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January 30, 2010

I found her enraptured and sober
With the gleam of a wolf in her eye
And she watched me, and dared me pass by
“Come and see, dear mortal
And come with me, come with me
Enter the crystals and kiss on the wind
And bid all your boredom farewell, farewell
Bid all your unhappiness into the well
And enter the passion to Hell.”

Said her eye, said her eye
As I stayed awhile, stayed awhile
Power it gleamed from the jewels in the fire
When I found I was staring
Saying no word, for no whisper was heard
But the sound of her breathing
Grew loud in my hearing
Just as my eyes were so fixed ever more
No word ever needed, none wanted in Hell.

January 1992



January 30, 2010

I’m pouring it out
my loneliness, aching
desire to be loved
need for closeness
but somehow I just can not utter the words

Take my hand, hold it in your own
let your long fingers curl fast around mine
I rise from the couch, clothed in only the night
and stand close to you
feel your presence
a rock in the ocean
floor sways under my feet
with your closeness

I put my arms round you
I squeeze you to me
put my head on your shoulder
and let it well out from me

the tears and the anguish
the torment of being me
the influence of disruption

I want you to soothe
all the destructive energy
violent disarray of my tortured soul

I need your demons to quell my own
I need to be yours, and yours alone

30th May 1994

Theda Bara Lives Again – Demon On The Wind

January 30, 2010

Free yourself from futile grief
When hell-power calls you under
Lightning is the ancient power
Delivering the thunder
Clouds will burn and fire will freeze
While worlds are torn asunder
Never more be filled with pain
Your fear has turned to wonder

Brighter than a thousand suns
Your life has been forsaken
Opened up in raging chasms
And here your soul is taken
Hurtling down the caves of time
Roots of the Kozmos shaken
It’s time to break out of your cage
Your passions will awaken

12th May 1993, 20th May 1993 20:50

Argus Yawned

January 30, 2010

There was a one world government
And everyone pooled their resources
And dug a big hole to the heart of the earth
For to tip all the rubbish in the hole
And the heat in the core would melt it
And consume it and destroy it
And it would float to the top and make more rock
And so offset the global warming, make more land
Every planet is a star with a skin
Into the heart of the planet
They hurled all the weapons
All those old ships full of sludge
And the bombs and those old reactors
Fragments of Chernobyl and Three Mile Island and Sellafield
All was enveloped, all was consumed
And the carbon and nitrogen bubbled up
With the oxygen and sulphur and made new rock
Many millennia’s journey it made to the mantle
At the bottom of the hole, in the centre
All the raw plutonium met, and around it ringed uranium
And the star said

And awoke from its dream
Of being a planet


Keats Be Damned, I’m a Poet Too

January 30, 2010

Another tale of banishment
Of exile from this land
I’m coming back when next I can
Carve epics in the sand
So kill a poet, burn a bard
And all his works destroy
You can’t kill an idea, my friend
So sit back and enjoy

She came to me a-weeping loud
Ashaking and aquiver
I stood and held her, watching wary
Fending off a shiver
My eyes met his, her foe that time
He could not hold my gaze
I knew him well, his type at least
The memory yet stays

I won’t condone my actions then
I never had the need
I jumped upon him, smashed his face
And watched the bleeder bleed
“Come with me now,” she said, “come now”
I never stopped to think
Wound up on her loop of string
I’m led as horse to drink

“I’ll come with you,” my body said
“You picked me, I’m your guy”
I led, half-carried her away
No asking reasons why
“What’s your name?” she said – I told her
Bugger her reply
My head was rambling, mind aswirl
As payoff time drew nigh

“I want you,” said my body, “now
While it’s still not too late”
“I’m yours, I’m yours,” came her reply
And there she locked my fate
And down we fell, in nature’s bliss
As night drew into day
And into night again until
I touched her inner fey

These songs are popular all right
They punch below the belt
A piece of piss to write one, try it
Write down how you felt
Remember what it’s like when someone
Takes you for your worth
You know you’ll end up ridiculed
So make them pay for mirth

“She took me to her elfin grot
And there she wept and sighed full sore
Until I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.”
(thanks, Keats)

She cut me down and kicked me
And left me there for dead
Between my bones she’d thrust the blade
And watched the growing red
From way up high my self looked down
And watched my cruel defeat
Nothing more than fancy garb
And cooling, rotting meat

Another tale of banishment
Of exile from this land
I’m coming back when next I can
Carve epics in the sand
So kill a poet, burn a bard
And all his works destroy
You can’t kill an idea, my friend
So lie back and enjoy


Lady In The Van

January 30, 2010

Here he is again, and now he’s drinking down the pub
Looking for a sexy girl his ego for to rub
And he looks across the bar and there she is, she looks so sweet
In that naughty low-cut number she looks good enough to eat
So he swaggers over casually, his beer glass in his hand
Thinking of the words he knows that she will understand
But before he opens up his mouth she stops him with a line
“I know just what you’re after boy, shut up and please don’t whine.”

And while he stands there speechless she continues in this way:
“But worry not, I feel the same, come on and make my day.”
He gets his mouth in gear at last, he says: “Your place or mine?”
She says, “My transit van’s outside – yeah, that should do us fine.”
And sure enough, she speaks no lie, it’s in the pub car park
And in the back, a mattress and a lamp to light the dark
Oh wow, he thinks, this is the stuff, and off comes all his kit
She shuts the doors and stops a moment, says “Now wait a bit …

“I think I ought to warn you that I’m into kinky stuff
I’m really into bondage – do you think you’re hard enough?”
He says, “Give me the whips and chains, I’ll tie you to the bed …”
She interrupts him with, “No way, I’m tying you down instead.”
And he lets her have her way with him, spread-eagled totally
And then she peels her dress off – boy, is that some sight to see
Leather boots up to the thigh, a studded leather Basque
He wonders what will happen but his mouth’s too dry to ask

She thinks a while: “What can I use? A whip, a flail, a stick?
Aha – I know of just the thing – yeah, that should do the trick.”
And out the window she does reach, the aerial she snaps
And on his prostrate body gives some little playful taps
The pain’s intense as she commences laying in with force
And now he’s certain that he’s never going to stay the course
He wriggles and he writhes and starts to wrestle with the chain
She hasn’t fixed it very well, and soon he’s free again.

He grabs his clothes and dances off away and down the street
Hopping on one leg he pulls his trousers o’er his feet
And pulls them up, pulls on his shirt and jacket on the run
“Come back you loser,” cries the girl, “you’re ruining all my fun!”
Her boots are so uncomf’table to travel in at speed
That she can’t catch him, he’s away, our hero ain’t no weed
He finds a tiny side-street and a likely little pub
And dives inside and finds a corner, heart goes dub-a-dub

He can’t remember getting home, he’s absolutely bladdered
And when he wakes next morning he’s still absolutely shattered
His arms are sore, his legs are bruised, he’s quite bereft of cash
And all along his belly there’s a nasty little rash
First thing he does, he’s off to see his local friendly Quack
He needs a decent sick note or he’s going to get the sack
And there he is, he’s in the chair, and taking off his shirt
And tells his story start to finish, one almighty spurt

The doctor takes a look, and listens, and his face does split
Into a mighty cheesy grin, and starts to have a fit
His face turns blue, and tears arise into his jolly eyes
And says, “I know what’s wrong with you, my lad, and no surprise.”
Our hero is bewildered, and is in a royal tizz,
“You’re not supposed to laugh, come on and tell me what’s the biz?”
“The answer’s very simple,” gasps the Doctor, with a wheeze,
“It seems to me you must have caught van aerial disease.”


Charmed, I’m sure …

January 30, 2010

Welcome to Do Not Wash.

If you know me, you know what to expect.