I might've been an only
child but I was never the
favourite. you trailed behind us at every
social event, pulling on my
hair and stepping on the backs of my
shoes. the bottoms of them were so
worn out from years of me trying to run
away that I could feel every footstep in my
lungs. at christmas none of my presents could be
wrapped, because we'd learned the first
year that it wasn't a good
idea. she made me spend hours tearing it off in a straight
line, using a ruler as
guidance. I was too young to read the
numbers on it. this year, I bought her a
necklace. I knew I had to give her something even though I wanted to
take. she never mentioned it on our Christmas cards, but it was
there, it was
there in the spacing of our
names and the negative space between our warm
bodies; we weren't allowed to
touch. she hates you so
much that she could never bear
leaving you. vacuums became my
lullaby and my father quickly grew
used to never getting kissed on the
mouth. I hate you. you were a thorn
stuck into the centrepiece of our perfect
family, and my psychotherapist says you're the
reason I still let myself
bleed.

When you walked on me
I was groovy,
I was the rose of the spring:
everyone’s sweetie!

Your little earth down the upside-
down sky was the centrepiece!
Not anymore, I don’t want to be.
O Fathima, don’t go without me,
don’t go to heaven without me!

Without you I melt away,
burning my spine:
you know the reason why.
I passed my song down to you.
Pour it down to river, to the sea,
do as you please,
but don’t leave me.
O Fathima, don’t go without me!

I touched my dream
when you touched me,
I bent with paradise
like a flower bends in the breeze.
You said sway with ease.

(Choir, voices of women:
Every night did the moon flower,
million stars spurred far afar.
We were closer than two hairs)

I let you paint yours on shades of me.
I became you, you became me.
No one is sure where your
grave is no one can see.
O Fathima, don’t go without me!

I am going to promise you nothing
I can't promise to walk with you forever, everyday
because life's too short, can't be certain I'll always be there
I won't promise you paradise when
I don't even know how that place looks like
I won't promise you comfort, it's not something we often find
It can't be all smiles,no, there'll be a tear
I won't promise to always face the monsters,sometimes I will fear
I can't promise I will never let go of us
even if you are in too deep and too dear
I can't promise I'll always hold you tight
Before I retire,how can I be so sure that I won't lose a fight
I won't promise you an umbrella each time it'll rain
some things we can't predict, they happen time and again
I can't promise I won't drive you crazy
there's a **** along the road I will be too distracted to see
and hit the breaks too late and you'll madly scream
"OMFG we could have died", you'll hate the bumpy ride
I can't promise I'll never break your Heart
what the Hell would I be thinking while promising you that
where would I find the guts to think you'll never get hurt?
I can't promise the road will always be straight
even rivers bend and you're not some fish I'm trying to bait
I can't promise it will always feel this awesome and perfect
we won't forever be together from Sunrise to Sunset
things will change, time is a continuum
I'm just stating facts,stuff that happens, don't be upset
Romance is a trip,we won't always have the money
that makes beginnings entertaining
we're now focused and looking forward to the adventure
imagining how colourful the ends of the promising rainbow are
wondering what awaits at every stop on our map
we've spined the globe, made up our minds and changed them
at the moment we're flexible, life's just a game
we can kick the ball this way and that way, we can afford to kiss all day
we're having a good time and it's tempting us to think we have control
I'm on the driving seat and I guide the wheels as you laugh
the car is filled with gasoline of faith and amour
crazy but I think you could kick Angels out of a beauty contest,
your heartbeat is loud enough, especially since I'm listening
and my ears are still vibrant because the centrepiece is still in place
they haven't been deafened by the many love songs we're going to play
and the wax of doubt that will collect in them overtime
the centrepiece will be eaten by termites of familiarity
and guess what, things will start falling apart
our feet are still clean,we cannot predict the dust they shall gather
the perfumes are still fresh on our Suits like the antiperspirants.
the elevators will always work, we think,
not knowing someday we will even fail to find a ladder,how sad
the wings of now, the hot *** that sends us sky high
comes with the chains of tomorrow,the responsibilities
the kids who'll make us careful while rolling in the hay and exasperated
and we'll forget the pleasures, thinking romance is exaggerated
when our minds are blocked by their wrangles and cry
that's the perspiration, that's when the muscles will start aching
that's when our freshness will be lost and we'll stink
the adventure will **** and the love left will all be but faking
Love is just a song, yes let's enjoy it while it's still hitting the waves
time comes when it'll be like the desolate Dead in their cracking graves
I'm not saying we shouldn't enjoy the moment, no
all I'm saying is we shouldn't count on the moment lasting forever
and forget the challenges awaiting at the end of the honeymoon
the burning sun at noon, the dark side of the moon
I'm not saying we shouldn't kiss violently till our young lips bleed
we should,we should feast on the moment with greed
after all nothing can stop karma from taking the lead
let's fulfill all our youthful adventurous need
let's smell the flowers before they wilt and lose their scent
explore the jungles and know how it feels like spending a night in a tent
Let's dangerously walk along the edge of the world, on the fringes
let's vigorously open new doors whilst many still bear rustless hinges
let's drink till we can not remember our names
wines and even the millet brew while our youth carries its fatal flames
for a time will come when these smooth skins shall be tucked
and these two magnetic Hearts will be ******
I just can't promise simply because now feels worth forever
happily ever after is a sugar coated and tasking endeavour
I am going to promise nothing, nothing is enough
nothing will ever be,my dear, nothing lasts forever
But I Love you forever,in case forever's a metaphor for now

When my dark clouds rise

And dirt clods fly and I try

In sheer panic to replace

Rotten fruit with dull wax fruit

And wilted blossoms with

Plastic flowers and she thinks we

Will be on yet another short-lived

But cold cycle of tightrope and

Eggshell walking . . .

She comes home


With bags filled with

Apples green & red

Peppers yellow & green & red

Grapes green & purple

Plums yellow & purplish-red

Strawberries, peaches, tomatoes

Bananas & Greek salads.

 
This usually inspires me to make

For this setting a centrepiece of a

Vase filled with a variety of fresh

Picked wildflowers which brings

Her more joy than two dozen

Of the overrated overachiever rose.


At times this seems like

One of  few bridges back

To a healthy & colourful world.  

 
            --Daniel Irwin Tucker

a girl found a crown on the street
clink, clank, and rolling to her feet
cold gold touched her pinkish toes-
during inspection the jewels bit her nose

she wore it all day long, in strength
found her chores list lessen in length
people blinded by it's brilliant glint
it gleamed eyes away, replaced the print

each precious stone reworked memories
envious green glass once enemies
now pink, mirrored, singular, hers
to match the crown, she wore silver furs

her cloak dragged upon the ground
other children picked it up, and found
themselves wrapped inside and gone
the village became smaller, the cloak became long

the elders dug deep at the edge of their home
while the girl was away, living alone
they discovered bones, gnawed to stumps
bugs and beetles, full, in mounds and humps

they fit the girl's old clothes perfectly
renewed dead flesh, but hurtfully
her eyes were gone, the crown's centrepiece
the flesh left again, puddled their knees

the girl had died and was eaten, long ago
it took some time, they cried, but now we know
the metal melted her fat and skin and sinew
pock-marked her bones, rotted right through

replaced a monster with her spirit, living dead
used her soul as the cloak's first thread
vacuumed others, knitted them close and thick
a pretty trinket turned poisonous trick

the elders chased the monster away
along with their children, that day
they cried and created new children, then
never let them wander again.

So promise laden, dormant lain
Neatly wrapped in cellophane
Freshly minted, new release
Pride of place and centrepiece
Glossy pages tempt the eye
Guns and girls in good supply
Grab something that’s quick to eat
Pop the disk and take a seat
A couple of hours hurry past
Scene is set and players cast
Villain always gets away
Hero vows to make him pay
Know what would be just as fun?
Stop chatting him up and USE THE ******* GUN
But no, then they proceed to dine
With another ******* TWENTY MINUTES of unrelated story line
Shooting people, picking locks
Run down corridor, crouch behind box
Hold down R and wiggle stick
Holster weapon, crouch and kick
You know what? I couldn’t care any less
Pause, Quit, Are you sure? Yes

I carry my mother wherever I go
and I am my mother the more I grow
she is a lady who never quits no matter the hurdle
a perfect example of endurance I've seen since my cradle
till now that I'm Journeying to the Grave,
she is wonderfully made and brave
a proof that true love exists, yes my mother
she loved Justus, she loved Ezra, she loved Cornel,Olive, Lucy,I & my father
the praise the Pacific receives is because the world isn't aware of the vastness of my mother's heart
she is a firm centrepiece and her family's close even when set apart
by the Sea that hides cornel out of sight somewhere in  Turkey
by the fresh responsibilities that blanket Lucy in Nairobi
by Destiny that holds father captive Home by the Countryside
Work that's keeping Justo and Oli dancing to the tune of Mint,
Ezra working his fingers to the bone
for my niece Shanty to spring up to a brighter dawn
Hustle that often keeps Mama a far toiling so that we become
who we are and who we will be tomorrow
and Education and future that manacles me in this city
Mama's the best student of the family
for she learnt all our
Weakness, Threats, Opportunities and Strength
weaknesses and helped us overcome
our threats and dug them out even when it meant whipping our *****
the opportunities she opened our eyes to
and our might, she is the reason we all know where our strength lieth
Mama'll always be the law that I follow
the woman I trust most and the best thing that ever happened to me
I carry my Mama in my Heart, I carry my Mama in my Soul
my Mama is my face, my Mama is my character too
she taught us to spread love wherever we go
by loving us unconditionally
she taught us to make the best decisions
for she chose for us the best Papa in the Stellar
she taught us to endure from her persistence
and today we stand for the people because from her resistance
& fight for what's right, truth defines our existence
I'm proud to say I carry my mother wherever I go
I carry her smile, I go an extra mile
I carry her heart even if not in the same measure
I carry her Soul, world's greatest treasure
And I carry her person in my Heart everywhere I go
Call me young, but I will always walk
with my Mother and pieces of my father
if I am an art piece of clay
the two are responsible for the pottery
and being moulded in such warm and caring arms
feels better than winning any lottery
or accidentally finding oneself in a treasury
I love Mama not only because her womb was my safest sanctuary
but also because she's the best player in the siblings I have & love
the baby and boy I was yesterday, the young man I am today
and the success of the person I see in my tomorrow
she's responsible for the art in my Heart
the upper in my cut and the purr in my cat
I love you Mama, World's most wonderful woman
Sending you this message from Stars away
Simply to Say
I love you Mama and
Happy Women's Day

"I don't know her.
I've seen her;
A strong spectre of absolute femininity and a lingering presence so strong, that all things thereon.. revolved unto the centrepiece of her clear, imperfect, overwhelming and sinking magnitude.
The fortitude..
She's the most beautiful women I've ever seen.. and no, not that kind of beauty. Well, It could've been..
She has a darkness to her, so captivating; so dense that all article in her cense is stalled in mesmerising silence and anticipation for the next fleeting beat of her beautiful heart..  for the next pacing glaze that would tear me apart, along the horizon of mere "things" in her shade, as she looks around and so passionately drowns the world in awe.
The charm that she'd bestow..
When I first saw her, my heart stopped, literally, only to -and out of grave deafness, explode as if it has been beating 'cross an infinite expanse of scapes compressed in the swiftness of a second.. boom!
'cross the room..
Suddenly, the void that consumed out of me the very sorry existence that I am, failingly so distant to her proximity, exploded like a rose bursting into bloom.. exploding no less, from pale tasteless petals to mindblowing extravagance.
I don't love her, I admit. I don't even know how to begin to fathom such an implosion of utopian lust for the hazel green distance in her eyes, let alone love her. She might be a man-eater, in disguise, for all the possibilities of things likely.. She is, however unattainable, perhaps my greatest unembarked adventure; my Odyssey. Not so, perhaps, my greatest... the one other dream she, still that I of another kiss.. a bliss.. an even greater adventure, nonetheless.. but a rhythm for another rhyme; another prose for another time.
This.. She's ancient unconscionable forbidden bliss for the morbid spirit that I am, enchanted with sweetness and love. Volatile like wildfire, she has the world entwined in the gypsy black waves of unconstrained dreams.
But that wasn't her, who lingered back in my head... The residence was of another.. I saw her once, in my seems.. my truest endeavours for a place that screams for relentless torture behind sweet jagged beams of black light on black.
I don't love her, I reassure, nor am I in love with another. I'm taken by her like a leaf is in a storm. I am home. She's death in a green hazed gaze, for those of you who didn't figure it out by now."

A.r. Bazian
*Nov 8th, 2015

Isn't home a place you run to when the world betrays you
isn't home the peace you seek when your heart's at war
isn't home the sanctuary that hides you from the hurricane
isn't home the road you take when there's nowhere left to go
where you finally sit to dust your tired feet
wash off the sticky perspiration and get some relief
isn't home a church, mosque or temple where
you run to when you need to refill the gas of your faith?
Isn't home the light in the darkness, the answer to questions
isn't home the pillar of freedom which when crumbled wrecks our life?
isn't home the beautiful moments curved in stone of memories
like sculptures for a tired mind to remind itself years later
Don't they say east or west, north or south there's nothing better
than the comfort that awaits in the passionate family embrace at home?
Isn't home the pat you need on your shoulder to be strong?
But what happens when the pillars crumbled
when there are no warm arms left for you to return to
no beautiful smiles to welcome you after a long tiring day
of doing nothing, for there is no resting from doing nothing?
what happens when home is a battlefield to be
when Jet fighters buzz like flies and military roam like cockroaches
in an abandoned latrine with piles of **** that gave up its smell
what happens when home is a playground for ugly politics
  that reeks like poorly preserved rotting Nile perch
or Mukene, what happens when home is lost to shameless aliens
when all who live are too afraid to appreciate your milestones
what happens when the landmarks that guided your way home
are all eroded by the flashfloods of deception
and the moments that mattered are buried by the landslides
of looming political turmoil and the wails of those crippled by the regime?
when the earthquakes of greed have buried family under the rubble
when those who can come to the rescue are ruffed up like insurgents?
what happens when the centrepiece that once held home together is shaky
when things are surely bound to fall so far apart?
shall we all run and leave behind the huts we've built
and if we do so shall we ever live a life free of the burden of guilt?
shall we say  goodbye to all this beauty and turn tail
like little rodents frightened of the storms and hail
or shall we stay and defend our home like our forefathers did
like the lions defend their Den with anger and greed
and bleed rivers of blood because our land isn't for sale...
shall we? Shall we fend off these outlanders back to the bush
back to dictating over the cattle or are we still content and
enduring the inhuman lashes leaving bruises on our tattered history
are we going to demand for the reforms we're entitled to
or shall we keep living like the paupers we have been reduced to?
where shall we go when the leopard starts making for us
after the ravenous old beast has eaten all our livestock?
There's no more home in this place, the savages have their machetes
right at our necks,
simply because we're all so afraid of bleeding
forgetting some of our ancestors bled for the home we've lost
and that if we're all afraid of blood, none will be a butcher
if none is a butcher none will eat meat like they say...
who will fight for our home, who will dare face this beast?
Where will we turn to if we can't find warmth home?
Who will welcome us when we have nothing to go home to?
Who will listen to our cowardly story if we never try
who will understand after the pearl's cracked and lost her value
Who will even be kind enough to hear our cry?
Where will we go when our home is too ruined to recover?

As I see her walking from a distance
That silhouette made of pure grace
Her vibe that sent waves of good constance
Her steps toward me making my heart race

She's standing right before me
This queen of my deepest fascination
From this planet my mind begins to flee
All the way to heavens very constellation

Her mouth is moving in slow-motion
Her voice takes my breath away
She's blabbering out a mortal commotion
But on my face only a smile does stay

In this world of exquisite entity
She's perhaps the centrepiece, the highest bid
Every inch of her perfect entirety
All this comes from someone who hugs me and calls me stupid

An artist paints a masterpiece.
Uses colour to represent intention and desire.
A highly detailed piece of art becomes his centrepiece,
his everything.

Occasionally he drops colour all around him.
Every colour at his disposal becomes mixed and splattered.

What has been used to create you is now the substance of new imagery;
A new art piece created on the floor called:
'A representation of my feelings for you'.

Miriam stands
by the camel

an Arab stands nearby
unimpressed
he holds a rope
tied to the camel

she smiles at me
with my camera

her red bikini
showing more legs
and arms
than the Arab guy
feels comfortable with

I aim
to get her central
her explosion
of red hair
matching that
of the bikini

she fiddles
with her shoulder strap

I wait
eyeing her
through the viewer
focusing
on her *******
as the centrepiece
everything else
to match around

avoiding to get
the Arab in the picture
but it's hard
as he seems to move
closer to her
as I aim once more
he says something
in Arabic
nods to her

I shrug my shoulders

she smiles at him

he moves in closer
his head leaning
to one side
as if someone
has broken his neck

she adjusts the bra
of the bikini
gets it comfortable

I look away from her
hold the camera
by my chest

when you're ready
I say

she does a twirl
in the sand
and back again
facing me

the sands hot
she says
burning my feet

well wear your slip-ons
I say

she goes to her bag
by the camel's back
and takes out
her slip-ons
and puts them on
the Arab watches her
with a dull eyed stare

she comes to the spot
on the sand
where she had been standing
and poses again

the camel seems bored
and looks
at the Arab
then at Miriam
then out to sea

I focus on her again
through the viewer
of the camera
she pouts her lips
puts her hands
on her hips  

I put the camera
by my chest

need to focus
no silly faces
or whorish gestures
I say

another Arab
a companion
to the other
passes by
gawking at Miriam
then stands by
the other Arab
then they both
look towards me

hope these to guys
don't want paying
she says

they usually do
I say
now settle
and pose

she poses her face
a weak smile
her eyes gazing
straight at me

where shall I put
my hands?
she asks

that's what you asked
last night
I say

she giggles
and stands
on one leg
the other trying
to balance her

pose now
I say

she puts both feet
on the sand
and becomes still
her hands in front
of her groin
as if she were praying

the Arab guys
were jabbering away
God knows what
they were saying.

There’s an angel down in my garden plot
But she’s overgrown with weeds,
She looms up out of the sassafras
Set back in among the trees.
I don’t know how long she’s stood out there
But her wings are green with moss,
And her tired face is a study in grace,
Reflecting a sense of loss.

‘Your flesh was an alabaster white
But it’s almost faded to grey,
You’re weather-worn, and you look forlorn
As if you’ve been cast away.
The days when you were a centrepiece
Of a garden, laid and fine,
Have now passed on, with the garden gone
But I’ve found you now, you’re mine.’

‘I promise I’ll clear the weeds away,
I’ll scrub the moss from your wings,
I’ll light that tender smile on your face
With the glow a spotlight brings,
I’ll bring you back to the glory you
Reflect from heaven’s spell,
And people will come adoring you
When I put in a wishing well.’

‘A wishing well for your hopes and dreams
And the hopes and dreams of them,
They’ll touch your gown and they’ll toss a coin
When they leave, they’ll wish you well.
I’ll sleep with you looking over me
And dream of the King of Kings,
And see his crown as he’s looking down
We’ll see what the future brings!’

I worked to see my promises kept
‘Til the angel gleamed and shone,
But one day there in the garden wept
For the angel there had gone.
She’d fluttered off from her plinth one night
With her feathered wings reborn,
And through my tears, and despite my fears
I rejoiced at the Crimson Dawn!

David Lewis Paget

Like flowers,
You were beautiful in my eyes,
A faint sweet smell would engulf my senses,
As I held each stalk delicately in my hands,
Everything about you; I admired.

Like flowers,
You needed sunlight to grow,
Carbon dioxide; vital for respiration,
And water, aplenty to seep through the saps,
to bring you to life

Like flowers,
I took you to the heart of my home,
Placed you in the prettiest *** I could find,
Filled it up with water,
Fresh from the tap,
I put you on the table top,
for everyone to see

Raw, rare and real,
There you sat,
Beautiful as you are,
The centrepiece of my home

Like flowers,
Days went by,
and so did your petals.
The leaves had started to wilt,
The stem- shrivelled and weak

Like flowers,
they reminded me of you,
of the feelings I had for you

Fresh, crisp, beautiful at first
But in the end,
All that remained faded away

I roll in stolen moments
no deep contemplative hours avail me
an immovable watch, snatched and dashed by phone
or lipstick honed prose shopping for scandal
I am
the broken hands of faith offering naught but a vagrant malediction
where, but for a few chatty fists further, they remain below the none
in the unbound knots of shallow ruin
black
boxed
and cut into catastrophe
a unified cleave of impoverished woe

“immoveable?” say I

“I may chance sleep if it were in the hands of one beyond where ill goaded geometry is gone
Immaterial
come already danced, implacable
and I were vitreous to their bacterial digestion”

such chatty cracks may answer above their unleashed wish but…  

“but what?”

…but the chiral sun lies on its back smoking those hooves which have waited all day
the eternal don’t offer  faith in my diorama
so I own them
my own
my own scars that burn nicely enough
without your fire to iterate the bones

a few more herniated throats might join us yet
for a conveniently flagged final rebuke
each with a semi-toned profanity
as precocious coda
aged and offered with ******* down your maddening throat

picking up, if I may, where I left off yesterday,
before you so rudely walked away
or was it a year or so before?

I remain bored with these gods
twice removed from the approval ratings
their open mouthed statute holds no limitation
to my ambition
let me see those waves which are racked beyond recall
much like your neck should be
through jawed ears and briny tongue
a muffled centrepiece fetid
save for recalcitrant  sinew

I shall be the sky in which your virtuoso limbs must swing
swing
spastic in their envoi

now, serpent spat, pin-grinned, how is this sleep pain in the mirrored wide-why?

Let us freeze
The minutes, hours and years
You and I cannot reverse

Let me take us
Into that space
that occupies
Now and another place

What was it how or
Who was it then
that cut Cheshire cat smiles
on our childish faces.

Ahh! The rabbit
the centrepiece of this snapshot
Majestic like a mantlepiece clock
Your fingers on its fur
My arm on your shoulder
I'm the elder brother
It's right, isn't it, that I'm taller.

Lucky me, the light did  
not betray my eyes
They hide within the shadows
On a faded colour photo.
But it's only the light
That made a contrast
You're glowing;
Me? Oh, never mind.

You and I never played
Hide and seek.
That game was reserved
when Dad's late evening feet
drew close to our door.
He balancing himself
against his stupor
Exhaling intoxicated
Dumb, gibberish in
Deafening slurs.

Take me back dear brother
When I held us.
I, the elder
and you, the survivor.

There is divinity in these cards
Shuffled by my uncertain hands
In search of something more in lands
Wherein dreams are true and guards
Knowledge unseen
By those unwilling to convene

I am the centrepiece of conversation
Mysticism upon a table laced
A spread of dealt cards spaced
Across a rotation
Of images and mysteries and clues
Which together will create a fuse;
A circus of circuitry which makes sense
To me but others find to be nonsense

There is a sound
Not unlike white noise
Sometimes words can be found
Other times words are destroyed
But it’s pleasant
By the grace of the omnipresent

The inked-on paper reveal of fate
A message by all which is ethereal
A message by all which is celestial
An ever-changing future
An ever happening present
A never changing past

A crucifix shadow hangs upon the light
Captured in awe before my line of sight
But of the shadowy Moon?
One may presume beauty and serenity
But that is not the truth
Illusions and anxiety
The subconscious and insecurity
Fears and the release of fears
Unhappiness and confusion

By dreams and intuition, I ponder questions
Yearning for suggestions
What may come to my life so soon:
What is next to the Moon?

You made my heart beat in tandem
And that I could not fathom.
I needed a heart that was kept stable
As though it wasn't on the edges of a table.
One gentle breeze of air to knock it down
Or one drop of liquid to make it drown
I needed my heart to be the centrepiece
So it won't fall to become decease.
I need not be on the table edges
Being avoided like a rose in the hedges
Being trimmed away by worn out scissors
Or like a ceiling without pillars.
**One gentle breeze of air to knock it down.

Trifolding centrepiece, breaking foundation blocks...
Mundane enterprises fronting vital thoughts
Me and my worries, soldered into one...
A depth of pure purity weighing a mighty ton
The innocence of others who name me with a pretty tongue...
The doubt in those who’ve seen me, when my nerves were wrung
Order of the phoenix sitting behind old shelves...
The authors of some stories must have splendour in themselves
Bring me back from wonder, take the dreamy from my stare...
Call me back from dreamland because those books sure land me there
But sitting in this cold seat, frost building in my soul...
It’s easy to forget kindness and every kind word I’ve been told
The world constantly takes from us, the will to soldier on...
It robs us of the reasons to triumph even when we’ve won
I feel sometimes the battles are really not worth the fight...
When my arms just feel like holding love and being held all night
The will we need to summon hate and numbness of the heart and bone...
The sacrifices that wait to be made to turn your ‘human’ into ‘stone’
Is it really worth the effort when it jades and wrecks your core?...
I have heard them ring, their chords have called, to the drudgery of war.

'Happiness is when what you think, what you say and what you do are in harmony.' - Mahatma Gandhi

A nest of conniving snakes
A government run
By people who are barely human beings;
'How do you sleep at night?'
Is what I would ask.
'After drinking expensive liquor,
And on sheets made of satin and kashmir,'
Is what I would get.



Now -
After being lied to for so long
We are to believe in our nation
As a capital of culture,
And as a capital
Of all there is to admire;
How dare they,
After setting our souls on fire?
How dare they,
Tell me what to see and feel?

My criticisms, my observations,
my mind -
You may own everything else,
But you cannot own the few cubic centimetres inside my skull.
You might spend millions on it,
And on some days, you might succeed;
The wool can descend in front of anyone's eyes,
But it's not a permanent deed.



Know this -
In a world engineered by you to be fake
A few of us still see what's real
And what IS real
Is the hole where our hearts should be,
The one you oblige us to fill up
With a poisoned cup,
One filled with empty promises
And deceitful predictions.

Public opinion is writhing and shifting,
Something that is breathing, living;
The more you lie and cajole,
The more you steal control
The deeper the grave
That you are digging for everyone,
Including yourselves.



The most discordant, badly-glued together house of cards
I have ever seen;
Harmony is nowhere to be found
Amidst claims of national unity.
It is innately human to think
Of all as equal -
This is a feeling we corrupt as we grow.

What difference does it make
Of whose womb you are born
If you spend the rest of your days
In a blinding, consuming haze
Of power, abuse and of basically,
Being the cruel whip
That cracks society into motion?
What makes you think
That you and your ilk deserve more?
Others have no windows in their houses,
Not even the slightest current of air,
Yet I'm supposed to be grateful
For every written promise you tear?

*

So many ******* lies!
The truth
Hidden behind walls
Governed by well-dressed criminals
Has come out;
None of us have an excuse.
It is wise to recuse
The act of moving up the ladder
Quietly and without dissidence,
Especially when that same ladder leads
To a place where all that is good
Goes to its slaughterhouse,
To be assembled and re-synthesised
As an undead form of the soul.

**

We SAY
We are a great nation,
That we are the best
That we are the centrepiece
In everyone's palace of jealousy.
Then, if it really is so,
Why
do I
Along with so many others
Have to break my back every day?
No respite, no breaks awarded,
And for all that? I will die
Poorer than I was
When I originally started.

I have minced my words long enough -
I pity the undying souls
That inhabit your bodies
For when your physical body fails you,
The torment you have unleashed
On the souls of others
Will haunt nobody else
Except for you.

Meet Doctor Montgomery
with medical science he knows best -
a figure that some worship
and others detest,

for in 1974 he was revelling in his prime,
studying Biological Science at Oxford university
life was smooth and incredibly sublime.

Alas, he fell as a ****** addict,
seeking hidden answers,
that not even modern science could predict,

performing back-street abortions
bringing in the money -
by 1976 addiction was in full swing
and his wife had noticed something funny

and upon the Eve of that Halloween
she'd just had enough -
took the axe from out back to his study
but the blade was blunt and the oak door too tough

however her efforts were in vain
as Charles immediately opened up to greet her -

"My love, look -" He whispered,
gesturing to his centrepiece glass table
whereupon sat
a linen covered cradle -

slowly she peered in,
ignoring his entranced stares -
and what she saw wrapped in blankets,
was the seed of nightmares.

For Charles Montgomery
had been practicing the work of witches;
collecting deceased babies,
and sewing life together with surgical stitches -

"Do you like it? I made it for you..."

She gazes around, speechless,
eyes blurry with stars -
shelves and cabinets full
of body parts preserved in jam jars

throwing up at his feet,
going mad with depravation -

"Oh Charles -

IT'S AN ABOMINATION!!!"

There lies the hope
Shattered into small intricate pieces
Left to be blown away by a strong current.

And darling you destroyed my world
Left me hanging together
Like thinning thread
Bleeding from a profound wound
Stinging to the touch.

My God I've seen so much over the years
The Black Death screaming to take me
The drunks counting their loose change
For one golden can of cheap beer
Drinking it like the thirst is undying
Like the magic is there
Inside something that leads to more
Havoc.

I rejected the chance to become a man of my word
I crawl into a hole every night
Drunk to the stars
Grasping onto a swollen envelope of love letters.

And it strikes me
I'm impure
My liver is descended in liquid
My heart is unqualified
And this haze is thicker than the mist
That powers through this town in the light of morning.

Part II

I wake to a stricken morning
A snowy wind hitting against the windows
The tress screaming out
Swaying at an almighty pace.

I swallow two painkillers
To set me up to fail
I dress my aching body
Managing not to break bones.

I take a drink of cheap wine
Nasty on the tongue
Deeply putrid
I think it might be off
Swimming in dirtiness
Curdling my uneasy gut.

My hands are dry
My beard is itchy
My life is swollen like a abscess
Ready to release ****.

The TV blares out politics
I scorn the man
Spitting his woes
His laughable thoughts
His damaged world
For all to **** on.

I go through old boxes
Of pictures
And letters
Stacked up like a small skyscraper
I look at her angelic eyes
Her enchanting face.

I can't leave her to rot in a box

I place the picture as a centrepiece
For me to look at when I'm feeling

Tired of living.

My bedroom curtains,
Are a rich, Penfolds red.

Of which I am quite certain,
They hide the stage inside my head.

The unkempt bed, a centrepiece,
For every act of this here play.

My *******, my kingdom,
Come stay for one mere day.

Clouds are forming on the roof,
Some celestial being's frown.

Now it's raining in the arena,
So bring the curtains down.

Sickly sweet odour of cheap perfume hangs in the air.
From the third floor widow she stares wistfully to the street below.
Crowded with shoppers, lovers, diners and meanderers.
Clutching brightly coloured bags stuffed with all manner of trivialities.
She turns away, surveying her personal hell.
Crimson taffeta bedding creating a gaudy yet stark centrepiece against stained grey walls.
Where men, one after the other set sail on a voyage paid for by the hour.
A far cry from her childhood dreams - oh the naivety of youth!...
She smiles a bitter smile....her reflection in the mirror tells nothing of the angst deep within.
Of the dreams now crushed...hopes scattered like the petals of a dying rose.
The road ahead desolate and bleak.
No sweet memories to carry with her from the path she walked before.
Emptiness and blackness.. hidden by the thin veneer of the street girl.
The provocative clothing and makeup distraction enough for the men who seek to forget.
Her body a welcome release from their comfortable yet mundane lives.
Caring not for the flicker of sadness and desperation they see in her painted eyes.
Seeking only to quell their own thirst, before their return to middle class suburbia.
Gaze carefully averted from the track marked arm that reaches out to take her fee.
**** already calling her phone, eager for the next client to take his fill.
Needle at the ready to pump her vein full of mind numbing poison.
Desensitised and dehumanised, his control absolute.
She longs for the release that only death can bring.
Even that is beyond her reach, her movements watched around the clock.
Shoulders slumped she replaces the bed sheet.
The door opens and once again she smiles her empty lipstick smile.
****** drenched mind now dull, compliant.
Ravaged body, skeletal thin.. still of use.. for now.
Before she joins the others that were so casually used and discarded.
Their bodies wrapped in black plastic and weighted down with stones.
Cast out to a watery grave.....
In death comes sweet release.

The tonne-heavy door,
Swings open with malice,
My house of his past,
Which I cannot recall.

The creeping stairs,
Some indecisive doors,
I know them
Not, and they recognise me.

Winding walls **** me
Into his room, of
Imitations and antiques,
The centrepiece lost.

I cry for his return,
For his wisdom, his naivety,
But I cannot hear him,
Inside my empty bedroom.

Sifting into long lines
the sand, white
the image vast
sun strokes the earth in a feverish decent

Blonde ashes linger
in thick air
as mountain peaks breathe the mystery
of moonlight

Sheltered beneath the stars
and the vastness of night
Lone wolf remains anchored
peaceful, purposeful, content

Red rock surrounds a centrepiece of fire
the density of wood disintegrates
a releasing as passion crackles through
flames and smoke into a crisp, black night

Traces of light
match the stars
the wind subtle in its intention
to breathe life into the skin

Waking up the senses, the voiceless speaks
it’s empty whispers
echoing back unto itself
it’s intention complete

O! how life could be so kind
to lie awake with You
threshold open, mellow birdsong whilst the trees unwind
reflection shows a colour of bristol blue
like glassware or a spectical- like yourself
formed, sculpt, handcrafted with purpose
place thou on a mantlepiece or centrepiece shelf

Grater thinly
Honey apple
Méli honey
Quince
It looks more like a pear
Cooked with honey they will set
Do you have a cookbook yet?
Apicius
Well some say,
it was the household cooks,
recipe anyway
Some Scholars argue,
that there is little connection,
between Apicius,
and the cookbook reflection

Margaret

Do you have a lace tablecloth?

Dr Diviney

Yes Margaret
It is in the kitchen dresser
How many years have we set the table
for Sunday Spring breakfast in March  

Dr Diviney

We still have dinner to prepare
Margaret the lace tablecloth is there
Thank you my dear

Margaret

Cutlery
Napkins
Plates
Porcelain

Margaret

I said to David yesterday,
please make sure
all the eggs are decorated for today
A table centrepiece,
is needed for the Spring breakfast peace

Dr Diviney

Margaret, do we have sourdough bread?

Dr Diviney

It was delivered yesterday

Margaret

At last Springtime breakfast

Dr Diviney

Here we sit again
Given to us a new start
Vernate in nature
Growth and renewal
Sunshine
Spring
Eostre breakfast
Thank you Margaret,
you are nature's heart
There always,
for the new Spring start

© 2024 Carol Natasha Diviney