(A lone voice whispers)
Did you know that demons prowl like a clan of hyenas while you sleep?
They come close, creeping in from the dark shadows and sniffing for the odour of your soul.
Their presence may signal that you are becoming increasingly corrupted by the insidious manipulation of society as you grow older.
They seek the sweet smell of cabbage, a feast to collect, much like Bob Marley, as your soul grows weak.
As you carry more and more unnecessary chains and baggage.
So the question is:
Will you pray to your God of choice to strengthen your soul?
For when you sleep, the night dwellers come prowling, creeping in to seek you as their ultimate goal.
For they look for corrupted souls who are drawn to all things wicked, linked to defilement.
As they use soul metastasis to help their wickedness grow, like falling black snow.
(C) Copyright John Duffy
CANCER
It began as a swelling
Localized swelling
Painless at first
Then painful
Then came a period of recession
Oh!
What a sweet relief
Wellness reigns again
Then again the swelling
Only bigger now
Persistent
Bigger
And bigger
They say its cancer
And it has come to stay
No cure, they say
The cancer has metastasized
Through lymphatic vessels
To distant regions
Where it eventually
Commits apoptosis.
The conqueror
Has conquered itself
Relief for the conquered
Succour has come
Finally.
Man has become earth's cancer.
Beware
Of metastasis to other planets!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
01 June 2021
Corsican sand
on the Rio Grande
Simon Bolivar weeps
the night asleep
Renegade cycles
hogs gone mild
Gehinnom's Mayor
Timothy Leary's child
Zebras abound
in Peppermint Land
Alan Ginsberg howls
from primal jowls
Leopold Bloom
did not predict ZOOM
Cosmic collisions silent
without Daniel Boone
Country music
Mix in Ragtime
from Alexander's Band
to Motown Rhyme
Andy Warhol's mind
spilled out in soup cans
Campbell's pork and beans
Welsh Rarebit also-ran
When free association
Met psychic gestalt
The resultant metastasis
Petered out beneath salt
Stream of Consciousness is out
New Age Meaninglessness is sin
Wherever Narcissism reigns
Foot Worship rushes in
The best poems at night
often come unbidden
J. Cricket fervently wished
This one hadn't been written
I dread the thought that Man
With his thoughtlessness and greed
The cancer of our planet has become
Thus
If other planets he conquers, himself to please
Will we be talking about the metastasis of
This horrible disease?
© Demetrios Trifiatis
21 July 2019
If Man,
Life's cancer on earth has become,
We have to stop him from reaching other planets
For
Imperative it is, tumor's metastasis, to prevent!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
26 January 2019
Liar, liar, burn in fire
corruption is your sire
like the metastasis of cancer
you are no star
though the lights shine on you
you're a black hole
taking everything into you.
Yet, liar, this is not your fault
you may hear others say
Nay! You are the maker of your own fortune
Nurtured by your everlasting avarice
charity is the last word on your mind.
Find your inner nature in the end
That of eternal torment.
But, buy your way with greed.
The greed of other men your steed,
Away from the fire chasing after you
But do not worry it'll catch up soon.
Fire, fire, please get higher
eat the liar and
complete this curse
that we call
greed's hearse.
QUESTIONS
1.
Are we the epitome of
All creation,
The jewel on the crown
Of living beings,
Or
Inadvertently have we turn
Into a cancerous tumor that
Constantly threatens
The invincibility of
Mother Nature?
2.
Are we destined to carry our
Civilization to every corner of
The universe,
Or
Are we fated to help the
Metastasis of our cancerous world
To every planet on which
We would land?
3.
Is it really progress this technological
Civilization of ours,
When it has become synonymous
With the destruction of the
Environment,
Or
Should we consider progress as the:
Harmonious coexistence with
The environment and the effort we
Ought to make to elevate
The human race to the heights of
Spiritual attainment?
After giving our answers,
Let each one of us,
According to his consciousness
Proceed!
Surely, we would deserve
The outcome!
©Demetrios Trifiatis
10 February 2013
You are so slimy and wretched.
You fill space like lubricated, liquid metastasis,
Reaching into the deepest forlorn hidey holes of esteem,
Pushing the Sacred, the Connection, the Truth, out and away and
Filling the consciousness with the pus of others’ lies and rage.
I was one of the Pod People, traveling through the universe and glory,
Making motions and sounds that meant NOTHING!
WAITING! For my life to begin.
WAITING! For Joy.
WAITING! For Love.
And It came,
In frenzied exuberance,
Bubbling and percolating up,
Cleansing me,
Recreating me.
The tenacity of your desperate clinging could not resist
The effervescence of this Pure, Clear Truth.
Fear…
Love has passed through you,
And turned you to mirage.
It is the solemn evening song that drifts,
into the valley cup, from the saucer of the moon,
and spreads in wings of darkness, nightshade breath;
arising as molecules of black oil, up from the pithead mouth,
following to the shower stalls, disrobing of the filth,
to hunch below the steaming spray, absolved of dirt and death.
On then, to the concrete block beside the rugby pitch,
where yellow light bleeds damply from the condensation panes,
and into atmosphere, plagued tobacco smoke and gusting beer;
sorrows drowned in pints of ale, pulled foaming from the taps,
the glasses raised and toasted to the ending of the day,
in the fog and mist of hops and fumes the hurt will disappear.
The old boys hold their tongues and smile their toothless smiles,
the cancer in their lungs as grim and fibrous as malignant roots,
unfolds a steady, lazy spread, the wings of metastasis;
until the end of Pithead days, when slaughter of the proudest land,
and plunder of the earth desists, slain by some politic,
who and in what sanity pretext dreamed such a life as this?