Ballad - Morrovore and the Boy

Our tale starts where Time resides,
Stooped over mirrored glass.
Her fingers play with lives of men
Whose fickle lives don't last.

This day she turns a child's life,
So innocent and clear,
To one of sadness and of death,
To deep and lonely fear.

His parents killed before his eyes
By maddened, evil men,
His village torched and turned to ash,
Destroyed by each of them.

He's nothing but a simple boy,
His life now bent to this,
The vengeance for his father's blood,
And mother's final kiss.

So many years would pass before
He'd have his righteous way.
Became a soldier, so he did,
To pass the mourning days.

He killed and burned in others names,
For glory and for war,
But one day found for which he longed,
His name was Morrovore.

He quit the army, journeyed out,
To find his corrupt prey,
And found himself inside a cave,
All dank and grim and grey.

A sword and lamp he carried now,
All armoured in black chrome,
And silence all that could be heard,
Inside this bastard's home.

Deeper down he followed nothing,
Just reaching in the dark,
An open chamber lay ahead,
Which surely held his mark.

'Twas then deep laughter echoed out,
The boy's soft heart did fall,
His lamp may help him find nothing,
It's light a betrayal.

For Morrovore knew where he stood,
His thick claws reached straight out,
Before the boy stood corruption,
Without a speck of doubt.

The beast before him sold his soul,
Now clad in wings of black,
The titan simply killed the boy
His neck snapped with a crack.

Feet

Your feet press upwards from underground,

Trying to break through in to our delicious world.

We may say no, but we've done no deed to deny you

Access to the gift we've given willingly unto you.

Sweet darkness, the Earth turns red and hot, you change the smell

From milk to the sulphurous ash that rains and reigns in hell.

We hide from your searching, destructive lamp by night,

Knowing only blessed oblivion will be found in it's ungodly light.

Old Lady in the Doorway

I can see you there,
dressed in your pink cardigan,
But no one else can.

You stare emptily,
As if I can do something,
As if I can help.

I stare in return.
Our eyes are a parallel;
Deep polluted blue,

Yours by creeping age,
Mine by years of invasion
By spectres like you.

Rescue

Rescue
Iris,
Cue the day
That I risk
You.

You're
askew and
the IRS
queue up
to

Have words
With you. Our
S.Q.U.
A.R.E is
New.

One Stop Poetry - Where Poets, Writers and Artists Meet: One Stop Spotlight - Adam White

One Stop Poetry - Where Poets, Writers and Artists Meet: One Stop Spotlight - Adam White: "I think most of you have already met poet Adam White somewhere along the One Stop trail, where he shares his excellent poetry every week. A..."

Haiku - Respectful Opinion

Your prattling critique?
I request that you bite me.
Perhaps then we'll talk.

High Life

I don't understand high life.

I am far too low.

That world is too unappealing,

Too strange for me to know.

I don't understand wine bars.

I don't get those guys.

I see no cause for celebration

By people living lies.

Nosebleed

The steady running through my creases melts my skin
Making deeper runnels, deeper wounds to hide in.
The acid rain. Rinse. Repeat.
Slap slapping against the red earth to sting my toes,
Gathering in bloody puddles ready to flow.
Slamming out it's own beat.
You fall. You fall all over me in dripping droves,
I remember how it poured freely from my nose,
Wet and thick. Clotting now,
And coming out in thick strings of tickling, soft slime,
Disgusting and fascinating at the same time.
All that's inside comes out
And coagulates thereabout
Marking fresh in gore-slick detail
The fact you're always mine.

Mommy

If you're interested, here is the poem I mentioned in my last poem, edited for the sake of my shame at being a much worse poet when I wrote it. Still all true though.

Small pink blossoms drifting.
This quiet dream's gift to me
Is in my living a perfect childhood,
With my mother smiling lovingly.
Me, banging my head against the wall,
Like I could shake the mirage loose to fall.
It dawns that this is reality now
And I have so much to be grateful for.

You, always. You holding. Caring
At such a great personal cost,
You stand sentinel as maternal backbone,
Stoic, strong and willingly ours
From the moment first breath passed tiny lips
Each sacrifice was most gratefully received
So that now, if you ever need my love, my help,
I would deliver it summarily.

Farewell

I rise,
I dress,
Teeth brushed,
I unmake the mess
That sleep makes me
And consciousness returns.

I walk to the kitchen sink.
Water fills my cup. Overflows.
I do not remember picking it up.
I drink, drowning open mouthed dryness,
Washing away the stink of the night,
Extra cold as my mouth still tastes of mint.
I turn and walk back towards my room.

I pause.
Sudden.
Sudden as that.
I left the light on and the door open.
Yellow spills on to the facing wall,
Illuminating an old poem
I wrote one mothers day.

Then I ramble around the house.
I touch every surface with my fingers,
With my memory, with my mind,
So I can remember what it was like,
To be here, to be cradled in the family home,
Protected, unkept from my loneliest whims,
Surrounded by those as sweet as they are kind.

It's dark.
It's cold,
British mornings,
I won't miss you.
Streetlights distort my view.
I roll my case off the doorstep quickly.
Farewell life I knew.

Four Souls - Firefly

You rose from the ashes of my dead heart,
 All charisma and vile, bright, smiling eyes
Ready and willing to flash, to impart
 Every secret darkness I strove to hide.
Yet there was a deeper truth to your birth,
 A better reason to explain why I,
So stoic and still and rooted in earth,
 Chose to reject reason and let you fly.
I was a burning candle, burned too low,
 Unable to perpetuate the lie,
  I'd made of my downward spiraling life.
The only option I had left to go,
 To leave a caretaker inside my mind
  More capable of conquering my strife.

2 Cinquains - Shadows

We meet.

Our shadows cast

A perfect silhouette.

A cold reflection on the wall.

We kiss.

Your lips,

Dark, cherry red,

Press lightly against mine.

We melt into a single shape

And fade.

Each to their own - A Haiku

That's the perfect theme
For the horrible eighties.
Huh. Each to their own.

55 Flash Fiction Friday - Bomb

"It will take four seconds for the bomb to explode. Then you'll be a hero. Then you'll be blessed."
I walk down the high street and stand outside Poundland. My finger hovers over the button. I take a deep breath and push it.
A little blonde girl in red looks me in the eye.
"I'm..."

Better Off Without You

I'm leaving you.
There, I've said it and feel better for it, yet
It's not as simple as that is it?
How to let go
Of years of the anguish that comes with loving
All the attention that you and I get?
We are perfect,
The perfect couple, paired by mutual pain,
You with your tormenting voice and me
With my anger,
My frustration bubbling over 'til I break,
And blast the wall or the floor instead,

But never you,
Despite your teasing ways and cruel compulsions.
That says something for me, doesn't it?
That I am strong?
I am a good man? Is that worth anything?
Does that mean a thing to you at all?
Maybe it says
That I am a sentimental fool for you,
Giving my heart, ready for the knife,
Long and glinting,
So, daily, you can plunge to it's soft tissues,
And smile as it's beat slowly decays.

Never again.
What is your voice if I choose not to listen,
Or your lips if I ignore their kiss,
Cold on my soul,
Heartbreaking with every remembered moment,
I spent wasted, locked in your embrace.
Such sweet freedom,
I have never tasted since my childhood dreams,
Before you came in to my circle,
Stole my virtue,
With your dirty hands and threats to tell on me
If I told anyone what you did.

What you did to
An eight year old boy who didn't know better
Or what it is you were remoulding,
Twisting in to
The shape of yourself like freshly dug up clay,
Reddish and staining all it would touch,
Like it was blood
Spilled into wet and grainy early morning dirt,
Then mixed and collected in a bag,
Dried out, then left,
Useless on my parents old, concrete doorstep,
To be gathered up, collected and kept.

I'm leaving you
Behind, in your grave where you, deceased, belong,
Rotting in the early, karmic death
That you deserved
For all the suffering that your existence,
Your coming in to being has left.
I'm better off,
Living my life happy and without your voice,
Talking in my ear about those days.
Reminding me,
Of the childhood you thoughtlessly took away,
Leaving me emotionless, bereft.

Tanka

I fumble my words.
After so many long years,
My stutter's returned.
Heart climbing in to my throat,
Thoughts trapped in a single note.

TSSDL HDSNY MNEDNY TDTDTS

Lyrically, I'm brilliant,
Yanking and pulling at perfect sentences,
Instinctively finding the best words
No other person has said and
Gifting them to you all.

Incidentally, I fill my poems with
Hidden messages to the world;
Adolescent word games
That you can chew on
Endlessly.

Maddeningly, nobody notices them,
Yet I keep adding them in
Secretly wishing someone, anyone,
Everyone would pay attention and
Listen to me, even
Fleetingly.

Bleh. I'll be okay most likely, just
Rambling through my life, struggling to succeed
Only to fall one small step short,
Kicking myself for my anxiety and
Erring on the poor side of judgment,
Nixing myself with my own hopeless needs.

Haiku

I fumble my words.
After so many long years,
My stutter's returned.

Mad Butcher (Revised)

With tiny hands you wield your errant blade
Like an expert butcher cleaving chunks from my life,
Cutting balloon strings in the world I've made,
Replacing hope and fortune with a cold and easy strife.
You crow. I call you liar and I call you whore.
You're absurd and I wish I could comprehend this
Madness and lunacy that you work for.
What agent of chaos would birth this venomous
Insect. What ridiculous twist of unlikely chance,
Brought this event, moment, morose to my own door,
On the eve of my great and grand deliverance
From all the agony I felt before?

Can't you see it shows? The lie shows in you
Because you don't know how this pain sits in a heart.
How it purrs and bleeds, rots, festers and brews.
How it screams out and leaves such an blatant scar,
Such a wound that the whole world can see,
And acknowledge it, but keep living on,
Accepting the false smile for all that it is,
Just a cover. A nice, comfy, warm cocoon.
An obvious white lie to trick the kids,
But never black, never me, never this,
Never would I or could or ever will,
'Cause I'm so much better than the man who made this hurt,
And even more so than you who would raise it still.

Posted on One Stop Poetry for One Shot Wednesday

Walking in Oblivion

"Stick to the roads" she'd said.

"Bad things walk out there."

The roads have long since faded.

The only thing left to me

Are misty paths

Cutting through a crimson sea

Where black shapes shift uncomfortably.

Any one of those shapes,

Or every one I guess,

Could be him.

Twice he has stepped in front of me,

With a charming, toothy smile

And a promise

"Only once more" he had said.

"Just once more will I offer this."

How I long for it.

Weeks it has been since then.

Weeks or years.

Barefoot I've walked and I've ran,

In the dress I chose

So carefully,

So secretly just for him,

So he could not resist me.

A swirl becomes mass,

Pitch black and hissing.

My devil.

The mist retreats at his feet,

Letting the red creep in.

He wears a hood.

No glad crack in his face now.

Just a grimace caked in mud.

Tears sting my eyes.

He is beautiful.

He holds my hand.

That first step is agony,

The red swirl wraps around me,

Around my heart

And every inch of me bleeds.

-

The skin is stripped from me,

My dress remains intact

As he likes it.

He holds me tight and feeds.

-

Comfort. The pain forgotten.

Nobody else could love me

The way he will.

With such exquisite anguish

I'm never unfulfilled.

Her words echo endlessly.

"Stick to the roads" she'd said.

"Bad things walk out there."

Bad things like me.

More Senryu from the Alien Hive

Hiding in a crate,
I hear them scuttling outside.
I'm going to die.

The bang-thud of fire?

I am saved! Thank the heavens!

Thank my lucky stars!

But then a wild scream.

This is different though. More cruel.

Then cries of panic.

Something's happening.

The guns fall silent too soon.

I'm alone again.

I raise the box-lid

They are eating my dead friends,

All blood slick and still.

I almost missed it...

In the corner something moves,

Enormous and black.

It's face is a mass

Of tentacles reaching out,

The others retreat.

I think it's their king.

God, we never stood a chance.

I know what to do.

I draw my pistol,

Take careful aim at it's eye

And squeeze the trigger...

My shot rings out loud,

But meets only the steel wall.

My God, it is fast.

It's upon me now,

Digging for my beating heart,

Rending me apart.

I smile despite this,

Spit in it's face and lay back

Ready for the end.

Shame

I can understand the reaction. I can.
All the flailing about.
All your yelling in righteous rage.
But I understand you.
I know you feel ashamed.

We all feel that anger when confronted with
The worst flaws in ourselves,
And it fuels a kind of selfish hate
To defend our bad habits,
Or that "bit" of extra weight.

Really, the ridicule is in your best interest,
And certainly better
Than being told what you do is ok,
Because then you carry on,
Obliviously.

For example.

You are fat.
The bad fat.
The big fat.
The killing fat,
That leaves your loved ones sad
As cholesterol claims you,
Your clogged veins silent,
Dripping, dead.
You're angry at me
When all I said
Was play some tennis,
Eat less lard,
And buy your clothes small
To motivate you.

Priorities?

I can understand the reaction. I can.
You are only human,
Yelling at your secret thoughts,
As they stand unbowed
All tight and real and taut.
I should shut up.
I should.
I ought.
For naught.

The Suit - A Poem

If you read the Flash 55 I wrote earlier tonight, you may have seen I mentioned a poem it was based on. This is that poem.

He adjusts and looks,
And adjusts again,
But the tie around his neck,
Pulled tight, remains still crooked.
All done up to eleven and the nines,
His fresh pressed black suit a perfect fit
below a face etched with frustration
And the whole inconvenience of it.

The stair behind him creaks
Like it always does,
No matter how tender her step,
He can't help but smile at the sweetness
And the fact she still has time for his games.
He reigns it in and turns to see her face
And there she stands, awkward little thing,
Precious, with not a hair out of it's place.

"You are beautiful."
And his words are honest,
For she stands in flowing black,
Which seems to only rest upon her skin,
As water does upon a rose in faintest wind
Teetering at the furthest edge of shame
Before dripping tragically away from it,
From her soft and slender frame.

She thanks him with no smile.
Her eyes show no heart for it
And she says she wants to go.

He nods and goes to her,
Still standing on that step,
Which makes her slightly taller
By a little inch over his head,
And puts his arms around her waist.
His mouth to her chin, he does kiss
"I love you so much" as quiet as anything
And she cries, pushing gently at him.

Her hands rest on his chest,
She straightens his tie and the step creaks.
The day, the moment breaks like glass
And a smile spills across her lips,
A choked "ditto" emerging from within,
Breaking through her quiet suffering
With a laugh, and a whimper,
And a stream of tears running down.

She breathes them back in,
And like that, her "strength" returns.
He takes her hand, tiny in his,
To lead her out in to the world,
The cruel world, to sit in a black car
And be carried on slow to a musty church
To say goodbye to her Father one final time
Before he's returned to earth so far from hurt.

55 Flash Fiction Friday - The Suit

View the poem that inspired this Flash 55 HERE

The bottom stair creaked under her foot despite her best efforts and Mark, her husband, turned.
"You look..."
"Thank you" she said, avoiding his eyes. "We should..."
Mark nodded and gave her a hug. She straightened his crooked tie.
"I love you so much."
A choked "ditto" escaped Jen's lips. "Let's go bury my dad."

Check back later for the poem version of this story.

I'm currently reading Plato's The Republic. Brilliant piece of writing if you're interested in Sociology, ethics, politics and philosophy. If you haven't already, give it a look!

The Never Ending Drums - a Roundel-ish

The never ending drums play loud inside my mind.
Their throbbing beat has made my failing senses numb
My thought so permeated I can never push aside
The never ending drums.

How they infect. How they make up the whole sum
Of all the long declining parts that hang inside
My body, useless since the day the pulse had come.

My skin is limp, it's age shown in newly forming lines
Carved out by a slow and steady thump thump thump thump,
Yes, carved out and, just like me, utterly defined by
The never ending drums.

Words for my loved ones

"When words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain."    William Shakespeare

      Words are something I've been thinking about an awful lot (shocking, I know!) This is because I am trying to find the right ones. I did a little bit of a scribble of the words I want to say on the way home from a night out with my friends tonight. They obviously came out as an enormous mess which, as anyone who knows me well enough, is completely unsurprising. You see, I have a problem with expressing myself...

     (Ego alert) Surely not, I hear you say. Look at all the amazing and brilliant poetry floating around on this here blog. Surely your words spill from your lips as liquid gold to the minds and ears of everyone in a 50 foot radius. Surely they quiver and fall to their knees at such wondrous oratory. (Ego alert suspended) Well, they don't. I am a bumbling fool of a public speaker and can never say what it is I mean if that meaning is anything of worth.

     This is why I started writing poetry. With written word, I seem a lot more capable. I made light of my ego a second ago but it's honestly nowhere near as huge as I make out. I make a pretty awful human being when it comes to the fundamental understanding of others humanity. The act of observing their behaviors and emotions, then writing about them allows me to get my head around it all a bit better. 

     This difficulty with self expression doesn't affect every facet of my personality. In most situations I am perfectly capable of convincing everyone around me that I am right. I'm brilliant at persuasive debate, diplomacy and political engineering, mostly because I'm quite aware of people's wants and needs. This sounds like a contradiction, but it isn't. Knowing how to manipulate people is quite different to assessing what makes them fundamentally human.

    Here lies my problem. The words I want to say right now have no diplomatic meaning. They won't affect anything, but I want to say them nevertheless. I don't want to write them or read them aloud. I want to sit, face to face with each of the people that are precious and important to me and tell them exactly why it is I will miss them so much when I leave them behind and go on to my fantastic new life. I want them to know just how much of a sacrifice I feel I am making in losing all those brilliant moments we may have had if I had stayed with them. I want them to know how deeply I love them all, from my family, through my closest friends, right down to those people I don't know so well but wish I did. 

     Buddha said "Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that brings peace." I want to provide a peace of mind to my loved ones that will last and also express honestly how I feel and how much I truly hope that we remain close despite all the distance that sits between us. I say this with no hidden agenda to all who have known me, cared about me and feel you've been cared for in return.

     I love you. You are important to me and I hate to leave you all behind. I wish I could pack you all in to my suitcase and bring you along with me. You are all close enough to me to know that, at times, my life here has been hard and at others torturous. You have seen me cry, rage and flirt with disaster and you have seen me hide it under a thick layer of jokes and laughter. You have seen these things and stood by me. You are, to a soul, beautiful, kind, caring and the best people I have ever known. This is why I made you a part of my life. This is why, when I sometimes make it difficult to be around me, you stayed anyway. This is why I will miss you so deeply that in five years time, when I'm thinking of one of the many fond memories I have that you guys gave me of this awful hellhole of a country, I know I can call you up from wherever it is I may be and you'll answer, I'll hear the smile in your voice and it will be as if nothing has changed.

I think I found the words...
Adam White

Broken Words by Stel Tsolakides

A flash of silver fire,
A streak of deep red pain,
I look down at my coat & frown,
Concerned about the stain,

A crimson bead clings to grey,
Its heat is quickly fading,
Your eyes stare intently,
While I sit here simply waiting

So full of possibilities,
So full of hope & dreams,
Confusion shrouds your face,
Wondering what it means

The bead falls & the penny drops,
Clutching with your hand,
As fear floods your face,
You finally understand

I smile & slowly rise,
Now I’m free to act,
You know why I have come,
Why did you break the pact

I show you my sole blade,
My personal weapon of choice,
It hovers before your eyes,
As you try to find your voice

Your body is mine now,
Your soul belongs to me,
I’ll break your mind with torture,
Your spirit’ll never be free

I take my time with you,
Savour every scream & jerk,
The grin never leaves my lips,
Its good to enjoy your work.

Posted for One Shot Wednesday on http://oneshotpoetry.blogspot.com

Staying in Bed

This day begins with my eyes hovering over a green ocean,
Then drifting to the horizon, where plastic darts poke from a gun,
Ready to be fired at anyone.

A scarf lies folded in shadow grey, promises in the creases,
Where, like a waterfall they cascade and randomly overlay
In a certain deliberate way.

From there, the mess continues. Empty boxes and sacks of no-stuff,
Things I wouldn't mind seeing gone or wouldn't care if I should lose.
A sleeping bag covers a pile of shoes.

Eleven caps hang on the wall. Happy little hats for my head,
Different every day, as if I am any kind of cool at all.
I stand on something sharp, then I fall.

Three little smiling faces stare out at me. The Lizard Street Three,
Are teasing little blighters, bobbing their heads up, down, mockingly.
I should make myself some gecko tea.

I should stay in bed for sure. Call in sick, sleep, make porridge and rest,
Rain hits my window gently which I notice but choose to ignore.
My family move around outside the door.

Eleven AM now. "Where does the time go?" I think with a smile.
Outside, the neighbouring street vermin are having some kind of row.
I close my eyes and the lights flicker out.

I roll out from my safe little place and tear up the ocean sheet,
Defrock my blanket and pillows and go and wash my weary face.
Two PM? My whole day's a happy waste.

Senryu from the Alien Hive

Hurtling through hallways,
The beast on my frightened tail,
I can't escape this.

The pop of gunfire,

Purple ichor coats the walls.

What an awesome job.

Blips on my readout,

They're right on top of us now?

Oh shit! In the vents!

He's a maniac!

Just look at that bastard's axe!

How long will he last?

They're in my veins now.

I can not tell my brothers,

They'd execute me.

It's rending claws tear

Through his flesh just to be free.

I hardly blame it.

We plant melta bombs,

And leave this place to it's death,

Fire and glory cleanse.

Sonnet - Doubts

And through the veil of my thoughts, the voice speaks
 Of disaster. Of the end of all things.
 Of the foreordained failures life will bring.
And for just a moment, I do feel weak,
I do feel nervous and these doubts do leak
 In to my mind to settle and to sing
 Of chaos that comes as the changes ring,
And life in that flash never seems less bleak.
But a flash is all it will ever be.
 As my sanity returns in a wink,
  I prepare for my most exciting day,
Setting out on a fantastic journey,
 As a life alone fades in a brief blink
  With arms spread, I prepare to fly away.

Magic

 When I was a child
I'd push my fingers in to the bushes
And pull out handfuls of waxy leaves,
Holding them for hours.
 In my young mind
I was a wizard! I'd throw the leaves down
And trees would sprout where they'd float and land
Bursting free from earth.
 Oh, I wish they had!
Covered the whole world
In pretty green.
 What great chaos it would be,
Cars flipped over
By cheeky trees.
 Ahh, no such luck chum.
They just fell and slowly crumbled away
While I watched and waited for hours, days
For a miracle.
 The other kids said things
As I sat there, silent, staring straight down
Intently, Immensely patient,
Just willing life again.
 I cried and cried
For I was no wizard,
Or even a warlock.
 Long magic-less life
Has shone through my days,
With no cure for my magic itch.