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For those who know no home, but possess the clarity of mind to try and create one….

Rest your head upon cool waters 
Remember to breathe,  

Remind your turbulent heart to beat,

Instruct your worrisome mind to cease

Give up your pity and strife to the sea

Surrender your conscience to an ocean breeze

Borne upon Warm winds from the deepest east

Guided by spirits that Salem esteemed

Fear will come to claim your mind

And you must yield a thousand times

For if existence not corporal inclined

Why are you afraid to die?

Yes, fear is how you know you’re alive

But your life is such a pitiful kind

Why do you cling to a failed design?

Why curb your heart and veil your mind?

Mystery abounds dear pilgrim

That fabled shore it beckons

Where the crohns laugh as children

And the babes with gods do reckon

The silent city is near

Of everlasting night

The lake thus formed from tears

But sadness will never blight

They say the skies there are but windows

And you can see without an end

The true beauty of the cosmos

Which unifies all men

So pilgrim do not suffer foolish pride to rob you

Blinded by deception of omission

And that milk of human kindness which enslaves with pantomimes of happiness, joy and fantasy

Cast your cares on still waters

Come to Salem across the sea


Witch Craft

At night I know she lays with the wicked
I know her wage is death, duress
Her incense burns at the gate of Kadesh
Student of a Moorish prophetess
Who charmed darkness, swears by her left

The hearts she’s broken are without count
But i know them one by one
I know every tear that runs
I know every fevered tongue
That cursed her birth, her witchcraft done

But at our sleepy communion altar
Her eyes close, her breath grows longer
And ever stronger i perceive those voices
Those pale, haggard despondent noises
A wailing lament inviting caution
From fellow men, an aching chorus

And from time to time a peeking eye
Will scan my worry lines,

Entreat a wry smile from Madeleine
“My lover, only mine”

She will whisper just in time
“Feel my lips against thine, my tainted kiss the sweetest wine”

Yes I know she lays with the wicked, but my heart is surely black
And I will follow her to lost Kadesh, Moorish spells upon our backs
Countless suitors she despised, for innocents boldness lack
And mystery is the pride of life, we pledge our lives to that.

The Lord’s confession

Oh all my comrades whom I have slain
With callous demeanour, icy veins
My conscience no cleaner
At the end of my days
O hallowed be my cursed name

Oh all those gentle hearts I broke
My infernal tongue the lies it spoke Fire and smoke, hellish drums
Await my soul when Kingdom comes
My father, my father whose name I smeared
Wisdom scorned and counsel sneered
You oft did name me your prodigal son
But all is won when my will is done
On earth and heaven truly this be given a day to recall the madness driven
Sweet mother mine, into your head
My sins your wine and daily bread

Forgive my sins And ill forgive thine
In purgatory we’ll do the time                                                                                For sin abounds, but it’s my life     
I am the king I am divine
the moral of this a sour story  
Mine is the kingdom, power and glory

The mystic river

The still sybillic mist lies upon the mystic river
As steam rising from sub terranean sources                                       
From Satan’s temptingly savoury sauces
For there’s a pot of pain brimming in hell’s little kitchen
And it furls the mystic river
Who curls, perturbed and in that mirror.
Reflects the disturbed distorted figure
Of this melancholy sinner.        
And that melancholy mist    
Whispers, inviting me in  
Seductive sister                         
Entreating this transgressor to further sin
To take part in that hellish feast, the pot frothing at the brim

Who knows what delicacy lies within?
Underneath that mystic river, beneath the swirling mist

Some Men

Some men exist to defy the convention that we are naturally good    
Men who stood to attention while others die in graves craving sanctuary
Men whose actuality is saving their gains with lies, no penance will repay their debt to the human mentality  

Yet all men were boys whose noises of boisterous childish joy climbing sequoia, oak and ash serve as no prelude to the lives they would one day destroy                                  

Some men profess truth through ruthless oppression of proof.
Uncouth brutes, by their fruits you can see through their confusion be not deluded, they may not lose.         
This blue earth’s full of fools if you don’t watch your step you’ll be drawn to darkness too       

Some men abhor deceipt, condemn greed, lambast with enmity the occurrence of immorality and abundance of calamity. Lip service only, in their minds I see disparity.


For Seventy times by seven days
Apollo’s rays guide me Seventy times by seven ways.

Seventy desert paths
Southern stars spill their energy
Into the heavenlies
To guide my heart
Far from my enemies
Turning back provides no remedy   
Running from my troubled past
Through Seventy roads in the dark.
Truly over Seventy times by seven days
I have met Seventy seven fellow slaves
Seventy seven mellow flames
Burning slow like athenian essence
Lessons from leaning on Oracles and blessings
Enduring their penance wanderers dreaming
Seventy seven mellow lights gleaming
From Seventy seven pipes in the evening.
And we languished through the yellow haze
And the freezing nights for days and days
Lost souls numbering Seventy eight
Waiting for clemency from the bonds of fate.

The Ruler of the Universe



Watching planets of illusion orbit past fading suns

Constellations burning in dying lights

Dark storms crying in broken sunsets

Whispering incongruous hopes in unconscious minds

Dreams laced with grey dawns

Evenings full of drowning comets

Nurturing a hungry silence that stifles all questions in fiery darkness

Haunting, monotonous sounds that echo in detonating galaxies

Moving blue stars to paint swirls in black nights

Outlines of foreign thoughts fraying in ancient mystery

Controlling through thousands of elusive songs laced in silver

The Immortal Secrets of Nothingness

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The Tree of Knowledge


Today’s (somewhat shorter than usual) update comes straight from my personal vault of free thinking and rebellion, I hope you enjoy the poem, extra special thanks to a wonderful artist Neeti for the picture which inspired me to write this poem, you can follow her on twitter @TheArtofNeeti and like her on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TheArtOfNeeti

Slowly, softly, ensnared and seduced
My sweet sanity, swaddled with sadness
Swallowed up by madness
Escapes into an amber abyss
Through my distended pupils
Seared by the kiss of a reddish Sun Blazing
On a day such as this
A man such as he is
Being sliced by a whip
Scarlett feverishly drips,
His mouth feverishly resonant
Does not exude a hint of penitence
His arms slowly lifting heavenward
To the fruit which hangs so eminent
From the tree of knowledge so elegant
Conscience will acknowledge him

Bad News

This first update after a long absence attempts to explore the emotions and atmosphere around receiving bad news, hope it makes you feel something 😉

A man.
A man and an empty room.
And a single blade of light from the street lamp cleaving the curtains in two.
And the growing darkness in his heart.
And the crippling absence of calm.
And the calendars ominous chant. “Beware the ides of March”
And 11 o’clock has passed.
And still no word from her.

And a forced sense of assurance
And a reminder of endurance.
And a momentary smile.
And a mental instruction not to think.
And an ominous ring…
And a frantic clawing at the pockets to retrieve that thing which has chosen at this crucial moment to the pocket it will cling. And at last the phone is freed!

And an unknown caller ID.
And a terrifying state forseen.
And slowly the call is retrieved.

And an existential detachment from the room.
And a memory of 21 birthdays in June.
And twice daily ‘I love you too’.

“Mr. Brown I have some bad news”


This week’s first update is presented by the letter ‘V’


Venus of the crystal Haze
ViVacious in her Virgin days

Would Veer towards Villainy 

Gaze through Venetian blinds At a Vacuum of Vitality 
Viewing a Veritable VaudeVillian show
Through Visors of Valium as her heart rate would slow

“How Vacant they all seem” her Views she Voiced
Veins infested with diseases borne on Viruses which Vent their maladies
Vapid sufferers they leave
No Vaccination to ease

Verily though she be inVolVed with countless numbers of Vain Villains
She remains the final Vestige of the Vox populi Viewed as Vanquished

She truly bleeds Vermillion
For the Victims seVen billion