Pepper Cave

“The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time”

Abraham Lincoln

The silence is gradual, the deafening sound is casual. Silent and reliable                                                                                                                    A Sea Horse dives into a bath of whispers                                                                                                                                                                                            A Flea Moth strides into a land of terror                                                                                                                                                                                          A Bleaching Megalomaniac asunder, fine art drawn on the walls in wonder

Plastic renegade delight, a starfish sparkling well past midnight,   On a rock that sits in a trench, between the streams and sea salt the possibilities immense. Crash against the outside world pure mystic magic sprayed its geese and left them to search for peace.

In the glistening of stars spying through unequal, each size more demanding than the next. Hurting all the prying eyes, September sold its broken skies to anyone who found the time to be its friend and tell its lies. Sacrifice the one who dies and terrorise the one who tries. Lionise the one who leaves a light through which we all can see. The ash and dirt that falls to earth, the reckoning so soon be heard.

Torture failed, a wanted chemistry demand, not planned or taunted not told what it would take to clear our names or clear our heads. Staying in a cave seems like such a grave mistake but refusal is nothing new, you step outside into view. All this apocalypse and youth, all burning of the flags and fruit.

Abandoned flesh and mirrors cracked in fifteen places threw and trashed. Smoke in bars palates lit with tar and half burned cigarettes. Zombies made out of those who died trying to save the lone survived. When they wanted to die alone their dreams had not been matched since they were young. But tell it to their parents, tell it to their sisters tell it to the fragments that left their feet with blisters.

A solitude examined, a hollering of particle romance. Inside we are safely left where no beasts can eat our flesh. Outside there is a heavy toll to pay for eating a Zombies soul. The Sea Horse went to heaven, they made him a saint for acting so quickly to save the ones who remained. The flea moth ended up a survivor, built by radioactive leaves and wire. Taped to the skin of a warrior, fighting the death storming army parade, recklessly attacking the same sad charade.

But i feel weak in a pepper cave with you, if the Sea Horse and Moth can fight them then why can’t we too? Scared to run out and scared to scream, too scared to leave eyes shut and too scared to dream.  

This is about the consequence of being stuck in a cave when the apocalypse is beginning and whether that is a good thing or a bad thing relative to where on earth you could be during an apocalypse. This is imagining a scenario where you could feel totally safe hidden behind a wall of rocks yet feel totally alone in the dark with nothing but your thoughts. It portrays a Sea Horse and Moth as hero characters from the point of view of the hidding cave dwellers to demonstrate how inferior they feel to the very things they can feel in their presence. The Sea Horse and Moth may not have been heroes at all but from the dwellers point of view they appear to be. This is a poem about fear, suffering, anxiety, waiting, longing and solitude.

Screaming Mind Fragility

“A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing”

George Bernard Shaw

 

Sitting on a platform with a gun, look around for a perfumed man to give me side glances.                                                                 Unnerved by the lack of action as people and their problems pass me by.                                                                                                              If this is not a cry for help then i will never get the help i need, the torture has to stop in my head                                                before i can begin to breathe. 

A dozen priests come striding past, recoiled, beguiled by joy they do not see my tragedy.                                                                      It is in every tear i shed, every eyelash that has bled. The screaming that proceeds me into darkness                                             is not of my own, it is not me but a pauper parody disease infecting everybody’s soul.                                                                           But mine is pure, still young and unaware a soul of gracious fine acceptance from a mind                                                                    of boredom and irrelevance. 

Two dogs barking as they chase a train away, howl for demons streaking all along the pacified despair.                                    Their tongues of liquid, my freshness, my delight saw exemplified  humanoid respite.                                                                    Brain injury of the war discarded, fatal feelings of the loyal retarded. Some swept away by                                                              notions of a better life, in the harshest catacombs of death. Balloons of toxic execution, greater felt                                      confusion, the sound of trains like army tank bomb grenades.

Bitter  i felt bitter, about my life i lost it years ago. And since Psychosis has embedded memories                                               of prison. No gains, no way out but a gun and suicide. Mass display  in front of trains my head is finally                                 in its rightful place. Rested, ready not ignored the sound of sirens coming forward. Dreams of palm beach                      paradise floating in the distance, the call of heaven to close this forlorn existence. And then i……………………

 

This is a poem about a tortured ex-soldier on the verge of commiting suicide. The rampant thoughts in his head have become more extreme over time as he finally suffers the post traumatic stress that eluded him at first. This is a story about the inevitability of death coming when you have spent most of your life surrounded by it and trying to survive it. You are never  fully safe no matter where you are in the world. I purposely tried to set the scene around a train station with a gun to bring the mix of 2 suicide possibilities together both by shooting himself or by jumping in front of a train. I done this to illustrate the mixed-up mind of the person involved who has become so disconcerted that everything including his suicide seems disorganised. In the end i left it open to interpretation as to what could have happened. Every person can make up their own mind on the ending.

My Beautiful Demi Goddess

This is not a poem but my considered thoughts on a girl i have gotten to know quite recently. Well first thing is first, i write a lot about her in my poems so that’s where many of my intense emotions for her come out. When you search inside your soul i guess it comes across a lot more deeply your real inner thoughts about the person you care about. But when you are not in that place where your mind is transfixed on searching for your deepest rawest emotions, trying to put together all the other pieces in your head can sometimes be both a curse and a blessing.

It is a curse from the point of view of trying to understand exactly what all these emotions mean without being in the place in your head you need to be to extract them fully. On the other hand it is also a blessing as it allows you the opportunity to feel a sense of happiness inside while examining what this person really means to you and what true value she adds to your life. The value that goes way beyond being a normal everyday friend, the value she adds to all your aspirations.

You look at her if you are physically there with her, or in my case you think about her as i am not physically with her, and you try and look into her soul as much as you can and examine what it is that has attracted you to her. For me an attraction should go way beyond physical beauty. That can be built on an illusion that unless you are physically beautiful you are nothing and mean nothing. That is not the case and should never be the case. This girl, my beautiful demi goddess if i can call her that, has physical beauty more than any other girl who exists but this does not define her. She is not defined by having this and does not rely on this to feel secure or loved. She relies on her own sense of self-worth, confidence, courage and inner strength to determine where she goes in life and the people she chooses to love.

It is her spirit, her soul, her strength and her mind that fascinate me and make me want to explore the very core of her humanity. Her intelligence challenges me everyday to be a better person, to want to learn more, to want to create more, to want to love more. Her beauty inside reflects the very essence of torturous endeavour. The ability to search it out, the work and value in finding it and the rewards that come with knowing you have accomplished something by putting your essentials being into it all. You only get that when you find the person you are willing to do that with, that you are not afraid to do that with. Being honest with yourself over all the raw and intense feeling you get with attraction can only be truly shown if you trust, love and respect that person without question.

It is not an easy path to tread as feelings can get tested and the mind can drive you utterly crazy but it makes up for all that pain when you finally know in your soul that you have found the answers you are looking for. That girl then becomes your constant companion, the one you turn to when you need advice, inspiration, hope and belief. She reassures all that is good in your life and gives light to the darkness that surrounds you sometimes. She is there even if you feel like you are alone, a candle in your heart is her flame transferred. A beauty unmatched, unrivalled, untainted and pure for eternity. This is a love that grows and stays within both people and time or distance can never conquer it. The friendship or connection that you both find has its own space created inside each one and the sense of glory, triumph, magic, mystique remains a blossoming flower that somehow grows taller during Winter. It does not wither, it does not die, it stays passionate, strong, loyal, committed, vibrant and the very essense of why i continue to adore this girl every day.

 

Thank You Geniene Cloutier, my Beautiful Demi Goddess xxxx

Paint On A Virgin’s Ribcage

“Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither”                         C.S LewisImage

Is it too much to ask a virgin to refrain from self-pity?  Is it too much to expect,                                 a virgin to spare us from their sympathy? They are not alone in feeling closed off, the scars and wounds a visible betrayal of their stimulation.

Blinding headlights, through the red light district shame. Murdering of prostitutes a common cause for serial killers to feel proud. The distant call of courage, buried treasure in the crowd, the sex was better when there were cowards taking part.

The only virgin epologue that needs evaluation is the one that make their sense of pride feel somehow wronged. The salavating over bodies, neverending sense of touch that comes with watching pornographic movies way too much.

She feels like a demoted holy slut, warned by god through viscious anger and her lust. Demon angeliac mess of self-interest, and ravaged beauty worn out on the bed then left. Headache miss adonis preaching sister, who very seldom acts like she has missed us. Crafted from the lambs of god and winter, her bones a breaking symbol of resistance.

The local hedonistic monarch maker, selling watches by the roadside for his lord and savior. As long as he gets freedom to express the visions that exist within his head. Contemplation, suffocation – binding torture of his degredation. The ladies of his night, a mistress of his soul – the one true lasting image that lives on forever more.

Sex was meant for rabid teenagers and screamers, who cut themselves wide open so they can see the bleeding. Sex was industry displayed and unique before corruption gasped its stale breath on repeat. Slimy silver nights, betrayal of the brave. A virgin’s ribcage painted on a wall of hate. 

The denial, a pacifier made of hurt who only ever comforted the girl who felt unloved. Light of this life, trip her eyes over joyless paradise she makes it gently, numb and safely. Relic of the boredom, challenge to this bravery.  

 

This is a poem about the stigma attached to being a Virgin’s in today’s modern society. Because of the degrading of moral values thanks to television and internet its more of a shame than ever before to be labelled a Virgin when in fact there should be a purity that comes with being labelled this. A Virgin’s ribcage painted in a wall of hate talks about the way Virgin is used to insult somebody by almost painting them in insults.

Geniene In A Bottle

“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies”   —-  Aristotle

All we have is neverending love  to keep us both from feeling hurt.                              Challenging the vacancies that scream for words,  An epitaph of freedom slowly lost

A star that captures your precious heart, A jolt that shakes up your willing soul.  A sign to show you the right way to climb, A force for the love you needed before. 

Geniene sweet something, passionate rain In the breeze that proclaims your name everyday. Geniene sweet summer, filtering sun When the ground grows beneath us, we both have won. 

Slow like June shadows as interest remained   In seeing you blossom with beauty retained    High like a blackbird, the one that recoiled  In wonder and joy that we both have been brought.

A star that captures your precious heart, A jolt that shakes up your willing soul. A sign that shows you the right way to climb,  A force for the love you needed before. 

Geniene in a bottle, with a heart made of gold Swimming out to sea, her purity unsold       Geniene, the one, the only, the most  Love in my heart, that she only knows.  

 Forever fresh clouds, insightful and rare,Make figures of eight and pictures prepared. Never this magic of Summer beware,  Her in a landslide, her beauty laid bare.  

 

It is rare in life to find a person who is truly beautiful. Not just physically beautiful there are thousands, millions of people who are physically beautiful but that is not real beauty. Somebody with emotional and intellectual beauty that defines there core, a person who has an aura of magic that surrounds there very presence in your life. It is almost a gift that has been bestowed upon you to know this person. They challenge your emotions and your passion for life every day and each day is like a constant piece of a giant puzzle as you try to do all you can to engrain yourself in what makes them the person they are. They make you become a better person, better at everything you try to achieve in life. The make you feel more complete, even if you feel like part of you is sometimes missing. For me i have found that girl and she is now in my heart, mind and soul.  

Bitterness Remembered

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.”  —-  Buddha.

So long as I know that you are safe then I can leave for my eternal resting place.                Free of this disgust, this torture, this denial of how I ended up in purgatory without my abandoned child. 

The saviour has got no protection for the loss of self-control. The fears of man, niceties of few who brought us back from heaven before I went askew. Like symbols on a skyline, furnishing the future price of family indifference to what they knew was right.

Looking out on horizons where children’s children have been replaced with magnetic forcefields filled of hate. Scan their empty smiles, so wrapped up and so out of place Bitterness remembered, the awkward burgeoning of questions. Arrogance unfolding, the tortured minutes of hopes unfurling.

I went south when east came crashing into life and filled my days with meaningless debacle on the bright side of this rise. To freedom, to belonging, to shattered promise and betrayal the magnets that will bind us are the ones that still remain.

Blood, colour, skin depth suicidal. Teenage days of loathing, character in question living out my final weeks with my thoughts unclear, uncertain.   

 

This poem is about the final days/weeks of a tragic woman. A woman who gave up her daughter 60 Years previously due to life circumstances and has been left with constant regret in her life. Not knowing if this daughter is still alive, if she is healthy, if she has a family of her own and now as the sun sets on her life she is overwhelmed with a great sense of loss. A loss not just of her own life but a sense of loss in her soul at never knowing what became of that daughter. Referring to Teenagers in the poem i was trying to illustrate not just her regrets but the potential regrets her granddaughters and grandson’s may have for never having gotten the chance to know their grandmother.