bending grass

Will fall to form

Tidal waves in ponds

Hidden in lonely fields.

Fingerprints

Embedded in a forehead

Are evidence.

Eyebrows

From slant to attention

You could walk across them.

Fingers

Tapping holes in a wooden table,

Splinters of truth bite my fingernail.

Landscapes,

Faces in the foreground,

Objectives in the back.

Spillage,

The tidal wave panic,

Frantically waving hands.

Decision

Tapping holes into the wooden table

Until it falls apart.

Truth

Washed by hand in the pond

By a tattily dressed woman.

Yearning,

An illness called truth,

Washed by a mourner.

Realism,

The pond shakes into a river

Terrorising my day-to-day life.

Enrapture

Consuming my thoughts

By the gulp.

Pulse,

The fingerprint

Matched the finger.

Blame

The constant falling

Of the dew drop.

Dead Wood Poetry

Dead Wood Poetry

Gnarled tree of silence,

Why have you grown to rot today?

To avoid the beam of life, it seems.

You have grown to die today,

Gnarled tree of existence,

With eczema in place of your bark.

All your trinkets have fallen to the floor

And now you’re left in the dark.

Fell Off and Fell Out

Fell Off and Fell Out

Connect cold ice with fire

And the ice melts to find

Broken telephone wire

Tangled in mangled minds.

We . . . we ran like the water,

Cupped in hands,

And splashed like the water

That splits lands.

Bad Trip – L.S.D.

Bad Trip – L.S.D.

The daisy that spits pure acid,

Burns pure consciousness.

Darkness becomes valid

So too does unhappiness.

Night creeps in with long spindle fingers

And scratches slowly in the mind.

White screams haunt from soul singers,

The rope begins to bind.

Slow tightening sounds,

White pointed masks, slits for eyes,

Splurging from the bubbling ground.

Fire spits from the skies.

Fire spits from the skies.

Melts your scarred and burning face.

You did the wrong thing.

Wrong time, wrong place.

Flower with a sting.

Flower with a sting.

Attracted by distortion,

Difference and change,

Too late for disillusion,

It has bound you in chains.

To drown you in the river,

Drown you in the sea,

Turned you on to make you shiver,

L.S.D.