#butler
it is the defining answer as to why
in the infinite measurement of time
we are quickly fading as a species
the heroes and those given the gift of genius
quietly silenced in the shadows
in the whispers that fade quickly like dreams
the light of untethered thought
the discoveries that lay in wait to bring us to an enlightened world
are crushed by the deviants
the malicious
the maggotry that userp and violate the natural progression of mankind
more brazen they have become
more defined are their goals
unflinching in their task
these oligarchs who see utopia as a world under their control
they ******
they destroy
they bury all ideas and creations
that interfere with their burning desire
for personal gain
greed owns them
greed drives them
and in the end
will come darkness
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 9:45 AM UTC
The butler knows
of sorrow untold
He feels so cold,
only the warm glow
of evening
finds him
solace
from what he knows.
points turning
opportunities infinite
he thought of not
would render whole dreams forever irredeemable.
His heart was breaking.
All was over. No point dwelling on. Look further beyond.
_lest human warmth he needs, banter be the key to what he seeks_
Jun 25, 2020
Jun 25, 2020 at 10:18 AM UTC
The butler
Dudman stares
at Polly
as she stands
in his stark
small office.
Master George
will be back
home again
very soon
with a nurse
for his care,
Dudman says.
Polly smiles;
o that's good,
she utters,
relaxing
(she'd thought he'd
summoned her
to complain
about her
domestic work).
However,
Dudman says,
that does not
mean that you
will attempt
once again
to enter
or to have
******
dealings with
him in bed.
Polly blushes
lost for words.
I've told you
before this
about that,
and warned you.
But George
wanted me
to go there,
Polly says.
Master George
to you girl,
Dudman says,
know your place
in this house;
you will not
have dealings
sexually
with Master
George at all
or be fired
if you do;
understood?
Polly nods;
words fail her.
Understood,
Dudman says.
Yes I do,
Polly says
tearfully,
looking past
Dudman's head
at the wall.
She thinks of
George last time
in his bed
having ***
his moustache
tickling
her pale cheek,
having had ***
with him five
times that week.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 12:41 AM UTC
the bottle twists
glass falls in drifts
and air parts like flesh
there’s a terror beneath this city
trucks enter from out of town and shake the power lines
passing without pause
sometimes birds gather for days
chirps grow exponentially
before tailing into silence;
heather and brimstone
little bodies roll to the edges
and burst on the streets in red regalia
a somnolence keeps the city forgetful
time flows in fits
a streetlamp; a raven; ten gravestones
it all runs without moving
vessels dilate
hands hold themselves
there’s nothing to breathe with
an empty chalice, turned on the hour grants
heaving clenching writhing
an ocean of rust
bulb shatters, blood spills out her
mouth cave head turn faith
the world remakes itself
**********
the colour of sunflowers
bicycle chains
thirst
colonialism
wet paint
emptiness over emptiness
act without agent
lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack lack
peel the flesh and find flesh
always more flesh
don’t stop they know better
chirp chirp chirp
turn
exit
substance
purpose
nothing
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 12:51 AM UTC
George had gone
from the house.
His parents
had sent him
to a place
for treatment
for the state
of his nerves
broken up
at the Front.
Who told you?
Polly asked
when Susie
had told her.
Old Dudman
(the butler)
just told me,
Susie said.
But gone where?
Polly asked.
Didn't say,
said Susie,
secretly
she was glad
that Polly
would not now
be able
to go sleep
in his bed
as she had
times before.
I must know
where he's gone,
Polly said,
and rushed off
quickly to
find Dudman
and ask him.
Where's he gone?
Polly said
to Dudman
who was in
his small room.
Where's who gone?
He asked her.
Master George,
she replied.
He eyed her
quite sternly;
where he can
be assured
of treatment,
Dudman said.
But where's that?
Polly said.
I can't say,
not to you,
he replied,
back to work,
and forget
your dealings
in the past,
in his bed,
Dudman said.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
Polly waits outside George's room;
she anxious about his state of mind,
then being sent out by Dudman,
when all she wanted to do
was help George
in whatever way she could.
She stares at the door;
hears voices,
then silence,
the door opens and Dudman
comes out closing the door
behind him gently until it clicks.
He grabs her by the arm
and moves along the passage,
his hand gripping her tightly,
hurting her.
What were you up to
in there with Master George?
he says,
moving her along forcefully.
Let go of me,
she says,
trying to move his fingers
from her arm.
He stops
and releases her arm.
What were you doing to him?
he says.
I was trying to calm him down;
he was bellowing out
about someone called Gwyer,
she says angrily.
They stand staring at each other
toe to toe like two boxers.
She rubs her arm
with her hand.
No need to be hurting me,
she says,
I was helping him,
not hurting him.
Dudman stares at her,
his hands at his sides,
his body stiff and his
breathing heavy.
It didn't look good to me,
he says,
like you were up to
your old tricks.
Old tricks?
What do you mean?
she says.
You know what I mean;
last time he was on leave
you were in his bed
and God knows
what you were up to,
he says.
She reddens
and looks away.
Wasn't doing nothing like that
just comforting him;
he was upset about
the **** war
and killing and such,
she says.
He stands gazing at her,
at her inner strength,
the ***** on her,
the breathing making
them more prominent.
I warned you
about being with him,
Dudman says.
I was just doing
as you told me to:
taking his breakfast to him,
that's all,
and he kicks off,
she says.
He is silent;
gazes at her.
Keep his condition
to yourself;
don't want all and sundry
knowing what he is like,
Dudman says
quieter now.
She nods her head,
breathes in deep.
I'll say nothing,
she says,
but I can see him
can't I?
Dudman stares away
from her
along the passage.
As long as you don't try
and get into his bed,
he says.
She walks off down
the passageway.
He watches her go;
the sway of her hips,
the black dress
tight about her rear,
the nice legs
in black stockings.
She goes out of sight
and he walks
the opposite way
to report Master George's condition
to the young man's father.
Polly walks down
the back stairs,
her mind in confusion
over George and his
state of mind;
she feeling like
one with one eye
leading the blind.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
Take tea and breakfast
to Master George's room,
Dudman the butler had said.
So Polly takes the tray
and slowly opens the door
to his room.
He's asleep,
his eyes closed,
his head turned
towards the windows,
where the curtains
are still drawn
letting in
only a dull morning light.
She lays the tray
on the small table
by the window
and looks over at him;
one of his hands shakes
on the bed cover,
the other out of sight.
She turns and draws back
the curtains slowly
and quietly, and the sunlight
pours in blinding her eyes.
Behind her George Elmore
sits up rigid
as if electrified,
his eyes wide open
staring at the window,
and shouts:
LOOK OUT GYWER.
Polly turns in alarm
and leans back
against the table,
staring at him:
what is it Master George?
she says.
He is shaking;
his hands tremble
at his sides.
She runs to him
and holds him
against her breast.
George what is it?
it's me Polly,
she says,
holding him in her arms,
shaking,
holding him.
His words mumbling:
Gwyer where's Gwyer?
he utters softly,
grabbing her tightly.
Her thoughts are in confusion;
she feels useless,
but holds onto him:
George it's me Polly.
He looks at her,
his eyes distant gazing.
The door opens
and Dudman stands there:
what has happened?
he says,
gazing at her
and then at the man
she is holding:
what happened?
he says again.
He began shouting out
a man's name,
she says,
and he was shaking
and I just grabbed him
to stop him
falling from bed.
Dudman looks at her,
his eyes dark:
lay him back on the bed
this moment and leave;
I’ll have the doctor come,
he says.
He's ill,
she says.
Leave now,
Dudman says.
She lays George down gently;
his hands grab her arms,
his fingers gripping her tight:
where's Gwyer?
he says.
He's resting George, resting,
she says in his ear.
He lies back
and stares at the window,
releasing her arms,
like one letting go of rope
and falling back
into dark seas.
Dudman sighs
and says,
go Perkins please.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
Susie stands
in the spare guest room,
chilled air,
bed made up,
furniture polished,
window open to refresh.
She walks to the bed
and sits on it,
feels the springiness,
no creaks of springs
or headboard like her bed
in the attic with Polly.
She smooths down
the bed covers
with the palm
of her hand;
she wishes her bed
was like this:
bouncy and comfortable;
she looks out
towards the window,
trees and fields, birdsong,
not rooftops like her view
from the attic, not smoke
from chimneys.
She wishes Polly
was here with her,
sitting beside her,
better still
in the bed with her;
she hates sleeping alone
if Polly goes
to Master George’s room
when he returns home
from the Front;
what do you
do with him?
she asked Polly,
that's for me to know
and you to mind
your business,
Polly said last time
when he was home on leave.
She likes it
when Polly's there,
her body close,
her hands around
Polly's waist,
feeling her there;
if only Polly would do
as Susie'd like her to,
kiss lips or cheek;
but she daren't do it
in case Polly
belts her one
as she did that time
she touched her thigh.
A voice calls her;
the butler probably,
searching to see
where she was;
she gets off the bed
and stands
behind the door,
large eyed,
hands together;
the door opens
and Dudman looks
into the room;
where's that girl
gone now,
he says,
then walks off
along the passage,
calling her name.
She sighs,
opens the door
and walks off
the other way;
so goes another
dreary day.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC
My butler, Dearest butler,
Please come hither to thee,
Show they self to be proper
When in the presence of me.
In the doorway you linger
So tall and straight you stand
As you bow you head low
To patiently await my command.
I stay in my bed and whisper,
I ask for you to be at my side
So I can confess myself to thee
And tell how you've satisfied.
"I'm greatly old fashion, I know.
I'm elderly, wrinkled, and frail."
I reach out for your gloved hand,
I'm cold and frightfully pale.
My butler, Loyal butler,
I give you a golden reference
For you are truly perfection,
Magically knowing my preference.
One last task is I give to you,
Stay near me now awhile
To comfort me once more
With your genuine smile.
My butler, Loving butler,
I have little time left, it's true
So pay me one last request.
I have a question for you:
When I die, where will you be?
Will you stay close and greave
And carry me to my final grave?
Or will you just simply leave?
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC
Fear, followed me
Killed me
With cold hands
Twisting my heart
And tearing my soul
Hiding underneath his
Silk red long hair
And looking at me
With green piercing eyes
Appearing like a shadow
A soul Reaper named
Grell Sutcliff…
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
Up on a feathered duvet a man conceding defeat
To the Sunday that had just begun
Reeking of last night’s sweat, smoke and self-deceit
Threads of reality so rapidly un-spun
All that he promised himself to accomplish this day
All that stuff to be tossed in the bin
Procrastination rearranges plans or lets them decay
And all because of his love for gin
Amnesia of last night’s antics plants the seeds of guilt
Shame shall be his shadow today
Enter a recurring thought... a sword driven to its hilt
Piercing pain added to his dismay
Rusted cogs of cognition screeched slowly into action
"A cure" he grumbled "A cure"
Wearily off the bed searching for medicinal satisfaction
To make last night less obscure
The stark bright light of the bathroom fried his vision
But as his senses normalized
He stared in the mirror shocked, BANG! In a collision
Mouth agape and paralyzed
Finger painted on his forehead, with what must be blood
G U I L T Y
From down stairs somewhere
A woman's laugh
Mocking
Fear took its grip quick
A sword driven to its hilt
***Part 2 of 6
a sword driven to its hilt***
Arctic chills froze his spine
Pick axes hacked his mind
Tongue pickled in brine
Suffocated and confined
Heart beat pounding
Breathing short and quick
Terror was abounding
Throat swallowing a brick
Staring at his reflection . . . G U I L T Y
Unable move any limb
Even for his protection
Return of memory grim . . . a sword driven to its hilt
Back to the bed room to search for his phone
To make contact with the real world
From down stairs came that exact same laugh
Every hair on his body tightly curled
The phone was nowhere to be found upstairs
Again that tormenting laughter
He called out "Who is it?" but only silence replied
Then that laugh again soon after
"WHO ARE YOU?!" he demanded to know
Arming himself with a cricket bat
Tentatively descending the sweeping staircase
Noticing the post on the door mat
The newspaper informed him it was Monday
Confused, frightened he ran outside
A burnt pile of his clothes lay in front of his door
He yelled but only the laughter replied
Then through the dining room bay-window
Sitting at the table as if a patient guest
A gruesome wide eyed greying corpse of a man
A sword driven in his head and out his breast
In the dead man’s hand a glowing phone
The source of the tormenting laugh
Not thinking, our man rushed in to take it
The phone flashed "maintenance staff"
Every sense heightened
Sickened and frightened
Feeling he was being observed
Part of a wicked game
Driving him insane
But so far he had been preserved
As he answered the phone
He knew he was not alone
"Hello sir... I hope I haven't disturbed"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
***part 3 of 6
Saturday Night***
The late afternoon sun draped its golden satin light
To the house-staff, Giles (our man) seemed uptight
The butler Zamira dutifully stirring his drink right
The sun dipped behind the poplar trees standing straight
He orders "A Churchill martini" trying not to sound irate
Giles watched her stirring, stirring as in a hypnotic state
Zamira presented a chilled, frosted Riedel martini glass to him
brimming to the top with Gilpins Westmorland extra dry gin
The sun slowly sank behind trees as the drink loosened his limbs
"You may both leave, till Tuesday" He said to Zamira and her twin
Liliana (the cook) and the butler were often dismissed at his whim
They sped off in their green MG, off to the Slaughtered lamb inn
Giles raised his glass to the bobbing full hunters moon
Waiting was now over, the others would be here soon
First a pinch of Peruvian sniffed from a little silver spoon
This day had been prepared in detail for nearly a year
One final act of courage and tenacity he must engineer
All hushed except the sound of large cars drawing near
Four black Jaguars and a white refrigerated van
Crunched over the gravel drive towards (our man)
Giles Bradshaw-Behran stood still.
It had began.
-----------------------------------------------------------
***Part 4 of 6
three years earlier
The Gallows and Noose***
"This, THIS! I'm so tired of all THIS!"
Blurted Giles as Zamira dressed his wrists
Pathetic! (She thought) A dismal attempt
Then left the room concealing contempt
Giles just stared at the
drip
drip
drip
dripping of the morphine
Candle light danced on the walls
The demons sank back into the shadows
Giles returned to the womb
Basking in weightless warmth
Comfortably apathetic
Numb
The drudgery of the next day unfurled
As Giles accepted defeat around noon
Something had to be done about life
That something had better happen soon
He brunched in his office
and so began his search
All that day
and night
that week
That month
Deeper into the cavernous "dark web"
seeking any answer to end his despair
but every search became a cul-de-sac
No doors opened for this millionaire
No doors would open
All remained firmly locked
Sitting in his office chair
Feverishly typing as he rocked
He rocked as he typed
He swivelled as he clicked
Searching for something
That he was less able to predict
But that something found him
And sent him an invitation
Explaining that they had been watching
Seeing his frustration
Understanding his world view
May he could understand theirs
But before he were to be accepted
He must climb down the seven stairs
He
Must
Climb
Down
The
Seven
Stairs
Distant from the blinding light
Cast yourself from the hallows
Embrace darkness embrace night
Take the Noose and the Gallows.
The mouse pointer hovered
over options "Yes" and "No"
His heart beat quickened
But then came the red glow
of two laser beams from directly behind
circling the yes option
From past the windows' opened blind
"Yes" and the two red dots disappeared
The wheels were put in motion
His future was now commandeered
A force that seemed greater than him
Changed the rules and took control
Embers deep inside of him flickered
Re-igniting the coals of his dark soul
The seven steps awaited him...
What ever could they be?
-----------------------------------------------------------
***part 5 of 6
The Seven Steps of The Thuggee***
Giles sat statue still in his office
Unsure whether or not he should move
Like a hunted deer in the woods
Waiting for chances of survival to improve
And yet though he were vulnerable
Life coursed through every artery and vein
The lost keystone of his arched spirit
The panacea for tedious boredom and pain
DING! **** The doorbell rang
"Zamira, who is it? Can you please see?"
Footsteps approached the front entrance
Giles felt instinctively "fight or flee"
He sat with silence looming over him
For what seemed like an eternity
****** ancient bell!" he shouted
"This whole house repels modernity!"
Down stairs
At the entrance
The Cuban butler stared out into the night
Looking for a sign
Looking for who...
Who had left the parcel she now clutched tight
No one
Nothing
But for the song of a lonely nightingale
She hurried
To the office
Where she found her employer looking pale
Zamira explained what had happened
And handed him the black wrapped box
"Would you like me to open it Sir?"
"No! I would like... a chartreuse on the rocks"
She left to attend to his request
For the attention of Mr. G. Bradshaw-Behram
Soon after the two laser beams were on the wrapping
Inside the box was a detailed program
A history of the Thuggee cult and a Thuggee king
The Thuggee King called BEHRAM!
Behram, BEHRAM! His late mother’s family name
A Thuggee cult King relative?
With over 900 hundred murders to that man’s claim
900 strangled victims
To please Goddess Kali
Every drop of blood for her
So humanity can be free
Zamira returned with his drink
Giles had never needed one so much
The following weeks more instruction came
Weeks just turned to months
Months quickly turned to years
Six of the secret steps complete
So many grotesque souvenirs
All leading to this moment
On his lawn under the hunters moon
The waiting was now over
The others would be here very soon
First a pinch of Peruvian
Sniffed from his pretty little silver spoon
Adjusting his cummerbund
That soon would erase two souls fortune
Four black Jaguars and a refrigerated van
Crunched over the gravel drive to our man
Giles stood still and smiled, for it had began
Each of the six women and the six men
Were concealed with hoods and veils
But Giles' face was not hidden from them
Now that he controls the final inhales
Deep in the candle light of the wine cellar
Which had been prepared with plastic sheets and tape
A skirt of dismembered arms on an altar
A grim garland of forty eight human skulls, mouths agape
But fifty skulls are required
According to the ancient text
Two more to soon be provided
Giles planned to do that next
"Bring the two travellers to me" demanded Giles
"Let me send them on their final way"
Eight of the group left and within minutes returned
With four bound, hooded for him to slay.
Giles felt suddenly unable to function
"This was not meant to be!"
"The others witnessed the abduction, Sir"
"They...will not please Kali"
"Stand those women over there
Tie them back to back
Make sure your knots are fixed
Offer them no slack!"
The silk cummerbund slid
Effortlessly off his waist
Weighted near the middle
To offer death less haste
The first of the male offerings
Only kicked for 30 seconds
the world stopped moving when
the other felt the silk band
The back to back females started spinning
Their hoods removed and ******* gone
Giles did not look up to see who he knew
Focused solely on continuing strangulation
This time the Thuggee's had another view
Zamira and Liliana in a blurring spin
Black of space and ocean of deep blue
Zamira angered, Liliana peaceful grin
All but their arms becoming one
Morphing seamlessly into each other
The (previously twin) sisters had become
The universe's all powerful mother
K A L I...
***Final part
Nothing escapes the all-consuming march of time!***
As KALI consumed time and space
Her dimensions grew and grew
Her skin darkened to deep space black
From unfathomable ocean blue
Rivers of obsidian flowed as her wild hair
Untamed, magnificent, streaming
Three blood red eyes past, present, future
Decided who needed redeeming
Four arms, three of which were grasping
A sword, a spear, a bowl
The fourth grabbed a Thuggee's head
Sword decapitated the soul
A crimson red snake of a tongue lashed
Out for every drop of blood
Then the sword slashed every throat there
Her tongue lapped up the flood
KALI'S gaze finally cast upon terrified Giles
Evaporating his body with fire
His conscience was that remained in that dimension
His conscience changed KALI'S desire
Frightful fury morphed in to motherly compassion
Her skin back from black to blue
Spewing out rearranged history, time and space
No other being could construe
But a mother must teach her children lessons
So she left Giles not without guilt
A ****** message painted on his forehead
And a sword driven to its hilt
THE END!
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC