Hey Trudie (Poem)

Trude, your scent enrages me with violence.
Perfect skin glow and eyes so deep and lost.
Let me touch your brow a slight fingertip.
A beast i am hidden in undergrowth,
startled as you dance in sunlight ripples.
Goddess untouched my forehead grazed the brittle floor.
A Benediction to perfection my hands a thousand cuts.
I build a shrine within the twilight vegetation,
of sticks and stones and broken bones.
An altar of fantasy, of fouled deeds and fine.
Veins woven into tapestry a scissor nick like kiss.
Bewitched scent blown by danced wind my wrecked hand
shoved into ill fitted glove.
You dance into moted air jeweled toes scatter leaf mould
the glade alive with your laughter.
My hands grip the soil within the darkness as air disturbed
tendrils of heaven through bough and knot.
Hidden i am and yet yearn to burst through bush and hedge,
I am here, it is me, the world i offer to you!
A sullied hand outstretched touches a pearled nail as you dance,
and laugh and are gone.
The sun speckled earth is torn by rage and sorrow so imperfect.
The childish rage of beast denied this thing of beauty.
The small beasts laugh and titter disguised hilarity whispered
jokes in bole and hole.
"He who is imperfect, wrecked of arm, crooked jester, float foul smelled"
they giggle.
"Dragons i would fight for her" i whisper head bowed.
"Your own serpent wracked in dark holes" A squirrel mocks.
"A sword i would wield, brave and true" finger traced in dirt deeds heroic.
Laughter "a twig to beat the pigs home" they cry.
"Shakespear i would quote, love an awful labour...." Hand aloft i cry.
"With cracked tongue, grunting beast, awful platitudes, servile animal" They shout.
An acorn thrown, a stick to beat upon the spine, of tugged hair, of spiteful kick,
of mockery.... a voice.

A knight you would be to her locked in chalice, bound gagged and tarred silence, better a wrecked arm to bear a shield to defend her.
Better a beast to wield a sword in violence and face the bitter horde.
A face that will not turn from the ugliness of battle.
Three times the call of horns upon the field and three times the cutting edge sweeps
the fouled air.
A chance seldom offered to bright armoured brilliance, of stainless flag, of bright coloured standard.
Servitude offered or ignorance chosen.

My life offered for a smile, in a touch a thousand joys, a Goddess served, a Princess
of beauty unsurpassed.
No one will offer you violence.
I serve sharp bladed nightmare and you will wash in their blood.

Vengeance (Poem)

I gasp in air, and hold it in.
Frayed lungs sweet perfume.
Careless ankle free.
Spiked heart from pure stilletto.
Inked in blood.
Vengeance.

Burning Love

OTTAWA (Reuters) - Canadian troops fighting Taliban militants in Afghanistan have stumbled across an unexpected and potent enemy -- almost impenetrable forests of 10-feet (three metre) high marijuana plants.

General Rick Hillier, chief of the Canadian defence staff, said on Thursday that Taliban fighters were using the forests as cover. In response, the crew of at least one armored car had camouflaged their vehicle with marijuana.

"The challenge is that marijuana plants absorb energy, heat very readily. It's very difficult to penetrate with thermal devices ... and as a result you really have to be careful that the Taliban don't dodge in and out of those marijuana forests," he said in a speech in Ottawa.

"We tried burning them with white phosphorous -- it didn't work. We tried burning them with diesel -- it didn't work. The plants are so full of water right now ... that we simply couldn't burn them," he said.

Even successful incineration had its drawbacks.

"A couple of brown plants on the edges of some of those (forests) did catch on fire. But a section of soldiers that was downwind from that had some ill effects and decided that was probably not the right course of action," Hillier said dryly.

One soldier told him later: "Sir, three years ago before I joined the army, I never thought I'd say 'That damn marijuana'."

Around fields of corn and marijuana, armoured vehicles provide perimeter security for Canadian soldiers patrolling in and around the village of Kolk in Afghanistan's Panjwaii District, September 14, 2006. Canadian troops fighting Taliban militants have stumbled across an unexpected and potent enemy -- almost impenetrable forests of marijuana plants.

Tyranny

"The ideal tyranny is that which is ignorantly self-administered by its victims. The most perfect slaves are, therefore, those which blissfully and unawaredly enslave themselves." ---attributed to Dresden James

I am Desolation (Poem)

I wrote this in 1996 but it was based on the events during the 1984 Miners strike when it looked like we might have lost the plot a little. We were driving through Yorkshire and got stopped by a Police road block and got roughed up a little due to a "Support the Miners" sticker i had on a deck. I was depressed and the events troubled me for years and "Desolation" was the result. The first draught was pure porn with the latex love Queen taking full account of the hordes in loads of different ways and reflected my own perversions more than the message it was supposed to get across. The House of Hollow men was a kind of Redux on the Revelation theme in Desolation and should really be tacked on to the front of it.
Ive still got the Porn version, might post it one day.

I am Desolation

White feathered wings blood spotted hang desolate as eyes of brass review the plain.
Bring him heads and arms and legs and viscera, hang them upon him.
Let no insect settle and know peace here, let no flower grow, only subtle whimpers here.
Bring baskets of rotted flesh in offering and cower at his feet, bring laments as gifts, petty sorrows as payment.
Pull out the dead and turn their heads to him upon the hill above the fields.
Let him see them look upon him so he may know exhaltation and worship.
Do not let the death rattle of spent shells littered upon the field distract him from his vile feeds.
Pull out Augustine from the heaving crowd so he may bear witness,whipped with cords of sharp barbed steel and the shadows of his laughter grow long.
Let his Knights bring pestilence drove in beats of music harsh to ear matched to the cacophony of rifle, revolver and automatic.
They smile with teeth of gold tipped with diamond to rent and tear the willing flesh a machine gun tap dance.
"There is no other" They cry as dancers hit the murder floor and tip toe through the fetid blood. "Golun, Shamshead, Treuk and Balshem"
He smiles and rips the air with fear driven hordes before him implore hands above their heads, silent and then screams of desolation..."We offer all" the mass cry.
"But i offer everything...." he replies in ten thousand tongues and ten thousand sighs and ten thousand signs.
Heavy with flesh and prophecy instilled deep within and twisted by the earth his hands reach out to touch the sky and awful hail falls upon the ground.
Hordes build for him a throne of welded metal and battered flesh of dust and skin and hair of powered men and governments and laws. He sat and watched.
And lands below consumed with fire and peopled by the vain stopped by preening mirrors and choked masturbation.
"Let us enter here" they lament to him throned and proud and he picks a horned nail in feigned interest.
"Have you not built this house..." a reply as a thousand cutting slabs of glass fall upon the worshipful pinned horror.
"Did you not prepare the mortar..." one million stinging flies trapped in idiot drool.
"Did you not put a hand upon the mantle..." One thousand Popes dancing and singing.
"Have you not intoxicated yourselves here..." and they sawed at their ears with shards of razor glass.
He spread his wings of deep sea black where stars whirled and danced upon the velvet night and between the feathered filth she came...
Daughter of Loab and Enthemom a thousand tongues to pleasure bare breasted heat and men and women wept again to gaze upon her flesh and all murdered to gain her favour.
A hand delicate a touch so sweet in glistened latex tight and neat all laced with soft velvet bottomless heart.
She swept and filled those near with pleasure so great they fell tumbling into abyss and shaft and pit.
A touch of whip and strap so sweet they treasured every welt and scratch an exhibition, a trophy, marked.
Tender kiss so light and teeth so perfect nipped the skin and nipple twisted ache of joy and pleasure passed.
Of cordage lashed still upon the shaft ignored and left for flies and reptiles kiss hair brushed and satin smooth she laughs and all weep.
"Did you not cry for her in long nights warm in bed with busied hand?" he asked and tenderly wiped her bloodied breasts.
"For this we suffer gladly" some cried.
"For now my friends, for now" he laughed and took the sun within his hand and threw it upon the fires aired by gasp of tortures.
Darkness lit by fired pit gloomed smoke and terror ripped hair in fingers sagging flesh and germ he spoke....

For each a doorless cell lit with cracked tube
For each a thousand wires delved within the flesh
For each a whore of maggot flesh
For each a spider full of venom
For each a basket of once loved dead
and for each a sum of ten thousand things to tantalise and suffer for ten thousand years and for each day ten thousand fears and for each fear ten thousand pains and for each pain ten thousand laments and for each cry a fine of ten thousand days and listen to me....my hate for you is not one ten thousandth of the pain you will suffer......

And his wings spread wider and all was under his dominion,
rain of fly wing and scale of hurtful dust of beaten wing,
borne upon the ether.
Cracked nail and twisted tail beast of man, cut skinless vessels
upon wracked dissolved frame....

"I am the way, The Great Web, The Whisperer, The Counter
The Bringer of gifts, Bearer of Bad News, The Poisoner, The Latest thing,
The Shell maker, The Gun Bringer, The Butcher, The Scientist.

I am the Desolation.

House of Hollow Men (Poem)

Love enters, lost souls bleat the passing day
upon the hill of skulls.
He breathes and chokes the dust of birth thick
upon the nettled soil.
None enter the brittled halls of pain where
Hollowed men ply trade and cost the gasp and
exhaltation.
The hand abandoned by the flesh from little teeth
gnawed wide to salivate placed upon the mantle.
The whore plastered upon the wall with legs mottled
with the spittle of the worm.
Gazed and wanton the plastered halls offer their delights
and confusions of dark nights.
Desolated unthreaded footsteps trace the lusted whisper
and click of horn upon wood.
A blasted house consumed and bitten by fire and bullet
tender pieces fall.
Of cloth and nylon discarded thrown wide as vile seed
sets in flesh.
Of noise and bluster sickened sound as ears bleed while vultures feed
and all is constant fear.
Of flying steel and at the wheel insane desperation as tears flow with
the hand upon the switch.
In the sky the vultures shine with inner light and circle withered palms
and wept rivers flood the plain.
The Hollow men grasp and wrestle dirty hands and whisper vile deeds eyes bright as pearls.
We build and smooth repair and delight the house where windows shine so bright where walls burst with filth and wallow in its stink.
The House of Hollow men.

Laugh out Loud

1.How R U?
2.gUD WENT SHOPING BOUGHT album
3.HAHA who wit?
4.Tara and mom was gud had cofee
5.what r u doing now?
6.bin in bath washed hair
7.naked? LOL
8.pETE gone out am naked and dirty
9.haha send picture!LOL
10.msm message sent
11.durty slut!lol
12. LOL

House of Maggots (Poem)

Laughter coughed up like blood spilled in the air,
another hacking humerous tirade.
Brilliant spiking giggle stabs the ribs and penetrates
the heart, he speaks.....
Of Bombs and guns and knives and swords and every word
loaded with maggot and fly.
With kind words and solace a comforting hand upon the shoulder,
a brushed away tear of acid fear.
Of peace and fulfillment of joy and rage of love and honour,
he lilts and tilts clownish humour.
Violence soothed with soft hands and mellow voice of sickly
vomit tainted breath of apology...he soothes too hard and breaks
the spine with pats of sympathy.
Hot spread of semen seeks a place unknown of love and joy broken
upon a stoney desert and sand itching upon soft tissues.
The Joy once deserved is broken never healed splashed upon the
cracked pavement, insect ridden, a palace of worms, a barbed wire
halo of pain.
A trickle of whispers becomes a beating of rumour begats a phalanx
of fear...a river running sheets held tight in the rictus of release.
Beyond all a web of string from cotton frail to thickened wire expanse
and light blocking onscures the sun and tugs the nerve and the sinew.
Jerk and bluster and giggle at the pull and twitch.
A place lies hidden built upon foundations bereft of splashed joy, of
long nights when whispers strong float upon the stairs.
Hide and seek of glimpses, dreams and knowledge ignored, the Lamb butchered
and made real again...
upon a mountain side he waits and sits upon a rock he watches the ebb and flow
of the river.
The wind blows and he laughs at the simple twitching of the stalk and seed and fallen petal ruffled.
There is a place beside him,shown by calloused hand strong with labour of scrabbling upon the rocks scarred by the sun as hands beseeched the sky.
Knowledge and peace the sword abandoned cast down and broken never cutting the swathe
of wire.
Sit and gaze upon the land below and a hand upon the shoulder presses once, everything is shown true the giggler unmasked shrugs and wanders away.
We watch the sunrise, i am home.

Tricky

So Yacub knew that all he had
to do was make a man unlike any other man on
this Earth and because he would be different he
would attract all other people. Then he could
teach this man a science call tricknology, which
is a science of tricks and lies, and this weak
man would be able to use that science to trick
and rob and rule the world. So Yacub turned to
his uncle and said, "When I grow up I'm going to
make a man who will rule you." And Yacub's
uncle said,"What can you make other than that
which will cause bloodshed and wickedness in the
land?"