Bullray

Infer what you will:
deliberation of
interpolation. The
jury's out; shout,
shout it out. Time
passes and will
be passing in time.
Speak no evil,
certainly not in rhyme.

I don't know, maybe you do.
Science was made up by folks
like me and you.

Childhood amnesia,
no one wants to
believe ya'. About
what I don't know,
I wasn't there, saw
things through a
different lens, this
is the mental bends,
and I can't comprehend
the cataclysmic
kaleidoscope that
smashed and
shattered all
Swiftian Tropes
and left you
feeling like
a joke.

A Song For Kyoko

Twilight creeps across the sky,
a slow-dance intertwining with
you and I. We sit and speak,
flashes illuminate the eye and
show us things we cannot deny.

I can't show you where it hurts,
because I look at you through
emotional blinds, so I see you
only in spurts. Complete pain is
horrid, but are fragments worse?

Though I owe you an attempt
to ease your pain, cathartic
dialogue, dramatise your
condition, all the classics
rethought and written again.

So this is the story, don't
you know, of a lovely
young girl named Kyoko.

She loves like she lives,
with plenty to give
and plenty still stored;
her feeling's ignored.
Stockpiles of emotions, sat
in a barrel, slowly rotting.
Even the sweetest apple
turns black if uneaten.

Her Neccessities: air, food, water
and some contact, just a sliver
of skin brushing against hers.
Something to let her know she's
alive. Something for which she
can strive. Someone to sit
by her side, and talk
and laugh
and cry
and watch as cliche's rain
down from the sky. She can't
remember being so happy
that she felt afraid to die.

It's all I think about as she sits
in a chair, screaming out to
walls of mirrors, getting endless
echoes in return for her thoughts.

Nadine #4

Nadine, Nadine, the Jelly Bean Queen.
The Jelly Bean Queen that needs to
be seen, full pouting lips and dressed
all in green whilst artistically posing
on the big silver screen.

The screen is a metaphor, I wanna
get some more of what the boys
all adore and the girls just ignore.
Their loss. Lip gloss. Dressed to
the nines and blowing away
designs of indifferent minds.

She stands on the cusp, angels
fall to the dust before her mighty
emerald-rod-bookstore-please-
sir-just-one-more mindset. An
international security threat to
the herd of the new scene. All hail
Nadine, Nadine, the Jelly Bean Queen.

Self

Left-lean debate-machine. Capitalism's unruly tenant,
fuck rent. Ironyball in your society's side pocket,
poetic prophet, watching philosophy's sun set.
When will it rise again? Unknown.
Mind's blown, Christ's clone, a Social hard-sell
and morality's motherfucking death knell.

Tatiana #2

russian blues, stylish shoes, poetic verve in social grooves.

girl, unfurl.

regrettable... unforgettable.

Tatiana

I sat on a frozen bench. The winters
were colder in Moscow. The sun
could not warm the dead land;
the snow as brittle as desert sand,
the clouds crept over to lend a hand,
and all heliocentric affairs were banned.

She sits on a frozen bench. The winter
becomes warm in Moscow. Her eyes
radiate heat through luminosity, her
hair flows in winds of change, her
touch spreads further than her range,
the fragrance she wears is springtime
flowers drenched in soft mountain rain,
and I fear that I will never be the same again.

Fluctuating

I

Trains, the symbol of modernity, are stationed in and surrounded by urban degradation and quasi-wilderness. There is something to this.

Sacred Israel Holy Mountain Zion Flattened Islam

II

The clouds were white,
The sky was blue,
and she's a great friend, it's true.

The sky was blue,
The trees were green,
and the two of us were quite a scene.

The trees were green
Her hair was red,
and I remember all the words she said.

III

Emma, Emma, you pose quite
a dilemma,
For you're in the 'gow and I'm
up in Aber.
But I'm quite sure that we will
work it out,
Because that's what being friends
is all about!

Oh dear me, that's a bit cliche,
I do apologise, it's not my way.
But I hope you felt the sentiment,
I mean it's really quite self-evident.
But you know
I go with the flow,
tell it as it is; so
Emma's quite ace
don'tcha know!

Hafsa

If I could speak for a minute
or two; I couldn't cover half
the beauty. An hour seems
longer, true, but it too is
insufficient for me.
No, I would need a thousand
days and nights: weekday,
weekend, consumed on sight.
Writing in darkness by
candlelight, never stopping
for pain, serious or slight,
so that one day I might
tell all of the world "Yes,
this poem is about a girl!"

Her lips curl with a knowing
smirk, hair flows gold
and brown over caramel
skin softer than silk -
there are simply none of
her ilk. Her eyes gleam
depthless
promise
eternal
hope
and milk chocolate.
That delightful Lima-strut
is so elegant, so intelligent.

Refined, refine, she is
Meta-Divine.

Words could fail me,
I could stutter, but
there's not a syllable
I need to utter.
Just take one look
and you will mutter
"what a smile, and lips,
such big brown eyes!"
Yes, you my friends will
too realise, that she is
simply beauty personified.

Nihil #3

It's five-fifty-eight and
I'm, not feelin' great I'm,
feelin' faint I hope you're,
worth the wait I hope you're,
worth the pain but I think
I'm, the one to blame and,
things just ain't the same,
no they ain't the same I'm,
so sick of this game,
sick of this game,
sick of your name
it's all I hear,
let's be crystal-clear I,
don't wanna be here don't,
wanna be here just, wanna
be near your, angel face, your
sunshine eyes, those, depthless
eyes, that, crescent smile, please
stay a while, please, make me smile
like I, see you smile, I, see you smile I
see you there with your, flowing hair and that,
satin dress I'm, such a mess I, must confess I,
love you I, love you I, love you.

Nihil #2

Ophelia the Ice Queen threw a glance to the distant window, morning's light crept across the floor towards the bed. Her lover lay breathless at her side. Her frozen figure drew his heat yet his flame was forever reignited by this perpetual frost; never experiencing the chilling existence outside his love. She Was His World.

Nihil #1

I want to open up my veins
and let it all pour out: I love
you I love you I love you I
love you I love you, beyond
all reasonable doubt. And now
without rhyme or reason this
Infernal Season never ceases
to cease or provide me with
peace or release or release
or release I Am Trapped.

Hang 'er up!

She looks through the cubes;
the world beyond distorted.
The blue satin is soft
on her legs, she feels the
smoothness against the tops
of her toes. The palms of
her hands are enveloped
in pillows. She pouts bare-
-breasted into the cubs. The
gentle light shines softly on
her skin, the beautiful arch,
hairless, glistened by a
microfilm of sweat. Her ruby
red lips pursed together,
occasionally penetrated by
her tongue and then glossed
over. Her auburn hair shines,
framing her mouth as central.
Her breasts heave as they hang
softly, desiring the touch of your
hand. She rocks back and forth
slowly. Eyes closed as she
imagines the sensation. Her
cheeks flush as her breathing
becomes deeper. Firm exhalations.
Her ears burn, her arms feel the
strain and give way. She collapses
into the cool satin. It soon absorbs
her heat - and her discomfort. Her
behind is held up, on display. The
juices trickle down her legs. She
wants you. She Wants You.

Ad then she sits up, and
without a word she leaves.
Her shift is over.

Tomorrow's Dialogue

There we sit, unfolding
on the cusp of greatness.
Sat as though lilacs,
glistening with the dew
of yesterday's showers.

Your eyes gleam under
the sunlight, gentle
reflections dance.
Iris and her pupil make
a lovely couple.

Your hair is like strands
of Gold, here devoid of
colour but still retaining
their lustre, soft and gentle
in the winds of change.

In the distance a truck pulls
away. You take a sip of
coffee; exhaling the ghosts
of yesterday's thoughts and
tomorrow's dialogue.

For this conversation merely
skirts around the issues;
that familiar tet-a-tet, the
prelude before the deluge,
a neccessary introduction.

For now we cannot say
what we desire, "saving it
for next time" we retire - A
painful adieu, if only I could
spend more time with you!

A Daffodil

I have an image in my mind;
A Daffodil blowing gently
in the afternoon breeze.

The Daffodil is embedded
in rocks, grey and black,
a formidable base.

The base stands at the
foot of a garden, luscious
green grass; watered.

The grass is fresh and the
garden sits itself on the
precipice of a great valley.

The valley was forged by
the mighty river, which
came from the mountains.

And there, lining the pathways,
are endless Daffodils, each
blowing gently in the breeze.

Girl

She's gaudy,
so bawdy, and
she always fucking ignores me.

It's agonising,
so paralysing, but
her silence is almost tantalising.

I'd leave,
to grieve, but
it's too painful to be a reprieve.

So I stay,
to decay, and
irony strikes as I waste away.

Renata de Deus

Renata de Deus; beauty
queen drenched in sepia
stained purple haze
watching time fly by
intermittently falling
into conversations
with mother and the
twenty strange folks
that know her through
the new-age wireless,
tapped and wrapped
into tinfoil and towels
reading Salinger and
slowly twirling her
real pearl necklance
around her real finger
contemplating what, if
anything, is Real down
below.

The mind stutters
like shutters six feet
underground with London's
underground rattling past,
the next stop is: Hope & Despair
and I thank you for being there
as I alighted onto a desolate
platform, save your solitary
figure head tucked into collar
as the cold wind blew fantastic
newspapers in and out of the jet
streams of mother nature
wrought glorious revenge
on the destructive indolence
of the masses - brake light flashes
on a cold winter night bringing you
closer to me, exhaling warmth
and inventing our own Rhyme
Scheme, you are a Living Dream.

O 2005!

O 2005! Truly a magnificent year, one
which had highs and lows that
were fluctuating rapidly.

Which involved varying degrees of joy
ecstasy and poignancy. Each in
amounts larger than a handful.

Which blew its brains more times
than it cares to recall but
not once did it climax.

Which looked down at all those people
dressed in tracksuits, but then
worked with them for 2 months.

Which suffered total technological breakdown
only moments from perfection,
and was forced to wait for help.

Which finally acquired an eye to look-through
and see the world as it truly is,
or could be with a little bit o' work.

Which let Ukraine into their flat by way of
Switzerland, they brought a child
so we baby-proofed our thoughts.

Which went to Birmingham and Glasgow to
bear witness to the Apollonian
Aeterna Motherfuckin' Deus.

Which travelled sporadically to the cities
that held the faces in the windows
in Windows; and revelled in them.

Which believed in friendship so much that
all the falls only spurred them
on to find that One True Friend.

Which met Some Such Friends for the first
time and engaged in illicit intellectual
intercourse with several others too.

Which had its faith in humanity restored by
a beautifully warm-hearted redhead
from the corner of Atkin & Kessler.

Which wrote poetry in varying verse with
ranging rhymes but always themes
of despair and human suffering.

Which was exactly one-hundred years on from
impossibly mutiny on the Potempkin;
These Are Not Maggots!

Which saw evil inaugurated again, and the
world sighed because there seemed
no hope then, and there's none now.

Which watched Internazionale remind the world
what passion is; burn yourself away
in a futile and stupid display. Love.

Which saw Iraq continue to fight for her
Freedom against the Scholars of
Money and War - a hopeless task.

Which had idiots attempt to assassinate
its favourite City, only to fail
due to underestimating Her.

Which got harrassed endless by men with
small cocks and big guns whilst the
Chinese transgressed 10-foot away.

Which saw the return of The Icon, stepping
out of mind and onto an unreal
space outside of time; Unlimited.

Which looked into a mirror and saw the Self
and the Shadow and the Mask
and all the rest of that crap.

Which had many realisations thrust
upon it like so much bad
food at family gatherings.

Which ended with thunderously underwhelming
normality, sat in a quiet room hoping
for more adventure in The New Year.