Another day

You are stupid,
you are worthless,
you mean nothing,
you are disguting.

These words are screaming,
they’re ripping in to my
soul, decimating me,
speaking tomes of truth.

Huddled in the corner,
I want to scream and
yell for help to come,
yet I am silent.

I need the help,
I should ask for it,
I am silent,
won’t you please help me?

I need you now,
I need your caressing
embrace around me,
protecting me.

I want to sob in
to your chest,
I don’t want to be strong,
I don’t want to carry on.

Michael and Lucifer

I can carve your name into my arm,
a cry to the devil to come forth,
to declare my anger showing in the calm,
to welcome Lucifer to the north.

I can soak my stomach in holy water,
a cry to the angels of God himself,
to declare my faith that shan’t falter,
to welcome Michael to Earth itself.

An Emotionless Coma

I let the music
caress my ears,
carrying me,
letting myself slip
into an emtionless
coma.

I arrive at my
destination of comatic
expressions,
all of my emotions,
all of my power,
gone.

Rebellion

To conform to a paradigm,
is to relinquish control
upon your freedom of thought,
freedom of speech.

To rebel is to awake,
is to reveal your
wish and wishes of want,
of wanting to be free.

Mine, Yours

I still have all of mine,
all of what belongs to me,
mine,
yours,
now gone,
still mine,
my heart, my mind,
my soul, my emotion,
my cognition.

Simplistic Strangers

Peculiar thoughts are running,
swarming and searching
through my mind.

Simplistic strangers,
strange thoughts,
strange feelings.

Sing to my soul,
scream to my soul,
rip into my soul.

Louder, louder, louder,
higher – higher it goes,
screeching in my mind.

It’s Simplicity

It’s simplicity
in how colours fly past,
reds and greys,
whites and browns,
merging and flowing,
as the traffic flows by.

It’s simplicity
in how life flies past,
people and cars,
work and families,
merging and flowing,
as the time flows by.

I hate nobody e…

I hate nobody except Hitler – and that is a true professional. ~ Winston Churchill

My brother bought me a book from Christmas called ‘The Wicked Wit of Winston Churchill’, full of quotes from him – hence all these quotes I post.

The Thing You Are

You’re the cow
in the autumn air,
you’re the winter’s
polar bear,
you’re the moth on
a summer’s breeze,
you’re freedom to
go where you please.

You’re the light
upon the window pane,
you’re the pounding
on the roof in the rain,
you’re the quiet
rebellion at heart,
you’re freedom
to rip life apart.

Where there is …

Where there is a great deal of free speech, there is always a certain amount of foolish speech ~ Winston Churchill

I reached 100 followers! I also just noticed I’ve reached over 200 posts as well! So enjoy this quote from Winston Churchill as a celebration.

Combination of Separation

Should we combine
or shall we separate,
what is ours – mine,
becoming irate.

Should we part ways
or allow our unity,
to see our end of days,
to see what is you and me.

Why Are We Scared?

Why are we scared of heights?
Is it the fear of falling,
falling down into the abyss?

Why are we scared of love?
Is it the fear of rejection
by the one in your heart?

Why are we scared of death?
Is it the fear of the
inevitable; one thing we can’t control.

Victim Number Three

“Put the man out of his misery”,
she said to me in my mind,
“take the knife and help unbind”,
she said to me – helping me.

So I took the knife, held it high,
brought it down, watched him die,
I smiled as the blood flowed free,
watched him die – victim number three.

Madness

What is madness?
Is madness loving
a song or a film,
loving a person,
or living in the moment?

Madness is working,
your entire life,
slaving away,
for monetary beliefs,
in amongst this strife.

A Man I Did Not Know

There once was a man who I knew,
a man who I did not know.
I knew him for a long time,
yet time just flew slow.

I knew him everywhere,
nowhere and there.
I watched him live,
just to watch him die.

I knew his name; Ben,
yet his face was shrouded.
I gave my all, my least,
at the man’s feet – his fall.

Through inaction, I gave
the greatest and worst action.
Through ineptitude, I handed
death yet another victim.

So there’s the tale of the man,
the man I knew but did not know,
the man upon his mechanical horse,
I made him walk Heaven’s course.

Twisted Me Into A Ghost

I used to be nice,
friendly and caring
but then you,
twisted me,
turned me bitter,
now look at me,
a mere ghost
of my former self,
resentful and sickened,
you.

Now Sinking

Searching,
destroying,
my heart, it needs,
my heart, it bleeds.

Together
us – forver;
my mind, it yearns,
my mind, it learns.

Thinking,
now sinking,
my legs, grow weary,
my legs collapse.

Ripped Away

I know,
I feel,
completely shredded now,
someone made me feel,
wanted and desired,
it’s been ripped away;
confidence gone.

Cold Shoulder

I get the feeling you’re
trying to push me away,
the cold shoulder,
is it something
I said?
Something I did?
I just don’t understand
why – why you’re doing this
to me, to us, to this.

The Room

I’ve had an idea for a novel which I may or may not write in the future and as such; I wanted to experiment with writing in first person first. Here is the result. What do you guys think? Click more to view the excerpt I wrote.

It’s Funny

It’s funny,
it’s been years,
too many to count,
too many weeks and days,
but here you are,
stood before me,
radiant as ever,
and I must wonder,
where did you go?

It’s funny,
when I look at you,
wondering where time went,
wondering what I
did wrong, did right,
did today,
or should I say,
what I should say,
tomorrow?

 

Take A Moment

Take a moment,
take one to breath,
before I lose myself,
to the depths,
of thought.

Take a moment,
just a moment,
to allow the attack,
upon my subconscious
to be withdrawn.

Fine, Great

Fine and great,
things I say
I am, who I am.

Fine.
I’m foolish,
insecure,
neurotic,
envious.

Great.
I’m grieving,
repressed,
egotistical,
ashamed,
timid.

Fine. Great.
We say we are so,
yet inside,
our hearts are yearning,
we are aching.

We let ourselves
suffer so that those
who care, who love,
who trust will not suffer,
suffer our emotions.

Christmas Presents

It’s fascinating,
don’t you think?
Christmas time,
giving presents,
golden watches,
coats of mink.

Yet people are
sat upon the street,
no home, no place,
no roof upon their head,
no shelter,
nothing to eat.

Mundane Happiness

What I want,
what I need,
is not what I have.

What I desire,
what I require,
is absent from me.

Who I am,
what I am,
is depression,
regression,
insanity,
mundane happiness.

Christmas Pain

Why do I feel,
feel like this,
christmas time,
yet I depress,
regress,
into infantile emotions,
emotional raptures,
of my pain.

You sit there and watch,
tell me your joys,
yet do you notice,
what I feel,
how I feel?

If A Tree Falls

If a tree falls
in the forest,
nobody around,
does it make a sound?

But then, if
a man kills,
nobody around,
is the victim in the ground?

But then, if
a man steals,
nobody around,
does his guilt resound?

But then, if
a man lies,
nobody around,
is it the truth’s hound?

Caged

Caged,
locked down,
restrained mentally.

Imagination falling
away from me,
insanity ensnaring.

The bear,
bounding through,
a forest.

The claw,
ripping through
my mind.

Within All

Was it a dream?
or reality?
Was does it mean
or say?

I cannot see,
that there is
meaning in pain,
in love.

This is the story
of my life – exist
within all
the deceit I have,

Walking

Walking along the road,
paved with the sorrows
and lies of the past.

Walking – burdens towed,
along a path I do not know
to discovery – to everlast.

Walking; making my life
as my own tale of me,
of the eloquence.

Walking, waking, a knife
to cut through the
cloud of despair – life repents.

Victorious

Visualise vivacious vindications,
vicarious victory that veers
violently toward virulent 
vanity and vintage memories.

Imagine infinite images,
incandescence invades
in my imagination of

insisiting incantations.

Collaborate and calculate
cruel, cold cataclysms;
create and capture creation,
caution of the corpse.

Triumvirate of tyranny,
toppling the towers – targets
of the turning triplets,
taboo and termination.

Observe olden orifice,
on original orders of 
oblivion – oft own’s oaken,
the opinion of omnipotence.

Rumminations of reality,
rushing round, reeceding into
roaring rows – roaring raids,
realising reinvented refutes of refusal.

Infantile insinuation,
infant’s infinite immaturity,
ignorance to immorality;
irregardless of inane responsibility.

Only once olden orders
can open oaken orifice;
office, officer – observers
of us, oft of age.

Unison through unity,
unites us with uniformity,
undertaking, understanding,
using unimportance of our lies.s

Simplistic sacrificial service,
supplying satanic normality
surviving serious sinews – saviour 
of suffering simpletons.

This was inspired by V’s speech when he first speaks to Evie when he first meets her in V for Vendetta.

Sanguine’s Lament

Sanguinolency afore the men,
erewith speed usward time,
erewith needs must end.

Hark, err of thine ways,
thine alack, amain anent the
wisened widows, men of old.

Nary a man would walk abaft,
fo’ward beforetime, disgrace;
oft – a lie – certes discrepance.

 

This was an experiment with writing in archaic english… I’m not sure it worked.

Definitions of Our Lives

A controlled time space,
totality in an absurd
environment – prying
where true genius reverberates

Unique in uniformity,
break the glass – fractures,
representations of societal
pressures – pauciloquent in breath.

Our society; a valetudinarian
that resounds against
hypochondria and hypocrisy,
definition of our lives.

The Cottage; The Fortress

The engine hummed, piercing the silence of the air. The silence; reminding him that he was alone. Completely and utterly alone. Desolation and the downfall of civilisation burned around him, yet the fires burned out weeks ago.

The collapse of civilisation was swift; less than a week from the first outbreak. After the first week, 75% of the human population was zombiefied. Governments were non-existent. It was anarchy. Within two weeks, gangs had formed, raiding and fighting upon the desolation.

Anarchy, complete anarchy.

‘Bollocks, it’s getting dark. Just my fuckin’ luck. Best hurry the fuck up then’ He then pressed further on the accelerator peddle, pushing the car faster towards his destination. The trees of the forest rushed by, the occasional zombie nestled within the darkness of the woods. Up ahead, a small cottage lay upon a hill, standing resolute amongst the isolation.

White-washed walls contrasted with dark oak beams that criss-crossed, like a veritable Mesopotamia. Little windows, poking out of the walls, covered with large metal sheets, drilled to the walls. On top of the of the cottage, stood a small tower, only just taller than the roof; made of scaffolding pipes. A ladder stretched down, through the roof, into the attic.

It was clear to see, this was not merely a home. This was a fortress, fortified to protect it’s inhabitant.

The car droned up the last stretch of road and then the man parked it into a garage attached to the side of the cottage. He got out of the car, picked up his rifle and his back-pack and placed them on a shelf in the garage. Slamming the car door shut, he then smacked a button on a wall which slowly closed the garage door.

A flick of a switch, and the cottage burst to life. Several halogen lamps illuminated the cottage throughout, powered by a generator humming away in the garage. The heating cranked up, warming the cottage through. He picked up the kettle from the side, filled it with water from a canister in the kitchen and replaced the kettle, turning it on.

‘A fookin’ tea, that’s what I need. A good British cuppa. Nothin’ like one of them beauties to relax a fella after a long day being chased by mushy fuckers’ He smirked to himself. He entered another room, adjoing the kitchen, which served as the pantry. Shelves lined the walls, adorned with tins of food, packets of this, that and the other. A single man could survive for years of it.

‘Beans ‘n sausages or maybe a chilli con carne rat pack meal? Decisions, bloody decisions’ He eventually settled on the chilli con carne meal. He took the packet of the shelf, walked back into the kitchen and dumped the packet into a pan on the stove. He then filled the pan with water so that the packet was covered. The electric stove was then ignited, ready to cook the meal.

Click. A single click. A single click resonated through the kitchen.

The Man In The Woods

You all may or may not remember my post called The Man a while back; a short writing piece based around a man within a zombie apocalypse. Well, I’ve decided to continue it, adapt it into a longer, more full story. I hope you enjoy it.

Here’s the original piece again:

Stumbling through the forest, gasping for his breath, he ran. Not daring to look back, he ran. Not daring to stop, just for a moment; he ran. Weaving through the trees with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, he continued on his way. His frame, long and slender, contrasted with the chunky hulks that were the tree trunks. His hair, brown and flowing, bounced upon his shoulders with each bound and step.

He stopped for just a moment, to catch his breath. ‘I’m 27, how am I tired already? Come on, ‘ya bastard. Get’cha legs moving. COME ON!’ He thought to himself. Almost as if it was a sergeant breathing down his neck, he stood up again, pushed off the tree and with even greater ferocity, continued his journey through the never-ending forest. The mindless growls and snarls from the herd chasing him kept him motivated, determined not to be the main course on tonight’s al a carte meal. ‘Starter, some poor bastard from Manchester. Main course, better not be me. Desert, fuck knows, maybe a kid, maybe a fookin’ chav.’ The man chuckled to himself.

Soon, the trees began to thin out and separate, showing the road, beckoning forth to him. ‘Oh, you fuckin’ beauty, come to papa.’ With a few more super-human steps, he had reached the road. He stopped for a second to find his mark, his eyes scouring up and down the road until the locked on to his target; a mud-soaked, dirt-coated Land Rover.

“Yes! Holy shit, yes. I fuckin’ made it back. I’ll be fuckin’ damned.” He let the words escape his mouth, over-joyed at the fact he had made it through the forest in one piece. He knelt down, slid his pack off of his back and unclasped the clips. He dug his hand in and drew out a black water bottle. Opening the lid, he gulped down a large quantity of the clear nectar, refreshing his system after running for the last hour or so. He closed the bottle and replaced it back in his pack. He then pulled out a golden-oats bar and started eating it. ‘Haha, gotta love ‘em. Fuckin’ ratpack bars. Better than sex.. Well.. Almost better.’ He audibly laughed at his own joke. He had nearly finished the bar when he was interrupted by the snarls of a mindless predator.

“Oh, you bastard. I was enjoyin’ that, you fucker.” He stood up and turned around to meet his adversary. His eyes were met by a middle-age, balding, slightly overweight man. The man was missing half his jaw and his face was smeared with blood and small chunks of flesh, most likely human. The man, brain-dead, shuffled towards him, snarling and growling at the him.

“You really wanna do this? You.. really.. wanna.. fuckin’.. do.. this?” He slowly enunciated the last sentence, full of vengeance and the anger of a man who had lost people in horrors past. His right handed moved across his body and grasped a knife, it’s sheath wedged into his belt.

Drawing it out, preparing to savour this kill, he looked down at his knife. He held the blade up to the light, the sun’s rays glinting off the knife, and admired the many notches upon the knife’s hilt, the signatures of past kills. ’78 bastards, I’ve killed. Looks like you’re bastard number 79. Lucky you.’

He held the knife tightly in his hand and walked towards the zombie. When he and the zombie were almost face-to-face, he spat in the zombie’s face and then, with the force of a bull, brought his boot-heel up and shoved it into his chest, splintering the rib-cage and shattering several ribs. The zombie fell backwards, smacking roughly into the asphalt of the road. He leaped forward, grabbed the zombie by the head and pulled him up. The zombie, arms flailing, tried to grasp the man’s flesh with his teeth.

“No you fuckin’ don’t.” He smashed the hilt of the knife into the zombie’s mouth, crushing the teeth into miniscule pieces and snapping what was left of his top jaw in two. “I wonder if you even feel fuckin’ pain, I don’t even give a shit. I’m going to fuckin’ enjoy this. You’re lucky your friends are only a minute or two away because I’m going to have to be quick about this.”

He let go of the zombie and stood up. Waiting until the zombie stood up and had started stumbling towards him again, he dropped to his knee and with his full force, threw his fist into the zombie’s knee, pulverising the entire joint and causing the zombie to collapse to the floor, unable to walk.

While the zombie attempted to stand up, he forcefully kicked it in the head, sending it falling to the floor again. he then stepped over it so that he was stood over it and brought his knife swinging down and bringing it home, driving it into the side of the zombie’s skull, shoving it through his ear. Pulling it out, he stabbed again and again and six more times; smiling as he did.

Calmly standing up, he turned around and picked up the remnants of his golden oats bar and munched through it.

“Still got to finish it and got to have some fun with a mushy. That was fun. See you in hell, fuckface.” He calmly walked towards the Land Rover when he began to hear the snarls, groans and growls of the remaining herd. “Oh, joy of joys. More of the mushy fuckers.”

He swung open the passenger side door and grabbed his L98A2 rifle, resting in the foot well. Bringing it up to his shoulder, he released the magazine to check the weight. ‘Feels like a full mag, time for some fun.’

He pushed the magazine back into the housing, grabbed the cocking handle, pulled it back and then released it, loading a round into the chamber. He reached his left hand over the rifle and karate-chopped the cocking handle to ensure it was fully forward.

Holding the rifle at his chest, he walked around to the other side of the car, opened the driver side door; ready for a quick drive-off. He then stood and held the rifle in his shoulder, aiming down towards the herd that was now on the road. Flicking the safety off, he searched along the herd, choosing his target. Finding a young man, in his twenties, with no arm, he squeezed the trigger and let off a round which found it’s mark, deep inside his skull.

Thump-thwack-thump-thwack-thump-thwack. 3 more rounds found their resting place within three more zombies. Four zombies now laid on the road, dead for real this time.

“Fuckin’ target practice, baby.” He laughed as he fired yet more and more rounds. Zombies began to drop but the remaining ones just kept walking, oblivious to the gunfire. He fired a few more rounds but then heard the disappointing click as the working-parts held to rear, signalling an empty magazine. “Shit, my guessing skills need some work. It was just getting fun.”

Placing the rifle in the foot-well of the passenger chair again, he got in to the car, started the keys in the ignition and slammed the gear-stick forward into gear. Pressing his foot down on the gas-pedal, the car lurched forward. Swinging the wheel around, he u-turned the car and kicked up rocks and assorted debris at the remaining herd.

The car then droned off down the road, the engine the only one to be heard for miles. The man then pulled down the sun-visor, pulled down a picture of a young-woman, a child and himself. Kissing the picture, a tear rolled down his face and dripped on to the picture.

“I miss you, baby. Why did the mushers have to get you? Why? Why did the fuckers get you and Jamie, why the fuck couldn’t they have left you for me? I shoulda’ saved you.”

He replace the picture back into the visor, closed it and pulled a small pen-knife from his pocket. He braked the car for a second, stopping just to carve the seventy-ninth notch into his knife.

The car disappeared, turning a corner and becoming shielded once again by the forest.

 

Sufferance

Some people say things
they don’t mean,
it’s a lie,
they just want to cry.

Some people do things
they don’t mean,
it’s a horror,
when you suffer.

Sufferance,
implications
of my
eradications.

The Answer

The answer,
it lies within,
within me,
within you,
within all I do,
with all I see.

The answer,
echoes it all,
watches as I surround,
letting it all go,
feeling my heart slow,
falling to the ground.

Apparitions Of Unison

I look up at the sky,
pondering what I do see,
the clouds,
drifting by,
apparitions of unison,
illusions of unity,
united by common fatalities,
linked by false links,
links that do not exist,
yet within my mind,
the links can be seen,
representations of my life,
false apparitions of unity,
liars, deceiving my very emotions.

Welcome, Wilkommen, Aloha, coi ro do!

Why, hello there! Thanks for checking out my blog. It is much appreciated. Very much.

 

So what is this blog about, you may ask? Simple, poems. Poems everywhere. I write a lot of poetry. I don’t mean one or two a fortnight, I mean three or four a week. I love it! I love the flow as I just write. Sometimes I’ll have an idea pop in to my head and I’ll write it down; anywhere, everywhere.

 

So yeah, poetry. My intentions for this blog are to have a poem a day posted. These will be recently written poems, within the last week or two, to keep it nice and challenging! Obviously, I could write one every day but I don’t have that much free time. So, I’ll aim to write one every day but some days, I may write three and some, none. Easy enough.

 

I hope you like what you see and stick around. Please share it around, as I’m just an aspiring young poet who loves writing poems. It would be nice to get a few followers or regular readers but who knows, it’s just the beginning!

 

Many thanks,
Dominick.

 

P.S, the languages in the title are; English, German, Hawaiian, Lojban (Said loch-ban, I believe).