28 -The Dead Man In The Basement

Poem number 28
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The Dead Man In The Basement
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The Dead Man In The Basement
Should be out of sight and mind
But The Dead Man In The Basement
Well, he’s nothing of the kind.
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The Dead Man In The Basement
Smells of pork and long goodbyes,
The house is always buzzing
With his colony of flies.
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The Dead Man In The Basement
Left his mark upon my wall,
A vivid scarlet bloodstain
From the night he took his fall.
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The Dead Man In The Basement
Hasn’t gone, he’s always there
In the creaking of my floorboards
And the cobwebs in my hair.
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The Dead Man In The Basement
Lies in waiting for the day
When he rises from the basement
With a grin, and makes me pay.

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31 – Drawn Through Darkness

Poem number 31
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Drawn Through Darkness
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The darkness drags you through the seams
Of normal life through shattered dreams
And nightmares from a different age
More primal, violent, full of rage
The midnight streets drip ragged malice
Homeless in a cardboard palace
Dealers push to earn their corn
Pockmarked ladies, real life porn
For fifty quid the world is yours
Inhaled through atavistic pores
How easy now to fall from grace
This darkness is another place
To yield is easy, simple sin
To weaken senses, just give in
But then the wolves arrive in packs
Too late, my friend, to hide your tracks
The fallen, tempted, easy prey
The boots kick out, the world goes grey.

114 – A Thousand Starlings

Poem number 114
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A Thousand Starlings
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The boughs bend under the weight of a thousand starlings
Sharp eyes and sharp beaks
Malevolence speaks
Through a thunder of wings as they lift off to devour some mother’s darling.
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Black feathered predators, swooping down on the unguarded child
Pecking eyes, ripping cheeks
Red blood leaks
As the mother screams her despair, humankind returned to the wild.
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Starlings are feral and should be feared when they gather together
Assassins so sleek
With a threat that’s unique
So be alert, don’t lose focus for a second lest your child is gone forever.

123 – OnOffOnOffGone

Poem number 123
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OnOffOnOffGone
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I switched the light switch on again
The Devil was still there
I switched the light switch off again
Could smell his cordite hair
I switched the light switch on again
He flashed his pointy teeth
He switched the light switch off again
And dragged me down beneath.

172 – Rest In Peace

Poem number 172
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Rest In Peace
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Enjoy the silence
The absence of all noise
No loud distractions
Or disruptive girls and boys
No bangs no smashes
And no babies screaming through the night
Just total silence
You can concentrate alright.
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The dark, the heavy space
The earth piled high above
No air upon your face
No words from those you love
The wooden walls so close
You can feel the splinters with your toe
You always wanted peace and quiet
But you didn’t want to go.
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Suffocate in silence
The air is stale and sparse
You were only sleeping
Now you’ve got your wish at last
No noise, no screaming kids
Just muffled fright and silent fear
You’ve got your peace and quiet
But it’s you that disappeared.

187 – The Ambulance Of Justice

Poem number 187
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The Ambulance Of Justice
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The Ambulance Of Justice speeds along the dusty trail
With its siren screech a banshee, drawing near
Stopping seldom, always swiftly, as the light begins to fail
Over victims who are paralysed with fear.
A stamp of brakes, a skid of tyres, a momentary pause
Then a booted foot emerges from within
A figure clothed in shadows, six foot high and lantern jawed
A machete, metal handcuffs and a grin.
A languid lunge, a snatch, a slash, a slam of double doors
In a cloud of dust the Ambulance moves on
Leaving nothing at the roadside but a bloodstain on the floor
As a hint to where its latest prey has gone.
If you’re walking by the roadside on that dusty, lonely trail
Pay attention, stay alert and keep your head
Lest the Ambulance Of Justice, with its banshee siren wail
Picks you out, and hits the brakes, and makes you dead.

211 – The Bedbugs Never Bite

Poem number 211
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The Bedbugs Never Bite
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Where are all the monsters now that I am 43
And bedtime is a pleasure after one last cup of tea?
Where’s the trepidation and the fear of what’s ahead
And the terror of the eyeballs rolling round beneath the bed
I’m the one that did the hoovering, the one who locked the doors
And I know the house is empty, with no need to fear the floors
I can lie there in the silence, I can savour dead of night
Never fearing for my safety, never feeling any fright
I’m an adult, I’m a grown up, I’m too old for nameless dread
I’m too old for silly nightmares, I’ll have dreamless sleep instead
But although that’s right and proper and the way that it should be
Perhaps there’s something missing, something magic, something free
And perhaps that bit of terror at the creaking of the floor
Was a boon and not a penance, some excitement, nothing more
And the adults, all complacent, not afraid to douse the light
Are the ones who should be frightened, for the balance isn’t right –
There seems little point in living once the monster’s disappeared
Where’s the magic, or the wonder now the dark is never feared?

265 – The Curfew Rings

Poem number 265
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The Curfew Rings
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The pavement is littered with severed heads
It’s mostly teenagers today, there must have been a party.
Typical teenagers, out when they should’ve been in their beds
Safe and sound well before Curfew.
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Perhaps they thought that they would be spared
As so many others have not been
But the Curfew Rings have no mercy and cared
Not for the youth of the miscreants.
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For the Curfew Rings are but machines
Sent out to do another’s bidding
As is Fredbot 3.0, who now cleans
Up the pavement in the light of the new sun.
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Fredbot 3.0 with his suction tubes and grinding plates
Removing the heads from the street
Before Centre opens up the gates
To give the citizens permission to leave for work.
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And here lies a Curfew Ring, amongst the heads on the ground,
Pulsing spasmodically – a victim of depleted energy cells
Its saw-teeth still coated with the blood that it found
And then released, from the neck of a miscreant
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So graceful in flight, glowing blue and soaring
Through the sky with its fellows,
Alive to the sounds of pulsing hearts and veins, drawing
Ever closer to the miscreants below.
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But here in the sun drenched morning, cells depleted
It is nothing. A metal hoop with a serrated inner edge
Lying, helpless, amongst the justice it meted
Out with such machine-like efficiency.
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Fredbot 3.0 snags the fallen Curfew Ring and drops it into his charging slot –
By the time he gets back to Central
It will be fully powered up, ready to be shot
Out at midnight, to deal with more miscreants
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Ready to fly through the city in search of those who flout the Rightful Law,
To lasso itself around their necks then contract, squeeze,
Sever, as it spins its metal toothed jaw
Through the raw flesh and bone beneath, before moving on.
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And tomorrow there will be more heads on the ground
Empty eyed, hair stirring in the morning breeze
And Fredbot 3.0 will come around
Once more, to clean the streets for a new day.

270 – Return Of The Cat

Poem number 270
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Return Of The Cat
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The cat is back
Although it’s dead
I hear it as
I lie in bed
The same light claws
The same miaow
What was a pain
Is eerie now
I fear the cat
Does bear a grudge
I’ve filled my boxers
Up with fudge
I hear it coming
Up the stair
Miaow miaow
It isn’t fair
My end is nigh
I’m sure of that
I wish I hadn’t
Killed the cat.