Chicken of Despair

Every dawn I romped with the chicken of despair.
Afterwards I would roast it and eat it hot.
The dinner dance often clucked ‘til dusk;
fat with chicken I was a stout but happy fellow.
Now, your diet pills, taken with cold water
(because a fat man must never dance outside)
make me hate even the smell of chickens.
I am not thinner.
Nor am I empty.

I’m a wicker man.
Virgin fear clucking in my belly.
Alight, we could roast together,
but I must let it peck and claw my insides;
eat my cornflakes and cheese sandwiches and smile
(because I know it will want a dance after its tea).
I say I like them and you say I’m better.
I am better.
Better at hiding chicken bones.

Repulsing Around

I tire of this game.
Understanding the rules
most poorly puts me
out of bounds
each and every round.
So I’ve turned
it against them.

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Tuned Out

streaming visions calm –
technology overrides
happy worker minds

Webzietgeist

The mighty walk amongst us
looking just as we do but
seeing only themselves in
everything they do or say.
I see nothing of them.

The righteous sit above us
looking down as we do but
reflecting our choices in
anything we do or say.
I get nothing from them.

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Inner Sun

This is one of the first haiku I ever wrote. It can be taken at face value but really it’s about addiction.

quickly fill my mind –
oh joyous spoon of sunshine
cloud that harshness out

Glad-Handing Death

You are a useless pointy headed tool
discharging a piecing barbed trident.
Your wishful lies whip though my eyes.
One blade scoring my mind, left to right,
triggering distant memories of actions.
The second tyne unhooking safety catches
so that the cog clicks another notch tighter.
The final point, roasted in repression,
blackened, scrawling, marks you card.

My arm pistons out, punching hand flat,
fingers form my trident crushing your larynx,
You and the lie take a few moments to die.
This image, flashing ever deeper on my lobes,
fades as you finish up your weasel words.
Inside, deep in my mind, energy pulses
are channelled away, lightened into a smile.
We shake hands firmly before you move on.
My hand and soul left empty like your promises.

Maybe next time I’ll give you my vote.

Doodle Bug

landing in silence –
clacking hum stops all but fear
squash it or flee

Chosen Pebble

This piece can go a variety of different ways or be taken at face value. I think that there is also a reflection of my contentedness to be faceless in a swath of similarity yet covertly different.

I am but a steady pebble,
faceless in the company
of many similar fellows.

My uniqueness formed in
the constant crushing
contact as we are shifted.

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Foolish Fish

Here is a small (and on the surface anyway) humorous piece, written from a different perspective. I’ve deliberately constrained the length and the language here as it gives both a clearer direction and, strangely also more choice in overall meaning.

I’m not a
foolish fish.
I see your
hook
with its fat
deadly temping
morsel.

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