Nonsense

'So tell me once again, the time?'

It's half past, nearly,
Getting on for fine.

'And what's the weather
Going to do?'

It might just rain
In a corner or two.

'Oh really?
When do you think I was born?'

Why yesterday month
In an elephant storm.

'Ridiculous!!
You just don't make sense!'

Stop questioning me
You make the present tense!!

Harlots and Heretics

'Understand me now!' she cried,
As in the ducking stool she writhed and twisted
And tore her skin on God's own rope.
For was HE not the one who put her there?
'I am no witch, I am no whore, God made me, I am his!'
But feeble words were drowned
As icy water clamped her head in vice like claws,
And salted wounds erupted around voiceless screams.

'My lungs explode,' she thought,
When once again clergy’s madman
Jerked her from deaths liquid grasp
To flounder in the noisy air.
They cursed her long and loud,
Her crime of living more sickening to them than any murder.

'I did nothing' she gasped,
As padre's fist closed her mouth forever.
'God, just let me die!' she prayed
As stars exploded in her mind;
But no such easy end awaited this fair maid.

They dragged her, silent,
From the witches chair,
With hating hands,
That introduced her to the cobbled street,
That broke her bones and bruised her skin
With stony hard indifference.
'Burn the witch' chant the children,
Infantile ignorance fed by prejudice and hate.

She hardly felt the snapping of her spirit
When her bloody eyes beheld the wood ahead.
Her funeral pyre, pointing to the brilliant sky,
The finger of the devil mocking God.
They tied her,
Pierced her feet with broken twigs
And lashed her shattered body,
To prevent escape.
Their feeble minds rejoiced to see
The greedy flames consume her flesh
And melt the curse she whispered with her dying breath.

'God loves you' she thought,
'Why then could he not love me,
When all I strove to do was save the child from death.'
'Her death is mine' she thought,
And wondered as they cut her down
Why pain no longer racked her form.

They tossed her, smouldering, onto a cart
And drove her to the place the roads did cross.
And there she watched with molten eyes
As eager hands removed the soil to make a pit that gaped like sin.

'What happens here?' she thought in fear,
'have they not had enough of me?'

But then they tossed her into soil
That tried to cool her smouldering flesh.
'She's dead!!' they cried,
'And now she lies at Satan's gate for him to use as she deserves!'

Cold earth embraces her from all sides.
All that remains,
A body rotten and decayed that holds a mind,
That weeps and cries and echoes on the night
'God save me, am I not one of your own?'

But there comes no reply,

Save the clicking of the devils tail as he advances.

Lovely!

You just can't eat get enough with a spoon,

Sometimes only a handful will do.

Well,

Our fingers were here before spoons were,

It's the sensiblist eating to do!

Drowning

Drowning

Implies a lack of breath

And a surfeit of water,

Usually accompanied

By at least a small degree 

Of panic.

Not her.

She's lounging in the water,

Flattering it with her presence,

Contemplating staying,

If she likes it enough.

Music

I'm having a musical moment,
Well actually more than just one,
And my writing's a little neglected,
The singing, right now, is more fun!

So I'm going to make a recording,
When I've got all the sound of it right,
At the rate of improvement I'm making,
It's going to be a long night!!

TERRY PRATCHETT

THERE'S A NEW ONE COMING!

SNUFF

Out on the 13th October.

Oh happy day!!

Streets

Streets ahead,
or
Streets apart,

It's all about
The
Distance.


Nicer
To be
Side-by-side
In the same
Street.

Closer.