The Arrogant Conquest

 

In the winter Kings will fall

Watching princes take the shore.

 

Immortal fingers clasp the wild winds

That weave around like golden string.

This, a quiet call towards the maelstrom

Is taken by the foolish king.

 

Pride call upon your vessels

Spirits take your place;

The armies of approaching chaos

Will steal the wilting waste.

 

Cling now to the remnants

That bare the royal name

Defy the voice of thunder

And let the bastard take the blame.

 

For he is no impure desire, no,

He is the brightest jewel;

This sordid crown will conquer him

As he leads his band of fools.

 

“Sisters take your shields now

Children take your bows,

Prophets are just mortal men

Who keep from us all they know!

Trust not reason my heir

For that will be your death

Face the beckoning eyes of fate

And draw a defiant breath.”

 

And here I wait with the Seeing Eye,

Perched atop an obelisk

To watch the last king die.

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From the Bar to the Bus Stop

Let us be merry my photogenic heart;

We’ll wander the sodden streets of Manchester

Like a starving rat.

We’ll stop at the train station at midnight

To watch the first train pull in

With a river of refugees from the fringes of the town.

Wastelands hold no joy on a Friday night.

Cut, Paste, references, images,

A split second of a dancing girl,

A snapshot of a painter colouring the sky,

A Gypsy playing the accordion,

Cut, Paste. A scent remembered, the violent exchange,

The moment one flash of love dies and reignites

Like a wishful child.

All this in an hour walk,

From the bar to the bus stop.

Nostalgia

I’m a sucker for nostalgia

It makes me cry in defiance

Of my age; I don’t need to be

How others feel they should be,

Instead I can lie to the world

With eyes uncaring and tired.

Childhood… man –

It was good while it lasted

And I’ll be damned if I don’t

Make it last forever.

Soldiers

They told me statues would weep for me

After I lost my heart in a foreign country,

They told me the Gods would offer me peace

But they lost me when I heard them speak.

 

Venom, hidden poisons on their breath

Like thunderclouds around my head.

Lies are always told to solders scorned

By the deathless tide of tired war.

Cheap Street

We all rest on cheap street,

Some convulse in wasted anger

Red eyes shot at the rain,

Those that succeed do so in silence.

The brave seek the jungle,

And move like they were born

To the scorn of the ones

Who refuse to believe the street exists.

Red wine rain on New Year’s day,

The first bell and the street turns crimson.

Catch what you can, they last.

Back Streets

The streets are cold, wet, and unforgiving.

The suffering eyes of no named men

Stare up at the passive walker listening

To the rhythm of his footsteps.

One working girl works the married man

Behind the trash and the wire fence

Between the crumbling slums.

The moon seems as frail as a Robin’s bone,

If the walker caught it, it would break

And crumble and be taken in the passing

Trail of unclean air.

Glitterati

Like a deplorable trail of smoke

From the final cigarette of a bum

Who had it all and then lost it all,

You fade into the air and are forgotten.

 

Your body falls through shadows

Like hollow bones in a grave,

But you are lost, drunk and unfeeling

And you let the ether claim you.

 

Then like a lover expectant

Lying on an unmade bed with red sheets,

You try to sleep but your mind is in oil

And your eyes see angels.

 

You never woke, you never slept.

Like a cut out headline you imprint then decay,

Leaving only remnants of a burnt page

Dancing in the lost space of a man’s mind.

 

Champagne, no name, never to age,

Your eyes say they have seen it all

But you shiver at the sight of the poor

And your feet bleed as you dance.

 

Do not fool with the glitterati of the city.