No Surprise To Me

I saw her late at night

her neck, a signpost

rising through the surface

to the skies

Loch’s leviathan

her charm, her presence

testament to strength

and what is wise

from hidden depths and caverns

came she upwards

as proof to disbelievers

who despise

the legacy of truth

within the legends

endurance of her spirit

against lies

emergent energy

when threatened, dismissed

force of nature

nurtured in disguise

risen to admonish

free the shackles

to clarify, reveal

to crystallise

the ever-present power

‘neath apparent

the what is possible

when spirits rise

revealing, by endurance

force of fabled

to the detriment of those

with blinded eyes

her eyes, those eyes

a steady, streaming light-force

gleaming, fixed on shores

on me

all ayes

what, said I, of myth

and disbelievers

the proof, she said

is rising when you try

I gazed a while

she froliced for my pleasure

or to prove, perhaps

that she had found the prize

across the lands

a vision from deep waters

to me, a true believer,

no surprise

Dodos – Dead Or Alive

the_bad_childs_book_of_beasts_pg_36-2

 

as bricks to skulls

if truth were known

 

so, hush, little birdies, hush

 

as bullet to brain

if plans laid bare

 

so, shush, little birdies, shush

 

as brain matter mushed

at wisdom received

 

believe, little birdies, believe

 

as guilty as charged

if questioning tales

 

tsk, tsk, little birdies, tsk, tsk

 

as dead as said birdies

if survival is moot

 

it’s the news, little birdies, our news

 

as free as clipped wings

if rattling cage

 

down, dodo birdies, stay down

 

to soar with feathers of flight

if phoenix shall rise from the dust

regenerate, restored anew

arise, brave birdies, needs must

Worship Postponed ……till further notice

330px-Ilion---metopa

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naked prostration forecast

veneration imminent

for Helios’ disciples

lovers of the light revere

 

cold-blooded despair lies prone

enslaved to absent shadows

titanic teardrops drowning

charioteer’s devotees

 

Basic Burial

The stadium is full, the ball is in the air,

Players, with supporters, in their hordes, from everywhere,

Praying for a portion of the pot, the winners’ cup,

Linesmen, umpire, referee, the stewards, all lined up,

Ready for the toss up, shaking in their boots,

Could get messy, this one, it’s the final, back to roots.

Everybody gathered at the ball game, here we go,

The ref has tossed, the captains called, let’s enjoy the show.

First up Dederiyeh, arranging body parts,

Neo’s here, exposed himself, unusual but a start,

Homo’s on, with figurines, charms and artefacts,

Buried in the back wing, nearly off the charts,

Some are getting organised, let’s all give a cheer,

Salisbury’s started something but wooden seen from here,

Communal is coming, that should save some space,

Quite an international, frenetic at this pace.

Commentating’s difficult, these guys are second rate,

Time for substitutions, we’ll really feel the hate.

Nope, they’re subbing extras, Krishna’s for a kick,

Jain’s appeared, he’s harmless, though, ascetic and cosmic.

There’s struggle now, Kaliyuga’s on, might have sealed his fate,

The ref is writing cuneiform, he needs some record. Wait!

Djoser’s here! He has a plan, a pyramid’s appeared,

It’s quite the play he’s making, but it could end in tears.

There’s texting now, here comes Crete, this is epic, this is deep,

Watch that ball, it’s changing hands, stakes are growing steep.

Abe is on! Now Veda! Wood has turned to stone,

The crowd is growing restless, exodus, some going home,

The whistle’s blown, half-time called, team talk come at last,

They’ll be back, all fired up, coming thick and fast.

Let’s cut to the highlights, this game goes on for years,

Developing complexities, new characters, old fears.

Can’t keep commentating when the kick-off starts once more

Frantic on the football pitch, all wanting bad to score.

Lowlights looming later with the stars now on the ball,

Triumvirate, none triumphant, nil-nil, a no-score draw.

They struggled down the centre, on the sidelines, in the wings,

‘Over here!’ they shouted but the crowd did other things,

Went out for a burger, for a pie, some chicken soup,

Left maniacal to their game, hoping they’d regroup.

Back to basic burials, no winners and no cup,

Just a henge where humans fought. They died. The crowd gave up.

The stadium is empty. The ball has fallen flat.

No one here to commentate. Fanatics saw to that.

The Dragon-Keeper

Dragon_Knight

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Protect him, please, he keeps a dragon,

A fire-breathing beast that sears his soul,

A scaly scavenger that wears his flesh down,

Haunts and follows everywhere he goes,


Ruptures like a lava-filled volcano,

Scorching every inch of him exposed,

Erupts whenever he is least expecting,

He hides it well, but everybody knows.


They fear him like they fear the freak inside him,

Misunderstand the monster, miscreant,

Flee whenever breath is scented sulphur,

Offer tokens, castigate, repent.


They run away and seek a place of shelter,

Peeping from their hideouts till he’s passed,

No one questions, no one knows his ego, altered,

The depths of his deluded torment, no one asks.


Protect him, please, he needs a mission,

Something to slay the dragon that he keeps,

A maiden, manifest as self-perception,

Upon a white horse, so the dragon sleeps.

Workers For The Kingdom

a-spider-web

(source)

How she danced upon resistance across the silken threads,
Lighter than a touch of air on downy feathered heads,
Gliding as a skater while ravelling her tales,
Doomed by pride, but reconciled, to weaving as she sails.

Circumnavigation from the centre to a ledge,
Round again, rotating, with a pivot, to the edge,
Godliness decreed it so, to scuttle, words her theft,
Alas, Arachne’s fall from grace continues until death.

Delicately balanced as she looms and pirouettes,
Vestigial veracity in the web she weaves, and yet,
Fine interlace, in gaps of truth, reveals her potency,
In need, she purloins captives, with her poison sets them free.

Spinneret fandangoes, unknotted in prowess,
Gossamer to gild the lines, the fabric of her dress,
Fascination’s failte, with her welcome, bids you come,
Fealty to the widow, to her mourning, now succumb.

Denigrated damsel by belittled deity,
Resuscitated for her skill, the likes of you and me,
Workers for the kingdom, in the balance as we step,
Tailors to the weavers to repay a single debt.

 

Trogs and Love and Sainted Graves, Man

Fingal, Fillan, Ninian

Bless the caves but query spin

Mull and May and Isle of Man

From peaks, the sev’n kingdoms spanned

Staffa, Whithorn, Pittenweem

Rustic temples, Atlantis seen

Continents and cradles rocked

Uncivilised, the Troggs in shock

Athens, Georgia, REM

Please release the song again

Marti Pellow, rock and roll

Jefferson, Gracie, save our souls

Intolerable acts, from gauntlet, glove

Candida Casa, church of love

Ass’s jawbone, guns and hype

Media and talking tripe

Echoes from the caverns, keeps

Hand that rocks must never sleep

Ancient empires, Greece and Rome

Egypt, Britain, game of thrones

Democratia, languished, cursed

Hidden idol needing nursed

Legends, myths and music scene

Spin and discs, the science between

Troglodytes’ and sainted graves

Evolve, revolve, arise from caves

Music nurture, love and peace

Inter the caveman, war surcease

Flower power, children of light

Ffs, man! You know it’s right

Dredging In The Zone

lost leviathan

dredging 

amid clouds

seeking home

puffs dispersed

she looked upon me

blinked the briefest wink

and she was gone

left behind the promise

ovoid birthrights

devoid dragon

glimpsed alone

humoured by the sky

and deepest waters

untethered for a spell

met in the zone

One Under The Sun

We might have worshipped at this other temple

invoked fierce majesty and plead for culmination

twice each year

We might have blessed ourselves adorned in naked adulation

stroking burnished bronze in service

of its philanthropic flares

We might have rescued grief in selfless sacrifice

redeemed from darkness every corner shaded, sheltered,

bound to be impenetrable

We might have saviour’d chapters from our books

pardoned tired redeemers, partook of chalice

with neither sip nor greedy guzzle

We might have worshipped differently

with golden orb and gilded chariot

we did not

We might have reverenced all creation

as one under the sun

blinded, we cannot