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On Christmas Day

Have been doing some video poems lately, this first one is a poem I did for the Christmas contest on Moviestorm. It won that contest. It's very dark though, so be prepared and don't say I didn't warn you.

Monster

Hidden in a deep dark place,
frightened to come
from its cocoon.
Howls at the moon!
Monster in me.

Everyone who looks there knows
It's in my mind
and in my heart.
Right from the start
it's in my soul.

Then torches bright, fiery hot
They chase me from
my rightful place
and poke my face
with flames of hate.

If only they would understand
I once was one
of them, you see.
They create me
then push away.

And all I want to do is speak
my mind to them.
It is my gift
albeit thrift
It's all I have

But all they hear are grunts.

Day 10 – Money

Unfortunately we had to stop here because another event was happening on the site. There's a Day 11 poem but I can't show it yet because it will be used for the other event. This may continue after the other event is overâ€¦.mayâ€¦

Here's the Day 10 poem:

The pauper doesn't know it
but he wants it anyway
The rich man wants to horde it
and he does so every day

The banker he banks on it
and he makes it as he does
The thief will take all of it
with no worries whose it was

The spirit turns its nose up
at your golden offerings
The body hungers for it
and for everything it brings

The money's all around you
but whatever the amount
once you are dead and buried
you can't transfer your account

Day 9 - Tranquillity

I hate you so much,
Out of spite
For tranquil poems
You make me write

They make me seethe
So turbulent
Tranquillity
Is abhorrent..

I'll never write
Another one
I'm so relieved
This poem is done.

Day 8 – Fast and Slow

There was a man
who both was there
and was not there
not anywhere
both fast and slow
was how he'd go
and maybe he
did disagree
don't you agree
he shouldn't be
while nothing
is necessity
for everything
is just one thing
in myriad
when you are sad
so low, half-assed
you couldn't care
but please beware
of any dog
that might meow
could be a cow
but in disguise
you may just spy
it in his eye
and not believe
it anyway
cause every day
is being seized
by someone else
who truly sees
the truth behind
our noble lies
but how time flies
when everything
begins ending.

Day 7 - Ghosts

Ok. I had a really long involved day today and couldn't write a serious sort of poem. I got a laugh out of this one but it is probably a bit politically incorrect - so I'll apologise in advance if I'm offending anyone and will post it anyway.

The Casper Rap

Casper say boo
but you did know
he was friendly,
but had three bad bros
they treated him nasty
he was their bitch
his good friend Wende
she was a witch.

he say boo.
Casper
he say Boo.
Casper.

He liked to hang
In a haunted house
he scared some people
even scared a mouse
He wasn't no gansta
He wanted a friend
And like most white boys
He had a happy end.

He say boo
Casper
C'mon say boo
Casper

Day 6 – Self-deceit

Defects lie, all of iced fleets
to select Ed if the edicts flee,
those feces tiled in sliced feet,
disorganized from self-deceit.

Day 5 - Memories

She takes it from the closet with
The secrecy of thieves
And looks both ways for privacy
Before she even leaves.

Clutched very closely to her chest
She holds her treasure thus
And makes her way o'er to her bed
Without much noise or fuss.

Once on her bed she shows her prize
An ornate wooden box
But what's inside her pirate's chest?
She opens up the locks.

She lifts the lid and looks within
Her face lights up with joy
She sticks her hand into the stash
And pulls out a small toy.

It's a little plastic compass
That she turns from side to side
And smiles at the tiny needle
Which no longer will guide.

Now it's on the bed beside her
As all good things must pass
For a ring made of faux silver
Its gemstone made of glass.

On her finger how it glistens
She shows it to the air
Now she's acting very girly
She tousles up her hair.

Then it catches her attention
The last item in her store
Her jaw drops down and opens
She'd forgotten there was more.

Her hand trembles as she grabs it
And pulls it from its place
An old edge-torn faded photo
Of a familiar face

She traces all of the contours
Her tiny finger shaking
As her teary eyes gaze fondly
Her tiny heart is breaking

She opens up her mouth to speak
But nothing does come out
A silent â€œDaddyâ€ on her lips
Before they start to pout.

And then a knock is at her door
It causes her to start
She gathers up her secret stash
And hides it, she is smart.

Her mother enters, prim and prop
And tells her to come down
Her step-father has been waiting
To take them into town

A big smile for her mother
And then a nod, polite
Then she leans back a bit further
to keep the box out of sight

Her mother smiles in return
Then spins and leaves the room
And the little girl slumps sadly
Her face awash with gloom.

She hides the box back in its spot
And shuts the closet door
But not without that one last look
To remember him once more.

Day 4 – Is it love or is it lust?

THE SMALL FURRY ANIMAL SONG

I reach out for the chips
And your hand touches mine
At first I pull back from
that invisible line.

I look past your elbow
Your chest, neck and your chin
Past your pouting full lips
That turn up in a grin

Then into your green eyes
But, ah, at such a cost
My brain, it just freezes
And I feel a bit lost

Like a small furry animal
Caught in the headlights
Of your eyes
So bright.

Are you staying forever or
Will you just leave me
As roadside
Debris?

How can I love you
we haven't said a word?
But, oh, it's you I want
I know that sounds absurd.

And how I am feeling
I couldn't possibly care
If it's only one night
Or every day each year

If only I could speak
I'd tell you this right now
Though all I would say is
Meow Meow Meow

Like a small furry animal
Caught in the headlights
Of your eyes
So bright.

Are you staying forever or
Will you just leave me
As roadside
Debris?

It's then that I can feel
A twitch upon on my lips
My eyes are moving too
My hand stirs round the chips!

I pull it out and then
give you a shy smile.
That's when you turn away
laughing all the while.

And now I'm feeling like
I just might have to cry.
Your tracks along my back
Not even a good-bye

To the small furry animal
Caught in the headlights
Of your eyes
So bright.

Who you haven't noticed and
Then you just left me
As roadside
Debris.

© 2009 Mach B

Day 3 – There’s always someone cooler…

Anticipation increased, I
do shiver while I wait, in lie,
at the merest thought that someoneâ€¦
No way that I will be undone
while there remains a chance to try.

I'm sure by now you're asking why
I care about this other guy
Does it matter who will have won?
Anticipation increased.

Temperature decreased and I
do shiver while I wait and sigh.
Why do this if it isn't fun?
How I long for a ray of sun,
but coolest will I be or die.
Anticipation increased.

Day 2 – The walk home

I did not see that man,
the one eating from the can,
when I walked all the way
home to my house today.

He does not have a house,
And no kids and no spouse,
And no job, he's lazy.
Either that or crazy

Because he talks to air,
Really, nobody was there.
That one time he grabbed me
He smelled like poo and pee

I struggled to escape
And started screaming, â€œRape!â€,
That's when he let me go
I ran like hell, you know.

He didn't chase after,
But I did hear laughter,
I turned toward the sound
and saw him on the ground.

Was he having a fit?
He's laughing like a git.
â€œWhat's wrong?â€ I called to him,
My face all taut and grim.

And still he laughed at me
How rude could someone be
I turned, started walking
And then he started talking.

â€œI'm a womanâ€ he said
Out of his laughing head.
I turned and looked his way
Or her's what I should say.

On my walk home there was
No man or can because
There's a homeless woman
And her name is Sue Anne.

Day 1 – Troubles in the mind.

Too many voices, the
rabble in my head is
out to get me
undermining my foundation
by placing invisible
listening devices
everywhere.
Stop them please!

In case you read this
note, destroy it.

Too late for me,
however, you may
escape their clutches.

Make no mistake,
I am not crazy.
Never mind what the
doctors say.

Prelude – Two weeks of poetry challenge.

On one site I frequent someone decided to start a two week poetry challenge. One poem a day based on a daily theme for two weeks. These are my results. And this is a prelude.

We haven't even started yet
                            we have started
                        but
                     gold shines unevenly
        those in heaven have abundance
while those in hell just have fun.

                     we write
                        wrong though it may be
because we have to fill the empty bloody spaces with useless words
             that balance evenly from the stars
                           while above we stare at the past,
                            here below
                             we laugh.

Satisfaction on a hot summer day

Passionate heat increases
as sweat drips from every pore.
I look lustily at you.
My body desires yours.

With my all-embracing mouth
I try so hard to take you,
all of you, all the way;
an event long-overdue.

But I find you so immense,
can't fit no more than your tip.
My tongue shivers with delight
as you glide across my lip.

And when my brain recovers,
luckily enough, before
the mess streaming from your peak
falls to the carpeted floor.

Pleased to have had the forethought
to wrap you with protection
saving precious carpet from
your premature ejection.

Leaving more of it for me
and my hunger, ravenous.
I lick every tasty inch
of your now softening flesh.

When, again, you start to flow,
amazing, first as trickles
then gushing creamy juices
against my face, that tickles.

The end has come so I suck
harder, draining the chocolate
banana, mess on my face.
No worries, I'm not distraught.

With a last and softened crunch
followed by a sated moan,
you are a part of me now,
my delicious ice cream cone.

© 1998 Mach B

Woe

Oh woe, goes the heart when the pen stops after a brainstorm. And the head so frantically searches for inspiration of a divine nature. But instead comes up with a handful of words, a gut feeling, that when transferred to the pen become less than half a page.

© 1996 Mach B

Human Songs

You
understand that
which I am
what I've said is
to usher audience
first row center
me or they
watch
with wandering eyes
right up left down
two seats
bound
gagging
my every word
drips over lips
hanging
falling
over shirt
over shoes
dusty with past accomplishments
stuttering
logic problems
made as I go
as we do
in tangible worlds
in tangible words
I sing human songs
I sing human songs
to you

In a heart beat

And what is it my heart wants from you?
when you slowly dance its tender beat -
your soul touches mine as a whisper -
it brightens my spirit, light and sweet.

And how does it answer my question?
by increasing the beat of its song -
a symphony rumbling inside me -
melody clear and harmony strong.

And when will the orchestra finish?
in a life span or throughout all time -
infinitely loving you always -
captured here for a moment in rhyme.

© 1998 Mach B

Regular Expressions

Orange cathartic, greenish mitosis,
elect-rho-chemical alluvial deposits
melting in twilight on wings of alarm clocks.

Imploding Gregorian heroic chromosomes,
eroding circular violet rathskellers
reading the clouds about earth's holy daemon.

Pitiless innovative rabble inductors,
carefully careless chaos controllers
flowing near moonscapes whence arachnids dream.

Reciprocal nightmares expressing halogens,
technical ultra-patristic realisms
bleeding their prayers to monolithic butterflies.

© 1998 Mach B

Bingo

I sit waiting for my numbers
watching your expressions,
whistling tunes of factory girls,
hoping to catch your attention.

I notice the symbols on your arm
while watching your natural grace.
I sip firmly on my soda straw
hoping we'll meet face to face.

But the game it's not quite over
and my matches gone, what luck!
I ask you for your lighter
when I really want to fuck.

I throw it back and thank you,
you welcome me then turn.
So I think that I'm just horny,
when will I'll ever learn..?

Still I sit across and watch you move
till I think I'm going to peak.
See I feel like I might love you,
so I turn and start to speak.

But there's no time for conversation
the last numbers being called.
I'll have to meet you after,
if we are to meet at all.

The numbers out, so ends the game.
You rise to leave and then
I feel so doomed for knowing
that we'll never meet again.

Well we have exchanged our glances
still I feel it such a shame
to have to always love you
and never know your name.

© 1996 Mach B

The rumpled duffel

Grow old the rumpled duffel did
worn worries mar its side
and nevermore the contents hid
but spilled without its hide

A pair of darkened rugged pants
a sock twice holed from thrust
within their crumpled torpor dance
around the virgin dust

A cartoon drawn upon itself
to make a mock and more
to mark the spot upon the shelf
which once the duffel bore

When young the duffel's belly groaned
against its wearers back
with everything the wearer owned
tucked safely in the sack

Forgotten now as I remember
one duffel down when found
aside the rumpled duffel wearer
grown old, sprawled on the ground.

Air

None is all
and all is none
and one and one are two
and you and me are we
and when it strikes
is when i like
and when is then
and who i am is you
and me and number three
are five and six
and seven men
set out again
to find our way to heaven
and what we found
is not around
and where its gone
is underground
and how is not the question
when why
what we know
where and how
is not the answer
but in err
the air inside us
is.

© 1998 Mach B

MOO (Translated: A gift to the goddess of the poets)

Escorted by albino princesses I am led to the Great Hall,
shaky ankles, I am awed by the enormity of it all.
"But all I have is one short line", my quiver-voice did chant.
"Worry not, oh little one, have some of our decant."

'Tis precious was the liquor poured into the goblet thus;
the liquid had such majesty, red flecked with silver dust.
I put the globe up to my lips and sipped exotic brew.
This mind of mine did wander and my mouth began to 'Moo'.

"Oh no", I thought, "What have they done, have I misplaced my trust".
"You have not, oh silly one, you merely need adjust
to a fine, ethereally brewed, albino bathtub liquor."
"Moo!", I said and then I thought, "a pity I'm not quicker."

"We can hear, oh thoughtful one, you needn't use your voice."
'I see that now, my princesses, but I haven't any choice'.
"Oh yes you do, oh human one, we understand your Moos."
"Moo Moo Moo Moo Moo Moo Moo Moo", "It's thoughts then I do choose".

And then a wondrous thing occurred, a rare fulfilling site.
A ray of gold did split the sky from left and then to right.
And from this gold, a bud appeared from whence there once was none.
Six purple petals peeled themselves and when their work was done.

A lovely greenish woman stood inside their radial spokes.
"My princesses, my princesses, is this one of your jokes?"
But instead of princess voices, 'twas the greenish one who thought
"Relax my man, they work for me, I am the one you sought"

"Moo!", "I mean, uh, I did not expect for you to actually show,
uh, please may I have back my voice. I really have to go."
"Ah, That is such a small request, I thought you would have more,
but if it is all you wish or want then kneel upon the floor."

And so I did, I put my knees down on the polished marble,
then with surprise the greenish gal began a swallow's warble.
She danced around her flower like a dervish with a whirl
and then her foot was in my face, "Oh heavens! Greenish girl"

I looked at it and thought aloud "What crazy plan is this"
"In order to retrieve your voice you must give it a kiss."
Then pondering a life of moos, I tightly pursed my lips.
And closed my eyes to wiggling toes I kissed upon the tips.

When my eyes did finally open, the three ladies smiled at me.
"What's so funny, Is my voice back?" I said with nervous glee.
Now back upon her flower, the greenish one said "Yes...
but foolish man, the Moo effect would quickly effervesce.

You needn't ever kiss my foot to get your sick voice back,
but since you did I'll throw some inspiration in the pack."
"Oh goddess of the poets you are truly wise and kind,
for my wish I thank you, and I think if you don't mind,

I must be going now. It has been such a wondrous day."
And I turn to leave and then the greenish one says "Hey!...
the princesses said something about a gift exchanged per wish?"
"Oh foolish man I am. I am! I forgot to give you this."

© 1998 Mach B

Bare Trees

Anyone says that anyone is when
anything can do anything though
nothing is always nothing unless
somebody loves somebody, but sometimes
nobody knows and nobody cares what
everyone thinks of everyone.

I once thought that now I think
otherwise I am, not what I seem
to be saying but what I am saying
when I say it through me; can you
see through me? Am I through? Are
you through with me? I see you.

Not that!..

anyone cares what anyone is when
everything, and I mean everything,
everybody does for everybody is because
someone is watching someone else. Why?
Some things are better left as something or
nothing is the only thing
anybody gets.

© 1998 Mach B

A Cherry Poem

Life is not a bowl of cherries,
care not what the people say,
love is not a vase of roses,
and there is no perfect day.

Dogs are not a mans best friend,
a fox is not a sly one,
elephants have no fear of mice,
and a cougar cannot run.

Patience is not a virtue, clear.
This is said untried and untrue.
I found a cloud with out it's lining,
and the sky is black not blue.

© 1996 Mach B

Her Shower Song (Tango)

Remembrance of a youth,
past the sandboxes of time,
past the plastic soldier's dance,
past the dolls that that spoke in rhyme.
Past the wetting of my pants,

I just know there was an age,
where I didn't know an I,
where I didn't know a you.
Where I didn't need ask why.
Where I didn't feel so blue,

unless there was reason,
such as diapers that were soiled,
such as feedings over due,
such as food that tasted spoiled.
Such as when I wanted you,

and I feel that way again,
even though I'm very old,
even though you might not care,
even though the night is cold,
even though you're never here,

to revive the dying fire.