Tag Archive: poem



Law’s crooked arm reaches back in time

Fat red fingers feeling for clues

Fixing evidence to fit the crime

Rewriting history for the news

sweaty hand

You’re held in its sweaty vicelike hand

Cold bracelet biting into your wrist

When you stand under you’ll understand

Your face smashed to bits by its fist


© Dec 2014 ORP


When my love goes away
the sun’s light grows strong
I wish night would just stay
heat of day lasts too long


But whenever my love comes
dark raincloud pours over me
Beating soft as distant drums
cooling me like a shady tree

© 2013 WW

He fails to realise his self-delusion
Due to living in the dark of denial
He watches helpless in confusion
As he disappears in downward spiral

Inability to trust fills him with doubt
Numbing alcoholism empties his cup
Burning desires turn him inside out
Forever falling keeps him downside up


He’s a jumbled up mess of contradictions
So selfish he only shares his pain
Imprisoned by pressing predilections
Losing it all in his blind search for gain

Too paranoid to let the outside in
Affects a smile when he causes a frown
Drowning in a filthy bucket of sin
Believing the whole world is upside down

– 2014 WW


floating along on surface
moving through Saturday city
looking around at all the sights
soaking everything up
feet on automatic pilot
leaving prints on pavement
sneaking skimming stones
treading watery grave

keeping wits about me
smiling beneath shining sun
foot-loose and fancy free
keeping it real having fun
on the level above board
on the up and up
straighter than an arrow
or as a die that’s been tossed
but has not yet landed
destination undecided

alive with possibility
free to go where I please
ready to take an opportunity
when it crosses my path
until now doing the math
had no purpose
nothing I had to do or have
freed me up to be me
I could take in a show
or go see the circus
daydreaming the day
I had dreamed

shoved out of way
by some guy out of blue
knocked sideways on sidewalk
equilibrium interrupted
unable to talk
feet falling over themselves
gaze dropping like litter to ground
snagged by crack in path
taking hold of attention
refusing to let go

unable to stop
I step right into it
right foot first followed by left

and then that’s when everything shifts

life falling below (in)to a



new level

where it’s beginning to add up

to nothing makes sense
and nobody knows you from Adam
and you can’t sit on a fence
and there’s no place like home

they they want to know my business
but refuse to get to know me
and when asked to explain
no one ever answers straight
twisted tongues tying disappointments’
loose ends pointing in all directions
to bottomless list of questions

why is nobody trying to help stop
crack in sidewalk swallowing me into black
just like me fancy-loose and foot-free looking
all about them but never below their own feet
most didn’t see me disappearing underground

the few that did witness didn’t want to get involved
floating along surface feet on automatic-pilot
keeping chins up and wits about them
following the crowd leaving me to be slowly eaten

slo-mo sinking into crack on busy sidewalk
sucked into a world filled with sneakers running
by its own set of rules and those I once knew
down here no longer have traction

losing all grip I start slipping
subtraction inch by inch in an instant I disappear


fraction by fraction I realise everything
is different to all I thought I’d known before
and the understanding that the nature of the game
pot me will not be revealed I suddenly insanely see
nothing much has changed everything’s the same


Blue sky suddenly turns gun-metal gray. Hair on nape stands up and takes a bow. A spray of sidewaysBranches 006 snow-bullets shoot indiscriminately at pedestrians, punching them into shocked shapes twisting in wind wildly whipping wet hats from heads ripping back. Bulging eyes blazing like hazard lights.

Umbrellas’ blackslick bat-like skin stripping itself away from exoskeleton, flapping it’s damaged wings in all directions. Slapping around broken metal bones convulsively contorting final death throes. Defeated by a bad attack of cruel weather.

Now the day had arrived it was no surprise. This umbrella has seen so many of its kind end up spent – dead blackbirds jerking in gutter.

In a doorway corner a man is beaten by rain. Sinewy stiff and bendable as a hanger. Shutting down in a way not mendable while wondering why nothing’s ever dependable. Except for change – you can rely on that. Only on change can you realistically count.


Can’t trust weather predictions – just toss a coin. Can’t trust politicians promises – they’re just white noise. Can’t trust the cops – we’re all under surveillance. Beneath unlawful practices and all pervading illegal prevalence swapping freedom for security. It jangles your nerves out of autonomic abeyance.

You sit on a fence and try to make sense from it, out of steady stream of consciousness flowing. Looping Blood Stoney Road 033back and forth between you and the other. Footprints in mud spell out what looks to be trooping near babies nursery are in a cryptic grouping. Huddling together to protect against weather. Muddling through like an actor without a director.

An inspection was needed but where’s the inspector? He has a plate in his skull so let’s get a metal detector. If he needs a wig just give a call to Phil Spector. Wigs of all shapes and colors, each one resplendent.

He knows about renting having once been a tenant.

– April 2014 ORP

Nocturnal ink flows
above bed under sheets
in between wrong and right
rolling down burning red cheeks
wet strings drooling soaking pillows
windows sweating slow condensation
droplets sliding down like sad starlets
speeding up in their descendency
into swelling pool’s dark depths
words above remaining dry
bed going up in flames
choking… as I sink

Clarence Returns 047

The kid asks his father without any doubt if he’ll tell him a story before lights go out.

The man’s love for his son makes it hard to say no. “Okay, just one little story before I go. Now, what kind of tale were you hoping to hear?”

Beneath breath, kid whispers “One full of fear.”Image

Dad repeats slowly. “A horror story, bloody, gorey, unholy?”

Enthusiastically, the boy nods, as if neck’s on a lever.

“It’s about a monster,” says Dad. “Biggest, baddest one ever!”

When it comes to stories this kid likes joining dots, waiting in anticipation as his father gathers thoughts.

“Remember, my son, as you prepare for sleep, to keep one eye open so you don’t fall too deep. There’s a horrifying creature who’s lurking out there – and its always open X-ray eyes see everywhere.” Father’s words trail off as he gazes into the distance before  finally continuing at his son’s insistence. “Hunched in the closet, curled up spiderlike under bed, seeping black ink shadows creeping in your head. Thickening heart’s blood while sewing disease ridden seeds, tilling the soil of your soul till it withers into a field of weeds.” Pausing for effect, Dad checks son’s expression: looks like the monster’s made a very big impression.

The boy wants to know if the story is real.

“Give it a listen, then see how you feel. Hard to say whether or not it is fact or fiction, there’s such a lot of disagreement and constant contradiction. So, pay attention, kid! Listen closely to this scary story – you can decide if it’s true or just another allegory.”

Son asks father if he believes it’s the truth and discovers he had when still in his youth. Kid stifles a long, deep yawn, signaling Dad to get a move on.

“Once upon a long ago, before mankind even existed, a monster waited in the dark, alone, bitter, twisted. Taking heart in the notion that not all beings are equal gleefully dreaming of a future filled with torturing people.”

“Why does it want to be mean to poor folk?” the boy sputtered and gulped and started to choke. Eyes grown wide and grin turned in, he raised his gaze and dropped his chin. “Doesn’t he know that’s no way to win… and, besides, what did they ever do to him?”

The sky outside laughs and claps thunder. “Well,” Dad hesitates, “now, that you may wonder…”

“That’s what I’m saying.” The kid’s acting tough. “Hurry up and stop playing! Get to the good stuff!” He smiles and blinks.

Dad grins and winks. “Monster decides he likes to cause pain and much stomach-churning… loves the smell of fresh spilled blood and human flesh burning. And from the day it started, millions have met the beast: some turned bad, others went mad, all became deceased.”

“Did anyone,” asks the kid, “ever manage to get away?”

“We don’t know,” replies Dad, “no one’s come back to say. He takes them to a place that’s dark, not unlike midnight in the park. And there’s crying eyes, screaming pain, nasty gnashing of teeth, and your mom and dad can’t help you, there is no blanket to hide beneath. A piglet skewered spit-roasted to a crisp in the flames as the monster watches, smiling, enjoying the fun and games.”

A loud gasp erupts from the kid’s mouth, all cheer and hope has headed south. Now that he is scared to death of death, he stays silent, still, and holds his breath. Finally giving into Dad’s taunts, the son demands to know what It wants!

“It wants to recruit you into its army where it wields complete control. It can only do this if you lose your mind and accept you have a soul.”

“What’s a soul?” the kid enquires.

Dad whole mouth yawns as he tires. “Monster claims your soul is a distinct entity from the physical.”

The boy bites his lip, flashing expression that is quizzical.

“It says the soul lives on,” Dad states, “after your body’s been tossed.”

“Does believing you have a soul,” son baits, “mean your mind has been lost?”

“That’s what some people claim, and say you’re to blame. If that is what happens to you… well, it’s because it was your due.”

“Though the Monster and Santa have much in common, they are not at all the same. Santa takes his job quite seriously while the monster revels in playing his game. The people are pawns to be captured, each one made a slave, forced to love and fear the monster, for he alone could save. You know how when kids are naughty or nice, Santa can always tell? Well, the monster with razor claws sends the bad ones straight to hell. Where Santa brings joy, the monster brings sorrow. One’s light brightens day: the other’s darkens tomorrow. And when you’re in his sights, there’s no use to beg, steal or borrow.”

“Hell? Is that where one goes after one’s died?”

“Well, supposedly that is something you must decide. And if all this is true – and that’s up to you – how now will you now behave? Will you give in and let It win, get down on your knees like a slave? Or will you resist its temptation and risk never-ending damnation – or choose not to believe there is want or need for this notion of salvation?”

 “What’s the difference between hell and heaven?” The kid sneaks a peak at his watch: it says eleven.

Dad sits up straight, seeing it’s late, and with chest swelling, speeds up the telling. “One place is an endless birthday party billed with fun and harmony, the other destination is a torture chamber filled with eternal agony. Now as I finish up with this story I’ll leave you here in the dark, alone with disturbing sounds and images that are frightfully stark. Will you believe you have a soul the monster can steal, or be brave enough to make the claim that It is not real?”

“I can’t say,” admits the kid. “I don’t know what to think! By the way, Dad, I am thirsty. Can you get me a drink?”

“A famous man delivered something of a word feast when in the book he scribed he tried to describe the nature of the beast. It is arguably the most unpleasant character in all written fiction, and trying to describe him shows the inadequacy of our diction. It’s jealous and zealous and proud to be so. It says quite a lot but mostly says NO! A petty, unjust, unforgiving control freak with dark stinking hair and breath that does reek. A vindictive bloodthirsty misogynistic homophobe, hiding behind long beard and dark robe. Megalomaniacal racist, genocidal sado-masochist. Maliciously malevolent, deliciously prevalent.”

Finally finished, Dad’s feeling diminished. The kid is looking sick: the words had done the trick. Time to turn off the light and say goodnight, Dad stood up from the bed, legs heavy as lead. Kissing his son’s cheek and ruffling his hair, he reminded the kid to say a good prayer.

“Nothing is ever what it seems. Now get under the covers and have sweet dreams.”

“You never told me the monster’s name,” says the kid, thinking it odd.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame! But since you ask, it’s God.”

With that the kid’s face grows a pale shade of white.

Dad grins and says, “Now, don’t let the bed bugs bite!”

© 2012 OM

© 2012 OM


Having listened very closely to your words

I’m feeling hopelessly sick and helplessly ill

sinking and drowning in a deep pool of turds

gasping for breath beneath a pile of roadkill

You pledge misplaced allegiance to an evil tyrant

to whom you’d gladly sell your soul if you had one

you’re a pedantic sycophantic psychotic aspirant

begging mercy from judging father/murdered son


Your loyalty goes to the one who’s most terrifying:

terrific zombie, horrific monster, omnific holy ghost

From the inside out you rot while you’re dying

feeding the parasite to which you’re now host

When finally weighed up you are nothing much more

than a sad, ineffectual, pseudo-intellectual midget

two-bit, cheaply perfumed, deeply fucked whore

a paranoid, witless, doomed, self-righteous bigot


I died when you tried to excuse killing babies

claiming their maker can do whatever he pleases

Dead eyes wild and mouth foaming with rabies

delighting in the sinful act of spreading diseases

You’re laughable and pathetic, a pathological liar

a spineless witness and psychological slave

who can smile while your brothers burn in hell fire

too late for this life: right on time for the grave


Let’s hope that you go there sooner than later

that you’re sent back to blackhole bottomless pit

Consumed by mother earth, the one and only creator

When you’re returned, full-circle, to a dry ball of shit!

© 2012 Wordwurst


Looking down crinkling
nose have it
blinking outcome
ayes con firm sit

One deft eye left
bereft of twin
blindspotless two
the i’s within within


Seeings only
the picked chairs
it projects into sets
new bile egged bugs

In sects trapped in
cobwebbed cables
sir reality makes
four odd bed fables

Swerved tables best
served dead cold
never bought I was
all ways con soul’d


Dis tort Ed sporting
smallflat red hat
my bigfat hatred
contorted acrobat

What eye saw I’s brain
could not make sense
smoke tendrils turning
burning incense

Who can help I?
Psychotherapist or sadist?
Different names for the same:
Psycho The Rapist!


Fist pounding ground
furrowed brow
looking down
wrinkling knows

© 2012 ORP


Sal slavishly slavers sliver shards of liquid mirrors

laughing like a black-sheep free of numb rigor

mortis fear of jiggers dumb as white-niggers

hangin’ spinnin’ from old tire-swing lazy heat

hazy blurry crazy treat spoon stirring in bowl

cool wet hot dreams rocknrollshockofurry

she starts singin’ – singin’ in the rain

what a glorious feelin’ I’m hap-hap-happy again


forgetting forsaking or just playacting Sal keeps singing

with a smile getting wet while making-up lines of lyrics

(the way she does at weekends when setting aside

monotonous vampire-like minutiae of a routine

designed to dampen her imagination)

lets her bobby-pinned-up-hair-do down

freed from and no longer arrested

tied tried and tested to find out

if she could best it!

The enlighten – meant – if it were

any in the third place need never

have been taken nor awaken

All my cash I’ll spend showering her

with tokens of love I want to

splash out on her as she lays there

laid-back on the bed flat on her nude back

bear grizzles stick in drink swizzles iciness

chilled beverage come of age blankpage

secret drizzled vessel redhotshinyslick

stripliver teasing easing darting tongue

tastesavours let flow silver from dark galley

set free golden-molten-lava deep within

how green is her valley?

She’s a strangel

a flawed angel called Sal

which is short for Sally

Crack open conk drizzles oozing pores pause

before opening upcomingdown drupelets fizzles

pours out all of me its funny when losing badly

losing you win in time is money is love is real

love really a sin? Her sunny disposition with-

in reach comes in handy sweeter

than candy or Tupelo honey

Ascent of Man

a scent of a woman

a heck of a gal

Sal is for salamander

Salome / saloon / salon / salvation

a sound that starts a heart a-skipping

salivadripping salacious visions silhouetted

stripped naked wetted which switch tripped

candle-lit dream theatre skull cinema

Now Showing: in 5 Representations

crazy carnival-saloon time tripping

shadows dipping lips opening sipping

sucking spilling beatless tempo seatless

revolver needle revolves heedlessly evolving


needlessly sounding surrounding

itself in splendrous colorful scents

senses intense(men)ly seemingly

spiralling higher into darkness



answers the whyforewords

before shooting the gun

and the smoking after

forwards four words:


(sweet heart come)




(sweet hot come)


Say, says Sal, are you my saviour?

Does my behaviour suggest

that I want to save her?

Ultimately not ill-timedly

when I get right down

to her bottom linedly

that’s branching out(in)

creases tattoo epidermal

coating quim-a-quivering

tantalisinglywinking a come-on

to third eye can see without light

a mind of it’s own heartheatseekingtip

atop hardwood shaft searchingsingle

mindedly straighter-than narrow

one-eyed-jack-in-the-box popped

straight firm arrow slides glides

into her nest deli(cious)ghtful

delicate as a frail Mia Farrow

sparrow ready to swallow it up

downdeep hole-in-1 bull’s-eye!

Deepdown where lies waiting

pulpy life-giving marrow

her twat grips tightlock

safe soothing silky sheath

feels like home to me and

my puresweetsadsorrow




pudendum hots-up fastly


liver sending shocking

shiver into olfactory

system setting off

scented shapes

getting milky-












quim in hungry

sucking honey

suckling mouth


both rings glowing


enticingly down here in

Sal’s swollen swallowed



her Salvador Dali pun(cture

pic)fun(k{e}y toyourlocked

up-butnow (hereandwon

ownsthenow) cock-upped-


Salves adore dalink!

Sal enslaves Peter Proud

in the try-of-her-cunt

with O roun-

ding out lips

above and




© 2011 Wordwurst