Long Knifes Poems
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They marched on to the town Page 4
Armed with shovels, rakes and knifes
Preparing for a battle
And talking many lives
There wasn’t chance, for reason
For their hatred made them blind
Killing was the only thing
That fostered in their minds
When the crowd, reached the town
The town folk came to greed
The men carried water
The women breads and meats
But the crowd, in a frenzy
Did not see an invitation
By then they all went Mad
From thirst and near starvation
The mayor, with his hand out
Prepared, to do some good
Met the leader of the mob
Who slew Him where he stood
Waves erupted love washed away,
Evening sun set, twilight darkens the bright day.
We part again you and me for love leaf is torn,
Each of us forlorn and stabbing pain has to be borne.
Reality carves its sharp claws on our shallow lives,
Every scar on our heart will not heal the stabs of devilish knifes.
Nights makes the devilish ego drain,
Oh! Why me and not you to step forward again,
Time will intone our strained love to emotions refrain.
Try again to get near her a voice yells in my head,
Oh! Why should it be me? These “devilish chants” to my brains are fed.
Believe in parted destiny my mixed emotions preach,
Ever in this life again your love’s passionate arms never reach.
P ower held with in my grip, Run bastard, run.
I nnocence once taken can never be un-ripped.
C olorful the names they'll call me now, hateful;
k eep your pity, you've not poisoned my soul.
Y earling limbs spread for you and you rode.
O nly anger lofted life above the bloody fray,
u ntil today you'd thought nothing of my pain;
r ancid was your heart, but there are many deaths.
P igeon holed in the alley of your miserable hovel
o n a night as hot as hell, what will it be dear,I ask.
I display a fine array of knifes and a scatter gun,
s oftly I whisper Run bastard, runand laugh.
O nly, it appeared, he could not make a manly choice?
N o, poison, it’s too meek, too neat for my voice.
Published in Sweet Dreams And Night Terrors 2013
The story of dory
And the story of John
Could be glory
Could be wrong
Dory was a Gent at heart
Dorian was the birth mark
John preferred the Dory part
As was his name from start
A younger brother with might
John enjoyed a good fight
Dory had no choice in life
As his brothers fire reignites
Sat in constant silence
In denial of the violence
Seeking the vengeance
Of a brothers pretence
To the viewer looking in
There was no sin
No bullying of the sibling
Feelings was kept within
But poor old Dory
Was more than a story
A tale as gory
To make the devils glory
A knifes sharp look
Sharper than a serpants tooth
No more playing by the book
Dory looks to end the snook
Waiting for the right time
To end his eternal prime
Lifting up his knife
Here's to you and life
Claret filled the room
With no time to gloom
The blade spun with a zoom
As Dory fell to his doom
A story of brothers grim
A story of feelings within
A story of lifes sin
A story we need to bring
So the masses will see
People hide their grief
From judging thieves
Who steals from realities
I awaken; the darkened skies my alarm clock
I reek of whiskey, scotch and pastis
Tumbling out of bed, I reach for a cigarette
The dusk harkens as I rise to ply my trade
I am embodied inside a one room flat
The nightlife and the ladies both coming to life
Out the window I see the windmill so famous in red
Ladies with offers, men with drinks, the recipe for lust
I am the mime of the Moulin Rouge
I ready myself with my white painted face
Tonight another performance or so it seems
I shall juggle my knifes, with my many sad faces
Up up up in the air, one, two, three
Knifes in a whirlwind of iconic display
Around and around like the Moulin Rouge
I perform, toss and catch to applause
My sad face bows in graceful acknowledgement
As they toss their lose coins my way
If they see fit to fill my container of misery
I make for them my spectacular encore
I take a knife, a long black sharp blade
Tossed 12 feet in the air, dancing its way back down
As it slices the stem of a red rose in my hand
I now hand a pretty girl a cut rose
The ladies of the evening smile
They see I too traded romance for coin
How sad it is, this Moulin Rouge of dreams
Eleven more roses, and I shall earn my keep
Or so the ladies in red believe
I, on the other hand, will be changing the last act
I am tired of rent and being rented and rented cloth
I shall perform the ultimate act finale ce soir
Selecting the sharpest set of long fine knifes
Lighting them with orange flame, the juggling act begins
My audience enthralled, once again
Wondering maybe does he ever miss?
I never miss, I never shall, this is a certainty
The knifes a glow in fire, lighting the nighttime sky,
Tossed high, I lie down fast, tossed a rose in the air
A Knife as usual cut the rose stem
One, two, three, the knifes enter my heart
The blood will warm the falling rose
As it gently falls upon my silent chest
I die with a smile, yes my final act a success
The rose so tender upon my breast
Breathless all, Gay Paris has died once more
I never miss
Yet, I miss you
The Butcher Block / Toolbox
(Today, I expunge all thoughts on kitchen knives)
Written: by Tom Wright
7-12-2016
With a paring knife would you butcher a cow?
Bet my sweetie would if you showed her how.
While I, in thought, would seek the proper tool,
I sit cringing at her from a distant bar stool.
Are sharp things not intended for housewives?
We’ve two butcher blocks stocked with knives,
Knives in which I spared no expense to obtain;
But from their use she will frequently abstain,
She prefers a knifes point in lieu of an ice pick,
Always favoring a knife that won’t cut a lick;
To use as a screwdriver should she have need,
Thinking, that if dull one’s slip, she won’t bleed?
When using a knife it’s with a motion of a saw,
And sometimes just watching hangs in my craw.
But seated on my stool I so diligently remain,
Sweetie, grasping any knife, and I’ll not complain.
Trilogy 1) Alice and Vincent
2) The Mask
The one in black
Dapper, sinister with a sharpened string harp
Melodies to defeat the bravest of souls
Can’t go back
Slithering down the rabbit hole
Out of control
You would never know
Tossing smiles
Knifes slice up pink hearts
Stay away, stay away
Stay away from me
Stay away
From the stranger
Avoid the danger
The dandelions always come back
The bourbon flows behind the mask
Let the rabbit crawl
Out of the hole
Look in his eyes
You will see no soul
My eyes are filled with empty gods
Given up on all you lot
Let the devil have his way
Let the darkness make me sway
Haven’t got a bullet to end it all
I just know I have been the fool
The lost one behind the mask
I am not up to the final task
Weep on the floor
Sweep me away
In my three piece suit
You have no idea
The demons who play
Screams and laughter
Screams and pain
Musical insolence
Piano keys dance in my head
I don’t want you to leave me
I don’t want you to know me
Go away
I am the one in the mask
Softy they cry out my name
Ste.......phen Ste.......phen
I could write to you about what it feels like to be
unhinged, untethered, to float on a breeze of malintent
But what would it matter to you?
Thinking random thoughts anchorless,
adrift in a typhoon of emotional baggage
for which you have lost the claim tag.
In this flash bulb, pop snap, presto-chango world
where the only sane thing to do, or be, is to be insane,
I could talk to you of that……
Of the parenting child, wiping up the vomit
of a blighted gene pool.
Of the wound-up, pent-up,
morally straightjacketed, youth who has no example
of the rightness of creation or the necessity of destruction.
All this masticating, ruminating, procrastinating
does not stop the clock,
the pendulum continues its swing….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes within an all too ego driven self,
I assume you don’t know this!
The masses of opiated, upward looking
stiffs, passing through, and over their
pap driven lives don’t know this?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ah, but after realizing I realize nothing
I conclude… you have been there haven’t you?
Perhaps, your realizations did not arrive
from the same lessons as mine.
But after searching through an exorcism of soul
I would think You know,
in your heart of hearts you know.
In one form, or another, at one time, or another,
you have all been there blessed with insanity,
in a world which leaves few other outlets
between life and death.
For the sensitive’s in life are surrounded
with knifes, and guns, and drugs..lures
to cut the tethers, burst our bubbles
and rock our boats.
Chores
I must get up today.
I will need to open my eyes, stretch, yawn and move.
My feet will need to hit the floor first. Not my face.
Why my face you might ask?
because I have fallen lately.
Not so much physically but emotionally.
Losing someone close to you does that.
Whacked by a truck would feel better.
Run over by a train, I favor. A little messy but then the pain…
It would be real and you would be able to see the scars,
easy right there in plain sight.
Instead,
this is worse.
Knifes in my eyes when the sun hits the window,
The birds sing and I yell… “Quiet”
or so I want to.
This would not make her happy. None of this…
Whatever this is…!
I am letting her down. I know.
That can not happen!
So, I get up.
I look at the list.
It is a stupid list. One she left for me, (chores to do) before she left me.
She did not want to go. That was not her fault.
It was just time. Not mine but hers. I am not happy.
Again, I know she would not be happy either,
To witness my state, before I put on my face, I keep hidden.
It helps to hide, what I can not, hide from myself, or her.
Whispers of her voice, flashes of her smile, a silhouette of her pretty body,
They haunt me. Not unkindly, instead… just to bring me hope.
God he hears my broken heart.
He is not deaf at all.
Time is the answer.
“I know.”
It does not…
change how I feel,
today.
Y,
Upside-down, backwards
worlds weep and burn
tried or true pulling into blue
the abandoned, the fright,
the flight
the silence whispering in my mind
taking hold of a long and lonely night
weary as the witch's brew
warning/warming the soul
we ball
we wither
destroyed
amongst it all
sink with the shiny coin
to the bottom of the abyss
or swim naked
to a portled bliss
blackness swans her heartless call
knifes and daggers
ripping vision's past
books bleed their final thoughs
I can't hold on
I can't hold on
running with the bulls
headstrong towards the headstones
frightened by the grizzly of the bears
the midgets holding mirrors
life too soon, can it disappear
and the coffee swirls
I see pain in that smile
swimming with my cream
deep in a heated cup
lusting to get out
loving to get out
the glass, it only cuts if you break it
come look at the impossibility
a cut above colour
curving/craving
the breast
the beast
that is me