Christmas Is Here, Yet Dragons Fly
‘A festive time and bells I hear, then a shadow falls, a terror is near. Are those the wings of a dragon I hear? I give a haunted look for they sound so near.’
This catastrophic killing field of Kakorrhaphiophobia – Is it me, is it me? My own fears lie to me, and I claw at the darkness and wail:
Merry Fucking Christmas!
What banquet of dead hearts
This iron muzzle of a Christmas
Of meanness, misery, and no good cheer
Hoarding, grabbing, so others have nothing
This wet fart of a Christmas
Served by the haves with stolen relish
Happy to see ruin born from their green eyes
Always hungry, for food no, for flabby cheques
The NHS, a horse to be shot
Trains, filthy, fleecing, sloths
Bills blasting a chasm in shattered souls
Their ill-mannered sneer watches all
Offshore parasites, drug dangling
Sterling-stashing, sequined sinners
Sitting in their towering towers of tripe
Whilst others slouch in chilled dumps
Death their gleeful salivating fellow
The age of weasels is upon us
The age of fist-pumping Scrooge
Before his redemption
Materialism’s whores
Clamping power in their cherry
Wet fists. Bringers of blights
The devil’s delighted deputies of dysentery
Tipping out Pandora’s misery
These entitled, these shallow
Destroyers of Christmas’s light
Fat leeches bloated on avarice
Condemning us all as nature screams
Hidden in their hidey holes
Sniffing their powder, drinking their champers
Blistering all touched by their scorching fever
This stinking turd of a Christmas
Flatulated from their innards
Unreserved amor for them only
Amor for more always more, more, more, more
What wraith run death cult is this?
I search for hope in the glint of a child’s eye
Wounds stabbing living flesh with blood as witness; is this madness my own?
I turn to the vision box and my bloodshot eyes widen more:
The Bold Lie Young
A façade of murderous intent
Addiction, doped up and docile
‘We have the youngest customers
In the business’ of strangling blamelessness
In the business of swindler, trickster
And carrion eater. Smoothly we stroke
And smile and thrust the nail hammered
And banged into the barren wasteland
Of demanding desire, delirious and destitute
Demons of dreary banality capturing your
Awareness, arousing avenues of aspiration
To choke the calibrated chest beats calling
To awaken from this catastrophic killing field
Of hope, adventure, and joyful inclination
Smashing discarded waste down the throat
Of trusting smiling sweetness and illumination
Horror in coloured paper, talons grip
And rip and crush the dream of living
Loved and laughing as the brain is washed
And wiped with blood intent and bold gluttony
A child of God gripped in a machine of suffocation
With hands clasped tight, I pray for express deliverance
My mind is ripped. I stare into my eyes and see only a reflecting lunacy!
‘L’amour est une passion qui ne se soumet à rien, et à qui au contraire, toutes choses se soumettent’. -Madeleine de Scudéry. Give me love in whatever form. I remember my mother’s love for a simple plant and play its tune with Shakespeare’s favourite form:
A winter filled with chilly snappy beasts
It falsely smiles, then bites with sharp ice teeth
Yet bright indeed sits softly lifted frond
So scarlet crisp in this electric light
With kind intent, I daily drench the roots
And pour a fresh caress of liquid lick
Then shall you smile and sit so tall and proud
A vision strong of dreamy leafy charm
As night then triggers eyes to their eclipse
We all retreat to rest in sleepy beds
You stay undaunted, firm in your resolve
A joyful note in life’s eternal song
My mind can drift and deep in doubt I weep
Then glance at you and so refreshed can sleep
With my mind calmed by this assuasive reflection I stare outside my window:
Low IQ Haiku
A branch sways and creaks
A sparrow lands in a blink
A brown leaf drifts down
Peace found in nature’s simplicity. As the leaf drifts down, I slip into a dreamless sleep where no bitter memories can trigger a flying fist of rage at the dragon who ever hungers for that heap of stolen gold.
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