Insouciant Ache – a poem

For a chance at the mildest of reliefs

We might risk much to gain a loss thereby

In sensation, costs incurred in imbalances

Experienced to offset dire sickness born

Into the form, framed by a cage of compensation.


Agony as synonym for existence, pleasure

Not only sought but drawn up from depths

Dank as forgotten tombstones, dredged indeed,

Dodging many obstacles during the ascent,

That apotheosis small sometimes by comparison.



If Razors Could Talk – a poem

We reap what we sow, seeds left to sprout,

Pre-destined dire dreams loom, shock doubt,

Those unclean towers humbly piled, soar

With darkly grasping fingers for ceilings

Sorrowful from these wondering eyes of



For a surplus of pain seeds may be had,

Scattered, planted, flowers to grow

From soil fertile in sadness, growth

Of bulbs with madness and death, razors

Gleaming with songs sung in other lives,



The smoke, storms and sorrow of a century

And more may not have weathered better

An edifice as such which lays claim

To that maleficent moniker, clay title,

The Devil’s own wonderment and opiate



Funny lines creased into faces, arms laced

From blazes found amidst lanes soulful,

Jets in vacuum, the towers reach, the seeds

Sown leave no space free for foragers,

A will of winsome wonder turned worrisome,


Secrets of Devilsong – a poem


Secret lives lived in the arcane dark,

Roads untravelled by most but rode

By many yet less than the multitude

Can be more real than the external,

Secret these stories, holy covenants

Kept by palms sliced and over cauldrons

Held for the smoke to seal and flame,

Within burning flames of dreams

To make even the Devil fully blush.

The Valley – An Offer Made – a poem


Melancholy, maudlin and merry brought

Are the mirror’d reflections as I muse

Upon the darkness illimitable residing

Within this slender frame, the calm surface

Reflected back at me, a lie told calmly.


Nothing but health is shown, clean, bright,

Hale self-assuredness, yet assured only

Is the darkness living within, not

A cancer or some entity cacodaemoniacal

Yet rather just my nature, rarely fathomable.


Little known, barely by others understood too oft,

Was it little wonder that I drifted away

And left my flock a’grazing and went forth

To that secret place, drawn in by sweet

Scents of opiate bliss? Of course I went.


Others had been drawn to that special valley

Yet why was I offered such a prized deal apart?

I was like no other they had ever seen

Or will ever see, so they whispered soft

To me, over the soft sibilant soughing of bitter bliss.


Embrace the darkness had become my mantra

Once I partook of those dangerous delights,

Deathly to many, a prison to more, horror

To still many others, and I bothered much

Before, and now clearly I see clarity, balance.


Those flowers, though they mayst be fulsome,

Winsome, bright… all kinds, not just hanging

Ruby Devil trumpets but yellow, hungry mouths open

For Ra’s sunlight, spiked obsidian leaves, so shiny…

The dreams they all bring are opiate shaded,