Category Archives: poetry

on passion for monstrous things

Always…

Like twins from birth
I understand most of your thoughts
Always know how to flick you on
Like a match struck together from heaven
Flavoured with the essence of hell
I play with your body indiscriminately
Tickle your emotions and fantasies
And you like it
This game of passions
I am a part of who/what you are
Your ego, personality, passions

Then…

You were seeing another and things changed
Suddenly you seemed the sensible one
Our adventures then seemed childish and risky
As you settled for a placid vague life
Where things are not tangible
Where you choke your desires and “needs”
Drifting passionlessly
Like the smoke
From dead embers
That once blazed with life
Yet you called our relationship unrealistic

You would give me a wise look
Asking “Where were we headed?”
I had become the clichéd “fool for love”
I still stuck around to my need for you
Because without you
My existence has never made much sense
Then you’d come
With head low
And dignity battered
Begging for a little of what we had
A junkie dying for a fix

I won’t admit to how good it felt
Though I preferred you’d want me
With all your dignity and senses and will intact
Then when we are done with our tango of love
You’d dump me again like faeces
How do you tell me to my face
To go *#@(a swear word meaning “have sex”)@#* myself
In front of a mirror
You think I don’t know how I look
The two horns and cold dark eyes
My bloody fangs and crawly warty skin

You think you didn’t know these
All the while we were insanely in love
Why do you now feel a need to hurt me
Now you call me a monster
Because of your new lover
In the camp of the Christians
You should know how many of them
Play around with monsters like me
But what WE have is real
And I cherish a TOKEN of our love deeply
For a baby monster now grows in my womb!

Later…

P.S.: And the monster was delivered
Of a live healthy horrid baby at term
Who didn’t give a care for sentiments
And later became the death of its father
R.I.P. O poor Christian soul

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Art Games: Spirits On Mortals

A glass of milk Français : Un verre de lait

The Imp

The Imp (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The little spirit is in his element tonight
The wine is particularly sharp at night
He is a teetotaller though
His pet-monkey is not
But the spirit loves milk
And the milk is particularly white tonight
The monkey’s eyes now red with wine
The spirit’s teeth now white with milk
And as whenever he’s drunk on milk
Inspiration barges in through his door!

He doesn’t quite write in ink or bytes
He doesn’t write on paper or screen
That’s ordinary level art
He delights in skilfully weaving romantic fantasies
Into the mind of that lonesome teenager
Those are the most gullible sorts
He enjoys craftily presenting visions
Giving the uninitiated ones “spiritual” experiences
Making them believe they just had epiphanies
He fancies softly forming dreams
Which the sleeping man is kept busy with
Yet some live their waking lives under these dreams’ shadows
He favours sparking the writer’s imagination
“Eureka! Genius!!!” The poet screams
“Pawn!” the spirit sneers
He doesn’t mind teasing the artist
Making his head burst with “ideas”
That only render him insomniac without real result

Who shall sue this mischievous being
For Writing Under the Influence (WUI)
And his only defence:
He was performing advanced level art!
In drunkenness he had forgotten
That the Creator-Spirit watched in silence
A Spirit much smarter with a stranger sense of humour
“Artistic ingenuity” the little spirit commends himself
“Predictable imp” smiles the Supreme Spirit

Now how’s that for art!

The Ghost’s Rants: On Beautiful Dark Things In Men’s Souls

Roll the booze out into the streets
The writer is awake now
And unlike some of his psychedelic colleagues
This one is a complete teetotaller

Darkness creeps in on the globe
And the viperoid children dance out
Spawning “goodness” all over the place
But thanks, I’ll pass
I don’t need your charitable donation
A lovely venomous gift
Perfect poison for the pure soul
Birthing the gentle worm of darkness
The adorable monster that men are addicted to
The silent dark shadow following them
Even in broadest sunlight
Despite their sparkling wears and smiles
The soft white delightsome maggot
Laughing sweetly with them
With sparkling teeth like a saw
Eating away at the soul of the host
Soon that man is seen for the rot that he really is
You wriggle your seductive hips in my face
But I want none of what you are selling
I have lost appetite for that forbidden fruit
Let me write and live and sleep in peace
What more can you want from me
After all, I have made my bedroom
Six feet below the ground level
At perfect unison with earth and bones
Will you rock my knocked out senses
Or can you corrupt a dead man

Heck! I am not praying for the day to dawn
I am not hoping for an escape from the black
My light may not be more than 12volts’ worth
But in the darkest of periods it will shine
Despite the corruptions of souls and institutions
Though the grave burns the ghost still R.I.P.s

Insane Spurts of a Sober Mind: Life’s Seasons

Winter forest

SIGHTS OF THE SEASON  /  Autumn of Our Lives  ...

Let us dance to the spring
It is spewing wine for us this year
But we get so drunk
With the goodness of spring
We forget the harsh winds of reality
Seasons come and go
But I am none the better for it

This winter past
I was found in the jungle
Caught in shivers of emotions
Till I let them all freeze
It was all I could do
As I lay lifeless-frozen
E-motionless

Before then was the autumn
Which appealed to some sobriety and reality
As I saw leaves dead and dropping
Death blowing in the autumn breeze
Please pray for their kind souls departed
Life is a 50 metre dash
Very few of us have lanes long as 80

And there was, and shall be, summer
A fickle mimicry of a hellish existence
Oh please cry for winter again
Let the cold arms comfort you
For if you shivered in the cold
Resonated with spring’s life and slowed with autumn
Then you are not made of a material
Tough enough to stand the heat of summer!

P.S.: lest you see me as cynical,
Cheer up!
Seasons are only for “a short season”
Whilst on earth
The last autumn will come soon
Then you shall rest and be done.
With the seasons ON EARTH!
(I guess I am cynical!!!)

Odd, right, inevitable

Trees

He turned to face me
Speaking in an endearing manner
How could I resist him
When he talked like that
I was not even paying attention
To his exact words
I did not exactly hear him say
“See that tree”
I was all dreamy when he said
“Go to the tree”
I shook at his deep rich voice not hearing
“Climb the tree”
I was hypnotically following him saying
“Hang yourself on the tree”

Then I snapped awake
“What!!! Hang myself?”

Fully recovered from my stray
I hear his voice clearly
No illusions now
I turn away from him with sure steps
And go to hang myself