It’s years since I slithered
From the antediluvian muck
And took my first steps
In a reeking miasma.
Prying open eyes
Unaccustomed to light,
I recognised, first, evil.
I awoke to enemies.
I set out with purpose.
They must be dispatched hastily
For the good of the world.
I drove a stake through the heart.
A rake across the face.
Forced hands into wood shredders.
Poured molten lead through ears.
Drug bone saws across the crotch.
Water boarded with acid.
Castrated and then decapitated.
Immersed in boiling oil.
My knees crushed the trachea.
A sledge hammer smashed the spine.
I yanked fingernails from their beds.
I opened and salted wounds.
I disregarded feelings.
I disrespected wishes.
I locked grudges indefinitely.
But all my efforts have failed.
The monsters, demons, and evil spirits
Are still with me.
If you wish to stay,
You must get to know them.
poetry
A New Riddle of Cosmology (#Poem)
An explosion beyond comprehension sent all
The ingredients of the cosmos careening through the void.
Light, matter, and energy diffused chaotically,
Taking billions of years (as we now know them)
To fall into some kind of order, to establish
Some vaguely predictable interactions of
Cosmic proportion. Somehow, trillions of
Particles began to cooperate to form
Molecules of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen,
oxygen, phosphorus and sulphur.
Countless others scattered to the stars as well,
Of course, but light and heat and magnetic waves
Traveled 93 million miles from the sun
To make arrangements with carbon and the
Others on Earth just to produce you,
With your weakness for basic arithmetic
And your strange susceptibility to allergies.
Perception (#poem)
What if the hyperreal really isn’t real,
And the news never happened?
Our perceptions are just pixels, photons,
Bits and bytes scattered on a screen.
Gods and monsters both just
Misapprehensions of a troubled mind.
But whose mind is responsible for
The anxiety provoking representation?
Surely some eternal consciousness
Has not conspired to create in you
The illusion of evil and the construction
Of unlimited chaos battering the bulwark
Of what was once known as rational thought,
The eternal barrier against the evil of doubt.
So rest easy, troubled child, your current form
Is ephemeral and passes in an instant.
For E. Pound from the Thoroughly Smug
I didn’t really understand what you meant
When you said you saw a family picnicking
And they were happier than you,
Even though I felt it must be true.
And when you said you were happier than I was,
I knew you weren’t actually speaking to me,
But I decided to stay miserable
Just so your poem would always be true.
Christmas Rap (#poem, sort of)
I’m sure you can tell I’m
Part of the hip-hop community
So I take every opportunity
To spit rhymes like a hot tap
Gushing cheer in a Christmas rap.
When the weather is cold,
When the weather is hot
My generosity never stops.
I keep giving without a pause.
They should call me Santa Claus.
What? Don ‘t know who I’m talking about?
Then you can give Father Christmas a shout.
I’m so jolly in this season of folly,
And I’m as comfy as a teddy bear dolly.
I’ve got eyes that twinkle and a smile that shines,
I like reindeer, but I’ll never have nine.
I admit I don’t have a sleigh,
But I think my Bentley will take me all the way.
I’d fly around the world, but I’m afraid of heights.
So I might just hover, and it could take two nights.
Still, I like to see smiles on all the girls and boys.
If I had elves to build them, I’d give away all the toys.
I’d love to break into strangers’ houses,
Eat free biscuits with all those silent mouses.
There’s nothing creepy about having me in your home,
You told your kids to write me letters and stay in bed when I roam.
Everyone is so trusting, and all seems good and right.
We’re filled with love, and the spirit takes flight.
So, merry Christmas to all and to all good night.
Christmas Advice for Nonbelievers (#poem)
You’re not a believer
And Christmas isn’t for you
But you can enjoy
The festive season, too.
Your whole season
Doesn’t have to be wrecked
Just focus on all the
Commercial aspects.
You don’t have to be spiritual
To enjoy lots of useless tat.
Or flashing lights, tinsel and all that.
And there’s no reason
You can’t have lots of treats, puddings
and sweets, or just an excuse to overeat.
If that’s not your thing,
There’s still plenty of cheer.
Have an eggnog or vodka
Or plenty of beer.
Just be as naughty as you like.
And promise to be better in the new year.
Another Train Song (#poem, #villanelle)
Standing on the platform, waving goodbye to yesterday’s train.
Perhaps you wanted to feel you had a little bit of control.
You’re saying you hope that train never comes back again.
A peripatetic pretense helps to ease the pain.
It’s a phantom journey, but no one has to know.
Standing on the platform, waving goodbye to yesterday’s train.
You collected yourself, stood erect, and hoped to appear sane.
I’ve been on this journey for years—the train is so slow.
You’re saying you hope that train never comes back again.
I think all I wanted was shelter from this rain,
But you’ve let the rot set in and grow,
Standing on the platform waving goodbye to yesterday’s train.
You’re still battling the demons I thought we’d slain,
We could have escaped together and reached our goal.
You’re saying you hope that train never comes back again.
You wished me well, and I left after the hurricane,
And now you seem darkened by your own shadow.
Standing on the platform, waving goodbye to yesterday’s train.
You’re saying you hope that I never come back again.
Close to the Flames (#poem)
I stood outside the gates of Hell,
Ready to dive headlong into flame,
But you put your hand on my shoulder,
Turned me toward you and kissed my face.
You held me tightly against you and promised
You’d protect me for all eternity.
You assured me I was one of the good ones,
And I never should have been in this place.
You led me from the depths to a softer light,
And we lay, exposed, face-to-face,
But still I forgot to ask why you were loitering
Just outside such a damnable place.
Twenty Ways to Ruin a #Poem
It’s best to sneak up on the reader.
Change the meter,
Change the rhyme,
Change the tone,
Or change the subject.
Try to do something unexpected,
Like confessing a crime
Or secret perversion,
Even in a
Short poem.
To Define a Thing (#poem)
He broke her spirit when he declared
He didn’t even know what love is.
She had only asked a simple question
As she planned her own future.
Whilst he resisted closing his options,
He never noticed how open hers were.
She awaited his answer as her suitors
Sat on the sidelines biding their time.
He pretended he didn’t understand
The comfort of constant companionship
Or the fear of inestimable loss.
He needed time to think about
This question of love, to contemplate
The reality of solitude or the
Possibility of greater satisfaction.
And his hesitation was her answer.
She knew that whatever love is,
She would never feel it for him.
She could see a future free from
Waffling and wavering solidarity.
She imagined a life where love
Never demands a sacrifice.
For her, love was ultimately freedom
Of choice to soldier forth in unity.
And she knew love as a litany of lies:
Each person has only one intended.
Love is blind to the beauty of others.
Love is a freshly paved road.
Love is a bind, a prison, a restraint.
Love is devotion, obedience, compliance.
He saw love as a list of restrictions,
But she saw love as a prison break.
She no longer thought so much
About love. She only lived
With enthusiasm for those moments
That brought her unalloyed joy.
She decided to be selfish and
Forget about the cares of others.
And her dogged egoism brought her
Continually to your arms.
And if she had not, my dear friend,
You could not stand on your own.