Headstrong priests emerge from print ~
new voices in a crazy land
new voices for a crazy land,
herr Torquemada
dressed in a feathered tunic to decieve
and trouble baby Jesus.
Baby Jesus ~
sweet imp and flower child
new voices in a crazy land
new voices forn a crazy land.
The epitaphs of anarchy
like salt in mankinds blood,
tumultuous kings shall always rule the roost...
@ Steven Francis poems 2011
Slip the noose of dying and madness for a time and share some observations with Welsh poet Steven Francis in this, his 5th collection of poetry.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Dog, That Is Sufficient
Monsters loose on streets and parks
how I love the barking shambles!
Love to bite into your mildew throats
and finish you forever more.
But no!
I need you
need for you to stay,
to animate the hate when life becomes idle...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
how I love the barking shambles!
Love to bite into your mildew throats
and finish you forever more.
But no!
I need you
need for you to stay,
to animate the hate when life becomes idle...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Monday, 21 March 2011
Faithless
Death
on my wrists,
on my arms,
in my beard,
alive in storey ligaments.
I walk in wax
defending the blackest black.
The oil of corpses
and chapel lost.
Death
on my belt,
on my stereo,
ruffling my macabre ribs
into coffin fits.
No more fire,
no vulgar creases in breath
as instinct forces my gill'd tongue and calloused liver
to the pinprick island...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
on my wrists,
on my arms,
in my beard,
alive in storey ligaments.
I walk in wax
defending the blackest black.
The oil of corpses
and chapel lost.
Death
on my belt,
on my stereo,
ruffling my macabre ribs
into coffin fits.
No more fire,
no vulgar creases in breath
as instinct forces my gill'd tongue and calloused liver
to the pinprick island...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
The Water's Burn
Into frothy, rabid clutches sink
flocks of steaming young and old in horror.
Too dark to see in those coal waters,
too cold to let you have a breath
before the midas light pulls you to your pincered bed.
A smash on murderous diamonds forever ringing in the depths
of caliginous hemlock swells,
lanced prayers leaving a trail for the riders of the years.
That lone light slowly devoured by the ghastly waters burn;
heavy fathoms sucking souls into its endless dance
and swallowing every bolt and garter,
taking them to its terrible dead end breast...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
flocks of steaming young and old in horror.
Too dark to see in those coal waters,
too cold to let you have a breath
before the midas light pulls you to your pincered bed.
A smash on murderous diamonds forever ringing in the depths
of caliginous hemlock swells,
lanced prayers leaving a trail for the riders of the years.
That lone light slowly devoured by the ghastly waters burn;
heavy fathoms sucking souls into its endless dance
and swallowing every bolt and garter,
taking them to its terrible dead end breast...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Sunday, 6 March 2011
A Brief History of Verse
There will be what will be,
what shall be a cluster of being.
But will there be what shall be?
Or are there more for dying?
We shall see what will be,
what will be shall see.
Verses clammed, cryptic seance
things being what will be....
@Steven Francis poems 2011
what shall be a cluster of being.
But will there be what shall be?
Or are there more for dying?
We shall see what will be,
what will be shall see.
Verses clammed, cryptic seance
things being what will be....
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Friday, 25 February 2011
Love's Shilling for Elwen
This is a story of love ~
it leaks from my eyes
like dew settling on buttercups,
and is silent as the heart of space
where graveyards go to mourn.
Strength in adoration ~ Cariad!
Any shrill of banshee
or septic tide of ill blood
would shudder in my ruin
and be slain before they reached the crib.
For I am God,
her earthly sheild on a thistle'd road;
a father colossus able to pierce lungs of crocodiles
and shatter Evil's warring blade...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
it leaks from my eyes
like dew settling on buttercups,
and is silent as the heart of space
where graveyards go to mourn.
Strength in adoration ~ Cariad!
Any shrill of banshee
or septic tide of ill blood
would shudder in my ruin
and be slain before they reached the crib.
For I am God,
her earthly sheild on a thistle'd road;
a father colossus able to pierce lungs of crocodiles
and shatter Evil's warring blade...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Quid, Innit
And down the bookshelves go!
Letters and sonnets
paragraphs and novellas,
ready for rag and bones
as the masses drop their courtesies
for scabby plastic treasures
and processed tinderbox broth.
Blackpool for the Aegean
comics for the squalid,
let go the scythe
plunge it into demi~jons of jolly fudge;
film versions of everything
to woo acoustic warriors in pits.
Tales are dying without martyr
and the headless kooks run rampant
in dog dead wastelands...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
Letters and sonnets
paragraphs and novellas,
ready for rag and bones
as the masses drop their courtesies
for scabby plastic treasures
and processed tinderbox broth.
Blackpool for the Aegean
comics for the squalid,
let go the scythe
plunge it into demi~jons of jolly fudge;
film versions of everything
to woo acoustic warriors in pits.
Tales are dying without martyr
and the headless kooks run rampant
in dog dead wastelands...
@Steven Francis poems 2011
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