NaPoWriMo April 14th, Another Lifetime's Work

Where there are prophecies, they will cease
Because time flows incessantly
Pouring over ideas until they conform to reality,
Distilling the grain on which men feast.

Where there are tongues, they will be stilled
Because death is no friend of freedom
Though speech frames the notion society holds
Of an incurable desire never to be killed.

Where there is knowledge, it will pass away
Because the fallacy of the tide of progress
Is that it does not flow in one direction,
But forms and retreats as sure as there is hell to pay.

April 13th NaPoWriMo Cop Out

Oh cheese, you wore me out
And beer, you made me stout
I hosted a party
With guests hale and hearty
And it's left me with poetry, naught.

NaPoWriMo, April 12th - No Idea

NaPoWriMo, April 12th 

No Idea

I place you in the circle of my familial love, from whence
I gift you with my token, velvet compassion against dissent.

Now I can walk the universe's spectacular end, strangely neat
On the trail of sodden petals, gentle and soft under bare feet,

And you will remain encased in my protection,
Though you reject it a thousand times;

And I can swim to the deepest current, violently ripped
On the wicked thorns of thoughtless devotion, sweet-scented, blood-tipped

And you will feel the caress of my patience
Though you deny it a thousand times;

Then I can fly on the desirous breath of scented hurricanes
Through leaves pressed scathingly rough against my dubious aims

And you will bathe in the warm pools of my comfort,
Though you rebuff it a thousand times.

I place you in the circle of my familial love, from whence
My gift to you is non-consensual, uncivil in your defence.

Spell for Burn-Out, NaPoWriMo April 11th

Burnt orange rind, bitter ash

Scattered over damp dank earth

Dark grey dawn to dark grey night

Knocking at the window sash

Gather up the elements

Fisting, twisting, spit and snarl

Mould and mellow amber wax

Be still in sunlight's presence

Epic April 10th NaPoWriMo Fail

In desperation, and with a whole lot of help from my - errr, friends? - I bring you the epic April 10th NaPoWriMo fail:

#1 (Please use Canadian accent)

There once was an old man from Cambridge,
Who knew a sweet tweeter with cleavage
He had a face like an otter,
She could swim underwater,
Ducking ducks together they played quidditch...

#2 (Please use a very, very bad urban youf accent)

Cambridge,
Like a fridge,
Where you play quidditch,
It is quite rich,
It aint Stourbridge,
Not a ditch,
I aint no snitch,
But it aint got no urban rhythm!

NaPoWriMo, April 9th; Not The Whole Poem

NaPoWriMo, April 9th

Not The Whole Poem

You could be in a desert
With shimmering second sight
Salted sea to the North and
Crusted, white sand to the East, and
Flowering fig trees to the South, and
Bowers of roses to the West.

But they only have bowers of roses in poems.

I could be in a fool's paradise
With mist covering my eyes, and
Monkey's fingers in my ears, and
My lips sewed tight with butcher's string, and
Rose thorns in my fleshy hide.

But they don't beat hides with thorns in poems.

Ode to Bacon, NaPoWriMo April 8th

Ode to Bacon

My blood sings, as it passes through my veins,
Of empty mitochondria and lack
Of care and comfort, so vicious it pains
The delicate homeostatic plaque
Decorating arteries' finest walls
And hunger wails its divine truthful course 
Thundering, train-like, from stomach to brow
Descending again, fast as water falls.
Granulated hiccoughs, coarse,
Excruciating rumbles, announce how
Desperate a hunt is required through malls. 

'Feed me! Oh Mistress, take pity, I pray!'
What food can satisfy such pitiful 
Demand? Salty desire a dancing sway,
Phantom smokiness, tantalising full-
Tongued and satisfyingly delicious.
Meaty and pink-blushed, I follow the call
To the butcher's counter. Whereupon my
Eye discerns wonderful, meretricious,
The apple of lovers, all
Fatty and glistening, passive and - sigh -
Willing. Bacon, my intent's malicious.