I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
thankfully not in a medical way
i don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazey bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts,
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
I say work i'm not even gonna give 50% percent never mind double
but i'll stay just below the warning threshold so i don't really get in trouble,
i do see my sick days as extra days of annual leave
but my bums on my seat most of the year and at least one Eve.
I'm always ducking and diving, i hide and they seek,
but i hit my targets every week.
They can say put down your pens,
strip your pencils of lead,
you can't stop me writing in my head
But you'll sometimes dictate what time i go to bed.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
Nearly every road i walk down i've got a ***** cat friend
there meowing never drives me round the bend
but if me owing then just a letter i'll send.
I’ll rescue  spiders from the bath, without any exception,
But I’ll clean their webs and evict them when I have a house inspection.
Giving up pork, on a parity with pigges at last
But then i broke my faste with bacon for breakfast
Watching lambs a gamboling there frolicking is fab,
but i'll see you on a plate later if i'm craving a kebab.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
Money and the capitalist structure baffles, no thanks, no ta
but before i go out a quick sub off Ma and Pa.
I'll pay for a taxi, i don't care about the amount,
while checking fervently the statement from my bank account.
Cash cannot be eaten it just gets you into Eton
but i'll rifle through my pockets for pennies to get an eat on
i don't adore you, i'll say your the means to an end
but then i spend some more and ask for a lend.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
I'll say anarchy  is everywhere, petition and abstain
then  read in the late edition who i think should take the reins.  
I scream smash the system without any regrets
but then start stubbing out where they deem no cigarettes.
I'll say **** big business they are always looting tons
while cutting out Asda coupons to get the soup with croutons.
i'll say **** materialism, to that i am adverse,
"ohh if you want to get me some trainers Mum can you make em Converse? "
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
One Saturday i found it hard to move
crying out for water, more than needing food,
stomach emptier than the packets in my pockets
Early winter scribble
spoiled by the ripple of rain,
deadened and dull
on a precious day,
the time I crave
passes through a husk
full of caves.
Each inhabitant curses
and burns
the stagnant soil under their feet,
I want something to eat.
I need to drink.
The cold slab of sink
lures flesh to rest,
unsatisfied
with retched offerings
flung from a scorched earth
so next Friday, a few beers and l I’ll hit the hay
Ten beers later, where’s the MDMA?
And my staunch resolutions go up my nose
Chatting through the night, striking a pose,
Music accentuated, stars sparkling hard
World’s discussed in magic back yards,
Focused and fraught in tumultuous thought
Ten cigs in an hour
An hours too short,
As the morning comes, I start feeling a mess
It slowly disintegrates the treasure in my chest,
Feelings of strength crumble to a feeble frame,
Spears in my head, WHOOPS I’VE DONE IT AGAIN.
You’ll stop this time, I curse and lecture,
Two bottles down next Friday etc etc,
I’m a schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember an uneventful Tuesday when i wasn't working
belly full of rice
and i saw you twice,
two times a day,
on a day in lieu,
time stood still,
smiling at you
i thought i'm gonna have to write about you,
so i park myself in a bar after a joint in Netto carpark
and start using words to build an arc
and if you you do wanna walk in two by two,
can i walk in with you?
Is it this green ride that's getting me high
or the regret i seen in the gleam of your eye
that as soon as we said hi we said bye,
as disappointed as the catcher when he dropped the rye.
If i may be so bold,
if you were cold
i wouldn't hail these stones
i'd pummel Jack Frost until he knows he's lost,
i'll leave all the lights on to hasten global warming
make Obama declare winter a season of mourning,
If you met an iceberg of Titanic  proportions
i'd cut through it quicker than the Ripper does back street abortions.
If you were in prism
i'd try to unrangle the science of triangles
so i could build you a pyramid with all the right angles,
my stomachs in knots;
the most tranquil of tangles.
Then i saw you get out of the lift
and i wanted to play you a rift
until you exposed your midriff
because you set me adrift from chains and shackles
my mind goes crazy and fills with cackles,
i crackle with lightning, my energy heightens
my heart tightens
and not cos of cholesterol
cos i think you're special
and celestial!
I got dreams from naught, my head feels taught,
i prised a lesson from your eyes,
love is the greatest prize.
But now that's gone, all things
pass evolution in transience
faces that were everything lost to balance
blue it merge
but seldom a residual surge
and your bark today was worst than your bite
it said something softly,
i sow the seeds for the sycamore trees
we can carve our names on next summer.
Under an endless stretching sky
you wrote you
and i wrote i,
the lights in our eyes don't lie
they are gateways to the suns inside,
our hearts couldn't hide from this brightening tide.
I'm a Schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember this guy from work, cooed to me
look at the **** on this page 3
he drooled over Nuts magazine like he belonged in a zoo
i bet he frequented strippers too.
He said seen this clip, it's ******* great,
it ad turn a couple of queers straight
it was these two twins with rouge lips being rude,
the way she chomped on her like food
and they defo loved it,there is  no doubt
it's just just ***** Eskimo ******* kissing snouts
and sharing with her sister the joy of getting licked out.
Wonder how they looked in the family car?
giggling about some exciting destination,
like all kids displaying a lack of patience,
“are we there yet” chorused with glee and duality,
dressed in the same clothes to ensure parity.
Ice cream for tea.
Maybe they might be way into drugs
or addled with addiction
lacking hugs
and sore from the friction.
Not liking the glare
feeling scared.
maybe?
He said nar they love it up them baby.
But then,
i have it
about 3 or 4 times a week
after the 5th time of hitting snooze,
or a heavy night on the *****,
or sometimes no beer,
even after a sonnet of Shakespeare
a sudden urge comes over me,
GET THE LAPTOP!
GET THE *******!
Then it's
Japanese teen lesbians spitting,
finger ******* wearing mittens,
****'s ******* Britions,
oap creampies
***** covered eyes
***** flicking,
extreme suction,
**** destruction,
Captain Birds Eye gobbing
Batman ******* Robin,
A ten inch plumber ******* in a kitchen sink drama
Robert de Niro unpeeling Bananarama
Marty doing the Doc
a gimped up Kirk whipping Spoc
Rita  ******* Norris
Gail licking Fizz
Sally doing Dev
and Kevin doing ki.............Kevin, get out of the room.
Back to
a **** doing a ******
a pre op pleasuring granny
two ***** one *****,
then i chuck my muck all over my tunic
flip over and continue reading The Female ******,
I'm a Schizophrenic Hypocrite,
i've gotta split.

We stood in a circle in the parlor,
Jim was chatting with his golfing crones;
Her body was there for the viewing,
But we're keen on his hole-in-one.

We gave him our proud approval,
We chorused, Jim, well-done!
Then Jim took his turn on the kneeler,
To ponder before her coffin.

We all know the cold humility,
That an ace needs a load full of luck;
Yet we're pleased to hear all his details,
From the crack off the tee,
To the flag in the cup.

I waited for my turn behind Jim,
I overheard his solemn words:
... an eight iron... bounced once, then straight in...
Oh, and may you rest in peace too, Mrs. Hobin.

I wake and the light of this fine day edges round the curtain.
The birds have chorused and my left foot lies cold outside the sheets.
Standing in my nightgown I draw the curtains and look out at my garden.

Let me pad downstairs, open the front door and walk brief steps
to the arbour of ferns and shells. From a cane chair
I shall view my private corner with its tiny pool and privet hedge:

whilst there is still a little dew; whilst the cobwebs still glisten;
whilst there is no wind, just a grumble of the surf at Porth Neigwl,
the sound my father makes dozing over his paper.

Miniature, enclosed, protected I will place my thoughts
in this dolls’ house garden, amongst the dank, dark shadows
of its many rooms, its parterred spaces.

You don’t walk in this garden; you take a step . . .
and you are elsewhere. Take three steps and you are quite lost.

I hear the kitchen door bang in the manor house,
Meriel is taking breakfast to my sisters.
I think I shall stay here a moment longer.

Pellets of rain pestered the cotton swagged
sky, cloudy purses grew black with scowls
coldly spelling their injustice. A chapter of
sunrays shot shamesless shards, irony perched

between chaperones; a truce maybe, rains restless
pathways of rays bleating their appeal, rooming in,
black balaclavas, rooting for blue beams,
itching bony beads of cloudy sweat, out of reach

In turn, limbs colour coated grassy spaces
tides of sun worshippers laughed out loud
their inner duets, hand in hand the sweltering
dance floor bathed them, sidling cotton clouds

Swiftly passing the sunscreen, laying back, beckoning
the sun from beneath neatly positioned cloud baubles.
Within an inch of our lives the splodges began, light
heavy, heavier, to the swell of April in full tune

Instantly the greedy green spaces groaned, ejected
sweet harmony, rolled out goodbyes, tongued stiff
breeze longing for its thirst to be quenched, and so
torrents rushed in where fools once lay

A lonely sunscreen bottle, remnant of warm
minds soaking heat, long days teasing into belief.
Yet April fooled us once more with beguiling banter,
chorused a chanting cheating lullaby of lamentation

He was a rather special sort,
To those who knew him,
And knew him not.
Tingles ran through his finger tips,
A golden chalice,
Held to his lips.

This Midas had a curious touch,
That left him mighty,
Not wanting much.
Golden forms from his fingers dashed,
Enemies transformed,
Into piles of cash.

A merry man, he strut through town
An arms length clear zone,
Did him surround.
When a wondrous girl he saw, so bold
She walked right to him,
No fear of gold.

Such beauty never before had beamed
Eyes lowered down,
Hair bounced and gleamed
When she glided close enough to kiss,
She met his gaze...
he touched her cheek...
and the last thing they heard...
Was a chorused hiss.

So if you should walk down that street,
King Midas and
His love you'll meet.
King turned to stone, with outstretched hand
And with head of yellow snakes
A golden Medusa stands.

A flickering candle.
A blinking observer of the blurred,
thrumming life that surrounds it.

Silken-haired girls and kittens gambol
on the thread-bare rug;
leaving brightly colored Trouble pieces in their wake.

It's countenance reads "Winter",
like a scent could ever capture
the long, arduous Minnesota cold.

A continuous clatter of feet,
chorused voices in debate,
a deserted pie crust on a cracked plate
and dog fur fiercely claiming the beloved sofa.

A flickering candle watches
as wisdom swirls in scotch glasses,
and serpentine coils of cigar smoke.

Trusting smiles and the adoration of a father
lighting the faces of sons--

           All witnessed by a flickering candle.

Easter Monday (2015)


The silence
It was the silence
As we entered the gates of hell.
Then…
The bird song,
It was the bird song
That chorused our way
To the well
Of tears at the wall
Of many tongues
That speak to the silence still,
Of the voices that cried
For the people who died
The void only time will fill.

The sun
It was the sun
Shining on the wooden cross.
And…
The sky
It was the sky
So blue, and flecked with the floss
Of clouds so white
So pure in light
That the wall of the well of tears
Transfigured the sin
We heap on Him
Whose loss for many
Is the only way
To feel the void time fills.

The woodpecker drummed a beat
On the trunks
Of the trees so parallel still.
A whisper of wind
That rebounds the sound
Of innumerable roll calls
Of the thousands who now
Lie deep in the cradles of mounds
Stone faced, inscribed Toten
With the number interred within
Verboten… now
But why not then?
In that world of men
And women, when humanity’s meaning
Was turned on end.
And a godless creed
That shadowed the world with grief
Which now for many,
Is beyond belief.

The stillness
It was the stillness
That gave silence the space to breathe,
To remember the times, the godless times
That now are so hard to believe.
But silence and stillness envelope the House
A silent place to be
To hear the past that shows the present
The prayers for a future that sees
What could be,
What can be
But will we
Learn, the history from then to now
To forge that future for future’s sake
And answer the question…
How?

David Applin
… late afternoon and evening of Easter Monday 6th April 2015 following a visit to Bergen-Belsen earlier in the day, completed 7th-9th April.

15th April 2015 … 70 years after the liberation of Bergen-Belsen by the British Army.

David Applin (Copyright 2015)

I mentioned Monty Hall
In what I thought was casual conversation.
Maybe I interjected,
...yeah, like Monty Hall.
But still,
A woman taking a drink of ***** gurgled,
A fella rolling a spliff snickered;
Even the dart thrower stopped;
They chorused in unison, Who?
****! Monty Fecking Hall.
Door #'s 1, 2, 3?
The few listening were confused.
Maybe it was the tone I used.
One face had a glimmer,
Almost a gesture of recognition
Tracing his  pierced eyebrow.
Really!
Monty Fecking Hall.
One day, in the not too distant future,
They'll hear,
What's a Fecking Jedi?

Whispers from deep voices that seemingly deteriorate;
We chorused into the thunderous sound of that old cello.
Not a harmony we could ever create,
This is not what I intend, everything turned askew.

That old pendulum is swaying to its usual way,
A resemblance of our long gone grieves
It was an affair crammed with dismay.

But darling, you've got your demons now;
Down to the age of your throwbacks, stupefying you every now and then
And here I am, still that vigilant somehow.

The double six tragedy was indeed an epic.
Distance, silence, timing, all falling into an illusion,
And yes, that was your treacherous scheme, making me even more frantic
But life never stops there, in the end there would still be an affirmation.

Neath beau blue skies and wounded sighs,
wind like silk caressed his skin.
Rain like splinters in his eyes
as shadows flit across the scene.
"Vindicta," the shadows mocked and chimed
as cold showers burned his skin.
"Vitriol", he chorused in his mind
where old demons lurked therein.
"Veritas, I have fought my fight..."
he spoke aloud with steadied breath,
".... and by these words I hold contrite
ye demons - lo! - be gone in death."
Avast, the showers softened
while silver linings streaked the skies.
The demons fled, undone by caution-
vindictive hearts in plain disguise.
Their words bore no gravitas
like garbled noise in quick regress
for truth reigns in fair equitas;
for acts, not words, can claim redress.

come here beckoned the sea
though I have receded beyond *******
come awhile to be with me
low tide has taken me far.*

my eyes pierced the haze saw beyond her crown
glinted in the tidal greed narrowed in longing frown
the heart pumped and the feet itched it is not that far
her kiss and the saline hug veiled behind *******.

what if it's just a dream and much more is at stake
going there for her embrace gathering wispy flakes
may seem unworthy on waves the wishes' ride
she would reveal none or little she would only hide.

what if it's a trap her feigned bait alluring
the hovering mirage before touch would fly away on wings
the shining buzz of the haloed night drowsily winking stars
they all know I mustn't yield to travel beyond *******.

I could hear the deafening voices coming from shore behind
they chorused *be alert of pitfalls of a tempted drunken mind
too long cocooned in comfort zone can no more go that far
come back pick up the broken pieces this side of *******.

Leaves fallen are summer’s tabernacle
Upon earth as altar, bearing life within
And life without: children, a protesting squirrel
And that storied grasshopper, unprepared

Neither blanket nor carpet, but a studio
Of life, in which cellular structure frames
The secrets of green chloroplastic life
And graphs the sweet, wind-chorused songs of summer

They fall asleep for a time, to awaken in spring:
Leaves fallen are summer’s tabernacle

I felt more pure after I lost my innocence:
your breath on mine, the scent of angels
chorused from our neck to spine to cheek
and drifted to a southern ridge of my body –
I knew, I knew it was the best I’d ever be,
merged with a man who found my purity.

It was light on the skin, a delicate blend
of morning’s hellos and an evening’s rest –
you you you grabbed a ******’s pale breast
and I I I let you ******, handle, change it.

Then no longer a girl, I laid on my side –
oh, how I felt when you were still there!
I was not chilled or lonely, I became alive
and kissed your coarse edges I had known
inside my frame, my pinkness apart so
he would find my purity going by, by, by.

December beckoned to me while half winter darkened the night sky to augment the starlight. "So it's time for a new time again. If you were  to take something along, what would it be?" he mumbled. I said "Yes, any minute now for us to stride towards January. It will be colder there but my mother's knitted cardigan has more warmth than warmth."  He wanted to ask much but the surfacing discomfort somehow restricted him. But at last I spoke like the Christmas fall, " We are so accustomed to moving now from one year to the other like nomads that there are somethings we take along while other have to be simply left back. I wish I could carry every morning which changed to night and every stranger who went out of sight, I wish I could carry the speck of dirt which hugged my clothes while a car passing by ran through a puddle, I wish I could carry the endless melodies we chorused, the last smile on every one's faces  in candid snapshots. The stark reality is that I cannot. Noone can. But I wish the same things arrive in newness , so again I will to cling to them by the end of another December, like another home. " "Anyway let's blow the candles, it's midnight ", a voice from the side interrupted.  And then there was silence.

The flames roar high
Teasing heat, the devils game
Chorused demons wail
Fires dance without light
Moonsung only light

Angels scream in songs
So beautiful, such hatred, rage
Fighting claw tipped wings
Buffetted winds in storm
I look above to see
nothing but
Bloodied feathers falling

This is the heaven, or maybe hell
Promised from pulpits, pastered mouthes
A place of torment, shattered light
A place of hell in heaven's
crusty, fallen shell

God looks down, a sorry state
His face of sadness, little interest of late
His angels, fight, die, and procreate
the demons angels
themselves delete
No peace for or
For other

Not the heaven I wanted
Nor God of power
He placed me here
To gaze up, writhe
Past hate
Final revenge
A soul's debate

Its not fair!
Screamed from broken lips
Defied His words
His council
His fate

I watch these feathers
Bloodied, unworn
float to down to me
So beautiful, such a state
Float to me, come down

One, slides on down
Touching, brushing my face
A touch of heaven
Of peace, knowing
He turned his face
I cannot blink
Cannot hate

Bound by hand and foot
Taken by the beautiful
And disgusting at whim
Less than a battlefield trophy
I stare at his face

Mine is eternal ****
Bathed in fresh blood
My legs spread wide
I am torn deep again
ravenge over and over

Forced to see His face
sins of my pride, beauty, and ***
He never looks my way
But kills his angels
Their feathers
My bed

Our Great & Wise Leader was just so busy
basking in his omnipotent all-knowingness
& radiating light that reached the four corners
of the world where millions were at this very
moment reflecting on the so, so many Time
covers he'd graced that our Huge Orange One
needed a nudge from his missus to snap him
out of his bigly reverie in which his coffers were
filling, & his bigness was getting bigger & his triumph
over all living beings was being chorused in the very
heavens above,

oh lord he was lost for awhile there as he forgot
to put his hand over his heart
during the anthem,

thanks Melania.

sleep stays awake late these nights
riding the stars until morning comes
then to bed chorused by birds
and the drop of post on the mat
seals my connection to the wide awake
-world of normal everyday lives

Guided by the starlit night
A new moons waning light
Painted colors of green and gray
Patiently wait till the break of day

And in the twilight, darkness breaks
Comprised of combative colored flakes
Golden sands mixed with amber gems
Light blue sky, and earthly stems

Sitting perched on mountain tops
As the light creeps and crops
Calm winds gently nudge
As the chorused birds sing and judge

Pathways brighten to twisted trails
Gypsies jumping from misaligned rails
Subtle lovers come and go
Timely teachings of passions show

And now, to stand amongst the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore.
Brave, because fear is ever present
Bold, because boring is not pleasant

Burdened by bi-polar thought
That the horizon cannot be caught
As if to capture a moment of a flame
That even the gods could not tame

No place to call home
To be infrequently alone
To sing and dance, with strangers still
To give love a chance, with serendipitous skill

The last trap of a wondering soul
To try and consume the world whole
When they corrected all the wrongs
That’s, when traveler finds where she belongs

And yet, she travels still
Looking for life’s thrills
One day, she’ll know peace
Maybe after travels cease

Wether being conscious or not
One day the flesh will rot.
And turn into Stardust once more
So she may guide others as they explore

As he knelt down and proposed to her,
The moon giggled cheekily,
The stars nodded,
And the bouquet of flowers he held chorused,
Yes
1/4/2022

Look what you left behind on your quest for nothing,
A door left ajar and a blackout
In the city and your eyes
Look how time flew through the eyes of the dead
Which lie in the snapshots
While once upon they still existed
Look how the furniture changed since pals left
Through the lives of the solitary
Who gallivanted about in the delicatessan
And chorused the bargain song with family
Look what the dead say
Shoulders of pricey cardigans are all worthless
Without the weight of someone's face
Whose presence you never regard
Until the sands of time fly him away
Time, which you cannot trace.
Look what the furniture says and listen meticulously,
It says , home is not far
And if a vestige of you ; you cannot find
Is lodged still in that shadow behind the door left ajar.

KISSING THE DOT

Our new black & white
more full of snow than pictures

holding the rabbit's ears just so
(“No...no...no...YES! ! ! ! ! ! !”)

holding it aloft like 9 year old Statue of Liberty
watching with fascination as I DREAM OF JEANIE

emerges
to our chorused 'ooooOOOOO! '

Even turning it off was a thrill
the little white dot dwindling to an infinity

the electric static tingling our lips
as we kissed it goodbye

. . .a pleasurable pain.

Now, after the bus crash
lost in staticky snow

I turn the set
on off onoff

watch the little white dot
die again and again

place my lips
against the fading screen

the electric kiss
of death.

It was the rustling leaves
that unfurled the whistling
of the winds.

And the winds ushered
in the serenity of
the dark.

The dark and the moon
in graceful dance with
the winds serenading

In the dialect of the
enchanted, I chorused
the phrases of sea breezes.

Spoke in sonorous splashes
like a running stream,
I'm a child of the earth.

From the truth of the
open skies and the secrets
of the deep.

I have learnt again
to speak...

Something takes hold when moon replaces sun
Its rise above the night heralds the beast I will become
A slave to her beauty, servant to her will
Dehumanizing more and more with every man I ****
Pain can not be measured as the wolf takes its form
By razor sharp claw, the garments are torn
Bone twists, muscle expands, and senses ignite
The transformation ends when I bathe in her light
Between man and beast I have now crossed a border
On all fours I cry out , begging for her order
Carried by the winds, sweet smell of flesh blows
Tantalizing it slithers, just under the nose
I follow the scent through dark-wooded forest
Deep in the distance the howls are chorused
When at long last I come upon a campsite of men
I lick my lips in hunger, and make my move then
After the screaming, the blood and the fear
There is nothing else left, no sign of life here
It’s all over now and I leave this place
But standing before me, in front of my face
Is a beaten, scarred man, taking aim with his gun
He wreaks of sheer terror but still does not run
An instinctive leap precedes a blast of red fire
The silver mass cold, yet hot as a pyre
A bite to his neck is all I can muster
The last thing I see is my maiden’s white luster
This monster inside, to new host is shifted
Released from my torment, the curse is now lifted

Was supposed to be an arranged marriage
When he came to see me,
Everything changed when our eyes met.
My heart was racing,
His too,
Both chorused "Yes"
Game over
Our arranged marriage turned into a love marriage.
15/11/2022