STING IN THE TAIL.

He washed up worn out and wet

from a sea with a bed ready for him.

He refused sleep

denied refuge and instead

arose and aroused his aching limbs

with further determination.

Looking around on higher ground

her saw more than he thought he could see

in a lifetime. The signs were all there:

Days of floating mindlessly,

nights of terror, confusion and bone busting coldness,

days of empty skys with no decor

an empty unimaginative blue canvas,

until a painter decides to paint a green dot

that over time transforms into something clear

and beautiful.

Relieved and thankful to all that he is and all he will ever be

due to his wondrous survival,

he kisses the ground and is stung dead by a scorpion.

Oedipus.

for I am blind,
I can not write
excuse these over lapping lines.
To spoken verse
These words are ritalin
I am confined
in my mind.

the divine
To calm and question
and return the memories
of shepherd's words.
His riddles gave me extra time
and caught
before he saught
this blind man cursed.

A Mother's touch
placed on my thigh
engorged desire.
and rises up
Erected is a fool of lies;
a soldier playing
with maternal fire.

by my own wings,
A butterfly pinned
I do now pine
as Jocasta swings
and sways to her own tune.
I kissed that neck,
and released myself
frictioned yet fine
with a gold brooch.

for I am blind,
I can not write
inside this mind.
these wrongs are left
Excuse the overlapping lines.
Excuse these overlaps of mine.

Face Spook.

Alexa Delgado
Adds me on facebook.
No friends in common,
she has modelly looks.
A simple commodity,
a face of brushed air,
Do you look like that on a morning?
How tousled's your hair?
Do you have the foundations
to not rely just on looks?
Or do you put on your make up
then press add friend on facebook?

Bonne Journee.

Bonjour Madame, cava? Bien!
whats ours is yours
we are now friends.
Welcome. Sit and take a seat,
non, non not there,
you'll smell our feet!
Perhaps some wine
or maybe a bier?
Would you like la football on
so you can cheer?
Ohh horr horr horr,
a rare French joke.
We usually shrug,
are staring folk.
You always smile,
and laugh and mock
as you come on la metro
a barbant sheep flock.
You always get lost,
ask "Parlez vous Anglais?"
and smile at us,
getting in the way.
Would you like a baguette?
How about fromage?
Or some awkward French talk:
"Tu est Quelle age?"
How about closer to home;
some poisson est frites?
Or maybe a fry up
to go to those round hips?
How about a bike ride
or a tour of le eiffel?
Please visit la louvre,
merci Mademoisselle.

SOLUTIONS.

The solution was hydrochloric acid,
the problem was therefore the husband.
The band of love clutched
the untouched woman and caused gangrene
so clearly seen leading to the heart.

The blood stopped pumping.

She became old, dry, cold and wry.
Shrivelled and grey with nostrils pinched
by a man who perspires
a stench of desire to those wenches
of tight and little attire.

The blood rushed to one place.

He would boil, burn, twist and turn.
Sleeping next to a woman
who hated to be touched.
She felt his weight on the bed,
and waited for the time
to set upon her perfect crime.

The solution was poured
into a modern cauldron
then placed on the hob to boil.
This snaked was coiled
in a pan and planning its attack.
The witching hour had past,
and the malt whiskey he savoured
would be his last.

Who said they didn't have chemistry any more?

THE GIRL THAT SAID "NO."

It was September
when in the shed by the coal
I saw a dead little girl
and asked for her soul.

I grant her permission
to prance round my home
and she responds to my question
with a word that is "No."

Cute without the e,
she has a smile round her throat
that can't reach those eyes
and she constantly chokes.

This lodger can't realise,
she has not one clue
that this arrangement is priced.
My interest grew.

I stalked as she played
a while later, in June.
She asked if I'd like to play
and I nodded true.

We played hide and seek,
I ran from the word "Go."
I hid in the coal shed,
watched the key turning slow.

I pushed at the locked door
as my panic did grow.
"Won't you let me out please?"
The girl smiled and said "No."

YEARN.

Holed up alone in this home
hurry down to my tomb,
wake me as I dream of you
or let me sleep and be with you.
Either keeps me from my ache:
a yearn that burns and causes quakes
and shakes that change to short sharp shocks
from flash backs that rock and flock.
Like sheep that follow one another
I follow you you are my lover
there will never be another,
for less I simply can't be bothered.