Planted Impressions

The end echos a

Memory ethereal

Still and lost in time.

Playing Doctor

A smile plays, slashing

The mouth, bisecting the head

Making surgery.

Emotional Creativity

It's not so much a thing that was

As what may be

A possibility

Powerful in potential

Losing all drive and energy

As it comes to fruition

No longer a thing that could be

Merely something that is

Reality the pale shell

Of an idea.

Flesh on a Spit

Wars fought with legs bared

Side by side and entangled

In camaraderie.

Theoretical Mourning

A redirected rose

Sits wanting new direction

As the clouds breeze by

Much faster than they appear

And the petals part

One, then two

Then many

Then too many

On the breeze

To travel faster

With proximity

Then slow down

From a distance

Until the death

Stands still

In time.

More or Less Uncertain

A gilded cage

With lantern light

Shining within

From without

A flickering flame

Slave to the elements

Vibrant, alive

Rising in sudden

Ecstasy.

Gone.

A wisp of smoke.

The cage door

Lies open,

In essence

Egress is

Evident.

Terrifying,

The torrid

World without

The solitude of sameness.

Close the door,

Lest the outside

Get in.

Torrid and Unfair

These unbearable things

Laid end to end on an end

Table, speak volumes.

Siren for Crowded Solitiude

A spectacle

Spectacular

When spied

Through a set

Of spectacles

Sparkles

And shines

With something

Made solvent

By smiles

Sleek and gleaming

Through the slats

That separate

Several

Huddled souls

From the sleet without

But not from being serenaded

By the shill

And sold

Such things of rare imaginings

They hardly seem to exist at all

The gold shifted from their pockets

Sifted from the brick-a-brack

Out of sight

And insight beneath the shadows

As they wave so long

The crowd slowly

Shuffling away.

Mental Enima Awake

A ticking clock

That starts and stops

Smiles and bows

Then stops and starts again

Its hands are jagged things

Which with each

Passing second brings

Within reach

Lobotomisation to the brain

Such matter allows

The starts and stops

Of a ticking clock.

Gas Giant

Laughable excrement

The uniformed mind

That hinders speech

Not a whit

As the lack of wit

Lubricates the tongue

Until a nonsensical slew

Of words fall

To applause

Upon deaf ears

"Miraculous"

The hoards cry

Uncomprehendingly

As the plague catches

Grows

Divides

And multiplies

Until all thought

Gasps a parting breath

Crushed under the monstrous

Mass mind

Uniformed

Slow

Courting extinction

As a swarming

Mass of mouths

Spout nonsense

Giving the mass mind

An even more massive voice

The barest breath of brilliance

Falling away with

Resolutions death rattle

As solutions are wasted

On cyclical problems

And informed reason

Becomes unreasonable

Repetitive

Rhetoric

Science a satellite

Orbiting politics

A thumb that blocks

Solution's star.

Inconstant Electricity

The power goes out

One grid at a time

Fluctuating currents

Inspiring old mistakes

In new packaging

The rebranding of danger

When just one light

Going out

Lights up the sky

Scorching the sickening land

And imagination plays

Financial suicide

Warnings there are many

But in the end

They never see it coming.

Politic

Caution: War Zone.

Road closed indefinitely.

A Quiet Night

The nightingale hears

A hushed and a hustling sound

Of barred doors burst wide.

Once, at the End

Upon the road

A flashing gale

Quicksilver and bright

To blinding brilliance

A site to see

But not one

To take back again.

A Timeless Clock

The chain at a cross

With infamy, shackles bared

Enclosing reason.

As Maleable as Stone

Integral to the rite of passage

Is the challenge:

The master key

Found at the bottom of a lake,

The sword stuck in the stone

A task simple yet difficult

To the point of becoming legend

And through the overcoming

An entire existence is validated

Only then can a happy ending be achieved

Unfortunately, modern society is built

Upon the cart coming before the horse.

The Cold

Killer plaza on

A night like this, cutting through

the swarming masses.

Temperance with a Shovel

Wisdom traded

For reason

Traded for

Rationalisation

Traded for

Volume as

Deposed despots

Pick up their

Mantles and

Exchange rule

For rule as

Hands clasp

Hands down

The line while

The left side

Fires, in

Profile a smile

Shadowing

An enraged

Visage.

Discombobulated

Disheartened and maimed

By the steel plight

Great, imagined injury

Fade desperate desires

Of soulless vessels

Living black and white.

If Wishes Were Riders

If a ticking clock

Were a bomb, it would explain

Society's constant state

Of ready alarm

And unabashed fear.

Fledgling Romance

The summer mourns the

Great divide upon the long

Evisceration.

Eschew Epithets

Tomorrow lies a

Paradox of quixotic

Questions laid to rest.

The Broken Hump on a Camel's Back

Dishonour honour

With Fae words

Woven lightly

On the tongue

That speak of

Justice through

Bloody acts

That reap

Vengeance

For all and

Protect none

Innocent

And guilty

Lie side by

Side as

Lovers

Their brains

Ejected from

Their bodies

A perfect pair

Of mannequins.

Justice in a Holding Cell

Mercy waits with eyes

Rolled back and body shaking

Supine as a prostitute

Awaiting fresh trade

In a cold, dank cell.

I and Any Other

This yearning yen

A cry amongst the masses

From the deep

Unsheltered depths

Of poverty.

Another Day

The rays of the dawn

Bring a deep disquiet as

Another day starts.

Battle Born on a Winter's Day

The gloves are now off

A line drawn in the ground, I

Face my soul across the breach

The mind makes ready,

As the flesh freezes.

A Clock In a Cage

My heart is a box

Square with six sides

An empty thing

Inside my chest

And, abhorring

Useless things

I took a baby bird

And placed it inside

Giving it a new home

A fresh beginning

Sheltered from

The elements

Within a box

Within a greater

Box of flesh

Where it flutters

Most alarmingly

Making my pulse gallop

My breath quicken

Strange sensations abound.

Still, it's not very good

At keeping time.

Under Lock and Key

A candle lodged in a keyhole

Its wax dripping

Ruining the carpet below

The lock closed fast

As the flame moves forward

Painful inch by painful inch

Towards the wooden door.

There's a chance

A good chance

That such a little flame

Will die before it

Reaches its destination

Hours spent grasping this hope

Holding it up to the light

Until it shines like truth

The inward glow

Of self deception shining out

Into the hall

As the door burns away

With the room

And the beating heart

Inside.

Smithe

The branding iron grows hot

A red glow cutting through

The darkening sky

To sear flesh

In a final mark

Of ownership.

Oblivion in a Jar

The howling echos

Down the hall floating past gates

To assault the ears.