Tunnel

Tags

erotica, poetry

if I bit my lip any harder, I could draw
a picture of you nude using the blood
as my oil pastel
I don’t want to waste time with clichéd
rhymes of ‘ooh baby baby, u drive me
crazy.’ no, my desire is stoke the fire
and reside inside your tunnel for a while.
I yearn for you to burn me with
the Greek fire secreting
from the scalding pot betwixt your
legs.
I won’t beg but the thought of
my taste buds not being granted
access to indulge on your sriracha
flavoured labia fills me with dread
the world within
the tunnel
is exactly where I want to be
I won’t fail you, fair maiden
I don’t mean to be brazen
allow me to graffiti
your walls with a type of
krylon that will forever live
In the weave of your vintage nylon
bed sheets
cleanse me with your
passionate flames
the world within
your tunnel
est tellement magnifique

Freedom Is Only A Button Push Away…

Tags

poetry

i wish i could push that red button… just once.
just so i could give the world the
self-fulfilling apocalypse the
prophets, the Christianists,
the radical Islamists, the Manson family,
the warmongerers and the fear-conjurers
won’t shut the fuck up about.

i want to live in a real-life Fallout
where even the radiated soil would cry out
in anguish and woe…
where the toughest of the tough and
the baddest of the bad would shrivel up
and die with a [insert weapon of choice here]
in their cold, dead hands

i want to see the world’s most prestigious monuments,
mankind’s testament to creativity and artistry,
morph into a shell of their former glorious selves
i want to see first, second and third-world
countries reduced to nothing more than
a vat of atomic waste and debris

i want to stave off mutated threats and
do battle with psychopaths over a
tin of beans and a bottle of purified water.
i want dust storms to be as life-threatening
as a bullet storm spawned from the barrels of an
array of machine guns.
i want to go days without food, a hot bath
and a warm bed to sleep in
i want to live in the most treacherous of conditions,
where the water is poisonous and the air
is damn near fatal to breathe into
my now decrepit, blackened lungs.

i want the foundations of faith to buckle
and collapse on the head of every single,
surviving inhabitant, whether they believe in
a higher power for most of their lives or only
adopted a certain sect of faith during their seemingly
final hour.

i want chaos. i want hell on earth.
i want death without a single chance of rebirth.
and when the unfriendly bombs fall, i want
everyone to realize how good we had it
and how callus and coarse we were to our
fellow man and our planet.

with that said… if you think i TRULY
want this for humanity,
you’re as foolish as you are naive
you are as dense as the air we need to breathe
because these words will have as much impact
on the world as a pebble would when it’s
tossed into the sea

so you gluttons, you thieves, you that
constantly and consistently deceive:
go right ahead! try to make an example out
of little ol’ me…

we all know i am not the enemy…
my personal heaven is having a grand opening
and the suffrage i have paid here,
in spite of you, is the admission fee

so come, unfriendly bombs! come and fall…
set me free.

(image courtesy of Total Wallpapers)

The Alter

Tags

poetry

the colour of love today is a mixture of
white & grey
navy blue & beige
generations past, present, and future congregate
on the green grass amongst the playful laughter of children
amongst the smiles of parents proud
amongst our mutual friends in the crowd
my lips crash into yours
like the dancing seas into the rock of Gibraltar
in that moment, I’m reminded why
I’m so happy you decided to meet me at the alter

I solemnly swear, my blushing bride,
that our love will always prosper
the fortitude of my love for you will never falter
in that, you will not find fault
my very existence was to break your heart’s resistance
from day one
the strength we possess was made manifest in the birth
of our beautiful son

passion burns like sulphur to naked skin
there is no greater win than the day
that legendary wind swept you off your feet
and encouraged you to meet me at the alter

i pine, i perish…
our love, i cherish
in that fact, you won’t ever find fault
don’t ever expect my love for you to falter
not since our child was born did a more
joyous day in my life occur
never have I been more sincere like I am right now, my dear
i implore you to cast aside all doubt
accept this as the absolute truth, for I would never palter

thank you so much for saying “yes”
thank you for agreeing to meet me here
at the alter.

(photo courtesy of Naz Malik)

Londinium

Tags

poetry

This city I call home was founded by Romans, repeatedly attacked by Vikings,
survived by Anglo-Saxons, dramatised by Shakespeare,
blitzed by Nazis, and personified by every modern-day Briton the far-right nationalists don’t want here.

This city was built on a foundation of ashes and bathed again in great flames, where corporate skyscrapers are erected on top of pauper graves
that contain casualties claimed by bubonic plague.

This city I call home was built on rock and the Rolling Stones,
where today’s youth fight stars & politicians just to get themselves in a decent enough position to make an honest living.

The city’s suburbia does battle on green fields on a typical weekend afternoon
or dark alleys on weekday nights; people swear allegiance to factions
that crave ultimate glory or immediate wealth… or both…
nevertheless, the demise of a traitor to either side is preceded only
with a blood-curdling plea for mercy.

This city is an artistic mecca; where actors from all over the Globe
follow this city’s subterranean rainbow-coloured brick railroad,
living out their dreams re-enacting stories of old;
where Primrose and Notting hills are alive with the sound of music;
where Camden is a bohemian rhapsody,
proclaiming itself as the most eclectic place in the galaxy.

This city is a fortress.
Many have tried to destroy it, what with explosive rucksacks
blitzkrieg bops, or even an infamous gunpowder treasonous plot;
even when civil anarchy strikes, the city unites
armed with dustpan and broom to fight the good fight.

Though political rats in bespoke suits and tie
pillage, loot, and gentrify every borough
and every council estate, forcing it to equate with middle-class tastes,
every working-class citizen can proudly proclaim:

“We built this city!”

The city where damn near 8 million call it ‘home.’
The co-founder of the Industrial Revolution
that gave this nation it’s proverbial backbone.

So enjoy your public-access WiFi from Platform 10…
just remember who built this city formally known as Londinium.

Coin from the Londinium mint

Are You Watching Closely?

Tags

poetry

“The end is nigh,” I hear them cry
but we’ve only just begun.
We all continue to ignore the outcry.
“The end is nigh,” I hear them cry
yet trouble still abounds and folks continue to calcify.
Parliament – not the battlefield – is where the war on terror will be won.
“The end is nigh,” I hear them cry
but we’ve only just begun.

(photo courtesy of Amy Stein Photography)

The Darkest Existence

Tags

poetry

You don’t have to be religious to know that the devil exists, for I have met him.  He’s not a serpent, nor does he take it’s form but be warned: once he manifests within the confines of your mind, his twisted procedure to beleaguer your heart starts.

When I sat with the devil at the roundtable, I asked him flatly: ‘Aren’t you able to get what you desire via hellfire and brimstone?’ He laughed, replying: ‘You shouldn’t believe everything within that tome you own.’

At that moment, a fear I’ve never known infected my very soul. Not a searing heat, but an almighty cold spread over me. A wry smile appeared on the devils rubicund visage: ‘Envisage, if you will, a life comprised of eternal suffering beyond the descriptions of the pathetic literature you’ve been given.  That is what I intend to usher in and there isn’t a mortal being that can outmuscle me.’

My laugh caught him by surprise: ‘That, sir, does not scare me.’ Silent rage billowing behind my adversary’s eyes, he countered: ‘You dare to offend me?’ ‘I dare to defy you, yes; my guess is that challenging you is akin to offensive nature.’

‘I dare to challenge your self-imposed authority because honestly, your appetite for destruction is just like everyone else; that alone is monotonous, predictable, and cumbersome.  Go ahead and take offense but I reserve the right to remain unimpressed.’

Silence.

Still, I sit across from the devil, watching him brood; his face a mural of the frustration wreaking havoc inside. Gazing into the abyss of his dilated corneas, the quiet war between us came to an abrupt end. ‘Your petulance will be your downfall,’ the devil exclaimed with unbridled malice.

Free from panic, I responded: ‘There is no pain, no suffering, no misery you can institute that would dilute my optimism. If that’s all you have to sell, then you should step inside my own private Hell.  The suffering I’ve been through already felt like an eternity, so the one you’re on about is merely pittance.’

‘Because the devil within my private Hell would annihilate you from existence.’

…and at that precise moment, not even Harry Houdini himself could vanish from plain sight faster than he; even the devil secretly knows that the hell I’ve been liberated from is everything his aspires to be.

(picture by Elton Fernandes)

[ctrl] [alt] [sanctuary]

Tags

poetry

the cascades were calling him again…

and as he checked the unread messages in his brainpan,
he stands and nervously rubs his hands,
deleting each of the vocal memos, each
idiom as piercing as the last
finally, after disconnecting, he finds himself
accepting the fact that the time is
now… he rubs the wrinkles turned crevices turned
chasms that formed on his brow, asking aloud:

“how did my heart and my mind end up in this unified state?
am I really ready for this?”

a searing, nagging sensation raced from body
cavity to cavity, immediately answering
his question.
acknowledging the internal lesson as
learned, the cascades again yearned for his
presence. he could ignore the plea no longer;
as the inherent disturbance only grew stronger,
he exhaled, pushed open the gates to redemption
and made his way to the ends of the earth;
all the while, composed… yet excited.

his delight only increased once he blessed his eyes
on the horizon… as he closed his eyes and extended
his weary arms, he started to rise off the ground…
the sweet, salty breeze softly caressing
every inch of his tattered body and soul
O, the anxiousness was excruciating! and yet,
still he rises, slowly inching away from land’s end
and towards the ocean deep
the eyes once wide shut suddenly opened…
the remainder of his journey was clear…
and as tears of joy rained from his eyes, he cried:

“I’M READY!”

and plummeted from the skies.

the speed of the fall increased intently as he was
falling free… the seas extended her loving
arms, he crashed into the azure waters
with a triumphant splash…
the sea closed her benevolent limbs around him,
encouraging his decent… joyous tears transformed
into celebratory bubbles. the bubbles rose rapidly
as he continued to sink

eyes wide open slowly closed and
her voice, ethereal and melodic, filled
the cerulean void, saying:

“for a moment there, i thought you
weren’t going to jump.”

and at that moment, he felt peace
at that very moment, he felt loved

No… Like You Mean It

Tags

poetry

you and i made love underneath the moonlight
in a rain forest last night.
the memories are still as fresh as the
morning’s dew adorning each blade of grass…

that night, the light of the moon encouraged the water
and each bead of sweat to glisten,
sparkling like precious gems
mother nature’s overture was
playing at full blast with your persistent moans of
satisfaction teasing my eardrums.

with each splash and crash into each other,
that low shudder turned into a violent vibration, bringing
about a tingling sensation, originating from
the base of your spine and racing to the back of my neck
…and I would bet any amount at all that the diamond-strewn
water surrounding us isn’t the only wet thing around here
our heavy breathing breathes hope into our romantic
endeavour, while accelerated heart rates speed us to
our intended destination: ecstasy.

even if this is the last time our
bodies, hearts and minds are entwined, I
will happily revisit that night
kind of like I’m doing right now…
how can there be anything better
than creating a moment of insane, intense
“like you mean it” passion
especially when one loves the reaction more
than the action itself

you and i made excruciatingly wonderful love
last night…
all through the night… within the confines
of my mind.

do me a favour: wake me when this fantasy is
prepared to become a reality.

(photo courtesy of Broken Not Crushed)

For You

Tags

poetry

i do this for you, y’know.

i grow weary of this constant toil
these countless trips in the boiling sun
and the freezing cold
this life term you awarded me, forced to
slave my life away, with no chance of
parole.

my wings can take me anywhere
in the world, anywhere at all…
yet the further I will myself away from
you confirms how much further I’ve
yet to travel right back to the
confines of your hive.

by the hemolymph that courses
the inner machinations of my open
respiratory system,
I will make you love me.
I will be more than just one of your
faithful subjects
who’s constantly subject to your indifference.

i do this all for you.

these treacherous altitudes and latitudes
I traverse hardly impresses you.
the lilacs and daffodils I am cursed to
plunge my worthless proboscis into
couldn’t hope to generate a nectar
sweet enough to erase the bitter
nature of my existence.
I do it not to keep the machine called
planet Earth firing on all cylinders;
I do it not for my brethren and sistren
of the colony…

damn it, i do this all for you.

fill these pollen baskets with your gratitude
warm the cockles of my dorsal aorta with
your love and approval
I fight for your love with every millimetre
of my being;
with every two hundred beats of my
beat-up wings
with every drop of saliva I secrete,
it’s all for you.

i do this all for you.

(photography by Dean Newcombe – @friedeggbanjo)

letmePLAY

Tags

poetry

they say love is a game…

if love is a game, Valentine’s Day is its cup final, its Super Bowl; it’s opening and closing ceremonies, complete with decadent costumes, elaborate dance moves and glorious song

if love is a game, the players are sat in the dugout, waiting patiently whilst staring intently at the back of the managers head, silently imploring him to one of them on the pitch… “c’mon gaffer, let me have a crack at them. I can do this!”

if love is a game, chess is its name, for many aim to protect their respective kings and queens from being taken; some are used as pawns, some as gallant as knights, some as slanted as a bishop’s movement from square-to-square

if love is a game, then the pain born from a broken heart is akin to a brutal tackle, a vicious right hook, a german suplex… one could hazard a guess and say that some of the broken hearts the broken-hearted have sustained throughout the history of love’s placid game have seen to a swift end of their careers

if love is a game, if there be any truth in the saying ‘all’s fair in love and war,’ then love is a bloodsport; love is a fight to the death, pitting each gladiator willing to allow themselves to be brought to their very knees only to bleed so profusely, the seemingly insatiable thirst may be quenched only by the adversary’s blade.

if love is a game… let’s play. for keeps