Four Bloody Hands

Four Bloody Hands

Let's become romantic

You can pet my nervous ticks

Let's salt each other's sores

Four bloody hands coated with gore

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become a coupling

Please think of me as a thing

Let's spike each other's drinks

Four bloody hands washed in one sink

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become

Let's become

How can you be so cynical

Don't you remember your past?

When the slightest touch of hers

Gave you a dopamine blast

How can you be so cynical

Don't you remember your life?
Before you shacked up with the bottle

Before you took on the knife

How can you be so cynical?
Well fuck you, that's how.

I did not choose chastity

I did not make a vow

21st Century Forest Titan

21^st Century Forest Titan

Buried alive under the old forest

My limbs are tendrils curled round roots and stone

While above the pagans make their naked fest

I am the spirit of being alone.

Let fly horns bought at romantic supplies

The Celtic people dance round their fire

Nipples like gargoyles for the night flies

Will shun the existential void's mire

I hear the pumping of their feet as round

They leap and caper like faeries or dogs

I feel the fucking in my deepest sounds

And hear the oaths made in secluded bogs

I can taste the ecstasy in your piss

Rolling down my furrows into my streams

I am too old for these beings yet miss

The surreal passion that flows like dreams

There is a prophecy I will awake

But I do not believe in human rites

I will stay buried under these old woods

And under foot of these ecstatic nights.

You Can't Pay Me Enough To Care

You Can't Pay Me Enough To Care

I'd love to quit and leave my old desk bare

To vacate like I owe you nothing more

I know you can't pay me enough to care

Each morning I sink lower in my chair

And accept the receding sight of shore

I'd love to quit and leave my old desk bare

The neural trap of the working day snare

That starts with twitches and works to my core

So bad you can't pay me enough to care

I used to think that I had something rare

But it's been squeezed till it became a sore

I'd love to quit and leave my old desk bare

The hours are taken and there's none spare

How can a thing be both whirlwind and bore?

It blows but you can't pay me enough to care

The sun presses against the screen its glare

While we're crushed by the never ending roar

I'd love to quit and leave my old desk bare

Because you can't pay me enough to care

The Horde Marches

The Horde Marches

The idea should be

Specific and universal

The syntax should be multiplexed

Using form that suits theme

Felicitous choice of language

Should render meaning apparent

Without need for extraneous verbiage

Character defines tone and tone defines character

Delivery should be unaffected

We march to the pig skin beat

A sound that has echoed for thousands of years
Bouncing off the hills

Then concrete

A superstructure penetrates the mind

Like a mammoth tusk through a brave

And no more can be said

For the trampling of the horde

Each footstep a droplet

Drowns the voice

No one can hear

No one will know

No one.

In Came A Maudlin Drunk

In Came A Maudlin Drunk

In came a maudlin drunk

Who could see underwater
Once she had sunk

A few drinks and knew what to say

That people are assholes

But they have to stay

Alive somehow living off hate

Like incubi squirming around at the gate

Of hell or womanhood but

Everyone knows that my gate is shut

Euphoric Flashback (Take 2)

Euphoric Flashback (Take 2)

 

Dreamlike an astronaut paced like a spirit

The folk in the forest were chasing their hit

How simple the substance made you an ethereal

Being

You're back on the drug that you thought had all drained

And that kid in the photograph swaggers on stage

Those motorbike engines will scream through the trees

Once more

It must be a chemical within my brain

That infinite void where we are the same

I pray in that place that you'll never forget

About me

Dripped from your third eye the horror escaped

You cried laughter the instant your senses were faked

And yet you left the wood to its moans when you aged

Into dread

They said some year soon that you'd have to pay -

Smoke winds through the woods like a veil blown away

You remember a junkie who stared at nothing

At peace

It must be a chemical within my brain

That infinite void where we are the same

I pray in that place that you'll never forget

About me

You're drilling a tunnel back into those days

With your hole of a synapse that still reeks of haze

And your tread remains buoyant in spite of depressant

Effects

You want to describe that far towering sight

But your blood holds the only communion of night

And your words are submerged and you cannot bring them

Into view

It must be a chemical within my brain

That infinite void where we are the same

I pray in that place that you'll never forget

About me

Crop

Crop

A crop has grown within my brain

The harvest of a neural strain

It bears the rotting of our faith

I pluck the fruit to fill a space

To crowd the horror of the void

That nectar drowns my empty hive -

Pour those weepings in a cup

Drink up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

I wear my own mammalian skin

It feels like I'm an alien

An insect crawling in the sun

Beneath my conscious light I run
From brightness to the dark alone

To safety in the closing gloam -

Pour your madness in a cup

Drink up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

That sheaf feels rough held in your hand

You've grown the crop of this bleak land

And though the mill stone grinding is

The only music left for us

We will never leave this hated

Plot dried out emaciated -

Pour your struggle in a cup

Drunk up, drink up

Here's a drink for every wasted hour

That you spent with me

Lap it up and don't be sober

Drink that crop of misery

Napowrimo 3 - Blinker

Blinker

Five hours awake

                                         Scope of my vision

Our needs are met

                                         Healthcare decisions

Professional services

                                         Hiring now

Dribbling milk

                                         Cult of the cow

Thought for the day

                                         Tariff is empty

Charging my mood

                                         Your heat is plenty

Thought would be safer

                                         Bodies are weak

The landslide will settle

                                         Nuzzling cheeks

Like flint in your hand

                                         Scoring a groove

Divined upon bones

                                         On abacus moved

Forever the saint

                                         A small effigy

Electrical lights

                                         Will never be free

Smells Like Booze And Fags Again

Smells Like Booze And Fags Again

Alcohol,

Seed of my father Morayshire

Sewn with barley and the

Wrecks of drunken drivers

Loneliness drove us insane

The land itself led us astray

Darkest ethanol, we pray

Bring us to decay

Smells like booze and fags again...

Smells like

Home

Within the crooked wood

The shithole of Lhanbryde
I had a drink for solitude
A teenage crush on wine

The children drink until they're gone

Till blood has leaked out from the dawn

Darkest ethanol, our thane

Drown us in your rain

Smells like booze and fags again...

Country lane

Tak me hame

Tae the place

I belaing

Sweet Morayshire

Malt whisky mether

Country lane

Tak me hame

Smells like booze and fags again...

ODE FOR A COUNCIL SEAT

Oh, if I were elected,

the environment would be respected

with a focus on flood defences;

we'd fill sandbags digging trenches

in a sustainable manner

in accordance with the policies of our ministerial planners.

Oh, if I win this seat,

I will put more constables on the beat:

they will be freed from their desk jobs

to tackle the drunken yobs,

and protect the responsible majority from the danger

posed by the small number of people who participate in anti-social behaviour.

Oh, I stand as a candidate,
to campaign against sectarian hate,

and to fight for equality in the workplace,

whatever your gender, disability, or race.
For the past ten years I have been a shop steward

serving the interests of ordinary people when those in senior positions have erred.

A vote for Johnny Morrice

is a vote for our community's progress.

P.S. Doug Thomson, who stood for the Hilton/Stockethill Council seat in the 2012 Council Elections, actually writes poetry on the subject of his political policies. Sorry about the poem Doug.  You have a deeply philosophical view of local political issues, but nonetheless you are hilarious.