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
Tree

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
Blood
Red -Eyes
And
Spiked Hairs
And a
Diesel- Powerd- Jaw


Shrouded in billows of smoke
And brooding femurs
And  looks that
Choke

So Sits the gardens
most
Infamous Host

Don Eduardo  Montoya
Insectopeade
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

For
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
Laugh

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
Bum....;

Well Enjoy your evening everyone

Cernterpede:

" A Toast to our Host
Don Eduardo Insectopede "

HAzzar,
 haZZAR!!!!!!!!!
 

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

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

And

defiant

Then A bump a slight

Hitch in the Track

And

Turkish Gary Falls Lame

Breaking His

Heel

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

Seat

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

exhales

AND PULLS THE TRIGGER

BANG!

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

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

2012 - a New Dawn

Do i have time
In this
Hurried Flurry

To spend my days with
Dark Thoughts
and
Worry

For surely
Not
Because that which fleets
And skims these
Transient musings
And proves these life
Endeavors
Obsolete

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
Rape
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

HEAVY METAL WICCA MAN..

Outside Slow Steel

Moves and Sways

Clanging
As
Mechanized
Legs

Bound
To the
Tribes
Rhythm

And Thousand of Demons
And Fallen Angels
Within are Working

Ferociously
Moving

With the

Power
OF this
Metal Groove

An Alchemist
A Sorcerer
Of sorts
Hypnotizing
With

Divine Proportions

Enchants
And
Entertain
These
Demons
Into
A
Frenzy

Using Elemental
Metal

To Move The Space within
Space

Into
Strings
That Move
Like
A subtle Vibration

Then a Wave

As Sound
Is Sent
in Longitudinal Pulses
And Transverse Waves
Throughout
This
Wicca Man

Being his Life Force
And he Moves now With

Intent

In to a Battle
With the
Gods
And
His
Cumbersome
Inertia

Aphorism - Happiness

self knowledge 
is the path to happiness. Become detached from your ego a watcher an observer, obeserve your self and observe yourself Transform...

My Turpentine Lady

A
Black water
Lays
Shimmering
with
Iridescence
And Curdles
the Air
With its
Noxious Fumes

Rising
Into the
Ether
As this Turpentine
Takes
Flight
And Burns
Nasal Hairs
And waters
These
Eyes of Doom

And in its Shimmer
I swear i see the
Siouhette
Of Feminine Form
And ripples my interest

My Turpentine Lady
Does
Dance
ON this
Embalmed Fluid

And she is
Beautiful
Exotic
and so Deep
No Knife
Could cut straight through
It

Because
My Turpentine Lady
is worth
Her weight
In Gold

And with this
Mesmeric Image
My heart is
Stole

Deformed Chocolate Elf

Im massively
worried
about my
Mental Health

Ive seemed
To swallowed a

Deformed
Chocolate
Elf


He was
A Melted Molten Mutation
With a
Chocolate
Scrumtious
Face

And did melt over my
Tongue
Like a
Meal
From a heavenly plate

And now this
Deformed Chocolate Elf
Sits in
My
Belly

And i now all
I can do
Is force out Shit
Like this Christmas
Telly

So dear Sam

Its been a while
But
We'll form more
Memories

And get fucked
On
Schnaps
 on these nights

And forget
These
Forsaken
Mammories

And the Women
With
Their
Fish Net tights

Ivory Corn And The Black Waters

Palid
And
Bleached

Like the work
OF Dark
On Grass

The Ivory Corn
IS Transported
Down
River

Yew
Trees
Align the Banks

Keeping
All
The Black
And Dank
Darkness
That Dwells
Beneath the
Swrirling
Depths
Out
Of the Land
OF the Mortal

It Floats
On A Listless
Fleck
Of
Obsidian
Shimmer

And gets Lost behind
The Branches
Of
A Weeping
Willow

Still Frozen
At
The Site
Where
Her
Babe
Drown
In these
Murky
Depths

The Ivory Head Corn Now
Picks up
Pace
Losing the last few Remaining
Corns
To the Deeps

Whilst an imposing
Skinny Bone
Tree
Knuckles
The Middle
Of the River

And An All consuming
Blackness
At its
Center
Sits Like
A
Singularity

A Black
Hole

Sukcing in this
Floatsom and Jetson

And leaving nothing
But
the Foamy
Carcassed
Remains
Of a Summer Past
In its
Wake

Lemon Yellow Sun

She gave
A
Picture

Of a Lemon
Yellow
Sun

With
Me On A Mountain
Top

Of Golden
Rays
Falling
And
Bodies Bronzed
And Burning
In this Summer's
Hazed
Fun

What a Beautiful
Picture
That
She
Drew

There was Once
Here a Sentiment
A Context just From
You

And i Have now
no
Picture

Or Anything
Left

Just These Eyes
Are left
Ascew

And a Picture
Left in my
Minds Eye

Of a Lemon
Yellow
Sun
That
You
Once
Drew

Once again in the Shadowlands

Its Dragging me
Back

Back
Down
Again

To those depths
And spaces

And my collapsing
Lung
Coughs and Spurts
As
The Shadows
Once
Again
Reclaims
This fragile Soul
Their
Play Thing
&
Im Back
now

And bathed in a
Familiar
Warmth
Like
That
Of Pain

All that will happen know
Is people will get on with they're
Lives
And
I wont
Speak
Now dumb and
Speechless
Just consumed
With
Dankness
And a reassuring
Emptiness
Inside
Where joy came to
Visit for a little
While
But Soon
Left as
Is the
Familiar call
to
All good things in my life
that dont
Last

Steam Engine

Sloe
Locomotion

On this frosted
Christmas
Mourn

Cold
Fresh
&
Sharp

Snow flakes drift in the
Brezze
Like notes falling Melodiously
From an
Angels Harp

While all the while dancing in reflection
on the rays from the fairylights
That Highlight
This Streetlight
From
The veil of this Dark
Night


Billowing Clouds
of Steam
Rise
Like a
Phoenix

And Black sweat and Monoxide
Gas
Whip up
A cyclone
Above the
Rooftops

Like a Festive Fire
Has Engulffed
All of this
And
Yellow Windows
And
Steel Clang
On the Tracks

And the Mourning
Braes in this
Red Dawn
Of
Noel

With
it's
Coca Cola Cheer

Coal for Christmas
Again

Is fuel
For the Engines
Fire

And A change of Platforms
And Direction
At the Next Stop

I sit here on then
Train

And
Grieve the Woes
Of the journey
And

My Mistakes
Along
The
Way

Stairway to Starbucks

It Shines and Glimmers
Reflecting in its
Metallic
Hue
\
of

Advertising
and
The soft glow
Of the
Turkish Jewelers

And transports me Upwards
Towards the Heavens

The Labour Lust
Of
Convenience

And the mouse
Wheel
Spins
And all i can
Do
Is Jump
Aboard
This
Steel Griddled
Travalator

Conform

And jump
On
Ship

We come
To the
Top
And this
Mourning
Smells
Like
A
Colombian Mountain's
Coffee Grove
And
A
New Dawn

Ive seen
Starbucks
All over the Word

One Day they'll have a
Starbucks on the
Moon

Me and Black Dog....

Im spending today
On my Own

Just me and Black Dog
In this
Room Alone

For the sun is Mocking
And the Moon's
Silver
Is like a bullet
In this Lonely Wolfs
Heart

And i gave her the
Key
But you cant trust
Anyone
You see
With
The
workings of your
Souls Most important
Parts

And each time shes
Gone
It
Rips
The Sinuews of
My Breaking
Heart

And feels
Like
My souls
Mechanics
Have
lost
The WILL to start

So ill Spend
Today in this room

Alone

Just me and
Black Dog

Drinking Alone :(

Branching Philanderer

People say its not
Big Of Me

To Be into this covert
Polygamy

But like Some
Knob Knotted
Tree

I need all these leaves to
be able to Breath

And to absorbs the nutrients from the Sun
with this tainted Carnal fun
And so with it My Mortal Joy
Does become

A Room A Thousand Years Wide

" He lives these
Years that Ive
Walked blind " cc

And a Thousand doors
he has
Closed
And a thousand
Minds

A Thousand
Lives have
Been
Worn
Through
His eyes

And shapes this room
A Thousand
Years
Wide

A Thousand thoughts
And a Thousand
Parts
Has twisted the grains
Of
My

Tepid
Heart

And whilst a Thousand
Lives
Look
Like
Mine


I have opened more

 Divine Doors
Within

Which
Have given me
Clarity
Behind
All-Seeing Eyes

So come and wonder
In this room
of
Mine

With a thousand doors and no windows

For
There is nothing
More
Great if you have the time

To wonder
In
A
Room

A Thousand years
Wide

Tarquin House

Tarquin House
Stands alone
at the
Back of a
Long
Oxbow Drive

The Turrets Tower
above me
Like a
Medieval Battlement
when i
Arrive

And Ravens and Songbirds
Sit aloft this tower
Admiring the
View of this
Spa town

And i am greeted with tea

" Good morning Ms Hills
Good Morning Pete,

Fine morning for it aint it
Tis a beauty pete now drink your tea"

And so to work..

 I go to grab my tools around by the shed at the side of the house

and witness

Ivy Snake

Up From the Driveway
&
Hedgerows

which seem
To almost suffocate the house into

Submisson

And seem to want
to
Drag it Down

To the Earthly Deeps

But the house takes
Care of its self
And
is not my

Domain

The Garden is where i work
If you would call it such a thing

Its more of a mantra of action
A
Morning Meditatcion
As
i sculpte and form
Hedges and Shrub
Making
Jagged
Lines Smooth
and opening up new views of the
Flora

Like the Brush Strokes
of the Artist
revealing lines and colour and
Form
on
a Canvass
Stretch

There's alot to be said
For
Manual Work

And as i rake
the

Red
&
Brown&

Fading
Green

Flakes
of Autumn

And blow them
Into a fairy like fertility dance
And the classic overture in my brain
Does Start

The Bell
Rings

And im Hungry and Thirsty

My Hands
Are Dirty
Covered
And
Worn

Showing wear

But im
Satisfied

And looking forward to my Beer and smoke
After Work :)


Four hours of
Focus and awesome music
And
Nature
What else is there?

A Bitterness that still remains because of Office Politics and sioBan

The foulest people ive met gained their confidence or identity through office work....there souls are made and will decay in the grey sludge of their 9-5 worker drone twilight of exsistence.......dickheads!!!

Nasal Transportation To the Constellation Memory

My
Hasty
Nose
Sniffs

And Im Teleported
Instantly

Back
Maybe
10 - 12
Years

And im sitting in

Yellow
Class

in a Tangerine Hew

Its 5 minutes
to

3:00

" Going Home Time"

And i'm playing with

Red Crimson Plasticine

Molding with

Dexterous Resolve

And the Smells from this

Amorphous Gloop

Smells
Unique

Ill never forget it!

And
Suddenly

Im back again

12 years Later

I look around
But the smell is

Invisible

Just a
Tiny Offering
Bought on a

Soft Wind

To remind
Me that
I too
Have my own

History

However
Insignificant

Letters and Dialogue from the Happy Junkie...Ext.1

" When you fall for a drug properly,

I mean
Properly...

Then its for life
right..

Thats the points of being a junkie an outcast your commited despite the odds"

" A true renegade of some sorts, but tainted with a dirty glamour that repulses yet attracts the sweel and release of meager embraces, social networking or just plain human contact you receive. Which saitsfys your soul to a limit being the extent of its nature,

Cos when your a junkie right...... this amounts to their prejudice of the eyes that see and think they know and were shit right in this popular conditioned haze of mind rape called public opinion

Like the poison im my veins at least releases me from the poison of your mediocrity

And a faint gust of worry you bring to me
from the bitter fabric of your flightless wings
And i
remember that we are the parasites right...in this faint gust.
Were out to get you
Jus lOOKING for a HOst
lOOKING for YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN to
Occupy with OUR DEPRAVITY the DEVICE YOU USE and DISPOSE of  TO DEFINE YOUR OWN FLOUDERING sense of RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION AND IDENTITY....cos were the PARASITES right...Whos using who??

And what has my
internal conscious got to do with your
ignorant opinions,

Love the


Happy Junkie
THOSE TGAR

Paint On the Handlebars

As the drop
Comes

I grab my Brush
And fling

Red
&
Blue
&
Green

On the
Canvass

What seems by accident
Is in fact
Calculated
And the forms
The Music
Make
In My
Mind
Manifest

On

My

Duck
Canvass
Making
Colors Dance
And this Manikins
Move Involuntary


I step back
and
hit
The Shelve
Spilling
the

Red
&
Blue
&
Green

On the floor

I decide
To grab
The
Elswick
And go get more paint

The Brezze in my
Hair
And
the
Spokes
Spin
And clank
On the
Wheels
as i fly down the high street

And brush
my hand
Through
my Hair
and Mustache
Leaving
A red
Reminense

Suddenly

Bang!!!

A Bus
Hits
My Elswick
And
I
Fall to the
Ground

The Station Clock

The
Station Clock

Has seen better days

It
Sees
All Seasons

And is only occupied by the
Foulest of pigeons

And one

Brave Wilde Swallow

And
A

Reclusive Bluebird

Who use it as a
Vantage point
Like a

Sniper

 on
a
Watchtower

Who Dive

Amongst the Daffodils
Below
Like
The
Lufwaffer
on a

Crimson Dawned Air Raid

Devouring
The
Worms
that burrogh holes
on Brown wallowing Mud
Among the

Broken Bricks
Where nature has reclaimed
A
little
Territory

Then they ascend
To the Blue
Amnd the Tranquil Tower

The Monumental Watcher

Vouyeur
Overseer
Of
All of this

With a face and Hands
That informs

But deaf and DUmb

Living an Existence of Measurement

An enterty who's

Soul
Mission

IS the

Vicarious fulfillment Of
Our Efficiency