Bruce Lee
was God to me,
a docile tip of fury
in potent pose for good.
Bare philosophy
in open shroud,
tiger truth
born of dragon ~
twin forces silent
settled with his pup...
©Steven Francis poems 2014
More poetry from Welsh poet/writer Steven Francis. Described by one reviewer as "the poet with a magic microscope into human emotion", Steven is a fascinating walk into a dawn where the sun reveals everything...
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label God. Show all posts
Wednesday, 14 May 2014
Sunday, 4 May 2014
Evolution 2:17
Fear looks with wooden eyes
from city veins in barbed hell,
to murder on a swan horizon.
No love of God
or love for dogs ~
Wish they and followers
would slip into babel lacerations,
clutching crooked jackdaw hearts
and muted hernias.
Man is safe from ref throat halls,
tricks, learned so well...
©Steven Francis poems 2014
from city veins in barbed hell,
to murder on a swan horizon.
No love of God
or love for dogs ~
Wish they and followers
would slip into babel lacerations,
clutching crooked jackdaw hearts
and muted hernias.
Man is safe from ref throat halls,
tricks, learned so well...
©Steven Francis poems 2014
Thursday, 27 March 2014
Skin Opus '85
Rocket images
guiding light to permed ailes,
as walled smiles look on
creased from too many XXX'es and litter pup halos.
Call to thighs!
Revive silk heeled alleys,
where lay the Graces and the Joys
beneath neon cramps and coked signatures,
heil dildo and the noose.
Crown of Cynthia,
of Sin;
dollar scythes twirling through skin valleys
of wonder dolls and retro prayer.
How sleeps the wolf,
a champion of c_ck soldiers
where economy lies soiled in dirty wishes.
Sour dames in faceless fame
shunned by dog tourists...
ghost starlets at home in spanner shaped coffins
under Hollywood pier,
while demon cars break spines
of wooden godfathers flashing Gucci fangs.
God save ignored reptilia!
And tend to angels with wings
dead as buttocks,
coma quiet
and barnacle rough.
As king is always king
and death forever screamed in Latin,
quick money heads to
starry eyed Vegas,
to a war beyond coyote dens
where clapperboards snap like guillotines.
War, another saturated war,
the heroin patrons are fixed,
war and fights,
dicks and grins,
cirrhosis rose for wars...
©Steven Francis poems 2014
guiding light to permed ailes,
as walled smiles look on
creased from too many XXX'es and litter pup halos.
Call to thighs!
Revive silk heeled alleys,
where lay the Graces and the Joys
beneath neon cramps and coked signatures,
heil dildo and the noose.
Crown of Cynthia,
of Sin;
dollar scythes twirling through skin valleys
of wonder dolls and retro prayer.
How sleeps the wolf,
a champion of c_ck soldiers
where economy lies soiled in dirty wishes.
Sour dames in faceless fame
shunned by dog tourists...
ghost starlets at home in spanner shaped coffins
under Hollywood pier,
while demon cars break spines
of wooden godfathers flashing Gucci fangs.
God save ignored reptilia!
And tend to angels with wings
dead as buttocks,
coma quiet
and barnacle rough.
As king is always king
and death forever screamed in Latin,
quick money heads to
starry eyed Vegas,
to a war beyond coyote dens
where clapperboards snap like guillotines.
War, another saturated war,
the heroin patrons are fixed,
war and fights,
dicks and grins,
cirrhosis rose for wars...
©Steven Francis poems 2014
Thursday, 5 September 2013
Laughs Out Allowed
Werewolf lord with shipwrecked smile
know that there is no humour in vanity,
no mirth in easy offence
so drop the mule act
and find a style of YOURS not THEM.
No to God.
No to copyright.
No to Gossip, Kings and Love
(all capitals),
but fret not ham diamond Buddha.
The words in this stanza
do not apply to you my would-be hero...
©Steven Francis poems 2013
know that there is no humour in vanity,
no mirth in easy offence
so drop the mule act
and find a style of YOURS not THEM.
No to God.
No to copyright.
No to Gossip, Kings and Love
(all capitals),
but fret not ham diamond Buddha.
The words in this stanza
do not apply to you my would-be hero...
©Steven Francis poems 2013
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