Rapturous Delays

God sits, irate, at the Gate's of Heaven.
It's the 28th Heaven-day, and it still hasn't arrived.
The component for his transportation device.
"The repair man lied when he said it would be here by the tenth" he thought.
He had sat there through sunshine, snow and mist.
"They're going to start to think it doesn't exist" he grumbled
And every rumble of a Heaven-car that passes,
produces a twinkle in his eye.
He smiles and listens.....to the sound disappearing in the distance.
His smile fades.
He struggles to suppress his rage.
He flops back down onto his seat.
Jesus brings him a cup of tea and says,
"Don't worry Dad. You'll be glad when the repair man arrives
with the component you need and we transport those lives"
God pouts and grunts,
"I don't think it will ever come"
Jesus shrugs and skips back to the house.

There's Not Enough Gay Men

It's 3023 and there's not enough gay men.
The seemingly good idea to be more like earth has been proven to be fatal to our way of life.
How could we have possibly foreseen that 20 years after our 'transition', we would be invaded by torturous sex robots from the future, who's only weakness is to be seduced by gay men.
All that's left of the gay's is a small rebel faction, hiding somewhere under ground,
idly trying to convert heterosexuals. They have this bizarre notion that it is achievable to create a super gay army with those who are left in order to win this war.
Futile! That's what it is!
I should know. I was one of them

I Am Hungry

I am hungry for love and waiting for it

I wonder when my love will be noticed and accepted
I hear them screaming for change
I see the ears of salvation hacked off,
trodden on and sold back to them
I want to hear them hear the screams

I am hungry for love and waiting for it

I pretend to pretend for recognition
I feel the weight of carelessness and hate
I touch the bars of the prison gate of our dreams
I worry that we will never see our true selves staring back
I cry at myself
For them
For us

I am hungry for love and waiting for it

I understand that we exist
I say that we shouldn’t.
Destroy it all and start again in the name of truth and love
I dream that tomorrow we will wake up and realize what we are
Before it is too late
I try my life away
I hope that all of our love will be noticed and accepted

I am hungry for love and waiting for it

Homeless

A bag faced bottle muncher
chugs down the dregs of his wishes and dreams
Surrounded by the gleam of a farcical means to an inevitable end
He hides his strides in the cut corner shadows of an undeniable evolution in the wrong direction
The fashionable outlines patrol the edges of light
Guarding their precious reality very closely so
His scratchy shuffle steps grind clear-cut pathways
in the tar pit darkness
Never to set a step in their world again.
His head hangs so low
Bowed and blinded by his own tainted reflection
In this, his matchstick haven
Stumble mumbles pour from his glands like sweat secretion
As he risks to lift his hand at his help point spot
Where the fashionables recoil with repulsion
Some days he is lucky
Most days he is not

Home

Underneath everything we are all screaming out of our skin
Our hopes are lies we tell ourselves
Do we really know who we are?
Aches and pains for answers to which there are no questions.
Closed hearts hide behind locked doors.
Closed minds suck on the teat of the eternal channel of endlessness
Machines of death explode and shower the earth with unmerciful destruction
Machines of profit explode and shower the few with unmerciful greed
I’m cold and old with so much time.
Time to think and cry
While others whither and die
Saturated by lies and hollow truths
Infected by continuous hatred
Seeping and oozing through.
Mangled versions of our selves calling for calmness.
Waiting for a world that doesn’t exist.

A clenched fist.

The antagonism of a chrome-plated existence with liquidized distractions.
Faces bleak and broken.
An empty shell of humanity where we once were
Emanating echoes of happiness.

Contorted Souls

These are my words of truth.
A truth that only exists in the few.
We dream of a world that sometimes seems so close,
And other times so far away.
We watch and hope that the seemingly pointless death
serves a worthy purpose. If not, then we are completely lost.
Lost inside ourselves, when most of us don’t know who we are.
We can’t ignore the desperation of lives seeking life
Rather than a day to day existence.
We refuse to switch our minds off to the injustices
and allow the implanted thoughts to rule us.
We, the broken few,
that try so hard to do what we can to make a difference.
A permanent difference

Mish Mash

My legs are soft boiled eggs, marching like buttered soldiers.
Shoulders like rolling boulders chasing ‘Indy’ in the Lost Arc
My eyes are helpless flies, stuck in a super sticky web.
My fingers are fish stick crumb coats,
with banana coke floats for toes, and a milkshake cat flap for a nose.
My mouth is the mouth of a mouse and I am the size of a house
with razor sharp arm swords, hilts for hands and a body of beef
My feet are constipated punk skunks
that had to much rotting meat to eat
and my bum is a barrel bursting with blackcurrant flavor chewing gum

Draw me