Reblog : Courted By Terror

As I’m struggling a little bit with inspiration, I thought I’d show those of you who have not seen much of my writing how a collaboration can work. This piece was written in collaboration with the exceedingly talented ScottishMomus. If anyone is tempted to try a collaboration themselves, and they’ve never done it before, drop me an email using the ‘Something to say’ link to the right, and we’ll see what we can do. I hope you like reading this one as much as I liked writing it..

Eyes open wide, I lie quite still
In nightmare’s frozen grasp
While chilling hands reach out to me.
In silence, I scream and gasp.

This latest victim gripped by fear
In night, my precious friend,
With stealth I move, ever close
Another soul to tend.

Paralysed hold has made me bold,
My insides start to quiver,
Limbs cannot move to aid or flee
But tremors, inside, shiver.

I sense her terror, intoxicating
A drug that spurs me on,
Her beating heart and panting breath
To me a sirens song.

Only wakened eyes can see the one
And terror courts my soul,
While human manifested lust
Envelops body whole.

Revealed to her in gloried form
Such fear so swift engendered,
Dark desires so physical
Soon powerfully rendered.

The fear, such fear, does haunt me still,
Suppressed as best I can.
This darkened lover in the night
Had not the face of man.

These glowing eyes of hellish depths
Of fire and ice in fusion,
Drink in her form so prostrated
From a face not one bit human.

At shudders end, I claimed my body
But sat up staring wide
Who had penetrated me, untouched,
But felt so deep inside?

Withdrawn from deed so darkly done
My presence deep within,
No touch of flesh so needed
To grant an inner sin.

I looked to see in mirror’s frame
And laughter I heard there,
A distant sense of eyes beheld,
Reaching from some lair.

I watch reaction from afar
As she stares at her reflection,
My wicked mirth I cannot hide
At our newly formed connection.

Molested by the darkest night
And darkest soul of all.
Orgasmic pleasure be subdued,
Temptation from the fall.

Dreamer

I fantasise ’bout peace and love,
From Lennon’s song Imagine;
But life with all its kicks and stabs
Makes sure of one reaction;
A raging ‘gainst the day to day,
The pettiness of people;
How can a race hope to improve
And treat all kinds as equal?

We victimise the lower class,
And those of lesser station;
Those with all and everything
Control the living nation;
What chances do the normal have,
Those struggling with living;
What can we do to ease the pain
And promote a world of giving?

The politics of social change,
The crying of the needy;
Ignored by those with bonuses
The evil and the greedy;
With dark despair I face the day,
All hope of changes fading;
The effectiveness of charity
Withdrawing and degrading.

Come join with me my fellow man,
And make the change we’re needing;
Together with a strengthened will
We’ll listen to those pleading;
As Lennon said those years ago,
You may think me a dreamer;
But if these dreams will make a change
Then I’ll gladly be that dreamer.

Reblog : Silk Screen

I have a few ideas skipping and tripping around my mind, but no time to get anything concrete down. So, in the meantime, here’s a reblog for you all. I hope you like it. First published back in January…

Her silk screens of pretense
That hide her from view
Easily breached but
Masking a truth.
Self medicates heart
With grape and the grain
She laughs at the boys
That try to cause pain.
A kiss of the rose
With thorns sharp to stab
A dream of a lover
She thought that she had.
A world full of anger
But tempered by lust
What price to be paid
By cold lack of trust.
When all is forgiven
She’ll welcome again
The chance of a future
No need to pretend.
Until then she’ll wait
With words soft but mean
The taste of the wine
Behind her silk screen.

The Man Afraid Of Stairs

Faithful readers…
The refrain “The man afraid of stairs” has been going round my head for weeks. This finally, after a long and painful labour, is what’s resulted from it. I’m not entirely happy, and I may revisit the man himself, but for now it feels good to get something down. I hope you like it.

Through the town where monsters sleep,
She leads me on a dare;
To darkened tower high above,
And the man afraid of stairs.

He lives above the maddening crowd,
In cloud touched minaret;
Where visitors of daring do,
Could say they are well met.

With fear of steps he will not roam,
Remaining in his lair;
What life is there upon the ground,
For the man afraid of stairs?

To travel round the winding walls,
Arriving at his door;
The sound of moaning from within,
Fists beating on the floor.

She calls allowed through painted wood,
“Poor wretch, are you in there?”
But not a sound is heard within,
From the man afraid of stairs.

With caring voice she asks of him,
“What caused your fear to run?”
Though satisfaction we both craved,
An answer there was none.

And so she led me by the hand,
Bored now with her dare;
We’d never learn the story of,
The man afraid of stairs.

The Fashion Of The Time

I walked among the lower class,
With a cravat the shade of lime;
My top and tails adorned with pearl
As was the fashion of the time.

With booted feat of leathered glow,
A shaded past of deadly crime;
My swagger spoke of worldly lust
As was the fashion of the time.

Each passing face and glowing soul,
And endless choice of which is mine;
The life to end with vicious glee
As was the fashion of the time.

To move amongst these cattled men,
A hidden wolf with covered lines;
Not spotted for my own true self
As was the fashion of the time.

My heinous acts not ever seen,
For all this city is but mine;
The hidden killer moving ever on
As was the fashion of the time.

Frightening World

Faithful readers…
This is a rather strange one. I’m not sure if it works, but I’m following advice given a long time ago to publish without thought. Maybe it’s a mistake. But that’s how we learn. Let me know your thoughts. Thank you.

Within this mind
Of shadowed halls and
Whispered tones,
There are such forms
And images
I have not the wit to show.

It troubles me
This lack of skill and
Missing verve,
For how can I
Reveal to thee
This inner frightening world?

To be so skilled
With brushes, oils and
Startling ink,
Would give to me
Such sweet release
And blessed freedom to think.

But as I am
With language held
And scribbled words,
I do my all
To write about
This inner frightening world.

In Truth

Another example of a quickly written, quickly published piece. I’ve started reading Hamlet, and you’ll no doubt see more attempts at using the kind of language written by one William Shakespeare. Hope you like it.

In truth,
If love be as an ocean,
To toss and throw
And in which to drown;
Then let me drown.

In truth,
If love be as the sun,
To warm and nourish
And in which to bask;
Then let me bask.

In truth,
If love be as the rain,
To feed and clean
And nurture growth;
Then let me grow.

In truth,
If love be as the wind,
To lift and refresh
And cast me away;
Then let me be so cast.