Thread: My poems/stuff
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Old 10-10-2004, 12:59 AM   #1 (permalink)
Strange Famous
follower of the child's crusade?
 
My poems/stuff

I thought I should make a unified thread rather than keep posting things on their own. Here is something I wrote the other day. I was in a bad mood.



REWRITE

The iron gant who haunted the silver birch wood of my childhood

Deedication: One

Crying
Tear that freeze
In the headlights of a
Dark blue car
Swinging round, outside my window;
It's squaring me up
I sense that one of these days
It's going to run right through the wall
And crush me into pieces.
I used to think that I would be murdered
One night in my bed
By a man in a darak balaclava
I used to see things sometimes
In the half dark, I would see it raining indoors
I wanted to scream
in terror, but who is there to run to?
There's still no one to run to.
I never cried much as I got older
There was no one to hold me
There's still no one to hold me
I might drift away one of these days
Or more likely
Sink to the bottom
And lay there for a while.

I see myself as a child
I am a crippled boy
I am a dead thing
Decaying, What was one alive
Was never enough
To hold on to
I was born in a thunder storm
And a great black bat with huge leather wings
Beat a slow menancing flight
over the village in the rain
The shadow crossing every home
From the doctors house
Up to the church
And right across the lane.

It moved from the place I was born
Out to the sea
It flew 37 miles from the coast
In a north north east direction
And then dropped down to the water
Food for the fishes
Now

I am not the child who was stillborn
I came to life that night
A twisted, blighted, sub creation
They couldn't face
Smuggle it away
Smuggle that thing away
And stop it crying
Stop it ****ing crying
JUST STOP ****ING CRYING
smother it with the blanket
JUST STOP ****ING CRYING

wrap it up
Weight it with a couple of pieces
of old masonary
From the wall of the pub
Where my father used to drink
Before I killed him
When he was dreaming
When I was still in limbo
Still in dreamland.

I bit of each of his fingers
Right down to the palm of his hand
Cut open the chest
Of a dead raven
Stuffed a handful of daddy inside
And it came to life
And flew right at him
Pecked out his eye's
Silly ****
He couldnt fight back
He only had bloody little stumps for hands
And he was dead drunk
Poor silly ****
He couldnt see
Where he was going
And he ran in front of an articulated lorry
They had to scrape his body
Off the road
With an old man's shovel
Oh, he'll never be able to clear
The snow from his driveway
And not think of it
Again.

If he had lived
My mother might have gone ahead
With the abortion
That's what he wanted
Yeah, I know for a fact
That that was what he wanted.


Let's not leave her behind
Lets not leave her behind
My funeral procession
Dead baby and swaddling
Cloth
Take it down
By the river
and chuck it in
It's just a stream really
But what does it matter
WHen you are dead
When you have never lived

Mummy's crying
Back in a wooden bed
In a damp little cottage
****ty place
I'll come back and haunt it
I'll make myself into a gale
I'll blow and I'll blow
and these ****ing walls will all fall in

I'll make a pattern with 15 knives
and clean them on your arms
Up and down
up and down
You need to hold my hand
I cant grip the handle
properly
My hand is to small
The muscles never developed
Wrap your mummy paw
Around my tiny five digits
We'll hold the knife together
Help me
Keep on hurting you
Like you hurt me
Like you killed me
26 years
or something
ago
__________________
"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."

The Gospel of Thomas
Strange Famous is offline  
 

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