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Ben Jones May 5
Warfare is an industry
With offices world wide
No conflict too immoral
And no customer denied
Poison laden handshakes
Or a sugar coated knife
If warfare is an industry
What then does that make life?

Life is a commodity
Each person bought and sold
It finance its betters
And it does as it is told
Oils is the currency
So blood must work the gears
If life is a commodity
Then what does that make tears

Tears are an illusion
A weakness of the mind
Be sure to take your medicine
And you'll soon be realigned
Believe the sweet deception
Television never lies
If tears are an illusion
We're dead behind the eyes

If taxes pay for bullets
All bound for distant lands
What death have you made possible?
What colour are you hands?
With apathy you sleep at night
A haven hitherto
But if warfare is a business
Then what does that make you?
Ben Jones May 5
It began, as these things often do
With darkened skies and all around
The night had paused to draw a breath
And through the streets rebounded sound
A slow and steady fall of foot
I stepped the cobbles free of care
My eyes were drinking vivid light
A fragrance tangled on the air

My purpose set
My heart a grim quartet

The door was mere scenery
A sight to see but not recall
The passing gaze is pushed away
And sees there, just another wall
No movement could I hear within
My knuckles whitened on the knock
Relief recoiled hastily
A scratching from the rusted lock

My fingers clenched
Anxiety deeply entrenched

The woodwork inched a little back
A brow bedecked in withered hair
A pupil sharp as autumn frost
Surveyed me with a butchers glare
Her voice, a blade across my mind
Invited me to step inside
A shiver shook my frozen bones
My feet took up a timid stride

Her tone shallow
Her skin like warm tallow

Within was soaked in tepid gloom
In candle light the shadows danced
The flames grew quick and paranoid
And leaned away as I advanced
Behind me scurried shut the door
And down my spine, an angel tear
A leather chair of ages past
Held consort with my falling rear

She sat near
And whispered in my ear

With lizards hiss and jagged tone
In fragrances of smoke and gin
She sprinkled such a parable
That tingles bounced across my skin
My mission lay ahead of me
But caution of a reckless choice
A curse that fed on failure
And menace edged her ebon voice

Salvation awaited
But hope swiftly abated

Away into the night I strode
My razor wits with terror blunt
I packed a satchel prudently
For sustenance about the hunt
A dagger dangled on my hip
A bow and quiver on my back
Its bowstring plaited spider web
Was ever strong and never slack

Horizon bound
I broke the ****** ground

My quarry was a worthy foe
And many days I tracked until
By moonlight on a starless night
I caught a glimpse and stopping still
A sight I've struggled to forget
My bounty and my nemesis
Was bounding past me heedlessly
As fear wrought paralysis

Eyes like death
****** hung on its breath

It stood a daunting seven foot
With talons jutting from its hands
A mass of quills and tentacles
With extra spleens and mucus glands
A mouth with room for seven men
And teeth the size of ironing boards
A single but enormous eye
With lashes like a row of swords

My face paled
My bladder faltered and soon failed

I faced my prey and crossed my legs
My stricken blood had turned froth
I ****** myself in abject fear
But stopped just short of touching cloth
I turned about and ran away
While screaming out profanity
And crying like a baby
And adopting Christianity

Pleading with fate
My pride a sorry state

I fled the county, took my leave
And made my shelter in a cave
My punishment for failure
Would see me to my early grave
And so I lived in solitude
Consuming only what I caught
In time the wind grew perilous
And hours of light were ever short

Winter grips
The solar zenith slips

I huddle to this very day
Amid the gloom with frozen breath
And keeping warm is paramount
For stretching life, postponing death
Though purely for survival
While I weather every storm
I've taken to bumming weasels
As a means of keeping warm

Blunt trauma
Weasel skin *****-warmer
Ben Jones May 3
The angels gathered all about
The hour of his birth
They mocked and howled in harmony
With heavy handed mirth
Upon his cheek they set the sign
Of all that shouldn't be
And cast a light of cautioning
For all the world to see
His cord was cut asunder
By a blade of malcontent
And free into the living world
The Leveller was sent

His childhood was immaculate
About him drew a chill
He spoke in calm and measurement
To those who served his will
His eyes were simply windows
And beneath them shone the void
His hair was curled chaotically
As with the wind it toyed
He suffered no companion
Save the presence of his mother
She viewed him with adoring eyes
A way she saw no other

He never knew his father
And no mention ever made
His mind was ever sharpened
His attention never strayed
With pockets filled with avarice
His cup grew never shallow
And places that he visited
Grew desolate and fallow
Meticulous and thoroughly
He studied and he learned
Yet deep within a timer ticked
A candle slowly burned

The years were quick to tumble by
They ran away like sand
A child became an adult
And his purpose was at hand
The sunset billowed evilly
Like blood does in the water
And fire bloomed within his soul
And hunger for the slaughter
He eyed his doting mother
And extinguished her with thought
If only for the solitude
And pleasure that it brought

She fell and marked his wakening
With love still in her eyes
He raised his hand in arrogance
And smote the living skies
The silence broke near placidly
With softly falling birds
He ate the souls of onlookers
And stole away their words
The tide drew up the shoreline
It gleefully advanced
Quickly and deceptively
As through the streets it danced

Atop each crest of rancid foam
Was evidence of death
The air was thick and vacuous
And clotted every breath
The brave and foolish stood their ground
They mounted their defences
But ghostly fingers smothered them
And choked away their senses
The masses fled in unison
To make for higher ground
And those too weak to run away
Forsaken, slowly drowned

The Leveller continued
And he rode each hellish wave
No sympathy was traded
And the earth became a grave
The fire in him cackled
It beguiled the population
Humanity was cowering
And begged for their salvation
But he silenced them most savagely
And as the last fell down
He took his victims finger bones
To make himself a crown

So that was how the human race
Was banished from the world
And demon spawn reclaimed it
Their unholy wings unfurled
The ground was scorched and fruitless
And the riverbeds were bare
The smell of death and pestilence
Had stained the very air
And on a throne of fire
With a sceptre wrought of spines
With ****** crown upon his brow
The Leveller reclines
Ben Jones May 2
A legendary sweet tooth, had Lady Felicity Barratt
So swift towards the sugar bowl, so wary of the carrot
She dined on only trifle from a honey coated spoon
But tooth decay accosted her and left her in a swoon

By the time she turned just twenty, her two front teeth were gone
By thirty she was running short and on her final one
When that fell out, she sought a dentist, promptly one arrived
She opened up her grizzly mouth and in the fella dived

He took a cast and took his leave with dentures to be hewn
With satisfaction guaranteed by Friday afternoon
And never did the lady have a reason to suspect
The secret intervention of an evil dental sect

By bribing several bakeries and sweetie shops and stalls
A dossier had been compiled within their sacred halls
For crimes against good dentistry were nothing short of sin
Their retribution must be swift or people might join in

They cast her teeth from coffin nails beneath a devil's moon
With Jack the Ripper's upper set, extracted from his tomb
Then polished with the handkerchief of ******'s former cleaner
Stored in Machiavelli's purse, to make them all the meaner

Upon that self same Friday, at the very cusp of noon
One Doctor Bingo Rogers and his burly hired goon
Came knocking at her premises with dental kit and drills
With a mission to sedate her and to exercise their skills

They knocked her out with ethanol and chloroform and air
And strapped her to a hastily erected dentist's chair
The evil teeth were lodged in place and ******* into her gums
The bill was quite extortionate, for monumental sums

The shamanic orthodontist, with his henchman in his wake
A martyr to the vegetable and nemesis of cake
Was keen to see his handiwork and kept a watchful eye
For curious occurrences, as days went slowly by

By Christmas there was nothing, until on New Year's Eve
Her teeth got uncooperative and forced the girl to leave
They dragged her by her dainty face and led her to the shops
She stood and munched on sugar canes and giant lollipops

They stuffed her face with chocolates, still nestled in their packets
And then a rack of nylon shirts and seven leather jackets
On every size of shoe, she munched; from sixes up to twelves
She nibbled through the party food and gnawed upon the shelves

Then off she sped, into the street, to pursue a passing horse
Dragged along by wicked teeth and supernatural force
But dentures lack in vision, and especially at pace
So when she caught it by the foot she caught it in the face

She skidded to a grizzly halt with arms and legs all twisted
And next to her, a note with all her dental errors listed
So beware the wrath of dentists and obey when they command
And sleep with one eye open and a carrot close to hand

For though our poor Felicity was buried good and hard
Despite floral cupcake with the Dental Cult's regard
And though her body, to this day, lies safely in the ground
The horse escaped that evening and the teeth were never found...
Ben Jones Apr 30
I feel I might be missing
There’s a shadow in my place
I’m told he looks a bit like me
But hollow where his heart should be
Just seek him out, it’s plain to see
He’s mainly empty space

I fear I may be falling
As I’ve failed to find the ground
We parted ways, a bitter feud
And nothing further soon ensued
I gained a lot of altitude
In just a single bound

I feel as though I’m wearing out
Reserves are running low
Each passing hour I lament
The waste of every second spent
They tumble by without relent
I’m caught up in the flow
Ben Jones Apr 12
The sock is not merely regalia
Or podiatry paraphernalia
For a well knitted toe
To the fork of your foe
Can mean victory rather than failure

**
Ben Jones Apr 12
In a nook at the edge of the water
There’s a spot where the rules don’t apply
Where the sun always rises behind you
And the land doesn’t meet with the sky

At night, there are stars in the treetops
When the moon washes up on the shore
And the air has a curious flavour
That you’re certain you’ve tasted before

There’re pelican-gophers a-singing
While the bees and the ladybirds dance
By jumping and flapping your elbows
You can fly by the seat of your pants

It’s a perfect location to visit
Though you might find it tricky to find
In a nook at the edge of the water
In a space at the back of my mind

**
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