People say

People said

the world is flat

has four edges and a strap

Gravity is only a myth

People say

life can exist without love

work all day and pay the bills

lest you sleep under the bridge

people say

it doesn’t matter how you lived your life

the day you die is more important

their insipid hearts glazed over

people say

work and till and earn your bills

go the streets and squander it all

all in a bid to fit right in

people say

there is only one way, ours or none

Only one god, ours or none

rebuke it and you’ll walk the plank

people say

wear mink coats and leather shoes

Your stone cold blinks must blind others

when you die, we’ll judge you still

people say

love yourself just as you are

and if you don’t, go under the knife

but when you die, we’ll judge you more

People say

all kinds of quatsch

pretend they care, yet judge all day

helping each other dig their grave.

People spend all night in the church

shake and tremble under the alter

roll around in dirt and dust

leave that place the same they went

People preach to you at end

You should live your life this way

then lock their doors and do the opposite

while you weep and wonder what’s wrong with you

People judge the dead for how they died

spit and dance on open grave

never mind the way they lived their life

then yell, I am christian.

I’ve learnt to smite what people say

their hearts overrun with wickedness and spite

smile in your face, judge behind your back

the only One to trust is Yahweh

The magpie’s song

Adorned by the brittleness of his aching spirit, the Magpie watches himself in the reflective stream and nods approvingly. His kins would be proud, if they could see him stretch out his nestled wings and glide inches above the water surface.

It is a good day. And it going to get better.

Victory is in the waddling stream, it is in the harvest of the trees rootling. It is in the squeals of the busy beavers. It is in his brother’s pea-sized eyes.

For years and years, his kind had been predated, and hunted down. He remembers his dear mate lying on the zenith of an Alpine mountain, try as he could, her small heart palpated and went silent before she thought of giving up. Stricken down by some hunter fellow. What woes trails the magpie’s life. Loneliness settled faster than the snowy blizzard that brewed on the day that the colours from his flamboyant feathers turned bland…until now.

He gripped the soil underneath his talon and pushed with all his little might. The time to mourn had come and gone. Today he smelt victory in the fields. He’d advocate it all day long

“Hello”, he yelled to the Robin

“Salute”, he tweeted to Frau Puffin

And then he settled on jenny’s windowsill and sang the most serene symphony she’s heard in a while.

When they asked him why he was so ecstatic with curiosity dripping from their lips, he winced and flipped and giggled and said, It’s going to be good day after all, as he pecked off the crust of jenny’s shepherd pie

Black enough

You ought to have to have seen her

Black body paint dripped from mane down to ankles

styled with a latex jacket and thigh high boots

A cigarette pressed lightly between her lips

You ought to have seen her

Her skin coalesces with the golden shy sun

She metamorphosed into a shade of deadly night

Belladonna like the devil’s berries

Honey coloured eye reflecting jewels

shea butter dripping from endless tamed lush kinks

Authentic she is, a goddess to behold

Belladonna like death cherries

Her footprints spirals in desert sand

Causing confusion wherever she trod

Posing for the cover of blacknvogue

Nubian temptress to the very end

And to think she had to scream her lungs

to break through a forcefield of deafening silence

they said she ought to behave whiter

Seemingly she was black enough

she was stunting on cloud bursting lilac skies

One could build a dam from her tear droplets

she lined a path from where she’d been

was forbidden to tango with ethereal solace

She was a drifting butterfly

perching on a fallen crimson leave

bejewelled by virgo’s decadent virtue

paradise cradled between her bosom.

You’ll remember her by her acerbic glances

the confidence that’s apparent through her melanin glow

they said she was black enough

to which she replied, “I didn’t chose it, I got lucky”

Intuition

Settled down at the glance and the thought of life

Felt currents like electric spark from my core

Isolation center around a waking surge

A vibration that propels into the throat chakra.

Keep the energy inconspicuous, never swaying to either poles

Your throat will either absorb the impulses

or it may continue it’s journey towards the chest

The hollow cave of intuition, where your heart lies

Oh, what a feeling of radiating emotions

knit and knock in your bones and joint space there after

Your heart weighs with a message from the universe

while your charitable heart banishes it to the bowels

Metabolism fastens or sluggers, then settles

between the groins, a belt tightens around hips and lower back

Feel the moon spread across the sky’s edges

dare to subtract the edge it has over you

For people who sense the slightest imbalances,

energies of the galaxy and of kindred

may sound abnormal, but is it really?

dubbed empaths or highly sensitive, for whatever reason

For us the full moon is more like a reckoning

Anything but smooth sailing it is

feelings too scary to explore, spur up

the dark side of my soul bullies me to submission

Yell as you wish, the influence grows worse

like a family reunion, where the black sheep is king

spritz me with venom and engulfs me whole

Until I am gurgling on it’s dark influence

Neptune knows, intuition cannot be bargained with

gifts dreams you can sip with your soul out a straw

or sardonic skies that taunts you at your weakest

But when my forehead kisses the ground,

every turmoil is hushed in universal harmony

A kaleidoscope of doubt

Toxic is the air invading the space between my mouth and nostrils

grown a fool waiting for love to sprout on winged petunia

I’ve clawed my heart to recover crystals that glistens darkness in my eyes

Fear has returned to torment a dusty cobwebbed casket.

A ripple of the river reflects the subtle complexity of existence

An existence separated by colours, seen and unseen. Gold and silver.

Separating further into hues that are too bright and overly sharp.

I fear I have triggered a cascade of events.

Pillars of white ricochet their luminosity, giving the illusion of separate divinity, or separate existence, dividing life and living, body and soul, is there a difference between living and breathing?

I may very well be buried under an oasis of doubt, coughing up sputum and goo, invading the intangible crevices like a broken mannequin underneath a glacier.

And I have survived, I mean I’m still living — and breathing.

The stars shine so bright that they rip a hole in a time-space continuum

and all I wish to do is swim in the penumbra of twilight.

Collect kisses from a thousand crows

As they nest on top the clay that holds the secret to my doubts.

I’ve sworn a vow to do better. I’ll be better. I’ll hold a matchstick close to a furnace and bask in it’s golden glow.

I will light a candle close to my heart and let my tears bounce off it’s flames. I can do it, just you watch.

I can make the sun and moon kiss in cosmic bureaucracy.

The emo in me is like a sand that won’t let you see the delicate ocean circling in my eyes.

You need not look at me, if you wish not to. But I bid you,

Remove the anchor that weighs so heavily on my ankle.

Find me in a kaleidoscope of doubt.

Follow the trail of lost serendipity in my voice.

It’ll get better

The stream refused to stand still.

it chipped at the roots of trees, and the toes of little adventurers.

I find myself choking from lack of air

Pure oxygen won’t do, without hydrogen hysteria is only a matter of time.

In hindsight I’ve forgotten the feel of the earth underneath my foot

like a hamster running in circles, chasing fool’s gold. Bewitched by the sun.

And I know I have to breath, grapple at the element with both nostrils

because it’ll make me better, It’ll feels less nauseating. I’ll survive a while longer.

They say it’ll get better,

but when?

The stream longs to stand still

to hear the working nocturnal beavers

still to the rustling withered leaves

But today, currents are high.

the anxiety will explode from the base of my ribcage

the strictures at the back of my throat won’t disappear

Now I’m at loss for words

my heart is overflowing but my glass is empty

somehow dark emotions pour out of my chakras

Currents are sky rocketing

and sky is painting all shades of crimson

But

I’d like to stand still

to hold back the worries, that’s gnawing and spitting at my ankle

I’d like to hold back the fusty dam from over-flooding.

They say it’ll get better, I’m tired of asking when.

Random Gothic Anthem

Crest

I spy with my eyes

An unmistakable whiff of cheap cologne

persists, lingering on my philtrum

grows wider than spaces between lyrical innuendoes

Odysseus walls

somersaulting ruins

I cannot unlearn my inevitable mortality

even if I cried sunshine and peed rainbow

Rose coloured Polaroids

I remember when I used to mope around

Waiting to recover my vitreousness

rummaging the things that have been shipwrecked

Love

Hate

Hate is not an equal to love

I love the things you hate the most

Wring me dry

wring me plaid

stretch me under your adventure boots

as you sail from high to low tides

Stand still

It is quintessence that flows to the brink of surrender

eccentric little goldfinch blushing in pitch darkness

Silence recruits ravens to unearth ethereal promises

Shattered fear

a seed of poison drawn on the lips

Winter colour muse from a sardonic artist’s heart

A brothel couldn’t hide you behind it’s wall of cigarette smoke

Labyrinth

bodies hidden between the corridors and cracks

to be made whole, I must be found

to be found, I must vanish behind a random gothic windowsill