Storm Rider(sample the doors)
start with "Riders on the Storm" softly repeated x4)

Try catch me-leap from ground to sky,
light up the night as I fly,
Tip to tip mischievous-watch me salmon leap-avert your eyes,
The Celtic Dragon Storm Riding tonight,
feel the static on your skin lets take flight…
Vast vista’s fistula’s in the earths core,
fly with me you wanna feel more?,
cut core to core claws - millivolt amped,
up to attack lay down my stamp,
Earth tremblin’ rumblin' humbling when I catch the spark,
revered by Tesla - hear me Arc…
Another mic blown - booth in chaos,
I stand firm - you're reeling as you're reeled in tossed,
like ragdoll physics my rhymes rip timelines,
Faultlines and default rhymes?
Never,I’m too clever,agility reveals your fragility,
Claws rip and drag you down …to a sea of tranquility…
Hush now ,shush now,
hear the susurrus as I leave you nonplussed
phase you back to your body  trans warp jump
tachycardia spasms chasms torn by talons,
pounces crush tons to ounces as I flex my neck…
hasn't changed since Wu told ya’s”Best protect ya neck”

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...

Feel me breath blowing like a gale - the Gael without fail,
I inhale and exhale flames of hell,
hellbent- time to repent
you’re scurrying in gullies while I seek your Scent,
SNIFFFF-grrrrrrrr that’s the sound of doom,
from the Emerald shore to the Pharaohs tomb,
No room to escape the breath that melts steel
rabbit in my headlights feel my claws life steal,
oxygen and nitrogen erupt to seal your fate,
debate-berate, get estate in order,
one Molten blast of fast rhyme its over.
scorchmark against a granite wall,
burnt to a crisp by the firestorm from hell,
well welcome to hell do you feel the heat?
Sandman slim dragon never fears defeat,
20 years here  spittin’ in the underground,
Now its time to vacate my space hear my sound
A no go area,gates of Mordor,
dragged by the Dragon to your place of ******,
claws like claymores rake your face,
prepared to ignite,take flight-seal your fate...

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah, the firestorm
Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah, the firestorm
Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...

Call me Nukker ******, you're due to be Slaine,
one scaldin' verse melts down your brain,
searing breath - death bursts unprepared heads,
Streets run red with the blood of the dead.
Feel the headwind....blowin' as I exhale.
My fetid breath tastes stale as you inhale
lucid juices sluicin in the Wyrms Den,
just One spark you're gonna BURN then!,
wingspan of an Antonov best back off!,
forked lightning blasts ground - as I take off,
fly head on to the heart of the Hurricane,
calescent death as I stake my claim,
rider on the storm,your attempt? - luke warm,
spells incandesce without stress as they take form,
the Serpent serpentine's through the night sky,
take eyes off mine? - your turn to fry.
don't cry it's fate, conserve your hate,
you perspire before your expiry date,
a Deer in the deadlights I'll open the gate,
to the next realm, next challenger calcerated,
another Champion obliterated,
ardent first to set foot on my Isle
now you're here you feel febrile,
feeble feverish attempts cut short clean sliced,
by the Firestorm Dragon with the eyes of Ice.

(Soft-"Riders on the Storm" rpt x2 Chorusx2 end.)

Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by...
Storm Rider,Glider light up the night yeah,
the Firestorm Lightning Storm inside your minds eye take my hand and we'll both fly
as the ground flashes by.

I don't know what Jonas has been preaching,
There's a pigmie on the roof
And claymores in the kitchen.
I never rejected nothing
Cept when I was dazed and dazed and confused and confused
If I wanted to leave
I would use the door I saved for later
That leads out into the void.
I need to take a day away
Or breakdown and watch Casablanca all day long...
Because I thought it was a forever song I was singing,
But I'm out of tune,
And my rheumy eyes are liars,
And I want to christen my great granddaughter
But I'll be dead...
I just wanted my declarations to resound,
But in a town of disrespect
Chain link fences make for noisy neighbors.
I have every bit of it on the line for YOU.
I'll drop it,
But it will stand on end,
Like a trick quarter.
Four in the morning
Forty five caliber bullets blasting
I found myself in the backseat
Of a burned up police car.
Every thing is rotten,
Except the infantine seamstress
Who doesn't come out anymore,
Because you scar(r)ed her.
I just wish I could eat a bag of salt brine soaked
Ballpark peanuts, shells and all without having a **** stroke.
I wish I could, smoke, without Jiminy Cricket, calling my doctor,
And the red squad arriving with the straight jackets,
And the bear mace.
I can't project the rigght radiation,
I get that, but its not for lack of dying.
So this is my death letter, to be read to my reincarnated infant self
Twenty three times, by twenty four different people,
I want a life size wax model of Eeivel Keneival
To throw rice at me thrice
Once for each marriage,
But on the third throw wild rice
Because that is what I think of when I think of you.
The burglar ate my begging strips
And the ravenous dog
Is getting impatient....
I've seen the truth in the darkness of the soldier core.
Why not open the gate to abracadabra land,
Give me a list of your one thousand forms
In code of course,
And I will pay the piper
So he can finally change this doggone song.

Describing a User Trial
(a Section Commander's story)

In Vietnam I most enjoyed the ambush because it is static.
And if you use your head you can **** from comfort without the need
For fire-and-movement which is a physical business at the best of times.
And in ambush you are often placed as part of a group, without responsibilities; Because they are assumed by that particular ambush commander,
Which is a relief and relaxing.

Most ambushes are triggered at night, but this one happened by day.
It was company sized, and memorable for other reasons too.
3 Section, my section, was deployed in three groups like an elbow:
Two being part of the killer-group and the other one part of flank-protection.
That's where I was, on the flank.
It was the Dry-Season.

Although it was a good killing-ground I was concerned by the
Lack of cover to our particular front; that is the part of the ambush for which I was
Responsible. My concern was the track because it curved about my section's elbow, And we, the flank-protection, could not see more than six feet through the thick, Secondary growth that grew between it and us.
It made for good concealment, but would never hinder an assault.

The plan was that the Platoon Commander would trigger the ambush with his M16.
He would know when to do this because our Platoon Sergeant had been given
Some sort of box dial, attached by wire to two metal spigots. These were
Buried in the ground one hundred metres to either flank of our position to transmit, They said, the ground vibration of the enemy's approach. It was on trial and had not Been used before. A neat devise for early-warning we supposed.

Our Claymores were sited to cover the killing-ground.
They were to be detonated so soon as the Platoon Commander fired his weapon.
3 Section's mines were under the control of lance-corporal Frank Chambers.
He was clever. He could compile workable, section piquet lists, with staggered sentry times. Try doing that in the rain. I never could.
So I was content with my lot, excepting this patch of secondary growth to my front.

As I remember it the day was hot and very lazy. We had a man alert in every group
And the guns were manned. Otherwise we sprawled at ease, hunting shade,
Fantasy, mind-escape. Sergeant Maloney will give plenty of warning;
Remember the o-group? Those spigots live on the end of one hundred metres of wire And will transmit the ground vibration of any approaching footfalls.
One hundred metres is a fine, relaxing distance - we thought.

But then it happens; without warning the day erupts:
With a shattering, terrifying, and continuing roar the daylight turns black.
A rolling, cloud of grey dust puts out the Sun. Something hot plinks my side. There is Too much noise. And in the raging dark my mind begins to scream:
'What happened to the ****** signal, John? The ******* early warning'.
And I begin to hurl hand-grenades as high and as far to my front as I can:

Take up the grenade.
Rotate the safety bail (Why didn't we have these in Australia?).
Ease out the pin, rise up; draw back the arm,
Let fly the lever. Hurl the grenade.
Count two, three, crouch, take up the grenade.

Ingleburn might raise its hands in horror but my air-bursting hand-grenades
Are based on the premise that we have engaged a small, advance party of the enemy.
And I want to deter it's main-body forming up on the other side of my bit of
Scrub then assault through it from the dead ground.
And remember we are blind. Hence, take up the grenade,
Rotate the safety bail, ease out the pin, etc.

Memory has the action lasting many hours, a long, long time.
But in reality it must have been all of two minutes before the noise begins to falter And the echoes of the guns slowly fade away.
And the World, unmoving in the awful silence,
Slowly turns to white
Beneath the settling dust.

Through the quiet, distant voices, begin to murmur.
‘Cease-fire’ is ordered and the day resumes.
I pass the order on then change my magazine.
Frank comes over with the Section's casualty and ammunition count.
No one has been hurt but we have used a lot of ammunition.

Frank reports 'three "Nogs" moving into the killing-ground.'
One noticed a claymore and Frank says he had no option but to fire.
He is nonchalant, unexcited about the killing.
When he has gone I lean into the shade of a tree and light up a cigarette while Reflecting on the body out there alone and still, and sweating in the Sun.

Finishing my cigarette I go to find our Platoon Commander. He is with the Major.
At CHQ, while Ronny Jarvis curses (we did use a lot of ammunition),
Guy Baggot inspects my ****** side with interest. 'A bit more to the right
Would have given you a ****** good scar.' He says.
What happened to the early warning device? The dial, the cable and the spigots
Go out with the next chopper. We never hear of them again.

night
under jungle canopy
was dark as a cave.

at twilight
you crept
two hundred meters out
from the perimeter.

you and another.
the radio,
two claymore mines,
M-16s-three clips each-

half a dozen grenades,
pop-up flares,
and four canteens of water.
fear fed thirst.

you opened two packets
of instant coffee,
spilled them into your mouth,
washed them down,
and felt your head jitter
all night long.

there was always sound.

jungle rats or snakes,
maybe even tigers,
or NVA probing the lines.

if there were many of them,
you sent up the flares,
fired into the dark,
detonated the claymores,

and were the first to die.

(I was M-60 machine gunner with the Ninth Marines in South                
                  Vietnam, 1968.    LP is a military acronym for ’listening post.’ )

Shh, hush my love let your heart be calm, your troubles lay at my door, 
I'll pick them up and carry them a while and let you dream once more. 
Close your eyes my blessed one, rest your troubled soul, for the morrow comes 'ere we know and I am bound for Sheol. 

I'll need your strength, and your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
So rest your troubled heaving breast, and let me walk this mile.

You've tarried long in this task assumed blithely to be your labor, 
Unknown to most a burden such they'd not carry for life nor favor, 
Yet stand I ready to assume the task, at least to help yield the Axe, and, 
Send those tormenting souls to Perdition's shore.

I'll need your strength, and your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
So rest your troubled vacant breast, and let me walk this mile.

Like rivers deep with hidden tides, currents of pain and woe, flow on in life and bring new strife for those who do not know.
Yet in their midst we walk aside the filthy and fetid sots
who spew forth words without a clue why on the floor see dark spots.
Yes our blood runs hot coursing through our veins, our fists like Gordian knots
                       (a stab a slice, the pain focuses -  feels nice).

I'll need your strength, and your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
So rest your troubled wounded breast, and let me walk this mile.

We raise our arm, Claymores held high, as if to claim our right - but yet, it is for naught,
For our lives once thought to our own are wrought as though they're one. 
And though we're tossed into the night that brings a chill unto the soul,
We sing our song of hope and praise like Silas, Paul, of old -
      and watch;
As shackles cold as the hearts of men - fall like dust onto the dung below.

I'll need your strength, and your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
So rest your troubled wearied breast, and let me walk this mile.

We rise from ashes like that gilded bird aflame with an heavenly fire
and surrounded by a host of wings, lay down our swords of ire.
For peace, like dew from the God above is sent to quench our thirst,
a word is given that fills our souls as if they could burst!
Yea love unfettered, unbound and unknown - for us and all who hear. 
Love, given freely now, peace...no more tears.

Yes, I need your strength, your sweet caress, your love and hope and smile. 
Now rest, my love, your nurturing breast, and let me walk this mile.


*All rights reserved-Copyright 2014 Gerald T. Hollingsworth

even if skipping claymores at the seashore, always dress for success in a barbed wire tie.
see it's not the ball and chain but the rust that's pumping through your veins,
reciting rigor mortis in light of an afterlife. i may have found mine but purgatory allotted me more free time.

Stasis to stasis,
stations of the cross
lost in a basement
beneath some planar baseline.

I hate time.

I'd rather daisy chain rhymes
like claymores arranged
in gateways;
bouquets of daffodils
and baby's breath
on a grave.

Slain means dead,
they say.

They say a lot of things.

Thud Thud, The Boots of Warriors thunder onto the Boat.
Crash, Waves bang against the mighty longship.
Boom Boom, under the Jarls orders the drums of war sound.
Bang Bang, The mighty ships land on scottish shores.
***** *****, Viking Mail and shields clash with the Claymores of Highlanders
Bam, Bam, The chieftain and the Jarl do battle.
Bounce, the Jarl deflects the massive sword with his steel shield.
Whoosh, the Jarl has fallen to the ground, Will a sword clash with the Chieftains or does the Jarls Saga end in Valhalla.

the covers reeked of future snitches that have walked hand-in-hand to faraway plateaus,
though you still lingered around the bedsheet covers and covered yourself up a few times on some sinew.
though even in your clothes that danced in the forefathers of our black hues, black skies and distant melodies.
our rhythms were patterned,
constructed on symphonies that were all for someone else's and not for both of us.

scooting farther though your hair is just a tickle away
we were abounded on this journey, not for love but for mercy
because the Gods inside of us wanted for some sacrilegious handshakes that lasted like never. claymores that we detonated not by mistake but because that's how we work.
we explode, here, there, somewhere and everywhere.

and our fragile remnants, broken bits and irregular jigsaw puzzles weren't patched on our totality
but because on day one He proclaimed that we were too far for Paris' synergy and you could say that, 'we were just lab rats on the name of a pitiful love.'

but, promise me.
that on the Hereafter of our ethereal love that never wanted plastics to seek,
for cigarette sticks burning with menthol spices to speak,
that we'd never allow hotel rooms to touch and witness another horrid circumstance as this.
because we shrugged our shoulders at the lobby of our tinkles and solitaire games that 'we'd please,'

no one but us.

well, the Gods lied.
and they haven't spoken any words of their own.
maybe, they died somewhere on the coasts of later yesterday rides
because we were too fast.

Away on deployment
The dirt for a bed
A young 11 Bravo
Lays down his bald head
The birds in the sky
patrol where he lay
The young Airborne Ranger
survived one more day.
The bad guys are crawling,
they’re reaching the wire
But our Airborne Ranger,
he meets them with fire.
He detonates claymores,
He fires his M-4
The bad guys retreat,
They want it no more.
The Rangers pursue
and mow them down
They kick down doors
throughout the small town
Not one of the terrorists
greets the next day
The Airborne Rangers made them pay.

Awoken from a nightmarish telltale that Affianced me to Agony, splendored persuasion had me second guessing the reality I'm pursuing, or was reality slowly escaping my grasp, was I on the edge of catastrophe overlooking a treacherous shore?

Wrestling with my thoughts inside the broken barriers of my mind, I can't relate my gut instinct with what I am believing like a torn family within my soul, her habituation has scorned her soul and stigmatized her family, the hole inside of her was always craving more.

But now she's grounded by the projecting of her false image, now she's laying her cards on the table for all to see, now she's in groups falsely admitting everything wasn't what it seemed, now she's convincing everyone to make believe, now she's pointing to the front with a foot out the back door.

Cautiously I'm riddling the chassis of chaos that once consumed, walking the plank of confidence that shakes, I'm in love again with misery, my withdrawals from grief are withheld, I'm trusting the  braille of dissolution, my misguided faith is lead by the folklore of her encore.

Steadfast into her mendicity I'm to bring a sister to the now toddler, my short sale to bricklay a foundation for us was my courage to endure, a new life into our family was the best path to keep the Demons away, only long enough for duplicity by seduction to implore many more claymores.

From three to four, we are now indebted among each other to hold high responsibilities to one another, I provided all aspects to a glimmering future, in the meantime her mendicity to swindle the mind was my demise to dwindle, a candle burning at both ends by prevarication, this made our family mindful prisoners of war.

My plan to build our castle was slowly coming to fruitation as all events lead to our true freedom, something a fiend will always want, freedom to control by the ways of a narcissist, something that I never imagined to lay with me, slavery of the mind because I'm in love with misery of a maniac, going forward would only become a civil war, slowly isolated and alone I'm planting our future, miles under the sea shore.

Blinded to all truths believing our future is intact indefinitely, I push painful tragedies  aside to continue my love for Bereavement, because death makes me believe, in our new castle with two little seeds made by make believe, being Smitten with Agony I implore, taking our first picture of a perfect family in front of our first castle, standing above her carefully laid trap door.

While walking through the front doors to our future in our castle, a presence stalking gave a fever to my bones to dismantle, we have our dreams coming true but in the shape of blue, ignoring the past to prevent the future I'm in the present ignoring the coming relapse, danger to ghosts consuming all of us was ever so immanent.

Plans were in place while invisible traps encased every moment forward to go backwards, the children ran forever back and forth as smiles hurt while tears of joy streamed to cure the disease, everything was perfect, we were pleased, nothing was in conflict, but she was uneased, this was hidden by reset to conceal under the guise of affection, she was only getting more precipitant.

Starting the reshape of our castle in our own image we played God, we had the power to contribute to our happiness infinitely and so we chose to increase our family, the past was concrete, buried within the rubble was the trauma as rebar, slowly falling apart the past exposed crumbles of insolence.

The probabilities to what's forward shunned in darkness by impossibilities to my beliefs, she's laying claymores triggered by remote, I'm kissing her as I'm choked by her ghost, breathing hard I'm pushing forward, the children without their only protection left behind as dad labors for her collection, every day I leave she's becoming less of the families participant.

Unfinished castle to be our greatest hassle, my importing depression as the kids regression projected upon us by her evil acts of defilement.

Unearthing the kids emotions and my unnerving focus upon her caused my reactions, knowing that if she persisted with those buttons, cynical desires would be validated as she downsized me to a filament.

The traps armed and triangulations in place, she was soon to evict and evil to consume this space, children caught in between heaven and hell rang the bells, I know but never knew she'd consume, the price, our blooms, renewed illicit intimacy to consume all of me failed, I was now diligent to protect the innocent.

Being in war would be easy, covering the innocent fragile eyes from the exorcist was my only mission, my back is regaining holes from her knife, the conduction of her liabilities of illicit secrecy is no longer unknown, the knife is now condesating as she's claiming by blaming, injured and losing hair I hug the children to cleanse the ghosts, they can't see me and the slime of abandonment covers them head to toe, the past and present is now equivalent.

Caught in time with wounds covered in lime, the kids mute while I choose, falling to my knees screaming please, she's gone and had been all along, always called her my wife and now she raises her knife, stumbling back shocked I scurry the flock,  a clone to her old self a simulant, she's no longer here, she's high on the devil's simulant.

I'm away with the children but my ghost left my shell, it's left behind to distract her within the self induced hell, everything's terribly wrong as I'm Hoodwinked with Agony, smear campaigning against her ghost of a husband everyone knows the truth, her lies stretched so far it was visibly obtuse, was never something new, forced to carry on I'm wondering lost, I'm now Ambivalent with Agony.