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 Nov 2013 John F McCullagh
Helen
for it was never my intention
to be a puppet with a frown
perhaps you won't believe it
sitting under a liars crown

I've cut myself for long enough
that blood is my middle name
basking naked upon a concrete slab
I've oft been fed back my own shame

so take all these letters, mix them up
juggle them gaily to become verbose
for they have fallen,  at feet
that have stopped walking
just litter, ash, carrion at most

So kiss me on lips
coated in poison

and wish me well

For I am off to a more acrid clime
where secrets will often tell
that hiding behind a wordsmiths spine
will see me burn in hell
 Nov 2013 John F McCullagh
Helen
I found a dollar
I picked it up
at lunch
at the Pub
I feed it to the
Pokie Machines
(I never use my own money)

I won another dollar

So I kept pressing
the flashing button
Not understanding
the symbols falling
as it added
more and more
dollars to the ***

After a while
it had reached ten dollars

(to me that's a lot)

Hit Collect
Listen to gold hit tin
scooped them up
cashed them in

Dropped them
into my handbag
Only nine coins tinkled
one had made

it's own escape

Looked back at Goliath
a little old lady
had paused
Bent lower (than ever)
plucked at sticky carpet
came up with one dollar
I smiled
because
it was
the dollar
I picked up
Salute to old Lady
$100 now in her pocket

Both our days made

Better by a dollar ;)
 Nov 2013 John F McCullagh
Helen
is it worth tears?
pain aside, the first time
who didn't cry?

The hill so steep
gasping breath
collapsing mid step
the hill
a mound
without a sound
the stream is crossed
no more than a trickle
of tears
after so many
years
You climbed
a mountain
I tripped
into a puddle
tears are covert
mis stepped
to an uneven beat
angry limbs
form a defensive
huddle
tears warm
cold places
falling from eyes
blurred
that watch you
sleep

Dream My Sweet

as I drown
 Nov 2013 John F McCullagh
Helen
I hate digital alarm clocks.

The eerie way they light a room in the deep of night and that silent way they have of counting down the hours of life left.

It just leaves me exhausted!

At 12.47am I woke to a flickering red haze across my bedroom ceiling that seemed to spread like a stain down the walls to pool on the floor.
Now, I know I should not be reading Amityville Horror in bed, on a full stomach and I’m pretty sure that the block of chocolate that I snacked on while reading may have upped the ante in the endorphin stakes but combined with that evil digital alarm clock I was wide awake at 12.47am and the curtains at the open window were flickering across the harsh red numbers.

The oddest scene was playing around me, like a bad play where all the actors rolled around in a vat of blood before they stepped up.

Kratos and Ares, in full battle regalia where crossing swords with a ferocity of a westerly wind fleeing from Zephyrus himself. The clang of steel was loud in my head and beat a pulse behind my eyes that watched them move around the end of the bed and along the wall along side of me.

The breeze slithering through the trees and through my open window bought whispered entreaties to my ears…

“She mine Ares! I saw her first, I will have her. She is my Yin! I will possess my other half!”

Clang, clang, grunt, clang

“Kratos, you do not know me well to think that I will not fight for the one that can stand with the God of War! I will have her”

Clang, ******, parry, clang

Now, this is where I got really confused.

I was starting to think that the red haze fluttering around the room was from my bleeding eyes because it was now 4.27am and more than 3 hours of my life were gone.

How was I supposed to get that back?

I was idyllically pondering what a Yin was while being gobsmacked by the fact that I was actually the other half of something. But being the other half of Strength?

What does that make me?

Weakness?

What would my Greek name be?

Profligatus?

But that didn’t concern me more than what Ares wanted with me? How strong did he think I was? Sure, I’m a bit prickly at times but for the God of War to focus on me? ****, and I thought I had curbed my enthusiastic condemnation of humanity… Obviously I had not!

But who am I kidding! It was really very nice to have them fighting over me. I’m not really sure who drew first blood (because of the ****** evil digital alarm clock glow) but I’m sure I would have swooned into whomevers arms reached down to claim me had it not been for the sound of the evacuation alarm.

ER ER ER ER ER ER ER ER*

****, ****, ****, the sun has crept over the horizon and has lightened the darkened theater that is my bedroom and it’s the alarm clock that is shrieking a warning that it’s time to start a new day.

****! I’m not ready for this. I’m tired, I want more dreaming, or awakening, or whatever the hell that was!

Most of all I want to know…

What did it all mean?
 Nov 2013 John F McCullagh
Helen
Biology was their favorite subject
The frog pinned
to the polyurethane
grinned
a mask of death
But the smile was wider
to those that wielded the scalpel
the cut so precise
to examine the internal organs
exposed beneath a bated breath

Lycaenidae, Nymphalidae,
Papilionidae, Pieridae, Riodinidae
They are all butterflies
but they become one by the sword
the sharp taste of steel
that bound them, spread eagled
beneath the smile of their Lord
beneath their Lucite coffin
they never become bored

Ancient bones of ancient beings
beg to be laid to rest
beside all those that
fall close to extinction
because they have been there
and done that
and are now displayed
in their very finest

Trophies that line the walls
behind glass and whispers in the hall
A hushed reverence that is displayed
while the suit walks tall
wondering why
we should be a hater
When all he has done is preserve
a world gone mad and has come undone
Like the bones of his first victims
he brings life back
in a macabre display
He stands tall, but walks alone
yesterday
a Serial Killer
today
a *Museum Curator
 Nov 2013 John F McCullagh
Helen
Thine acts are of no worth
and in thy Eye is death
Mock the traveler on the road
that does struggle to take a breath

Thoughts are scattered on the wind
and forever cast with doubt
Alas, the wind sighs back again
to bring thine own disaster about

To take apart a simple verse
is to pick upon the bleeding carcass
that has shed it's skin, simple carrion
to feed the masses as is asked of us

The quill that has governed experience
has been sharpened upon the rusty knife
Forsaken in the course of revelry and
taken to the very edge of a lonely life

Cast a jagged eye to an empty corpse
and spill platitudes that crawl with malice
Seek the macabre as noble warriors of yore
there will nay be drinking from the mystical chalice
Don't Sweat The Little Stuff


Don't sweat the little stuff
When there is big stuff still to see
That little stuff gets in the way
Of the life you need to lead

There is they say a right way
Of getting something done
But sometimes it seems the wrong way
Is just a lot more fun

You cannot change the world
There are things you cant control
Although you want the good life
You should never sell your soul

There are many ways to live your life
Many different points of view
You must choose the path that fits you best
The one that's right for you

So don't sweat the little stuff
When there is big stuff still to see
That little stuff gets in the way
Of the life you need to lead

Don't sweat the little stuff

Carl Joseph Roberts
Just a bunch of Joeisms thrown together. This for me is life and how I live it.
Up we got, morning still,
Breath fogged over,
Deep night's chill.

Sunrise brightening,
Day arising.

Embers stoked,
Fire lighting.

Smoky air,
Disheveled hair.

Coffee, on to brew.
No, I have failed at this.
Failed, at loving you.

Your twice remembered lines,
So precious, the first time,
Have grown still.

I won't be loving you again.
Won't be loving you.
Blow, winds, blow

He wanders in and out of dream scapes,
Seeking refuge from the nameless ache,
The burn of a thousand cloudless days.

The tumbleweed of his joy blows in the dunes of neglect,
Vaguely rooted in the sands of discontent.

Blow, winds, blow!
Shift the sand beneath his feet,
Tumble him to the river of rejoice,
Where his seeds can bury deep
In the fertile soil of complete.


Walk on, Lonely Pilgrim

Would that you would go a spell further,
Fight a round harder, walk a mile longer,
Perhaps you will see the clear waters,
The soaring vistas, the spring flowers.

Sandstorms blind your eyes and sting your throat,
Your music lost into the wind.

Walk on, lonely pilgrim,
Walk on, and meet me
In the green valley,

It's just 'round the bend.

I've a song to play for you!



Welcome Song for the Weary Traveler


With unsure steps, tread the ground,
Gaze out with open eyes.
Cast away all fear and doubt.
Let the music sing your soul!

This river will wash your bedrock,
Polish the rough stones of your longing,
Flow away your worried mind.

When this love-seed settles in the soil of your heart,
Your rose will bloom, in fertile field,
Where nightingale warbles its melodious tune.

Lay down your head upon alfalfa pillow,
Let the music take you high,
Where daffodil dreams and mystic streams
Sing you sweetest lullaby.

Now close your eyes and feel the pull
This song, the lodestone to your heart,
Drawing out your own sweet tune.

Hear gentle clouds that roll on by,
Smell sweet the scented breeze in sky,

Feel the love,
                  
                      Let go,
                              
                                   *Now fly



Lonely Pilgrim Dreams


The lonely pilgrim fell asleep on his pillow of dreams,
As minstrel sung songs that floated on air.
He struggled to wake from his trance like state,
As he found himself deep in the quagmire of regret,
Wondering how he had found himself
Wandering in green valleys,
How he had been so easily lulled to sleep.

He wondered, too, if dreams are ever real,
And what he would see at morning's light.

Minstrel sang on, into the night,
Singing all good things into his heart,
Breathing love into his pillow,
Playing for light,
Playing the tune of her heart strings that night.

She was not sure what song she sang anymore,
But wanted to sing,
And sing some more.
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