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 Jul 2014 Celtic Lass
Ryan Jakes
For my Superhero*

If you want it you'll find it
it hides no more from you
than you hide from it.

Dig your heels in,
grit your teeth.
Rejection is an ***,
kick it.
Hard.

That dream you hold,
not the car, or the money,
the one your mind chases in still moments.
Grasp it by the *****.
Run with it.
Start!

Be you, every bit of you.
The original.
Not the one painted over by other artists,
be your own influence.
Let your heart define you as a man,
nothing else.

I love you is not a key to her door, 
never use it as such.
Take your time,there is no finish line,
no race to win.

Kiss deeply, always like the French, never like a goldfish.
Tell her she's beautiful, every day, even on days when it's not true. 

Don't laugh at her jokes if they're not funny, she'll know your faking,
Instead say her joke was crap, if she laughs, she's a keeper!

My theory has been proven son
when all is said and done
this ethos is the very one
that landed me your mum.
Bit long...Rambling while watching him play, wondering who he'll be.
Moonlight lit the room casting shadows that stayed.
I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke rise into midnight's hour.
Nine hours to go.
Nine hours to wait.

Nine hours to remember,
remember the night,
that Easter Sunday.
That pub in Hampstead.

Why did you tell me that you loved me?
When clearly it was untrue.
Why did I love you so intensely?
When a single punch from you, took the life growing inside me away.

The clock has struck 3am
No mice have run down.
Just me, a table, cigarettes and the moon.
I'm not mad, that is true, just too passionate for you.

5am and a weak dawn is breaking
Just 4 cigarettes left, one an hour, if I'm lucky.
I called your name that fateful day, twice.
You ignored me, carried on looking for your keys.

Keys to a car that would not be needed.
You can't drive to where I sent you.
A .38 calibre Smith & Wesson Victory model revolver's
bullets were your last ride.

On 20 June 1955, Number One Court at the Old Bailey, London,
before Mr Justice Havers, I said;
"It's obvious when I shot him I intended to **** him."
I'd shot you dead.

Now it's my time to go meet our maker
Nearly nine, and a drop of 8ft 4 awaits.
As I told the Bishop of Stepney
"It is quite clear to me that I was not the person who shot him. When I saw myself with the revolver I knew I was another person."

8:59, with 30 seconds to go I take my glasses off
Won't be needing those anymore.
I know what a drop looks like.
15 seconds is all it took, my feet dangling toward the floor.
"I have always loved your son, and I shall die still loving him."
Ruth Ellis.
© JLB
30/06/201
A coldness creeps through my body,
enters and, seeps with its icy fingers
down, down into my core.
Clasps my heart and takes hold,
glacially traversing my mind, body and soul.

I feel, wait, no, nothing. I'm in a dream.
Induced by drugs that calm and hold you down.
I'm Alice chasing the rabbit, but the rabbit is bold,
and I am cold, behold your cold frigid Alice!
Frozen, addled brain, makes no sense of the dream.

I'll stay awhile in this winter wonderland,
this, emotionless, frosty, heartless land,
and dream of sun, and hope and gold.
Upon waking the dream will dissipate,
leaving a shivering, controlled me.
© JLB
27/06/2014
 Jun 2014 Celtic Lass
Ryan Jakes
"Nothing is sacred" you said, ask away....

Favourite band, colour, song, film, book, poet, author,the list went on
Favourite food, soda, cocktail, ****** position, animal, vegetable, fruit, smell, season, singer, songwriter, tv show..

This endless list of inane questions, hiding the one stuck in my throat like bitter bile.

"What do you see in him?"

Thats the big money question, the answer eludes me whenever I see you together.
Maybe your dappled green sees beauty where my clear blue sees too much ego.
Maybe your heart sings when he kisses your forehead, while my lips ache for the chance.

He doesn't see you, not really, not the you that howls with laughter, head back, snorting with each inhale.
Not the you that pulls weird faces when I take serious calls.
Not the you that I wish was mine...

Only mine.

He makes you different...
Quiet, subdued, Stepford wife.
A good girl. A closed book.
Ignoring his eyes while they wander,
as you avoid the love so obviously in mine.

"Ask me anything" tripped off your tongue
While your expression and the way you shifted said
"Just don't ask me that"

Nothing is sacred.
Except you.
Take a spoonful of hate
a dusting of jealousy
a cup of bile
and stir.

Set on a high heat
add a family member or two,
cook until tender.
Serve with respect.

Life isn't about sugar and spice
and all things nice, it's about balance.
Balancing the good with the bad.
Love with hate.

Kindness and anger, all
basic human emotions.
Poverty and riches.
Jealousy and forgiveness.

All of us alive, need to remember,
remember, what came before,
and ask one simple question;
"What am I living for?"
© JLB
28/06/2014
H.P. Lovecraft's most famous quotes about the horror genre is that: "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."

And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
The Waste Land, T.S.Eliot I. The Burial of the Dead


As a child I was never fearful.
Not of the dark, spiders or ghosts.
In fact I was wilful.
Hard hearted, cold.
I liked that about me, it was a barrier to the outside world.
I was the loner, the malcontent, the strange spooky one.
I loved it more as a teen, embraced the Gothic, elevated the bizarre.
I smoked, it was cool, I drank, it was cool, I was nihilistic, it was cool.
Popular meant conforming, how that repulsed me.
Why? Because conformity meant no individuality, no soul.
My Grandmother said once "be careful what you read, it becomes you"
Yeah right, look I'm Pennywise the clown!
But she was right in a way.
I became repulsed by myself.
I had no compassion.
No true love to call my own.
I was alone with my fear, my fear of loneliness. Irony.
I had no true identity, I hid in horror, then became horrified.
I didn't know what was coming, where I was going, who I was.
I was afraid. Truly afraid for the first time.
Afraid of my shadow, of not knowing, of returning to the grave.
Fear is a loathsome creature, devouring love and hope.
Yet, know this, we are born to die, the clock runs down, no appeals.
So fill up on love, fill up on warmth, for Hell maybe hot, but alone,
it's cold*.
© JLB
23/06/2014
Literary historian J. A. Cuddon has defined the horror story as "a piece of fiction in prose of variable length... which shocks or even frightens the reader, or perhaps induces a feeling of repulsion or loathing."
Light’s out and star’s absent eyes –
Though I can see the alarm clock,
My blinking red pixels –
        12:00
12:01
Soon to be, 12:02.
.
The sound’s scampered away, leaving only an ear or two –
Debunking a tumble atop vinyl,
A second amongst hours skipping –
“Save me”
“Save me”
“Please save me?”
..
Something to touch is truant, from a once benign hand –
Abandoned so that the scars remain to itch,
And so I scratch –
This one’s from him,
That one’s from her,
But my favorite’s from you.
..
Tasteless pervades a fix, now abandoned, a wind somewhat vacant –
Memories; like our first dinner, tattered and tame,
        Forgotten moments, origins in eclipse
        And the such with no quarter for today,
Let alone something to show for tomorrow.
..
So my nose remains a vestige as I’ve already disemboweled my face –
Leaving all that was, to inhale upon a subtle cognizant;
That certain lucidity in between dreamt and dawn –
As I now divine not the vivid, never flowers,
Not you…but alone,
Finally, alone.
..
Alone, vulnerable and fixed in mistake,
At 12:02, come 12:03.
        …
There might be a couple of formatting issues for this poem on this site, my apologies of course. This piece was published in, "Congruent Spaces."
 Jun 2014 Celtic Lass
Ryan Jakes
I hate jigsaws,
****** happy pictures
cut into shapes
so we can
put them back together
and smile at how far we've come,
only to rip them apart
and scatter their pieces
haphazardly
without a shred of care.
I hate jigsaws
they remind me of what we've become
they remind me that the word human has no place within the word humanity anymore.
I was packing up my son's puzzles while watching the news.....I really do hate jigsaws but some humans are ok I guess...
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