Turquoise Monster

The Echo

I saw the echo scamper ashore

It was wet and cold and so alone

I saw the echo sit and cry

Though no eyes it had the tears still poured

I smelt the echo as vibration

Thrumming and strumming a silent sound

I smelt the echo in pinks and mauves

Lost in sensation of colours blurred

I tasted the echo in sugared tones

Angelica, cinnamon, walnut swirl

I tasted the echo with bitter rind

Enclosed the centre of withered pith

I scensed the echo in the air

Stars glinting, and seething

I scensed the scho climb a board

A craft dark in ghostly lore

I felt the echo as it lay

Broken and fading another shade

I felt the echo as it fought

Life fragile death-sharp like a claw

I heared the echo call my name

Softly, sweetly, within a velvet bow

I heard the echo shout the word

Clashing contrasts cut to the bone

Sound crashing over me

Continuous wave of noise

Distorting intent

Blurring distinctions

People here, people there

Cacophony of voices

Escalating with the day

Hemming my thoughts

No clarification of words

Just thunder booming

Loud undulations

Growing intense

Making me smaller

Retreat in silence

Battle with the bus

A long walk home

Tap, tap, tapping away, Fingers flying, strange graceful dance

Notice not as light fades, consume all energies, forking demons, spawned zombi child

Dance logic, time

Tap tap tapping away, polish finger tips over letters worn

Hunger burns, Sandwitch forgotten, cat licked, stale,

Animalistic, persuing prey, Python here, Chicken there

Tap Tap Tapping, wrist support frayed, mundane treasures, Ruby, Perl

Water sits, bubble strewn, littering your domain

Intently stare, bugs annialated, or so you prey

Tap tap Tapping, spinning ball, shift to corner, back again

3 am, time for sleep, red eye raw

cup of coffee, jar of beans

headaching, back stooped, so much to sort, so much to do

Tap Tap Tapping. between the sheets, misty bruised dawn, comes and creeps

Power low, reserves giving out, drowsy talk, lisp, dialected, scheme

thought process hard, more tests more

Leached knowledge, sleep, dream, Brainfuck, But still keen

This poem originally appeared on my personal blog in response to a news article.

Hopscotch

Here’s some chalk

Now go and play

Hopscotch was fun, in my day

A small child smiles up at his mum

Then runs outside in the sun

And begins to draw

the hopscotch grid

When out pops his friend – Sid

Then there’s Jane, Marther, Mary, and May

They’ve all come outside to play

Throwing stones

to mark their place

the hopscotch moves on a pace

until that is…

sirens rent the sky

And two burly police

come to spy

And tell them that their game’s a fraud

Hopscotch – it turns out

is against the law!

And so with tears

they must scrub away

Chalk with which they should play

Stupidity in huge great measure

Stealing away childhood treasure

Whilst prisons burst at the seams

Police down size crimes – to please…

Those Powers That Be

So that they can get more votes

Seizing the UK securely by the throat

Sweeping troubles under the rug

By proclaiming, a 5 yr old – THUG

And so without childhood games

I predict arson flames

as our youth grows in discontent

Violence shows as angers vent

So please – I beg

Government Sir!

Why not let childhood, naturally unfurl?

And all those games of yester-year

be played in our streets

without fear

The Dead Galaxy

Hung in the Vacuum

A dark remnant

Of a glittering time

A ghostly structure

Where the cogs seized

Where the fire died

Where there was an

end to annihilation

And the star birth

The cycle broken

the whisper of creation

Silenced

It drifted

Dense in blackness

With the Eater of Light

Still beating at its core

The only thing that

breathed motion

a deathly life

An eater of worlds

Super massive galactic

Cannibal forever

Hungry

It is the After Life

And the Gate to Hell

For the Stellar Host

That once shone so brightly

In the beginning there was not the Word

It was late in coming

Before the Word

There was the Picture

An image

A concept

A shape in the Mind

Forming the Landscape of Thought

Rolling indistinct and whole

Spiking into hyper-realms

A quitoxic state

For to show the Picture

To form the Landscape

In another’s mind

Took the Word

And the Word arrived late

In *a* beginning there was the Word

And it was praised

The power of External Thought

And the Image was relegated

The Word made the Picture

In the Mind

Shaped the Landscape

And formed the Concept

But the Word

became the Fence

The Scaffold

And the Chain

Buttresses formed

And armaments armed

The Word was drenched in Convention

Thought began to die

The Word to – fail

In The New Beginning

There was the Word

But the Word was stale – Old

The Image escaped the Word

And wrapped it in protective cortex

Where it grew once more

Driving the formation of the Landscape

The Word *and* the Picture

Became the Shape

Became the Concept

Indistinguishable to drive the Thought

And the Thoughts were whole and distinct

Changing rapidly

Into something new

Until the conveyance of Concept

To Others

Fed back on itself

Shaping the Landscape

Into the realms of Hyper-Thought

Stretching to cover Humanity

In the end

The Thought is the Picture *and * the Word

The Word came late

But that does not matter

A butterfly stirred within in my curious hand

Hesitant to take the offered nectar

Golden, amber, sweet

It’s tongue long and curled appeared

Lapping gently with distraction

I looked up at the sign

Butterflies for sale, $12

Wings translucent in half dream light

Shimmer, golden-blue

It walked on insect legs tickling my finger

The drone of its brethren could be heard

Pressing against crystal cages

Rainbows glittered fleetingly

Dust beaten to the ground – luxuriant in growth

An angry tide: waiting

‘I’ll take this one’ the teller nods

A golden leash of fine spun silk

I decline the offer and pay with jewels

Coloured rock ice – for a little chaos

Outside a red sky over silver sand

I look to Chaos and open my hand

Blue glittered fleetingly

Freedom I whispered

A breeze blew it away

Today I decided to make my little girl (4yrs old) a poetry book – all the poems were written and illustrated today whilst I have been recovering from the flu so don’t expect any prize winners!

It looks like this:

And the Poems are:

Spoogy Poetry

This is your Little Book of SPOOOGY Poetry

For Halloween or anytime really

So let me tell you what it’s about PUMPKINS and BATS

and things like that

And don’t get too scared whilst you read

As all spoogies within are friendly and in need

Of an extra special friend called Jean

That little special person know as Bean

And in case they are in any doubt

ALL little girls called Jean!

Give us a spoogy shout!

Oooooooo SPOOGY!

Skeleton

Skeleton rattle

Skeleton chatter

Skeleton looking scary

But rather batttered

But you are a toy

And Jean’s friend really

And I think you look

rather silly!

Percy the Bat

Percy the bat

is as black as can be

with little pointy ears

and a bright pink tongue

He sings a song in

squeaks and clicks

And for his tea

what he likes best

are a few nice BIG

juicy insects!

Pumpkins

Pumpkin round

Pumpkin orange

Pumpkin hollow

Pumpkin carved

Pumpkin lit

Pumpkin scare!

Pumpkins – EVERYWHERE!

A Little Black Cat

There’s a little black cat

called Minni the Pusscat

She’s not slender and she’ not fat

But she does like to chase El’Nosey Rat

Who tries to sit upon her mat

And chew up a very special pink straw hat

Now this straw hat belongs to Jean

A Little girl who’s ever so keen

To look so wonderfully nice and clean

So that at her aunts wedding she can dream

Of looking like a custard creme?

And so when El’Nosy Rat

Sits upon the mat

All sleek and shiny and fat

Chowing down on Jean Bean’s hat

Minni Puss that lovely cat

Comes with a prickly paw

for a cosy little chat

And so…

The cat sat on the mat to have a chat

with a fat, hat munching rat

So that…

Jean Bean the keen clean custard cream can dream – it seems

How about that!

For a story about a little black cat

The Mummy

The Mummys sleep in their Sarcophagi

Dreaming of eating cherry pie

Wrapped up in bandages from head to tow

No wonder when they wake they lurch so slow

Chasing us here and there

Just wanting to borrow enough for a bus fare

To take them to the culinary height

Of a 24 hr super market at night

All this for some Cherry Pie?

Is this really why they refuse to die?

On Being Scared

Mummy don’t go it’s night out there

It’s spoogy and woogy and there’s owls alright

That go hoot and woo

Mummy cuddle me it’s night out there

It’s scary and weary and there’s cows alright

That go lo and moo

Mummy tell me a story its night out there

The one about monsters under the bed

That go meow and purr

Here are some of the pages from the book – pre-binding

It says -Goodnight Halloween ’09 on the last page and on the back it says Made by Wiggly Pets in Conjuction with the Monster Blogs 🙂

Instructions on how I made the book and more photos will shortly appear on Salaric Craft.

Green and leafy forest light

Watching over maidens plight

Purple night dark and cold

Witches plot, evil bold

Red rose lips cold to touch

Drank the poison with her lunch

Black and dark the misery sleep

Hoping waiting faeries peep

Greying hags place dragon there

The maiden sleeps in its care

Silvered moonbeams lead the way

show the beauty where she lay

Golden hair and silken gown

Waiting for her lover’s crown

Chestnut hair and tempered blade

Prince comes dragon slayed

Ivory skin smooth and soft

He gently lifts her aloft

Pink lips to hers kiss

Lost in lovers passioned bliss

Brown eyes of liquid grace

Open now – her perfect face

Orange freckles she sees abound

Feels her heart begin to pound

Blue eyes crystal clear

Proposes marriage without fear

A picture of words

Built a syllable at a time

A landscape of nouns

Growing inescapable and fast

A house of verbs

Constructed from the atom

A path of paragraphs

Leading to the whole

A garden of letters

Blooming into structures known

A fence of grammar

Constraining, territories marked

A tree of syntax

Branches high, roots low

A sky of metre

Hidden in the beat of wings

A mountain of meaning

Within a base of abstraction

A river of knowledge

Encoded in a symbolism of mind