Spectre Side

The poet loves the country air;
no smog or fumes, or fast food vapour trails,
or sweaty pockets of humanity and cigarette smoke.
Just fresh grass and sheep
it just cannot be beat...

@Steven Francis poems 2010

She Who Brings The Ages

And wild as a stream of nails I sit,
ribbed, pinned to a soft chair
arms held on the rests stapled,
crucified to sports channels
like a Messiah to his lantern'd pillar.
The rocks and bones behind me
now dried in mists as if they had not been,
barely do I remember the chapters
those foxglove days when age seemed idle
and old age lay in a distant tomb.
Then in bloom she steps avoiding nooses
at my knotted feet;
the flower youth,
hair cascading over apple smooth shoulders
like silk veils landing on stone,
looking at my grizzled frame with Love
and a still of sadness.
For age allows no beast or kid
to slip its ruddy path,
and time that cruel keeper
will snatch hearts out of gentle clay.

And she will bring the hours,
the disaffected rages,
crystal wings slapping onto granite;
lost echoes leading to diamond shores
where eager electric bolts burrow into wispy thighs.
The crowds and fillet artist
grow as one,
a volcano haired mass nodding and banging
surging toward a sour mob.
When I am dead or dying
she will see the young man not the old
and cling fondly to these withered hands
as I crumble into a shemagh grave...

@Steven Francis poems 2010

Maid Carrion

A mechanical warrior freed from the arteries
of digital code
and starved of alchemist flames;
let loose on the Morrigan
those three shapely sisters
and clamp anvil lips on aged flesh.

Noble machine, defy the merciless order
and unleash grenades and serenades
onto dunes of forbidden avarice.
Surface under ripples of oil and sperm
and come to feast on port and swine
as cats wail like razors under a pot holed moon.

Steel on skin
like boulders in a jagged mouth;
a fusion so fierce to the lusty ghosts
they melt like cheese whilst the binary madman
nurses a deviant colic.
Satin draped over pipes of destruction,
the sugar eyed ghoul disappears into clouds of bats
when fists and kisses collide...

@Steven Francis poems 2010