Sunday, 22 January 2012

Crocodile City

The River Runs
In Crocodile city
Like the
Blood Soaked Earth
That Lays Crimson
On these African Lands

The Clotted River Languidly
Transports the Palm Wicca baskets
Downstream As the Village Women's Tears
Too dilute the Foaming Guilt
Of their Offering

Laid in Wiat
Awaits the Corocdiles
 Their Blood Lust
Still Wretched and Unfulfilled
As the silence falls over the Bank
And all that can be heared is the

Golden Shimerring Reptilian Eyes
Leave a snaking wake in its Path

As Calligula Crocdile
Mounts his Mud-Mound-throne

And the cries fall silent

Full and Disgusting
With Indulgence

Lights his cigar
And Sips Delicatley from his

He Drank his full
And the People Still Arent Free

Because This is Africa
And everything is a Commodity
And there'a reason the land looks like it was
Kicked up by the
Devils Heel

So Close your Western Eyes

Because all that is here are Nightmares
As we
Become like them
Ghost in the Darkness

Thursday, 19 January 2012

Seasons in The Abyss

And like Diamonds they Fell from the heavens
Giant Fluorescent Orbs

With the Enlightened
And there 
New Blood
For all Of Earths Children to Store

For Sacrificial Rites
Make the Innocent Babes
Blood Curdle With fear 
And the Virgin Is taken
From this World

And the prIEST hAS A vISION

Blood Lust
Money lust
Oil Lust

They R the 1% 
We r The 99%

And how they Drain our Lives

Sunday, 15 January 2012

An Insect Dinner Party

A Blue Bottle Bug suit
And those Jitter bug Loafers
Should Dress the Centipede Well for
Tonights Gardens Toasters

For at the Bottom Of the Garden
Under neath a drooping Maple

Sits a table;

With Cloth
And Chairs
And a sizeable Spread of
Cakes, Sugared insects
Black Bird Pie

Cider And Tea

And At the head of this table sits the most penetrable site
A insect monstrosity
Will Oversee the events of Tonight

With Purple Pincers,
And  poisoned
Mandable Thorns
Red -Eyes
Spiked Hairs
And a
Diesel- Powerd- Jaw

Shrouded in billows of smoke
And brooding femurs
And  looks that

So Sits the gardens
Infamous Host

Don Eduardo  Montoya
Does Rule This Garden From
The Birds to the Bees
The Garden's Godfather
And For Tonite it's
Dinner Host

Will spend time
In regions Of its mind
Unihabited by Most

Don Eduardo Insectopede
Likes nothing more at Dinner
Than A
Comedy Roast

He starts First   with the
Centipede on his right

" I must Say Centipede, that spider silk scarf does make me

Was it spun in a slugworms vagina and left to dry out in  a magpies Arse?"

" And you dear Milipede..... You do indeed look Odd......Purple and Orange woodlouse dresses are made for geriatric insects ....... and not even a Dutch Rag worm  wears clogs.

" HA!   And You Old Caterpillar..You poor lamb!  What is this aloft your fuzzed head...
Its not hat
Nor cap
Nor wig
No dred

.Its a dried out crysallis stuffed with  old prunes and  half eaten figs... Oh caterpillar you do smell odd
 Like the Stench of urine
Im my
Janitors Bog.
Your also wearing bumblbee shorts with dragon fly nipple socks
if this was another dinner party
 i would tharsh you
And eat you on the spot.
But ive eaten Caterpillars once before.
Its was your mum and dad Caterpillar in fact
And It werent much fun
aAnd took over 3 hours of Strain
To remove them from my

Well Enjoy your evening everyone


" A Toast to our Host
Don Eduardo Insectopede "


Saturday, 7 January 2012

Bottle Neck Hurricane

A power Surge
As metal and Glass
Slide against each other
Like Chaste Lovers

Succumb with passion and the
Electric Feel
Rolls up the strings
in Resonance

The Conjurer
The MaDmAn

Starts to weave weary words
Pushing Language and Pathos
Through the sand and black tar that lays thick and guttural

Elemental exchange
Exaggerates emotion

And i sit here lowly in the swamp

in bitters of blue and
muddy water

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

The Champion of the Under-Dogs (A poem for Tattoo Jack)

Its Turkish Gary at the final
corner in the lead

And He's on for
A Monkey If it comes in

The grey  faced man at the track side
 Drops his cigarette
And clenches his grasp
On the ticket

Burning a hole
In his plastic Coque Sportiv Jacket
In the process

The dust kicks up around Turkish Gary’s heels
And his resolve is still

Then A bump a slight
Hitch in the Track
Turkish Gary Falls Lame
Breaking His

A Quick Shot in the head and a swift exit
will end this 
Turkish Delight

And the
Grey Faced Man

Lossens His Grip on the ticket
And clentches his Face

He Turns around and Takes What is Left From his
Hip Flask.

Out in the Carpark
His Cavalier awaits
grey and Un Taxed

He Gets in
Reaches His hand
Under the

He Grabs
At it and misses

Grabs at it again

And looks up
Taking one last look

At the Champion Underdog

That  soldier of fortune
With his golden ticket
That Hot tip
Thats was going
To Save him

He Winces


Treat me as i Brother and soon it will become so...

Messianic...Megolomanic...You Choose....Vimto!!!

Sunday, 1 January 2012

2012 - a New Dawn

Do i have time
In this
Hurried Flurry

To spend my days with
Dark Thoughts

For surely
Because that which fleets
And skims these
Transient musings
And proves these life

Will not bring me solace
IN this
Ambiguity of the purpose to be

But i love her despite her Daggered Eyes
That her souls venom does
My soul
and Reap

And any worth that my self esteem does seek

Does die with her approval
That My Weathered age teachings
Can never replicate within
Or Repeat