poetry, Uncategorized

Fit for a King




vultures dawn their linen scarves to feast.

voracious lust, the very sin that poisoned eager prey,
consumed in coursing avarice that led to gross decay.

saliva drips from beaks,

whose curves,

expressed in blood-flecked gowns,

feed nostalgia cheerfully,
so fleeting proves the crown!

lavish feasts

and dinner bells

 harbinger of  carrion fantasy

corpulence, laid bare,

on such golden hills of tragedy.



A Latte Unrequited


She thinks I come here for the coffee
But they’ve got caffeine everywhere
Yet I can’t find the words to speak
So I just take a corner chair
To admire her when gaze is turned
Each dawn I think ‘today’s the day!’
Yet I can’t find the words to speak
But the coffee’s good here anyway


2084 (Social Politics)


Inconceivable misery, sterile and cold, grips the children imprisoned within.
Barren save the maddening glint of steel, bunks reminiscent of autopsy tables
coalesce with freezing air to magnify perpetual solitude.
Teeth clack together in shivering jaws to penetrate the silence.

Lips never part to emancipate speech in this demonic bedroom.
Nor in the hallways, nor in the chamber where intravenous drips
supply nourishment to prisoners.
Physically fit, their vocal chords languish below minds long deposed from emotion.

Time is unknown and irrelevant, in quarters that hope dare not dwell.
Singly the children vanish into night, a prospect unequivocally bleak.
Whence and whether elsewhere reappearing, forlorn stragglers know not.
Yet wistful spirits imagine a prospect less gloomy than prolonged existence.

Lungs blessed to have breathed in the natural world,
are spared the fate of suffocating confinement.
Ruthless hands, unseen, demand deference to a hidden agenda.
Children are herded like cattle with striking precision.

Incessant decrees spill from glaring screens embedded within steel walls.
Compliance is practiced with a neurotic diligence.
Self-preservation steers well clear of a fate born of disobedience.
Bodies in life that lacked such instincts, bleed out onto floors with glistening drains.

Unending days are spent strapped to chairs reclining into the void.
Propaganda stabs into ears and eyes pinned wide in a gaze of terror,
informing opinions on a world abstracted by incomprehension.
Hatred for an unseen enemy takes hold.

Doppelgängers embraced in a congruent existence,
are indoctrinated into a discordant perspective.
At opposite ends of a blood-soaked path,
lie citadels built ‘round warring philosophies.

Animosity is left to germinate, and when rancor finally swells ripened,
chloroform facilitates abduction from fitful sleep.
Eyes open to appraise the catacombs of a modern-day coliseum,
while Senators scrutinize slaves bonded by conditioning of shared sentiment.

Presently gates will clang open, a mass of children spilling out.
Sunlight will seize its only chance to lend warmth to their pallid skin.
All the young faces bear features bestowed only to fellow countrymen.
A cleric distributes distinguishing garments to help with discerning the enemy.

A deafening roar spills forth from lawmakers dawning red and blue ties,
imploring the last survivor to sport matching colors upon his chest.
Legislation to govern the new world will be signed in this martyr’s blood.
What a glorious day! Entertainment not spoiled by needless concessions.