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
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 hell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hell. Show all posts
Sunday, 4 May 2014
Friday, 27 September 2013
Pauper, the Next
What is this I see before me?
Hell in all its glory...
Die.
Pass into emblem of state,
no file await the Hollywood
this time.
No Nightingale lines the larynx.
Not for you
flashpoint God
Of yellow lines and slender tantrum.
Adore today
adieu today,
but not the night
when you silently pass
(without fanfare)
into the It,
the What.
Whatever.
Bone broke
Thomas with green,
brackets with sulphur.
Click boxes
and the bait men would raise
and seethe...
©Steven Francis poems 2013
For the Hollywood pampered who in the next world become bone.
@Steven Francis 2009
Hell in all its glory...
Die.
Pass into emblem of state,
no file await the Hollywood
this time.
No Nightingale lines the larynx.
Not for you
flashpoint God
Of yellow lines and slender tantrum.
Adore today
adieu today,
but not the night
when you silently pass
(without fanfare)
into the It,
the What.
Whatever.
Bone broke
Thomas with green,
brackets with sulphur.
Click boxes
and the bait men would raise
and seethe...
©Steven Francis poems 2013
For the Hollywood pampered who in the next world become bone.
@Steven Francis 2009
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