Duct Tape & Daffodyls by Ven (epub e reader txt) 📕

foot tall, a warrior ... and "Champion of the Gnoxie." ~ ~ ~ His battle dress was starched and pressed. He'd four brass buttons on each epaulette and a row of metal ribbons at his breast. He looked a little weary and far, I thought , from cheery but I bade him, welcome in, so he could rest. He sat beside the window and looked out at the night in silent contemplation for a while. He was conflict weak and weary, for an hour he didn't speak but when he did, he started with a smile. He asked me for my name and then imparted his. We talked
and shared some knowledge of ourselves. I said I came from Irish blood and grew in the town of Merrydown. He said he came from Faeries,
Gnomes and Elves.
He said there'd been a vicious war and he'd fought a hundred years to protect a fountain made when faeries wept and he used it as a mouthwash or as tipple now and then, for it gave him wings to wander as he slept . He said he'd travelled time. Met Dewey, Plato and Jung. Observed the very greatest men at work. He said that he'd contributed to the philosophy of aesthetics, that was later written down by Edmond Burke. He said that he'd invented the art of aromatherapy. Inspired by the odour of a sock. When I told him it developed into rose oil, thyme and Lavender, his face could barely hide the look of shock "Well, it started out alright" he said but it's likely to be her downfall. "I presume it was a woman that did this!". The stuff will never sell. In fact, it's my idea of hell. Cheesy foot aroma ... now that's bliss ! We laughed and laughed some more then he stood ... walked to the door and uttered "Fair thee well" before he went. He vowed to fight no more ... said, he'd given up on war and was off to try and set a precedent. I watched him ride away, not to fight another day but to spread the scent of peace through all the ages. I went back in to find that he'd left a book behind and the following was concealed within it's pages: ~ Because the moon is round do you consider its dimensions and calculate the ratio of the circumference to the diameter. Can you see what they see ? Is it still beautiful ?.. Is it still the moon ? or is it just Pi in the sky ? Reduced to an infinity of numbers ! ~ and if the darkest shade of every colour is black ? Does it then follow that ;
Black x seven = Perfect midnight Rainbows.


Tears

Weakness ( in sorrows clothing ) will appear
in each lead weighted, bell-bottomed tear
that crashes over painted lashes
and pours
like north wind driven rain
down the stone cold face
of self pity‟s
porcelain pale complexion.


Through the Bottom

The amber liquid in the tumbler
gives my cheeks a rosy hue
and staring through its thick glass base
un-complicates the view.


This Love

This love excites, delights, bites, conveys my heart to dizzy heights. I wallow in the joy of its simplicity ..
... but I wonder could it bear to wear the drudgery of constant care and the horse hair shirt of daily domesticity.


The Third Erection

He stepped out of the vestry
into the midst of a dismal,
grey,
rainy day.
He erected his umbrella.
( His third erection today )
.. but this one bore no disgrace,
quite the opposite,
it hid his face
and as oblivious parishioners
praised his sermon
he thanked the Lord
for its nylon spoked protection.
Without it they would see his eyes
(and his shame)
They would point the God endorsed
finger of blame
and above all
They would make damn sure
the alter boys stopped coming.


The metamorphosis of Morpheus

Hail thee from my sleeping mind
come here to shape the thoughts of conscious lost,
to mould,
to forge and form the images I find
or dost thou feign pretence as son of Hypnos ?
Lay thou still on ebony
in poppy painted caves of ancient myth
or is ;
"The metamorphosis of Morpheus"
made morphine by its metaphoric xenolith ?


AN ACT OF WAR

Stage Right: (Enter Apollyon). His name is Sin and with the come hither smile, of a ten dollar whore, he embraces all who approach his door and perspires elation from every pore, as pride, hate and anger prevail once more and then, ... encore, in his sick and malignant production. Stage Left: (Enter Death). His name is Pain and with a carious grin, from a festering core, he welcomes all that would dip a toe, into his fetid cesspool of conflict and war, until the curtain drops on a blood drenched floor, amidst deafening screams of "More; More; More!".
POSTSCRIPT: Complete destruction.


Oh Bumblesplatt !

Oh Bumblesplatt !
I did it again !
I smiled in the face of adversity
And while I was grinning (Cheshire cat style)
ten ton of bullshit fell on me.


Variations on a Theme

You say, "Mmm, let's give it a shot"
but back-door boogie ... I think not !
The image doesn't get me hot,
I think you've lost the plot love.

Let's make love, like we always do.
I don't feel the need for anything new.
I don't need props or gimmicks to
enhance the way I love you love.

But how about adding some spice to the pot.
Bondage would maybe hit the spot.
Bring a whole new meaning to tying the knot.
I like that thought a lot love.

Roll play games or hide and seek ?
Voyeurism ? You strip I peek.
Kinky stuff just once a week.
Oh come on, please just try it love.

OK I'll do it, but I choose the style.
Sit your arse down I'll be back in a while
and I'll show you the meaning of versatile.
I hope your ready for this love.

Now close your eye's I'm coming in
and this is Clarissa, she's my twin.
Wipe the dribble off your chin,
we've got a treat for you love.

Slip your hands into these cuffs.
Say "empty" when you've had enough
Oh, you were right I like this stuff.
I hope you‟re having fun love.

„Cos vampire lovin‟ gets me high.
Clarissa and me gonna suck you dry.
Turn your neck and whisper bye-bye
~ tonight‟s the night to die love.


Greed Shall be My Downfall

Today is worthy of envy The sky is clear, azure and the breeze, subtle. Autumn whispers "winter" through the needles of the evergreens and contentment takes the place of disenchantment or "what might have beens". Nature weaves magic and mundane and tragic become just words. Tell me .. What more could you ask for ?
Much ... much more !
and this greed shall be my downfall.


Debt Met Roulette Inc.

Why fret ? ~ ok, so the debt can't be met
but regret can be offset and at least the inhalation of this last cigarette will carry no more threat of consequence. Sweat beads under harsh light and turns to rivulets of wet and yet
You bet your life ! No honour, no etiquette, just spin .. click ... spin .. click .. BANG ! The ultimate sacrifice of a family man.


N.B. Scene recorded for Reality T.V. Programme.
Winning contestants will have their debt paid off in full by *Debt Met Roulette Inc.
(* Henceforth referred to as “The Company”).

In the likely event that a contestant should lose the gamble all monies over and above the amount of outstanding debt,
contestants funeral expenses and The Company programme production
costs will be paid to the contestants Spouse / life partner
and / or offspring. The Company reserves the right to disqualify any contestants who are subsequently proven
to have an accumulated debt
of less than £5000
The Company has the *final decision on all matters regarding the Gamble.
(*Not negotiable).
Thank you for your inquiry.
Debt Met Roulette Inc.


The death of Anima

To sacrifice a kindness
in the name of total honesty.
To shatter false illusions
and spread-eagle pose for all to see
or soften hardened edges
with a silken lingerie of lies
and blur ones imperfections
with pastel painting palate knives.
To brazen forth, to blaze a trail
that's paved with solid concrete truth.
To bear the cross of openness
and wear the arrogance of youth
or subtle clothe and sugar coat
each care-considered bitter pill
and contemplate a compromise
to veil the harsh or spare an ill.
To kill (again !) the MOCKING bird
of open-heart indignity.
To light the crematory flame
and shed no tear of sympathy.
To mummify and bandage tie
each weeping insecurity.
To mourn, to sigh but not to cry
as by free choice, I murder Me.


Mad as a Poet !

Don't take those flaws and insecurities,
Those complexes and instabilities
and turn them into beating sticks
for this imbalance forms the bricks
that are cemented phrase by phrase
to form the poesy that you praise
and if some comment causes grief
I'm sorry but it's my belief
that tolerance of aberration
and swings from sadness to elation
are just the price you have to pay
for literature that's born this way.

Imprint

Publication Date: 12-13-2010

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