- Genres
- Magical, Fantasy, Supernatural, Sci Fi, Steam Punk, Noir, HORROR, and I'm willing to try Romance.
On Banks of Still and Deathly Chant
On banks of still and deathly chant
I hold your shoe in claws too hungry
to let go.
And though the river Styx roars its lullaby
of croaking whispers,
"Sleep, sleep, sleep."
I can only feel fingers, closed around my index.
You pulled it then, and tugged away my heart
to use as your coffin pillow.
Did it lull to slumber with its steady beat?
The Boatman stares his wooden eyes, his ferry paused for one last soul
I give him your shoe which,
in absent thoughts, you left at the edge of his river.
I thought you might want
your left foot to be warm down here.
Math Class
The tangent of y swims lazy circles, swindling the X from its spotlight debut. Hexagagons and vertices cross bareback pastures pointlessly. Commentary, possibly upon the waking consciousness. So spinning stars rise up from letters, harsh edged soldiers, members of a lawless order censored to an end result of equals. Brain throbbing, I spin stories of curves and twisted lines no Mathematician dare speak. Triangles neck with circles, squares too well behaved for polygons…a rhombus murders cylinders but I'm far too gone to care. The inverse of the status quo is too much logic, rightly so I spin an answer none could learn save those who see with colored eyes. But in the end I spell no words, they are only numbers on a board.
An Arizona Highway
The black river runs toward the distant sky.
White snowflake stars are suspended,
peppering the velvet heavens.
Bright lights, like nocturnal eyes,
blaze from my Stratus
as I follow the onyx canal
toward the hidden horizon.
The radio
whispers its static sentences
in a monotone mantra
while Sleep
caresses my senses.
Cacti stiffly signal me to stop,
their prickly arms frozen in warning.
But the taunting shadows ahead
bid me chase them
to find what lies beyond.
So I drive,
between worlds of gloom
The midnight desert on either side,
weary and worn with age,
never changes. It is as if God
had but one color left to paint.
My eyes pity not the mundane sand,
nor the cacti forever frozen here.
They pity the laughing shadow,
For though it plays
Its game of chase with my car,
Morning dawn shall stifle its life
Before it had a chance to truly live
And then the only darkness shall be this road
This black river rising toward the distant sky
The Fall of Love
I asked Lust once,
If he was Love, for I saw no other.
And laughing, he proudly replied
That he killed Love a long
Time ago.
When I did not believe, he
Said to me,
"The proof is all around you,
Changing through history like
ripples on a pond."
What once were sonnets,
Serenaded to balconies
By fire cheeked men
To women whose hearts
Beat in time to seconds
are now a hallmark cards,
valuable as cheap wine,
and with all the poetry of a limerick
What once was the devotion
of knightly chivalry,
Sword clutched in one hand,
A lacey favor of
Scented cloth in the other,
Now are courtroom fiascos.
Wars for possessions
Like hungry dogs snapping
At each others bones,
Televised as comedy
Broken bonds entertainment for the
Gossiping masses.
"Till death do us part,"
possessing no power
to the whims of desire and
the corruption of conflict.
Some wonder,
Where Love has gone
and if she abandoned
this world.
But I know. She
was murdered long ago,
feebly grasping at Lust's
dagger rising from her heart.
And now, we cannot even remember
what she looked like.
Improvements for Paradise
Heaven decided
to upgrade its operations
because the souls of today
might find heaven too old-fashioned.
Thus God decreed,
He would no longer be known as God
but God 6.0, an improved version of himself.
'more omniscient and more omnipotent'
then before.
His angels followed next,
heavenly swords sheathed
to make way for stun batons
of divine wrath.
Wings were kept to impress the new souls
with a fuel conservation transportation plan.
Celestial trumpets were laid aside for electric guitars
hooked up to sub woofers and amplifiers.
Now instead of fanfare
Righteous power cords echo throughout the skies
The fashion code of heaven
has been relaxed.
Halos are now baseball caps
White robes were traded for white power suits
and leather sandals play second harp
to sports shoes designed for style and flash.
Mary wrote a book
called How to Raise a Savior.
It's now the bestseller in heaven
just under The Bible.
Jesus picked up rapping
converting ancient bible verse
to hip hop rhythm.
He says if it's the Word
it should at least be the rhythmic Word.
Souls are asking, if there is more to come
and God hints
at a God 6.5
but it's still in developmental stages.
The Yahwii is soon be released at gaming stores
with the much awaited first person shooter
based on the battle of heaven,
Halos.
Prayers are now answered
via instant message system,
but God 6.0's away message
always seems to be up.
It declares in bold letters, "Out for the moment, don't do anything I wouldn't do."
The News this Morning
Backwater traditions in the news of the future
So-called preachers with their faith set in gold
The lies and the slander of a world convoluted
Ride's piggyback to children's attack on the old
The lash aftermath is the wrath of the chastised
A currency system of ideals for blood
Screams of the sexual pent up in a bottle
As the towers of forefathers are ground down to mud
The prophet of Christians finds his flock all a scattered
As government churches buy faith with their stocks
An economy built on the backs of the homeless
Spurred on by ticking from out of date clocks.
The scythe of the reaper is the spin of the papers
News now determines the right and the wrong
Usurping the power from the reign of their kings
As evolution finds science the brawn of the strong
The pied piper pipes but his targets aren't rats
His puppets dance stupid to the tune of his flute
He works for the network, he lives in your speakers
The brain proven easy for his notes to pollute
Dusk will rise sooner as the world is spun back
The hamsters all turning the wheel wear ties
Fed on the flesh of their dearly departed
They run on forever, never pause to ask why
Leopard fur coats are the hide of the trodden
Roses on skin equal death in the lungs
So the poor hold the color the rich never sighted
Green in their flesh and blue in their tongues
A planet takes cold pills and swallows down whisky
Commercials assure it will wake up in peace
As nuclear cancer pairs with aerosol measles
And prepares the new corpse for the day of the feast
A new dying horde eats to recall its purpose
But find it too far and go back to the fold
Ancestors bartered for brand name imposters
A nation turned sour and covered in mold
On banks of still and deathly chant
I hold your shoe in claws too hungry
to let go.
And though the river Styx roars its lullaby
of croaking whispers,
"Sleep, sleep, sleep."
I can only feel fingers, closed around my index.
You pulled it then, and tugged away my heart
to use as your coffin pillow.
Did it lull to slumber with its steady beat?
The Boatman stares his wooden eyes, his ferry paused for one last soul
I give him your shoe which,
in absent thoughts, you left at the edge of his river.
I thought you might want
your left foot to be warm down here.
Math Class
The tangent of y swims lazy circles, swindling the X from its spotlight debut. Hexagagons and vertices cross bareback pastures pointlessly. Commentary, possibly upon the waking consciousness. So spinning stars rise up from letters, harsh edged soldiers, members of a lawless order censored to an end result of equals. Brain throbbing, I spin stories of curves and twisted lines no Mathematician dare speak. Triangles neck with circles, squares too well behaved for polygons…a rhombus murders cylinders but I'm far too gone to care. The inverse of the status quo is too much logic, rightly so I spin an answer none could learn save those who see with colored eyes. But in the end I spell no words, they are only numbers on a board.
An Arizona Highway
The black river runs toward the distant sky.
White snowflake stars are suspended,
peppering the velvet heavens.
Bright lights, like nocturnal eyes,
blaze from my Stratus
as I follow the onyx canal
toward the hidden horizon.
The radio
whispers its static sentences
in a monotone mantra
while Sleep
caresses my senses.
Cacti stiffly signal me to stop,
their prickly arms frozen in warning.
But the taunting shadows ahead
bid me chase them
to find what lies beyond.
So I drive,
between worlds of gloom
The midnight desert on either side,
weary and worn with age,
never changes. It is as if God
had but one color left to paint.
My eyes pity not the mundane sand,
nor the cacti forever frozen here.
They pity the laughing shadow,
For though it plays
Its game of chase with my car,
Morning dawn shall stifle its life
Before it had a chance to truly live
And then the only darkness shall be this road
This black river rising toward the distant sky
The Fall of Love
I asked Lust once,
If he was Love, for I saw no other.
And laughing, he proudly replied
That he killed Love a long
Time ago.
When I did not believe, he
Said to me,
"The proof is all around you,
Changing through history like
ripples on a pond."
What once were sonnets,
Serenaded to balconies
By fire cheeked men
To women whose hearts
Beat in time to seconds
are now a hallmark cards,
valuable as cheap wine,
and with all the poetry of a limerick
What once was the devotion
of knightly chivalry,
Sword clutched in one hand,
A lacey favor of
Scented cloth in the other,
Now are courtroom fiascos.
Wars for possessions
Like hungry dogs snapping
At each others bones,
Televised as comedy
Broken bonds entertainment for the
Gossiping masses.
"Till death do us part,"
possessing no power
to the whims of desire and
the corruption of conflict.
Some wonder,
Where Love has gone
and if she abandoned
this world.
But I know. She
was murdered long ago,
feebly grasping at Lust's
dagger rising from her heart.
And now, we cannot even remember
what she looked like.
Improvements for Paradise
Heaven decided
to upgrade its operations
because the souls of today
might find heaven too old-fashioned.
Thus God decreed,
He would no longer be known as God
but God 6.0, an improved version of himself.
'more omniscient and more omnipotent'
then before.
His angels followed next,
heavenly swords sheathed
to make way for stun batons
of divine wrath.
Wings were kept to impress the new souls
with a fuel conservation transportation plan.
Celestial trumpets were laid aside for electric guitars
hooked up to sub woofers and amplifiers.
Now instead of fanfare
Righteous power cords echo throughout the skies
The fashion code of heaven
has been relaxed.
Halos are now baseball caps
White robes were traded for white power suits
and leather sandals play second harp
to sports shoes designed for style and flash.
Mary wrote a book
called How to Raise a Savior.
It's now the bestseller in heaven
just under The Bible.
Jesus picked up rapping
converting ancient bible verse
to hip hop rhythm.
He says if it's the Word
it should at least be the rhythmic Word.
Souls are asking, if there is more to come
and God hints
at a God 6.5
but it's still in developmental stages.
The Yahwii is soon be released at gaming stores
with the much awaited first person shooter
based on the battle of heaven,
Halos.
Prayers are now answered
via instant message system,
but God 6.0's away message
always seems to be up.
It declares in bold letters, "Out for the moment, don't do anything I wouldn't do."
The News this Morning
Backwater traditions in the news of the future
So-called preachers with their faith set in gold
The lies and the slander of a world convoluted
Ride's piggyback to children's attack on the old
The lash aftermath is the wrath of the chastised
A currency system of ideals for blood
Screams of the sexual pent up in a bottle
As the towers of forefathers are ground down to mud
The prophet of Christians finds his flock all a scattered
As government churches buy faith with their stocks
An economy built on the backs of the homeless
Spurred on by ticking from out of date clocks.
The scythe of the reaper is the spin of the papers
News now determines the right and the wrong
Usurping the power from the reign of their kings
As evolution finds science the brawn of the strong
The pied piper pipes but his targets aren't rats
His puppets dance stupid to the tune of his flute
He works for the network, he lives in your speakers
The brain proven easy for his notes to pollute
Dusk will rise sooner as the world is spun back
The hamsters all turning the wheel wear ties
Fed on the flesh of their dearly departed
They run on forever, never pause to ask why
Leopard fur coats are the hide of the trodden
Roses on skin equal death in the lungs
So the poor hold the color the rich never sighted
Green in their flesh and blue in their tongues
A planet takes cold pills and swallows down whisky
Commercials assure it will wake up in peace
As nuclear cancer pairs with aerosol measles
And prepares the new corpse for the day of the feast
A new dying horde eats to recall its purpose
But find it too far and go back to the fold
Ancestors bartered for brand name imposters
A nation turned sour and covered in mold