I like it Strawie. Good to see you posting here again.

This is about the only thing worthwhile I've written since last I was here.




Further than
Two souls can ever be
I am in the peaking morning light
And, you are in the place no one can see

I’ll imagine it for you

The sun never burns your eyes
No terror permeates the dark
No tears need be cried
In your glory, your freedom

Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore

Your traces will be swept up in a zephyr
Of mystery and longing
Sorrow and regret
Silent fury
But, the lines of your face will be kept
In the most hallowed memories
Campfire lit
Pyretic flurry

Finally, raised up in flames

Yearning palms will well remember
Those hard wood-chopping hands
That buried themselves in burnt sienna fur
And pined to plant themselves in distant lands

The horizon always was your home
Sought from early dawn into the night
Broad and bright, I see your easy smile
Sprawling in the peaking morning light


If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.

Oh my lovely poetry... I thought you dead and buried,
But now I find you here again,
Decayed and somewhat smelly.

Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.

With a clever smile
And a clean anus
You took me for a ride
On a purple platypus
While weird lover Wilde
Rode home on a bus

Satie's Faction

I really don't like doing this "dot dot dot" thing, but this works so much better with the indentations. Thinking of adding another stanza to square things off...

A Royal Welcome


Have I indulged unseemly
................In feasts of blushing terror?
................................Apples shining on the cheeks of
................Abdicated dignity
For, here in my confinement
................There is no sash to tear
................................No grappling with the robed façade
................Nor powdering of hair


A fool, I’ve trebled troubles
................For want of trophied shoulders
................................Not mantling a violet heart
................Nor, violent flowers of fervor
But, damascened refinement
................A silent, silken weave
................................No burden of simplicity
................Upon the sterling sleeve


Do diamonds rain from tear ducts?
................Do roses reign the core?
................................Is Venus deigned the precious pearl
................Of adoration’s smile?
For, I have never mined them
................Nor, boasted their décor
................................Nor, do they shower upon the shroud
................Of death’s unlittered shore

Fairy stories in the penny arcade.
You bought my love and I paid.

A tad old-fashioned, but very well written. You're pretty articulate for a fatty.

When Bowie Meets Satie

Well, ya know, we have to learn twelve different words for each kind of food so we don't seem excessive. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go make a Dagwood.

Fairy stories in the penny arcade.
You bought my love and I paid.

You mean a sous-marin?

When Bowie Meets Satie

Otherwise known as a hero.

Fairy stories in the penny arcade.
You bought my love and I paid.

When you are far from here,
The gears and cogs that make me tick,
Whir that bit slower,
Grind to a halt and lock,
In patterns of behaviour,
And modes of thinking,
Like a clockwork soldier,
That lumbers on,
With missing parts,

You are my heart.

So bring back your key,
To wind me tight,
I'm more than metal gears,
But less than perfect,
Without you.


Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.

(Meadowell is a shitty metro station that I have to wait at each morning as I go to work, it inspired this insipid effort.)

Meadowell

Smoking woman by the metro rails,
Can you even think or feel?
Or are you drowning out some pain,
That scarred your soul,
But left no shame?

Your child looks on with curious eyes,
As you scream obscenties to the slate grey skies,
The platform drips with fallen spit,
No seats remain,
On which to sit.

At night the shrieks and whoops,
Of mispent youth will echo,
Down the puke strewn tunnel,
And yellow railings will hide,
Those old familiar lies.

I watched detached,
Sad at my own contempt,
This weary Heaven and stranger Hell
On this dreary day,
In Meadowell...

Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.