Peel me make me laugh

Eat me make me cry

Delicious though I am for you

Your pleasure is what makes me die

We sat around the fire
While the old man read the poetry
From a battered old book
Held together with strips of
Ribbon and shoelaces
Bound around it like a cord

The light flickered and danced
To the beat of spitting wood
Shadows stretched across the room
We hid in them like a duvet

Eyes fixed elsewhere
Saw not how I placed  
Her hand in mine
And felt the delicate pulse
That betrayed her feelings to me
And mirrored my own feelings
For her.

I saw them growing
In the damp squelchy soil
Soaked and sodden
With the rains that fell
Over winter
At first they shot out of
The ground
Green shoots unseen among
The green grass
But upwards they jutted
Reaching into the sky as much
As such things could
Exploding into blooms of yellow
Leaning over like bells
Ringing out in peals of colour
The joyous celebration we all
Waited for eagerly
Through the darkness of winter
"Spring is here at last- ah
Spring is here at last"

For Robin & Emilie Stammers  

They say the universe is full of smells  
In fact tests on astronaut's suits  
Have indicated this much was true  
It seems- they say- that there are faint  
Traces of metallic smells you see?  
Not the stink of leather and bourbon  
Which emanates from my friend Robin  
Or the sweaty funk that lingers  
Where my obese neighbour goes  
There are- to put it quite simply-  
None of the rich earthy smells  
That one associates with life or living  
In the cold realms of outer space  
There are just the smells  
One would find in a science lab  
In other words metals and the  
Faint perfume of vaporous gasses  
Seeping from stars and planets  
In perpetual extra-terrestrial fartings  
Out there- where there are  
Strange cosmic happenings that  
Would blow your mind-  
The universe they say is positively stinking  
Reeking to high heavens  
You could say...  
Though of course, we can really never know  
For sure  
And that is what bothers us-  
Humans, in general, that is-  
We don't like being reminded  
Just how finite we are  
When we are surrounded  
By all that marvellous infinity

Eat not my Brother
For though his skin is darker than mine
His tears are no less salty
Nor is his laughter less sweet

Eat not my brother
Treat him not unlike a man
For though we are not alike on the outside
Humanity is not only skin deep

What had you said, oh first made woman?

First born woman of my flesh?

What hallowed words had you uttered

When you seperated my heart from love?

Or from what I felt was really my due?


For I was naught but dust to you

Maybe you could scold me
Tell me that you love me so
Dig my grave with your
Harsher words
But hey man I don't care

Sid and Nancy had it made
****** chic stupidity
In a hotel bed
Glazed eyes
And soft carpet touch
Like a thorn in the side of youthful folly

Keep it *****
Keep it fresh

Bleed on me

She adopted Irish words and lingo
As her moniker-  
Like the Meadbh of old, a queen
Of many talents
Her's was the gathering of languages
A menagerie of the tongues of the earth
Spoken as she lamented with crossed accents
So that her French sounded Italian
Her German sounded English
And her Irish like the incantations to old legends
In which she would have been worshipped-  
If not feared
For what is not to fear in her eyes
Which speak of a passion
Like the intensity of Picasso's eyes
That screamed his power
She is the same- A famous beauty
Like a song from childhood
Her power to transfix is in her eyes
Wells to get lost in-  
For she is the fairy queen of Hessen.

©Vincent S. Coster 27th October 2015

Pretty little mushrooms

Growing in the sky

8 feet, 50 feet, 100 feet high

Blasts of radiation  

Blows us all away

When it turns to midnight

In the middle of the day

How you always wake me up early in the morning

Standing on the roof of my house while the house sparrows

Chatter among themselves in their sweet frenzied way

Arguing over food, and space and all the other things that

Siblings squabble over



They flutter around and you pay no attention to them

But like Zarathustra on his hillside, you continue to call out

And demand answers with that strange rising intonation at the end

A rising arpeggio of riddles asking of me in the morning-

Who-who, who-who, who?

I take deep breaths

And plan a ******

To **** the bird that flew

Over the crow's nest


On a summer night

I feel the warmth

Of the day not yet done

The sound of laughter

Is all around me

This is cool- I say


I find myself lying on a surgery table

Holding an apple in my hand

I throw it against the floor

And landing there

It bursts into a million

Children of my mind

Spreading into every

Country on the planet

I am the new master

As my children grow and grow

Still in rags I speak

And throw my thoughts into a bin

Their work is finished you see


Still the sound of laughter

Carries on around me

Living is easy

With your head

In the clouds


I saw- and still I hear

The giggles and noises

Of delightful romances being

Born

These should be mine

But they are not mine

Such things are little more than

Mist or whispers

Promises not yet realised

My children sympathise

And bringing me a woman

To sit with me in the tall grass

Together we shall

Plan a life instead

***** grey fingers in every village

Every town

Etched with simple names

Of the lost sons to the new madness

Of love of land

And unknown king

Breeding hate of fellow man

For whom they prey and ****

Knee deep in mud

And jingoistic tosh

Said alike by

Tommy, Frenchman, and Boche

The metal blade
That kissed your skin
Will nor remove the pain
Nor form scars
To match the ones
Formed by betrayal upon
Your heart
The seeping blood
So crimson
Enticing
Will not wash away  
They way that tears do
The sadness you may feel
Spent on people who
Mistreat you
But they are fools
And so beneath you
And their razor blade tongues
Cut into you
But you will rise above
Their hurtful words
Like blood red roses
In the snow
And from the ashes of  
Your broken self
We'll see the fire of  
Your beautiful spirit
And we'll have roses for ashes then

*© 2011 Vincent S. Coster

Police came with blue

Flashing lights

Trouble in the house on

The corner

She was walking into doors again

A regular habit so it seems

The father you know
Is a construct made up from  
Odd parts
Like some Frankenstein's monster
Put together by you
From things you heard
And impressions you have
Based on his actions

His intentions you knew nothing of  
Nor of the sorrows
He felt over the decisions he made
And how they were not always his
To make
But were often the results of
Consequences out of his control

You will see over time
How he mourned for you
And how the father you know
Is nothing like the person  
He really is

The sea crashed on the shoreline
Like the whisper of a lover
Telling the secrets of her deepest being
To the deaf and silent land

The waves rushed in and hardened the shore
And no one dared to touch the sea
But fixed angry glares on her murderous swells
Relinquished only with grudging
With the cold grey morning

Heaving on her stormy *******
Men and birds alike find a living
In the cold cruel mistress's hands
The sea like a field, yields its fruit
Mere morsels to keep her lovers enslaved
Bound in sluggish wedlock
Tempestuous, cold
The men made hardy by her rage
And drunk by her salty kiss
Hearing her call when at night in their beds
Or by the fire, they take stock and rest
For what the sea gives, she demands a return
And for another lost lover, a candle shall burn

"So how do you feel about
Not being invited to your sister's wedding?"
Such was the question he had asked one Saturday in his kitchen.
It was a tactless premise to
The dispelling of his unwanted wisdom
For such was his manner
Of seeking ways to tell us all how best for us to do
"Thus and so,"
Even in matters that he knew not
Hence the thoughtless question
Which yes, he actually asked
Causing them to flinch in pain at the recollection
That they had been so wilfully forgotten
By someone whom they both loved dearly