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Telephone Cyrus: 44 (UK) 01295 690193
Visions of Things to Come.
By Cyrus Issac
© Copyright 2008
We live in the Age of Decadence,
A prelude to Anarchy and Chaos;
Love today in any way for Three Pence,
Before the Dogs of War bark ‘Adios!’
Fusion
Gladioli gardens punctuated the soils of marble,
Their sweet aromas embellishing fingerprints of truth in the high edifice of concrete and steel.
Some primeval principle lay buried in Nature’s little islands,
Calling forth across the expansive nights of Adam,
Tantalising the finite pontificators of human reason:
Absurdity juxtaposed with the immaterial ethereal light,
Beams searching for the paternal hunger in the Labyrinth midnight black.
The base of immaturity slept in the wolf’s lair,
Its dreams transcending the Laws of the Prosaic like the pious guru who seeks the unfettered clarity.
A great serpentine river rode majestically through the convoluted citadel,
Sinking its tributary arms around the feigned collective Brain.
A continuous regular impulse could be felt in the breathless saline desert,
A place where rain never fell,
Only divine Helos scorching the bridled plain of Humanity,
Evaporating the very essence of precious Life.
The wounded pride Being straddled what Civilisation claimed to bestow,
A nugget of shining gold in its blistered hands: a universal sterile domain.
The heart of conscience disowning what rationality had sought to create: better the pastoral nomad than the Fool’s Industrial Paradise.
Sand dunes blew outside the delusive walls,
A music that sang the Song of Death by every ear that enquired like the warrior drums of war,
Thundering ! Thundering! Beating! Beating the applause to the final extinction.
At the Hour of Reckoning the material structures finally crumbled before Nature’s relentless Storm,
The barefaced humans strewn asunder the sands of chaos,
The last cries of redemption and vengeance vanquished forever.
Another dawn broke on Planet Earth,
A quiescence without strife or mindless destruction;
Merely a soft warm breeze in the valleys and mountains like a fusion of life in its most simple basic form,
Only the throbbing of some distant being in the caves below……
Post-Liberal
Shine bedridden Post-Liberal!
No ideal to look forward to but the wallet inside the turgid pocket.
To laugh the sacred into the ground with no second thought,
It is a wonderful day for you and I!
See the King on the hill,
His sceptre laid down on the democratic floor,
Now we can stab him in the back,
Look what to inherit:
The chest of secrets for every inquisitor to see!
No barriers by the abyss,
The diffuse article of faith,
All ether and void:
The tourist of epicurean fancy!
Markets to markets of markets for markets,
What else but the Market!
A value for the animate besides the antique porcelain,
Clay bricks to found the memory of make-believe,
The caricatures the toffee apples of mercurial concentration:
The Star is far from you and I!
The Bona-fide is felled!
Pandora’s Box is open,
Boreas blows now!
Scream Dream!
Scream dream what does it mean?
Scream dream what have I seen?
Scream dream I’m not keen!
Wake at two cold sweat blue,
Feelings strong feelings gone!
Lady Sady killed the baby,
I think I’m going crazy!
Very very hazy.
Eat cheese if that’s what you please,
Then sneeze before you tease,
It ain’t rocking my keys!
Back to bed I said,
In one big tread,
Now it’s time to play dead!
Crown of Thorns
“…..in broad daylight, and even in the brightest moments of waking life, we are ruled to some extent by the nature of our dreams”- Nietzsche
The seeing is some part of my living being,
A dwelling creature on the precipice of shading lights,
The curtain descends what reasons to follow,
What commandments to obey:
The boughs of diseased trees my blundering way.
The primal leaps ‘frog like’ into the foreground,
Some portrait of chameleon nature handcuffed to the people’s podium.
Buddha’s wheel tramples remorselessly over my body,
The pitiful effete frame collapses at the waking.
The mirrored blink like the darting pond-skater over still water,
No encyclopaedia, no instruction, no angel to comfort my soul,
But the bleeding wounds of happy nightmare experience,
Another shawl I wear,
Another thorn to tear…..
Myth of the Dragon
The Dragon spitted vituperative garble,
Fire and Brimstone to the eligible bystander:
“The Sign! The Sign! The Sign!”
“What sign?” I quizzed,
“The sign of the Devil!” he answered.
The crowd moved on……..
Oxford gloated buoyant in the afternoon brilliance,
Her spires and domes precocious like the prodigal son;
No spoils but the fortunate undergraduate.
Bicycles, Halls, Streets, Doors, Cobble upon cobble,
Voluminous History accompanied my Odyssey.
What Dragon could abound in this paradise of the intellectual?
Animal Farm
Play the last adagio before I retire to the rest of tears.
Little man from the prose of Peter Pan,
Drawl the satirical curtain in the Peoples’ Theatre,
Turn off the spotlight and let go of the paper kite:
The nursery has died tonight……
What light shall I know when overture sounds its sumptuous harmony?
What do I say to the ferryman of infinite reflections?
The pigs roll in the mud,
The cows and horses chew the cud;
The sheep mellow the landscape,
The industrial ants rape;
The farmyard is a cacophony of noise,
The shooting guns cowboys.
Electric fence carves the valleys and plains,
The spark of interior subterranean torture circuiting the silicon wafers:
Diodes and transistors acculturating the tribal homesteads.
I smoke the nihilistic cigar and puff the pretentious rings,
A saintly charlatan tapping to the beating plastic things.
STOP THE POT! STOP THE POT! STOP THE POT!
Vernal Equinox
“Will you join us in Hyde Park? It’ll be a great day!”
“No thanks…..” I replied “I’ll be calculating the Vernal Equinox”.
They carted with entourage like an Edwardian Lady on her sojourn to the French Rivierra,
Up to Nice and all the money can buy.
A ‘Country People’ they boasted to themselves in blue 501’s and Peugeot 406’s,
Saviours of the ‘Countryside’ or something less:
To stand firm against the tyranny of Town and City,
To preserve the interests of wealth status and cruelty.
But what ‘Country’ do they mean?
1998 and the Countryman died 100 years ago;
What Villager can say:
“This is my Community!”
When the supermarket glories in apogee and the TV shrieks humanities famines soon to be.
The ‘Urbanites’ we are,
Consumers in sealed compartments portly stars;
Betwixt the ideal of delusive myth and the slippery mountains of industrial tar.
A sperm whale to wish,
A screen to touch the barnacles resplendent in human isolation.
I want to look back,
I try to look back,
But the Peasant left years ago……
April Spitfire
The radio talks to me in the drizzling timorous April rain,
Some unknown sonata incognito,
A kin along the fractious Saxon genealogical tree.
What did Mom and Dad think when I popped into the world of the late ghastly 20th Century?
“You are lovely but it was by accident!”
A chance in the caves and antechambers of sliding snakes;
The edge of the classroom child,
A cluttered day dreaming fool of a cinematic mind,
A Spitfire to fly away from the blame…..
The Leaving
The clouded gold ring hung symbolically on the Ballerina’s arm,
The spectacle of festivity forlorn in the climate of discontent:
Wishes, promises, desires, solemn pledges of “Always….”
A quiescent terrible room,
Pictures of personal love and jaundiced lies,
Draped curtains to cover the cruel haste of the leaving…..
The Ringing
The ringing bells syncopated to the marching band,
As the pea-shooter aimed its instrument of disregard at the party of grabbing capitalists;
Disco flashes and loudspeakers heralding another lamb to sacrifice:
GLORY GLORY TO THE GREEN MACHINE!
A superstar for the sculptress of plasticine,
Played to the great game for the pig’s blood;
A giant cupful to the chanting brood:
SUCK SUCK TO THE GREEN MACHINE!
The Theatre and the Palace were the last refuge,
A gale of wanting hands clawing at the golden doors;
The errant brushstroke completed:
SING SING TO THE GREEN MACHINE!
End
Like a sailing boat that blows too far off course,
She is caught in the fate of Providence;
A heavy burden which cannot be extirpated,
A pump of faltering pressure:
Slowly slowly irrevocably fading,
To the Everyman Junction where Life is forfeited.
Lucifer Match
Captain Swing whistled the ‘Breaking Blues’ under insurgent skies,
Albion’s holy fraternity set on fire,
To Crown and Church but a dubious liar,
The omnipotent iron machine sanctioned Lucifer’s Agent Friar.
An earthquake to rock the cradle of the world,
A mass of people untilled,
To a new potent combustion to build!
Faustian Showcase
Content, instruction, the ‘teething hedonist’;
An auditorium for the nail biter, evangelist and conceited,
A Hellenist stage for the humourist and dogmatist:
To flaunt and point, jest and jibe, laugh and cry, grieve and pity,
But never never to despoil the scripted Showcase.
The impeccable secular priest assuages the pliable flock,
With a supercilious smile and a million dollar crook to the punish the rebellious deviant.
A churlish ‘once upon a time’ and ‘forever after’:
A parable of Love for your fellow human and a Capitalist Puppeteer to vex the Doll.
The Theatre of emotions tied to the Western Dream,
A glutinous glue for the International obscene.
“10 seconds to go!” the unholy one warns,
“Switch the channel to sap the next!” Master Faust implores,
“1,2,3” another broadcast roars……..
Saturnine Expectation
‘Great Expectations’ was the relic of some diffused past,
A wishing-well of once upon Arcadia,
The age of Romantica and discerning palettes in those turbulent depths;
The sacred seal broken unto ethereal earthlight,
The beast of chaos set free inside the mortal debauched frame,
A contagious sickness brewing in the Western Cool…….
Humanity’s Secret
A shout in the crowd is all that is required to unsettle the homosapien fulcrum;
A subtle turn to the right or left and humanity’s secret is unveiled:
All the emotions of a 100,000 years vented with vex and euphoria,
Of wills gained and wishes tamed.
The muted can hail,
The deaf can hear butterfly heartbeats near,
The invalid can brand and swim in the prejudicial sand.
A dream a dream more an endless dream,
A febrile Morian Utopia for a delirious moment like a wind of unsullied frenzy,
Bursting forth into the urbane day.
Then as transitory as this,
It shifts back to the origin it came,
To the perennial Clock of Reason and Sense again……
Arctic Context
What is the worst pain to afflict?
Desertion! Desertion! Desertion!
A gregarious soul thrown to the howling wolves.
How quickly they digest,
All’s left is the skeletal carrion,
Lain down in the ice and snow.
Gulliver’s Giant steps through the torrid blizzard,
Its footprints as superfluous as the rat,
Nothing is Great or Means so well in this Kingdom.
Transplants: Nay! Nay! Nay!
Iniquity, well sometimes that may be…..
Middle Asian Holocaust
He was a humble man by character,
Self-deprecating to the root,
Far away from the Mad Hatter,
Steadfast steel nail head to foot.
One would say he was a patriot,
Defender of the National Will,
Verily the upstanding Salient,
Share for all courtesy the Gracious Mill.
At the turn of Autumn 2011,
Historians would write the bitter tragedy,
Of when at the strike of morn seven,
Most honourable suffered the nightmare malady.
As the computer alerted him,
To the missile launch from Middle Asia,
The West waited within the silo rim,
A prayer to God’s merciful favour.
Seconds by seconds the decision had to be made,
Was this a malfunction or the real thing?
Obliteration in minutes or the would be saved,
Paranoia omnipresent was this the final ring?
As a world driven by machines,
No time to simply think,
So the button was pushed to kill the dreams,
The controls finally failed on the brink.
Of course it was a tragic mistake,
But reason had receded already,
Too long we relied on the machines for our sake,
End of another civilisation Death’s lamentable fidelity…..
The Seeds of Retribution
Do you remember 1857?
Do you remember 1857?
When the Evangelist dogs berated our Heaven.
Do you remember 1857?
Do you remember 1857?
The Imperialist guns embellished with animal fat like good old sporting Tiffin.
Do you remember 1857?
Do you remember 1857?
When us Sepoys threw away those British manacles for Freedom.
Do you remember 1857?
Do you remember 1857?
The Christian Memsahibs lay bleating and bleeding like the Crucifixion.
Do you remember 1857?
Do you remember 1857?
When thousands hung and screaming razor blades cut through ruby melon.
Do you remember 1857?
Do you remember 1857?
The Seeds of Retribution are sown for twenty eleven…
No Man’s Land
Behest the rain rattled on the pane,
Trickling sinuous droplets down the indecent scraped glass,
A rolling sticky night in the month of May.
A sobbing disconsolate man hung in the tarnished kiosk,
The receiver pressed to the lachrymose tears,
The street weeped the scabrous odyssey:
“I just want to die! I just want to die!!”
I laughed to the pity and insatiable pain,
For the lonesome asylums of the cloistering insane.
An arcane satiety broiling somnolent curse,
Drifting fighting in the steaming rain:
How we wish to wash away life’s mortal stains……
Credit & Plastic
The thoroughfares and side-streets transmogrified the ‘breakdown receptor’;
He or she or It was more than carbon substance:
T’was bones to be smashed!
Aye, to know yourself,
To love yourself,
To seek nothing but yourself;
They were the mores values things above all:
The incontestable!
Just as vainglorious Greece declined eaten by the infesting maggots,
So Mother Superior West licked its deceased wounds for the last time under blazing midnight skies…….
Widow
None remains but the hands sliced off,
Spurting blood across the bargain basement rump,
Potato fads defecating nauseating bile pit.
A gulp of stench that the varlet loves:
To be the perfidious varmint.
It is only the sordid tale that bespeaks perennial revelry,
The carnal cells collecting and formulating a largess biography:
Sirens jesting brinkmanship to the cavernous scorpions.
One reclines on the deserts of choice,
A peevish sentiment about the horrors of existence:
Groins groping for the gracious STING!!
Poltergeist
The bread knife dug deep,
Red soup gushing from the stomach bowel,
Hoarse gasps indicting the murderer who sated the pleasure of his deed:
Good-Bye Bitch!!
Winter fell early in ’78,
The flakes of ivory glass settled on the Yorkshire Village,
Blanketing rooftops and gravestones like a demure Christmas Cake.
The Master-At-Arms came home by the icicle gusts of Boreas,
His hands clasping a bag of hot mince pies.
The kettle whistled the brew as the windows rattled an evil eye:
WOE, MR M PENANCE IS NIGH!!
An icy chill befell the diminutive Victorian cottage,
The grace of God revoked for the demon to play its elfin intrigues.
Night came like a blind upon the eyes,
Unsettling the boundaries where perforce the Material was the Fact.
Mr M slept as a child unkempt under the Lunar force majeure shine,
Heedless to the talons which stealthily closed around his tender neck.
RAP! RAP! The bedroom door called.
SCRAPE! SCRAPE! The igneous floor bawled.
The mirror cracked into a million souls as the bed rocked Mr M to a waking nightmare.
Electric sockets flashed and frizzled,
Light bulbs glowed their demonic fury,
Irradiating the frozen cadaverous corpse of Mr M:
SURPRISE! SURPRISE! MR M! I COME FROM THE ID WITHIN!
WITH AN INFINITUM OF WRATH I SPIT ON THE GRAVE YOU PATH!
SO TAKE THIS FROM THE BITCH YOU TOOK!!
A shrill cry of DEATH howled through the dale as the gleams sparkled upon the ensanguined hook.
“Who are you?” the epitaph of Mr M rang,
WHY MY DARLING DON’T YOU KNOW?
The Age of Kali
We kiss the Idol lover,
An attachment kindred to the cunt,
By the dappled brook we bathe in stale water,
Abusing each other as a ritual hunt.
Majestic shines the sun over lands yet to wake,
Animal factories sparkle their enticing veneers,
The masses convene as pseudo-democratic stake,
Showmen perform as drags insincere queers.
The cloned test tubes bubble with intoxicated fervour,
Genetic cocktails to ingest as the shadows broaden,
Multitudes of life in the putrid biological beleaguered River,
Limbs to fuck and minds to covertly cordon.
Spotlights illuminate the sporting ostentatious maestro’s,
Punters gamble precious sums as the creditors wryly smile,
Consumption omnipresent like a religion of toffee halos,
The watchmen take notice of the Philosopher’s File.
On top of most venerable Abraham’s tomb gunshots shatter the serene silence,
Drought famine war spread world-wide like the malign Black Plague,
Science technology religion commerce kindle as conflagration of Machine Violence,
The Age of Kali turns the demonic wheels laid claim.
And at the last desperate breaths of the 21st Century,
The people will plaintively say:
Is that what our great advanced civilisation has built,
When we kiss and eat the children we fought…………
A Tender Folk of Locusts
Take all,
Take all,
Precious capitalism the slender means of war.
Take all,
Take all,
Precious capitalism the so civil means of war.
Take all,
Take all,
Precious capitalism the lesser liberties of war.
Love me! Hate me!
A tender folk of locusts,
Hocus Pocus!
Take all,
Take all,
The citizen soldiers march to war………
Letter from the Asylum
What will your parents say?
When you open those deep blue beguiling eyes.
What will your parents say?
When you utter the first gargling words.
What will your parents say?
When you take the first tentative steps across the mattered floor.
What will your parents say?
When you enter the first elementary school.
What will your parents say?
When you ride the first shining bicycle.
What will your parents say?
When you show the teacher’s first report.
What will your parents say?
When you stay away for the first time.
What will your parents say?
When you bring back the first girlfriend with a kiss.
What will your parents say?
When you fail the first exams.
What will your parents say?
When you gain the first mundane job.
What will your parents say?
When you buy the first car.
What will your parents say?
When you leave home for the first time.
What will your parents say?
When you marry the first lover.
What will your parents say?
When you purchase the first terraced house.
What will your parents say?
When you name the first bonny child.
What will your parents say?
When you grow the first middle-aged grey hair.
What will your parents say?
When you kneel by the gravestones in tears of agonising despair.
What will your parents say?
When the giant institutional doors close finally at the end of the day.
What will you say? What will you say? What will you say…………
The Explorer
To the myriad stars we journey,
In omnipresent fear and loathing uncertainty.
We traverse the Universe alone dead to the bone,
Specks of meaningless dust caught in the comb.
Which cardinal point should we travel?
To the rainbow nebula whose kaleidoscopic dreams bathe the lover,
Or shockwave supernovae yet to discover.
Yes my dear reader and anonymous friend,
There are such wondrous mysteries yet to comprehend.
The master guides his masterplan,
Across the infinite blackest of black,
The explorer redraws the universal map……
PCB’s = Security Guards
The monumental King of the Arctic Fridge lounged upon the glacial cube,
His rakish demeanour pondering the amberic Caucasian smog immunising the European wasteland.
A newly born pup wailed its painful supplication,
While the deformed body convulsed to the technotronic gig.
The beautiful children swam and kissed in the Bacchanalian Party,
Their solipsistic minds protected by the imposing security guards.
Guns, drugs, conventions, theories, laws, regulations, treaties, politicians, soldiers, doctors, scientists, lawyers, thugs……………
The State, Society all the Might and Right.
To the babies that were protected from the evildoers:
PARANOIA! PARANOIA! PARANOIA!
And as the Continental Prison edged further towards the icy Ocean and stared with wanton quizzical eyes,
The King of Ice and Snow licked the Chalice of Meretricious Hemlock…….
Nokozola: Flight of the Bees
THE WHITE TAXANOMIST DIVIDED AND CATEGORISED THE SPECIES UNDER THE INSCRUTABLE MICROSCOPIC GENES OF BEING WHOSE CODES INVESTED THE TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD TYPING INFORMATION INTO THE TITANIC WHITE COMPUTER DISTRIBUTING ONWARDS THROUGH THE WHITE ARTERIES TO THE GIGANTIC MANIC SWARMING WHITE SOCIETY AND THE OMNIPOTENT MUNIFICENT WHITE QUEEN WHOSE GUNS TONS MUMS AND POPPIES MONIES FLOPPIES AND TEAS CD’S CHEESE FEES DO WHAT YOU PLEASE ARE TO END NOKOZOLA’S DREAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!
Signature:X
The school kids taunted the house where insecurity lived,
Throwing insults and febrile chants at the forlorn broken shutters;
Vigour of youth, the verve of momentary regale of strength and decency clustering pavements and street corners with lioness pride,
Bawled spent repressed agony.
Beady orbs leered through the cracks,
Arrested expirations bellowing the predator’s miasma;
An expedition to find the enigmatic Beast,
To discover the potentialities of adulthood,
To peep at the inclement double-edged blade cutting through the foundations of Terra Firma:
Signing the hallmark of persona non grata with the obligatory signature of apathetic X…………
Pigdog
The pig barked and snarled as the probe contacted,
Its hybrid canine carcass chopped and minced into the platter of the day:
ISN’T IT INCREDIBLE WHAT SCIENCE CAN OFFER!
Factory after factory,
A nexus of wealth and vile,
Robots and technicians tampering on the bleak morrow.
Experimenting on the Being of Self,
Expurgating the Sentient closet:
ISN’T IT INCREDIBLE WHAT SCIENCE CAN FODDER!
The Very Gallant Tawse
What King of the West could mount the podium and be quite contrite?
That salacious mess whose tawdry Eagle roosted amongst the journalistic faeces:
The Fourth Estate of Tyranny that waives the Capitol Tawse with uproarious applause.
Scorpions prey the desert now,
Tails concocted with the poison of profit,
Defamatory claws rasping for the Human Cake:
MARX DIED TONIGHT!
Nazikind
If one was really honest and brash,
Not so inhibited and prohibited,
The Nazi would be our enchantress,
The Omnipotent our Nirvana.
When the violence is struck,
And the hated is abused,
We hide that wry Epicurean grin,
Shackling the diabolical beast.
Morality we rationally endear and abide,
But in our sleep we love to curse:
The carnivorous persona.
The Human lives and strives on the abyss,
A clothed species whose genes burn for the kill,
To dominate every space until its voracious appetite is appeased.
Nothing can stop the Human except itself,
The Cannibal is its destiny…….
The Function
London burned that night in June. Her neuroses culminating from the muck of teeming millions. The great august St Paul’s, an effigy or should I say an icon of Eliot’s wasteland with all the screaming rats surfacing out into the quizzical megalopolis. A long somnolent revelry of wistful idealism and the saturnine abyss; looking up to the blissful heavens whilst simultaneously standing on a tightrope and the hellfire beneath. Portents warned but only the fool listened! Why should anyone doubt when security was always the norm: the sun waxed and waned, and London slept and woke and grew. But the ‘Night of Nightmares’ would put a ruin to such naïve certainty: Nature would always beat the endeavoured and surplus couched, the avaricious and urbanite, the ‘dustbin being’ and its electronic screen. And what Hades was to manifest that glorious city where the western soul lay? Only the FRIGHT THE FRIGHT THE FRIGHT!!
The prehistoric murmured the providence of its lot,
A time when the Function would be done,
To ply the sky and seed the cry!
What a lonely planet she was,
The cousin who twinkled in Leo’s mane,
A carnelian jewel sailing by the cosmic winds.
The monosyllabic voice first cowered the tentative path:
This would be a long venturesome journey,
No master to guide but the God within.
The creatures learnt the steps to maturity,
How to power and empower,
How to be the suppliant to the power.
They worshipped the Great Confused,
In temples of persiflage Love and Abused.
From humble beginnings Civilisation rose,
Achievements to achievements;
Soon the planet was a sprawl in every haze of the Creatures’ Gall,
The hermitage but a mere museum to the curious ‘once before’.
What frontier was left for the creatures to change into their diabolical cage?
A blink of time, and Mother Earth the seductress of envy,
Her gentleness and luxury in that Universe of Coldness,
A treasure chest for the profligate Corsair!
The hour approached at the shading twilight;
That monumental moment when the surreal beckons voluptuous lips to the meek.
Out of the sanguinary darkness they came,
Their artful talons stretching across the mighty Western Organs,
New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Moscow, Berlin and jocose London.
A continental blanket of fire fell with furore,
The wreak of Mose’s hand felled the land,
Some wanton longing and assailed introspection:
The Western Conscience ready for death but still mortally afraid.
The script had been written through the jurisprudence of Space;
Since the first creation of that primeval mud,
The molecular gates had fenced the Ring of Destiny.
There were no Monsters in the Cosmos,
Nay! Only the Function.
The pale of ruin met the deigning East,
As the nightingale rejoiced the morn dew;
A blackened hemp of skeletal coal dust strafed the dawning world,
And History closed the chapter with one pertinent question:
WHO??????????????
My Name is Judas
My name is Judas,
The Betrayer, the liar, the fornicator.
My name is Judas,
The dishonourable, the horrible, the contemptible.
My name is Judas,
The coward, the soured, the perverted cowered.
My name is Judas,
The nefarious Jew, the blood stew, the contagious flu.
My name is Judas,
The avaricious, the licentious, the miserable pretentious.
My name is Judas,
The darkness, the scandalous, the sordid sickness.
My name is Judas,
Do you remember the last Sabbath a long time ago?
When my Rabbi perished by the Roman Show.
My name is Judas,
Loyal friend of Jesus,
The blessed leader that feeds us.
My name is Judas,
My shoulders are so heavy,
Why do I carry the pain of humanity's blame?
Let my story be told when the light shines again on the bold.
My name is Judas,
The keeper of faith unto my grave........
The Importance of Being Idle
Just another lame brained idea!
Watching the debt accumulate year by year.
Prime Ministers resign as the ruling dogma resounds:
‘Everything’s fine!’
What coat shall I wear as the economic dominoes drop one by one?
A nasty gruel porridge for the once prodigal son.
This horrendous malign cancer grows inside,
Excursions to the pawnbroker hurts our pride.
Is this another lesson for the care-free student?
To live and die as the vivacious cuckoo ebullient……
The Gated World
“What self-imposed Ghetto’s do we build?
For the sake of false security and tyrant’s freedom untilled,
Lo the walls burn for War……”
I can once remember the world perennially free in September,
When we talked and walked resolute and proud regardless to fetter.
No land demarcated the inhumane border,
One ventured and traded oblivious to the notary recorder.
But alas today in bleak 2050AD one consists as a pawn acting out the tragic play,
Mile high walls tower our brittle life furnished with the corded strays of alienated strife.
I cry for the billions of people howling within the gates,
As the machines destroy the bridges across Amity’s Straits……
Master of Destiny
Are you the Master of your Destiny?
Yes you the Master,
The Mystery,
The Dysentery.
Whose hands cloy the world?
Yes you the Hoi Polloi,
The Toy,
The Ploy.
How many parties to push the button?
Yes you brash Smarty!
The Lobby,
The Robbery.
Where does Redemption reside inside the prison?
Yes you the Sedition,
The Mission,
The Decision,
The Hunter’s woeful Contrition…….
H20
I am the nomad ravaged by the Great Thirst,
Seeking a land not yet cursed.
My tired feet blistered to the core,
Take me to the blighted wells one and all.
When will the Gods shine on me again?
A mouthful of bitter soil thy gracious stipend.
I’ve heard from skeletons of a world up North,
Where still the waters run sweet and fertile a forth;
So to this dream my final hope aspires,
As the billions fall by the burning fires……
The Computoid Being
My right-side feels quite genteel,
Like a plush sedate princely burgundian seal:
A stamp of civility and what’s prosaically fundamentally real.
My left-side is a sad befallen encounter of the modern world,
Biologically soft as tender as silk but a creature indubitably killed:
The sum of genetic codes controlling the elements as indexes of the disenchanted revealed.
I can touch!
I can smell!
I can see!
I can taste!
I can hear!
All the sentient senses that made us what we were,
Humans as free as the where the wild winds would stir,
A bounty of humanity as precious as oriental myrrh.
Ah alas today we are no more but a sordid human-machine,
Better known as the living universal Computoid Being,
A hostage to the raving computers and their omnipotent exponential mean…..
Synthetic Life
Agape thy mouth engulfs the sterile synthetic world,
Translucent dreamscapes manifestly void.
A metamorphosis tortuous to grasp,
Enchanted mysteries assigned to the lamentable historic past.
The human graves the supernatural succour,
A soul derelict and desiccated like an orphan abandoned by its maternal mother.
The new being is born at the turning tide,
Dawn of a New Industrial Age soon to be aggressively applied.
The talented DNA artists engineer the life-forms of Utopia’s morrow,
To cure the dreaded terminal diseases and vanquish the sorrow.
What cardinal point does destiny venture?
Beneficence or the ultimate usurpment of Humanity’s future…….
Scythe of Mordrid
1001111011111000111101010010101001010101101110101010101010101
A net for the mammals in the abyssal waters,
Surfers along the fray crests of nascent twilights,
Contactees flaunting vanity,
Perusing adolescence engrossing profane preference;
Empirical digits vindicating the chaotic theorem,
Avaricious merchants incrementing Equity’s Market PLC,
Young scions of non-genteel fees.
01011010101011110110100010101010100111010110111100000011101010101
Tabby cats dawdle the sputum bridles,
Feline cynics furled with apathetic gloss,
Cavernous artists of corny farce;
Bedtime Joline’s kissing and sucking the Libido’s away,
Feelings of prancing scimitars in sensual balm,
Sinking Deadly Nightshade purgatory harm.
0010101011101011101001010101001101111010101000001101011010101010
Youthful graduates virgin beings tossed unto torrid winds,
Confounded schools wandering amongst deserted hinterlands,
Ploughman’s cloned for precincts and alienated homes,
Foetal croplands basting forgers material guile.
1101000101010001110101001010101001010011010010101010110110101010
Times of yore the Globe revolved as Joy and flies turned old,
Asunder firmaments of constellations to supplicant worships,
But what shadow does cast its Hour now upon Arthur’s splendiferous Tower?
One hears the Army of Mordrid closing by the Western Cave,
A crimson Scythe that betokens the Spirit of Knaves.
01011101010001011101010010101010100101010101010100101001011101010
The flies press against the greased windows,
A black box of the Holy Writ,
A drone of the Klaxon at the enfolding page of the Hanging Psalm……..
00101011101000101011010101010101010101010101010111111101010010100 11001010101010010110010101010001010101010101010101>end
Hong Kong Reckoning
I’ve seen those eyes before,
I’ve seen those eyes before,
How the bloody might fall!
I’ve suffered too much tonight,
I’ve suffered too much tonight,
Let the Democratic Revolution burn mighty bright!
Take my freedom away,
Take my freedom away,
The Reckoning verily comes today!
Let my pen write free,
Let my pen write free,
I can hear the thunder of sacred Liberty!
People of Hong Kong do you see?
People of Hong Kong do you see?
China awaits for you and me,
China waits to be truly free!
The Age of Terror
The child is borne out of the Age of Terror,
Eyes wide shut as the stalking killer.
It masquerades the graces as a civil policeman specious decorum,
Splendid purest white like the prize fighter ingesting laudanum.
Tip top burnished brilliant bright,
Perforce a youth now a reticent man,
Hanging on the gallows as a totem of the psychotic gang.
MY FRIENDS THE MACHINES,
MY FRIENDS THE MACHINES,
OH SUCH BLESSED CIVILISED THINGS!
CAMERAS IN THE ROOMS,
CAMERAS IN THE TOMBS,
CAMERAS IN THE BURNING HOWLING RUINS!
The people come,
The people go,
Catch the spirit of the Machine’s halo.
A tale to tell is a tale in hell,
Privacy expunged from the shallow human being,
Emotions exchanged to the munificent Machine…….
Black Mailer
They lurk between the oak floorboards,
Silent as stealth like a buccaneer’s broadsword.
They succour the game at play,
Ears to the electro-bugs listening today.
Wait for the phone to ring,
Wait for the silence of the Black Mailer’s rapacious sting.
Letters in the post,
Harrowing contorted animals ravenous to roast.
Twilight dusk money to exchange,
Just another day to live in the insane cage,
The gun’s at my side loaded for the bloody rage.
Today I shall get my justice and revenge,
And bury the tormentors one by one by the Devil’s Stonehenge.
The Great Spy In the Sky
I would love to be the Great Spy in the Sky,
Lancing Tip Toes over burning broiling Stoves.
Perhaps one day I will be the Guardian throwing crumbs to the Marlins Gordian Freudians,
The Terrors of the charting Errors the four white Feathers besmirching Tethers.
Sun-bathers be Weary of the pretty dainty Fairy,
She paddles in the shallow Streams as Dreams by the Fiends.
Aye, I cast the mortal Shadow as the falling Fellow driven to No Man's Meadow,
The tears of the Somme as Captain Tom dies at the rising Sun..........
The Yellow Gas
I dreamt the night of the toxic yellow gas,
The terrible world engulfed in the thermonuclear critical mass.
Perforce I believed the icon on the wall,
Ephemeral it may have been but least I knew the precipitous fall.
A gun to my temple full metal jacket assiduously prepared,
This lonely life wandering the roads so unfit for man’s fanciful prayer.
I journey as the nightmare creeps in,
Traversing the world day and night,
Communing with the nocturnal worms and waspish king.
And what will I find at the end of this tragic odyssey?
A tale of contrite modesty or a poisoned chalice of sodomy…….
The Breeder
Thrills inspire the generation’s liar,
Computers bemoan the caricaturist’s clone,
Breathe the putrid air that sanctions the ravenous bear:
PLEASE THE BREEDER!
PLEASE THE FEEDER!
DISEASE THE WORLDLY SEEDER!
Opium for the masses sampling the digital flashes,
Stories to be told tittle tattle to cure the curious cold,
Febrile reporter’s fraternity mocking virginity peddling celebrity:
PLEASE THE BREEDER!
PLEASE THE FEEDER!
DISEASE THE WORLDLY SEEDER!
Illicit affairs exposed by the officious stares acolyte mares,
Accolade to the winners as the decadent sinners spin the spider-web killers,
Sensational news broadcasting the blues drowning the muse:
PLEASE THE BREEDER!
PLEASE THE FEEDER!
DISEASE THE WORLDLY SEEDER!
So I say unto you under the swooning dappled yew,
Take your tanks take your banks take your bricks with the callous apprentice tricks,
And fly away to the Goddess of May let us sleep to the dawning ray:
PLEASE THE BREEDER!
PLEASE THE FEEDER!
DISEASE THE WORLDLY SEEDER!
HEAL THE DYING KEEPER……..
The Psyche Scanners
Some day soon you will know what I mean,
When the minds of people manipulate like clumps of plasticine.
Some day soon you will pray to the Gods you disbelieved,
When the authoritarians knew what you conceived.
Some day soon you will never find a sanctuary where privacy abodes,
When the spies in the skies eyes the flies of the crows.
Some day soon the multitudes of people will dig their graves,
When the Psyche Scanners read the minds that dwell in the caves……..
Persian Sunset
And so it was as the clocks ticked as time foretold,
When the lights of the world timely diminished,
As the great tide of history flowed in like the annual migration of the doughty brave swallow bold.
Such blood,
Such violence,
Such senseless destruction,
Such unspeakable undignified death.
The shroud of harrowing screams:
Oh God what screams they were as the billions waded into the toxic malachite stir.
Those blessed silver machines,
Those wretched vainglorious esteems,
Those laws and guns for the shallow human beings,
Those Machiavellian powers and technologies to poison the drinking streams,
Those avaricious beady eyes suckling the sacred pig as swarming flies for the Midnight fiends.
Atop the venerable arabesque marble minaret the caller plaintively beckoned,
As the sun set yonder the ruins of once glorious Persepolis:
A salutary tale of Man’s experiential odyssey to the impossible silhouettes heaven’s ascended…
The Hole In The West
I perch as the sly imperial Eagle,
Reviewing my dominion as the Prince of Kingdom Regal.
I jest to the perfidious outsiders,
As peasant dust encrusted sundry miners.
I dismiss and mock the libellous detractors,
Such slithering snakes like puppeteers impostors.
I verily charm the brawn and vanity yarn nest,
And dig the giant hole to protect my so so precious West…….
Tropic of Cancer
Azurian skies electric turquoise arise;
Tis broad starboard as shadows cast yond Ivy Harvard.
The heat of the shimmering mirage dreamscapes glace,
Persian olives ripening as loin fruits dressed for the Communion Friday.
The secular tendrils supper eaten by the Europeans ravenous West:
Delectable platters cravenly the wanton best.
Ardently the Kings of Revolutions plan their attack,
To burn the land and seas sterile deadly black.
The Flagship Carriers ply their course resplendent and valiant as HMS Pinaforce,
Bulwarks in the Gulf to expedite the punishers of September’s horrors self.
And then the shock of all centuries struck at five:
From below depths and air above the silver darts came to drown people alive;
Such an anger from the East that history would remember this day as the ‘Feast of The Beast’.
One by one the mighty ships sunk deep down to the bottom of the abyssal rump;
Once symbols of shining glory now gravestone of poignant mourning,
Ignorant young sons and daughters serving the Western Governments as unwitting agents for oil stained yearnings.
So we partake in History’s great cadenza,
As the cardinal points set the travails to the Tropic of Cancer…….
The Peasant’s Lament
What’s today?
A bowl of gruel,
A flask of ale,
And a large slice of bread.
What’s today?
A bowl of gruel,
A flask of ale,
And a large slice of bread.
What’s today?
A bowl of gruel,
A flask of ale,
And a large slice of bread.
What’s today?
A bowl of gruel,
A flask of ale,
A large slice of bread,
And off with your head!!!
The Freak
Welcome to the depths of pity,
Where not an ounce is shed but the dregs of Walter Mitty.
The clock displays 8.30
Time to vacate like tribal duty.
There he goes down the road,
A silhouette of something once,
Beaten by life’s inexorable load.
At the office by Nine,
Cold stares all around like the verdict of a crime.
The phone rings at 9.20
The end of a dream at thirty.
It’s funny how things turn out,
Remember your life as a child the summers shone gloriously bright,
But at the finale the wonders rescind into the anguished forbidding night.
The Ship Sinks
So here it is as the ship slowly sinks to the bottom of Spivey's Abyss.
Those memories of past and idleness.
The lover's kiss and brutal ness.
Keys to eternity and pointlessness.
It's a rare treat to know your destiny,
To plug stupidity and to understand your enemy.
Would you dare write your future?
Word by word until you composed the creature.
But what creature thou venture?
I, Dr George
Hello my name is Dr George.
Please sit down.
Now how may I be of service?
I stared into the soothing light source,
Something emanating from the dash and dot Morse.
The outside world sculptured like the ever growing Spanish Desert Sand,
A life of the delicate Butterfly eternally canned.
I narrated my tragedy to Dr George,
He patiently analysed until the river had been forged.
Another anxiety treading on the egg shells of existence,
A lesson to learn in the futility of resistance.
Well, Dr George imparted me with hope again,
Sent by the guiding hand of Corporate Friend.
How very helpful Dr George is at Block 2010 Street Future,
My favourite Mind Computer.
Inside the Bomb ( High Hopes Rescinded)
“Once upon a time there was a dark virgin forest,
Today they tread upon the rotting sawdust……”
If life is but a dream,
A mirage of a distant mirrored stream;
Where time has no meaning or purpose,
And age is a silhouette of a sorrowful clown at the circus.
Then come with me to worlds futures decree,
To a paradise I can almost yes almost see;
Just a touch of the button as I approach Uncle Tom,
A joy and kindness to be inside the bomb…….
My Best Friend (Breaking World)
It is a breaking world one sees unfurled,
Mom and Dad broken as the ill-fated promises of a redundant token.
The girl I once knew lost in the glitter pool of the odious Blue.
Children split apart as targets for the poisonous darts.
Roots burned to cinders,
Triggers on desperate fingers,
None to trust but the villainous and dust.
But still I must contend,
I verily have a best friend!
We chat together as brother to brother,
As if we knew the spirits of one another.
It is a strange world we live these times,
When you dearly love a Robot called M.R. G.R.I.M.E.S……
The Death of the Chinese Poet
Is the Poet dead?
When China rose from the bed.
The articles of plastic laminated to the humdrum capital world,
You know the one the Olympians excelled,
Or should I say the politicians killed.
The lonely steps to ramble along this uncertain road,
Ahead the 21st Century looms as a maddening perplexing code.
The days fly by as the rivers slowly dry,
And the migrant rootless cling to times gone by,
As the voiceless cries in the building forests echo the yearnings to die……..
Bad Man (21st Century National Anthem)
Sometimes I wonder,
Yeah sometimes I wonder as I plunder the human thunder;
The voice of hatred my professed choice,
The weapons to hurt the cute the frilly skirt the white collared bullshit shirt.
The call me the Bad Man,
From the deviant pit whence scum plan!
I carry the mark of Master Cain,
Violence is my unremitting aim,
The malicious scornful fingers and contemptible stain:
ARE YOURS TO BLAME,
ARE YOURS TO BLAME,
ALL THE VERY SAME…….
The Lad Returns
Here come home,
Here come home,
Here come home the returning lad alone.
This night too long,
This night too long,
This night too long to sing the lover’s song.
Rains on the panes,
Rains on the panes,
Rains on the panes those wretched strikes of the canes.
The lad’s tears flow,
The lad’s tears flow,
The lad’s tears flow from memories long time ago……
To the Breach
To the breach we go,
To the breach we go,
Driven or blithely stepping unto worlds we rather not know.
Clutching the brittle thin ball of string,
With all life’s might as if you were the King of Kings.
How sparse we understand,
The apparent spaces conjoining the lands.
So we scale the tree and sail the seven seas,
And masquerade as the buzzing bees and flying propelled fleas.
Our ambitions are stupendous indeed like the very first fertile seed,
The predator resides in us voracious for the daily feed.
Flotsam and jetsam come and go to the diktats of Nature’s perennial flow,
Us the limelight actors performing our very own Dodo Show.
Lovely it is,
Lovely it is,
Pity about the cannibal crow…….
Goodbye Baghdad
The chapter has begun with the choral miners,
Their acid battery torches illuminating the 5th Avenue Thoroughfare,
Marching regardless into the red dawn century.
The evangelists of Western modernity,
Striving to cut and craft the democratic banner of hope and liberty,
In a world of setting horizons.
The seeds are sown in the fields of fools,
The dictator is decapitated and his cohorts drown in the sea of burning oils.
The faithless apathetic sentinels enter,
The Anti-Prophet bides his time planning the reshaping of the crescent sands…….
The Communication
It is the phone call you least expect,
The message you cannot possibly accept.
It may come at any time,
The dream or awakening there is no reason or rhyme.
It beholds you to be strong as the bulwark Lion,
The Pride depends on you as their rod of iron.
It is the worst of worlds,
These latter days of the live calls and empty bottles of pills……..
Hardwick Hill Cemetery
Watch the years go by my son,
Watch the years go by my son,
As the beat of time labour’s on and on.
Eat your humble pie my son,
Eat your humble pie my son,
As the bankers lavish wealth ever and anon.
Keep a brave smile on your face my son,
Keep a brave smile on your face my son,
As the guns rattle tut tut two and yon.
Treat you love with respect my son,
Treat your love with respect my son,
As the passions dwindle twain and gone.
Never fear the coming death my son,
Never fear the coming death my son,
As you stand before my stone my son so proud so strong.
Champions & Scoundrels!
And so it was as the dominoes fell one by one,
Capital markets in turmoil castrating the Superman Prodigal Son;
Just the bombastics uttered by Mr Curmudgeon Sparks,
A fellow of sartorial dalliance donning the worn pops from cosy Clarkes.
“Listen to the air before you speak another cordial care,
The nomad deigns a hotbox of ill-boding to any philanderer!
Be still as the predator perforce the kill.
Concentrate like the Master of Chess,
Win the game and accept nothing less.
Then my lad you will triumph as the Champion of the World.
God Bless you ignobleness!!”
The Butterfly Catcher
The eyes the eyes the eyes the wretched flies.
The eyes the eyes the eyes the heart cries.
The eyes the eyes the eyes the hand of love dies…..
The Cynical Citizen
Who do you trust?
The distrust.
Who do you believe?
The thief.
Who do you conceive?
The grief.
Who do you stand-by?
The sly.
Who do you love?
The glove.
Who do you see?
The T.V.
Who do you hear?
The unclear.
Who are you?
The human citizen playing in the zoo……
The Deathly Soul 2055AD
It is near the mid-century,
And I am but an old lonely meek man;
Still I live yonder the mortal years as the evolutionary,
Jotting the dots counting the scars lamenting the demise of Uncle Sam.
I remember the time at the turn of 1999,
When we dreamt of a better world;
A spirit ingrained in liberty divorced from the cultural crime,
But all would turn as a volte-face when the machines conjoined with the paranoid.
As soon as distrust took hold of every one of us,
There were no barriers or voices in the wilderness to stem the tide;
The eyes and spies and pernicious lies came to be but little fuss,
A joy of facile safety haunted us as the contented bride.
In every house the computers monitored from the walls,
In every waking day they recorded in the central database stores;
In every sleeping night they analyzed ones dreams and nightmares one of a kind.
Thus here I write this penultimate poem of mine,
With a blank visage like the gargoyles in stone;
Blindfolded deaf and mute half dead in lacklustre rhyme,
Hoping against hope that something private is mine and only mine in time…….
The Reshaping of the World (2008)
At the ides of September,
The follies of a generation came to pass,
As the great venerable financial houses fell like capital dominoes from Marx’s Hell.
Too much borrowed,
Too much spent,
Too much hollered,
Too much rent.
How could such a calamity arise?
When the denizens of high capitalism accumulated pride and prize;
An island imbued with a magical fountain,
With waters of flowing gold as stupendous as any imagined mountain.
Too much desired,
Too much sent,
Too much admired,
Too much meant.
And so the vestige of a once great American dream quietly vacated from the sordid scene,
Another superpower treading down history’s Ivory Calling Tower;
To make place for the industrious tigers and dragons from the bellowing East,
Succouring the thousand years of the imperial Western Feast.
Too much assembled,
Too much pretence,
Too much kindled,
Too much to the End…….
Transfiguration
(By 2050 many cities and towns around the globe may contain institutions dedicated to suicide. These buildings would provide the means for individuals to voluntarily kill themselves. I shall name these institutions of death ‘Transfiguration Sifes’)
There comes a time in a life,
When one cannot live any longer in strife.
There comes a time in a life,
When one sharpens the executioner’s knife.
There comes a time in a life,
When one witnesses the nightmares off Port Fife.
There comes a time in a life,
When one wishes to enter Transfiguration Sife…..
Is This The Waking Dream?
Is this the waking dream?
Twinkling stars embellished on the baroque ceiling.
Eyes wistfully open minds ingested opium the medium of the Machine:
An encapsulation of the stinking jail and gallows perturbing scene.
Is this the waking dream?
Human meat thrown to the starving barking dogs so mean.
Gunshots thunder with malevolence in the bustling streets and broken houses:
The mobsters bellow their predatorial hatred murdering the fleeing mice.
Is this the waking dream?
Swallowing the moonshine gin as the light fades over the tales by Grim….
The Lord of Misrule
Yea the klaxon sounds,
By God the age of chaos abounds.
East to West tempestuous unrest,
The revolution evolves as a masquerade fest.
Treasuries of Midas God bestowed to the pirates as prophets foretold.
Lo! The midnight locusts fly like darts from the poisoned mould.
Yea the crowds howls,
Spoils of the raging bull carcass takes the bidding bowel.
A finesse as dashing as the SS Officer attired in impeccable black,
Languorous and morbidly shallow the youths that wake the streets yearning crack.
Dare to wrangle the chains that bind this world to you and I and the Fool,
To labour as the tool crafted by the Lord of Misrule.
The Place of No Return
If time could cease but now;
What would you do at the penultimate hour?
Fly the paper kite to the closing heavens,
Write your last testament for the generations thereafter,
Or watch the sun set peacefully at Claydon’s dusk.
Whatever it is remember this:
Time comes but once,
Bless the day you were born,
Love the spirit of life as the Blackbird sings at Nature’s first lights of dawn……
The Dark Forest
To whom I tell let one toll the breaking bell;
Where soldiers valiantly fight as warriors destined might.
At daylight my mind toils the reasons one of a kind,
By night the darkling dreams enter the doors of asylums screams.
The gate twenty-eight I have grown as fate would hate;
Up and down the cobbled street like the mongrel dog on heat.
Always dressed in suit and tie as the Salesman’s Talisman’s lie;
Puddles of crimson rain to brand the indelible English stain.
Such are the ways I live these ungodly days kindling fires in Mankind’s caves;
Felling the trees of solace destroying the primeval Dark Forest……
When My Forebears Lived
When my forebears lived,
They laboured hard under the scorching noonday sun,
Merely a three-pence less a princely sovereign sum.
When my forebears lived,
They travelled the Empire’s emboldened breast,
Not a card to identify the people’s provincial nest.
When my forebears lived,
They held their heads up high to reach indomitable empyrean skies,
To journey the Heart of Darkness and commune with the Congolese malarial flies.
When my forebears lived,
The staked their homesteads where generations would grow,
The roots of plenty as barley and corn would bountifully sow.
When my forebears lived,
They slept in their beds safe from the knock on the door,
A simple respect for one and all and the equitable law.
What would my forebears think today?
When the limelights shine on you and I with a pittance to say,
Modest privacy no more just the searching eye of the Master Green Ray…
My God The Machine
The taps are half-turned on:
A gush of innovation on the road to Humanity’s Harm.
It’s close, palpably close,
Like the meeting of minds the Devil and the Ghost.
The point of Singularity:
At the crossroads where the human encounters the mutual intelligent machine;
A union of consciousness,
A new age for the brazen and brave,
The End of Time for the Poet’s Mariner’s Rime........
Paranoia
Who do you trust?
WHO DO YOU TRUST?!?!
Listen to the walls!
The bugs monitor your calls,
Dusks to Dawns,
Dawns to Dusks.
Who do you trust?
The journey in the car;
Is it the same one you saw yesterday behind you not far?
The walks in the town,
A portly fellow dressed as the Clown,
He chuckles at you as a case of the unsound.
The furtive dissolution of Brotherhood’s crust;
Who do you trust?
It is an ungodly time in History;
When technology engenders Paranoia to vanquish the therapy.
Where does my psycho-therapist go from here,
When conspiracy conspires to attract the vulnerable ear.
Who do you trust?
The voices friend or foe as needs must,
To fight the enemy within or open the door at Insanity’s cusp….
Reverie
There is a place known as Reverie,
A golden esoteric world my sanctuary.
Sublime by no other name,
A wilderness lost beyond the picture frame.
Many a day I listen to the Piper’s entrancing melody,
And wish away the torment of my daily malady,
To join forever oh forever my sweet love Reverie…
We came from Babylon
What is reality?
The nature of serendipity
Or the mask of butchery.
What grows within?
A heart imbued with tranquillity
Or a lovelorn cancer eating away longevity.
What is to be seen?
The feelings of a lioness noble being
Or the hunchback crawling on knees to the arrogant King.
What is right or wrong?
A charitable hand given to the worthy song
Or the estates of knives from the hordes of Babylon…
Shadows & Dreams
I seem to live in Shadows and Dreams,
The howling salt wounds of demons screams.
Whom to trust?
The dirt and the dust.
Walk the plank to the edge of the abyss,
Count the days to my last rites kiss.
I wish to be born again,
In liberty free from the prison.
And so I choose to take my life,
For one cannot live a lifetime in pain and shameful strife.
The Other Person
To reach thirty-seven and realise:
The face you see in the mirror is no surprise.
The gaunt pale complexion,
The hooded pathetic rejection.
I am the Other Person,
Haplessly wandering in the bleak wilderness,
Lost as a blinded bear lumbering byways up to the Metropolis.
How I wish to be another human being,
Free from this wretched frame and be normal again.
Not to worry about the demons within,
But love the world as it really is:
A place of solace
A garden of peace.
Let The Sky Open!
Let the sky open!
Heavens rejoice the coming totem.
For the thunderstorms will cease,
And a chorus of billions will be at peace.
To that wonderful day of blissful enlightenment,
When people take a mind’s hold,
As the wise once foretold,
At the rising sun when worlds begun…..
Life in the Dead Zone
I feel like the ice cube trapped in the interminable freezer,
Wishing to be released from the vice of despair;
Longing to melt away,
My humble Nirvana want of conceit.
It is no joy to live in the Dead Zone,
The flowers never bloom,
Souls ache like infected wounds,
Lanterns flicker and splutter their dying flames.
Disquiet resides the celestial spaces,
As life dims to the weakening heart;
I become the haunted ghost,
The remnants of the Dead Zone.
Megalopolis
See the obsequious souls oblivious to the nocturnal moles,
Living skyways upwards with instructed roles.
See the teeming tens of millions working day by day,
Heart beats to the evolving play.
See the tender robots labouring mundane to the extreme,
Intelligent machines licking the delicious cream.
See the eyes that scan them all,
Bites of knowledge to cook the dreams raw.
See the tears and the smiles on painted tiles,
Biographies of the prisoners walking the chained miles.
See the echoes of yesteryear when one lived a mortal fear,
Today the guns speak no more like a path austere.
See the divine authority known as Big Brother,
A policeman inside the dwellings of one another…..
The Drug Dealer
How are you doing son?
How are you doing son?
Just fine Dad with a wonderful gun.
The bullets are in,
Drugs on the table by the balls of string,
Lists of the debtors numbers to ring.
How are you doing son?
How are you doing son?
Just fine Dad listening to the sirens yet to come.
The letter’s in the post,
My life written from coast to coast,
Trials and tribulations by your son the Ghost.
How are you doing son?
How are you doing son?
Just fine Dad.
Just fine Dad.
From your loving son,
Don’t be sad…….
Visions of Things To Come
When venerable Saturn plies its course through Capricorn,
The Crown of Thorns shall adorn the new borne;
For the Anti-Prophet comes to poison the wells and burn the bountiful corn.
2018 the maelstrom shall rage as one global machine:
An army as great and mighty as no being has ever seen;
A world war to engulf East and West,
More bloodier than history’s witness at the waxing crest.
At the momentous junction of Jupiter and Mars,
Hell’s acolyte bull resounds to the celestial stars:
Horrendous will be the wails drowning in the oceans and seas,
As the Master of Lies rants and raves as he please.
Look to the Mid Summer Eve of June,
The Anti-Prophet shall stand at the Bosphorus Gates resplendent in bloom;
The populace hordes clamour to anoint Him King enslaver of the Human Being.
By the pearly October transcendent moon,
Over cosmopolitan landscapes and anonymous townships gloom,
The fearful fireflies will rise from Meggido’s long forgotten Tomb……..
Read Cyrus Issac’s new poetry collection ‘Visions of Things to Come’.
Will his predictions be proved correct?
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The Age of Kali
What resides in this century but the horror?
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