Calamari float,
changing tack,dive inwards quick,
life's contrary turns!

Watching alone, the world in perpetual motion
from the view point on my balcony,I see  the beauty!
my eyes catch her and her's mine,I say this to myself
"Some thing humane in these days of stares and scares"
While she flies a kite from the high rise opposite,
the protest,challenge and the revolt in that act was evident,
she made sure,that  I didn't miss the political point.I am sure.

Her kite, navigated with such consummate skill,fell near me,
My eyes read this message on her face "Rescue me from the beast"
wasn't it really an expedition to find the beast in question!
Fascinating specimen was he!I was taken in by his narration.
As a better narration commands merit,I did honor, kept quiet.

“Nobody owns life, but anyone who can
pick up a frying pan owns death.”
– William S. Burroughs

Through a door that is not mine
that’s left ajar from time to time
we see a man with zany eyes
scarred-up face, mouth full of lies.

Through a window at an ungodly hour
the night our neighborhood lost power
we see the man pull on a mask
and knit the weavings of his task.

I should have gotten quite the scare
when he pulled that woman by her hair,
then tossed her in the hole he’d fill
and quickly cover with daffodils,

but I’m no stranger to playing detective;
his plots have proven rather defective.
A call to the cops brings a rap on his door
that eventually leads to the lush garden floor.

Now, I don’t think I’m deserving of fame
my ego is simply much too tame
but I have kept dark things from view
and you listen well, so I’ll share with you.

There is something you should recognize
in that man with zany eyes;
don’t always believe what you’re told to see,
for he who plants the daffodils is me.

I seem to be losing my mind.

I hear faint screams,
In the middle of the night,
They sound like my mother's,
Everyone says I am imagining it,
I seem to be losing my mind.

I see bruises, marks and scars,
On the face of my mother,
Dad says it's because she fell down the stairs,
Mother must be very clumsy,
Or I must be losing my mind.

I was supposed to have a sister,
But we lost her,
T'was fate, tells grandmother,
And no it wasn't she, who pushed mother,
I am just losing my mind.

I don't know,
I died a year ago,
I said things I shouldn't,
You see, I lost my mind after all.

You are killing me

you make my heart twist.

Maybe you and I could be "we"

perhaps I can finally be kissed.

War of the words from the very word "GO"
was the warming up exercise for more malice,
makes the galleries erupt in rage, cry for more
But the folks that adore  peace is outraged
every jab finds it's mark, squarely on the jaw
making profuse bleeding another spectacle
we reinvent this business  as a blood sport!

Even a  dog eat dog madness grips the arena quick
each vicious animal bares it's fangs, for long in disuse,
get ready to be paid in return,in what you gave first
Raise the war cry aloud,  boys the game is on,
no going back any more, it's fight to ****

Every bit of the act is blown out of proportion,
by the heartless lot of blue eyed boys with lenses.
It pays to narrate  stroke by stroke,pouring oil
into the roaring fire, let it rage the longest period,

Merely the tip of an ice berg, all this you've now  seen
hidden with in the barbed diatribes is lethal  power,
things they hope would get heated too soon,
and would become a full blown "COLD WAR"

It's the post truth world of puzzles and games,
every such story ends in  a tragic twist at the end.
for us it'snot,we need a twist to make us smile.

Here is a twisted tale,
Snickers without fail,
Imagine if he loved me,
Like I love the person, he,
I guess we all have our fantasy,
Some are quite healthy,
Twist in the tale, indeed,
Imagine if he loved me,
Like I love the person, he......

An echo called to me last night
At first I thought it was the cat but he was curled up and sound asleep
So I went to the window that held the moon full and bright
And waited.
And waited a bit more,
But nothing, not even a peep.
I went to sit back down at my desk to attempt a poem
But this time I heard a moan
Was it a moan? Maybe something more like a groan,
So I padded back over to the window with the moon high and bright.
That’s where I saw him.
He had dragged himself from the park
Limping with his broken arm draped over his chest, covering his heart.
I walked over to the cat, stroked his long, warm fur.
Then grabbed my shovel and went downstairs
To finish what I started.

In 2006 I ventured into an old abandoned libary, being an urban explorer I wanted to see first hand the haunting tales of what occured inside one's of occultism, satanic rituals and the paranormal.

I don't remember much of the trip but I can recall I heard a scream that sounded very familiar.

The year is 2016 and I have decided to return. This place so beautiful on my first visit now appears like the tales I was told those years ago. I open the main door now screeching due to the rust that covered the metal.

I make my way through a darkened hall, dimmly lit bulbs blinking providing the limited light. Bleak and the sudden pungent smell of decay, the brick walls once filled with warmth are now wet and cold.

Something is here.

The overbearing smell of rot and death lingers in the already thin air. Gulping....I stop....then proceed forwards. I feel the warmth of a stagnant breath on my back and turn a quick 90 degrees.

Nothing

Turning back to the direction I was originally heading, goosebumps adorn my being. Shaking and saying to myself. GET THE **** OUT GET THE **** OUT GET. THE. ****. OUT... I ignore my better judgement, I'm here to stay.

So I press on determined. I hear the buzzing of flies and I know I'm at the epicentre of the stench.

Bookshelves thrown askew, pentagrams and other ****** graffiti adorn the walls. I look around the room and then I see it...

A foot, I glide over to the foot and proceed from the blooded body stabbed in several places multiple times from the torso all the way to the face.

I stop...frozen in shock

I gasp...

It's not just any face

**It is mine.