SteNic (The Horror Replaced)

I step outside of EverWorld
lost to hate.
Ravens no longer roost
in my ribcage
pecking at the melody within.
These bones cradle a heart
as gentle as rainbows,
the terrible cry of the reaper bird
has hushed.

Shadows clot no more,
she is light
my happy ending,
the madness bit the bullet.

I had lived like a rumour
in a corner,
with scabbed lungs
padded liver
and both claws on hemp rope,
but nightmares end
all godless things must die.

Nana Love has touched me,
razors have turned to feather
the chainsaw song is heard,
madness no longer a crime.

Alone on drugged plains
I had twitched like a Turkish dancer
for attention,
needing to drown the feral crazes
in applause.
Hunting for a crowd
to hide in,
to escape ravages of solitary
the gothing extreme.

But no more.
My plague queen has Christened me
and tamed the tumour,
true love iced the loathing.
Humbly caught
I cannot miss any of those kisses.

Fevered creations have had
their funerals,
whipping posts turned to ash.
Nana Love catches me
this is forever,
I am born
this is my birth.
New York has never been
so supersonic...

@Steven Francis poems 2004

Young Wolves To Entertain

Wind me up again
people of the natter,
I will sing a song
(yeah just say when)
of Love and dogs
of razors and angels,
stab a stiletto
subtle queen of fang.

To gorge on distant cultures
in vague hours of distress,
I am well fed
fed well on bacon rind and cider,
glory to the never heard
ignorance keeps me sane.

A sensitive fiend
from cradle to eternity,
shaped from the breaking wheel
and basket of horrors.
And while juniper candy
fails to hook the fillies
I burn my dancing clothes in hell.

These teeth (clenched and sun drenched)
brushed with old newspapers
to tickle slap on smiles
of reassurance,
which pander to energetic urges
of distemper.
Viva melancholia!
Steal me a catastrophe.

The crisis has bled
I cannot quell actions
I cannot control the accents.
Eulogies on blotting paper
nauseating phantom.

And sadly
like the disfigured peacock
in Narcissus's attic
I fold away lacerations
into moth woven purses
to await the arrival
of a new crowd
to tease and poke...

@Steven Francis poems 1997

Chewing The Blue Chalk

The rain don't fall
the sun won't shine
but the wind cannot blow any harder.
I did stupid things
to impress you sugar,
they only pushed you farther.

This faceless life
in a prison cell
faking death to make time fly,
I didn't beg
when you pulled my wings off,
and never asked you why.

I discovered Heaven
after coming home from hell,
unpacked my bags and nursed the scars.
All the drunks I'd been
I gave back to the devil
no more hangovers, no more bars.

But where were you
on the eve of clarity?
Leaving a diary filled with sadness.
Those written confessions
left me crouching
on the tongue of madness.

Come kiss crazed girl
my favourite dancer
let me love you fresh and true.
Paint me black
or a neon red
but please don't paint me blue.

Sober now so strange a land
like testing bath water
in the dark,
the storm has quit
the sun's arrived
flushed from a recent spark...

@Steven Francis poems 2000

Soliloquy Of Captives

Starved and it stretches
the prison cell,
cast an eye into
undeserving hell.

The bars of a hunter
behind which people can see,
hearts of the hunted
which long to be free.

Apes in their apehouse
tamed tigers like drunks,
snakes in glasshouses
resembling dead elephant trunks.

King of the jungle
the lion's rule,
now standing smaller
and whipped to a stool.

Lifeless are cages
that hold those weakened strong
and soulless are those
to whom they belong.

Killer whales with balloons
perfore for applause,
chained to the water
for no other cause.

Paper hat cheetahs
looking listless and still,
spoonfed crocodiles
robbed of their kill.

One cell to another
most distressing in sight,
the day smells of children
tasting freedom at night.

Wolves in the doghouse
monkeys nailed to the trees,
while a polar bear melts
away from the freeze.

A panther fell foul
as a trap had been set,
she struggles like whiplash
in a stinging net.

If God made the beasts,
the Heavens and earth,
shouldn't each living thing
be free from birth?

Spots on the leopard
are as gambled as dice,
a sickening coat
for the highest price.

Rhino in Africa
lived under many suns
then safaris arrived
with drugs in their guns.

Away in the distance
hyenas laugh,
and high amongst leaves
is a wary giraffe.

Cobras spit without
venom or fang,
whilst bats in the belfry
have no place to hang.

Bearded spiders
four legs and one eye,
weaving rusted webs
which untangle the fly.

Great Whites and dolphins
swim battle scarred waves,
taking the bait and getting
hooked to their graves.

In captivity we create
only animal clones,
the deserted oasis is now
a landscape of bones.

Swift on his hooves
but the zebra is caught,
and flown on clouds
to barbed fences is brought.

And what of the camel
with her handcuffed back?
Spitting on crowds
her only attack.

Circus eyes
looking back at you,
from their iron rooms
dying two by two...

@Steven Francis poems 1985

Bleached Backdoor Blonde Pornography

Page three darlings
stalk the shelves
like shadows on gravy,
from bottles filled with televisions.
Treble chinned currencies
and rogue doves,
dragons in love sick fumes.

There go the crew
as heavy as a belly full of binges
and flushed like ashtrays,
feeding on doses of plastic passion.
Welcome junior!
Hold on tight to your
greased up lightning
shot down china dynamite
jailbird sleaze.
Gin'd up fetishes
are game as football
here in the coffee pits.

Listen to the song of fantailed dancers
lined like cocaine
on a hobo's gritty tongue,
as they move along rows
of whiskey sucking moustaches
and calloused fingertips.
Is this glamour?
Are there real jewels?
Can dogs grow flowers
on this ghost train?

Put doubters to sleep
there are no party tricks
at this Idle Fayre
because worms don't see the stars
from holes in frosted hearts.
Sixth senses cannot see
from coshed eyes,
peep show pirates
bin bagged.
Goggle-eyed and rounded up
slapped down monsoons,
pretty pearlies horizon bound...

@Steven Francis poems 1999

Flying Song

Every fear
a dead man dream
a snipers kiss
on latino lips.
Childrens happy graffiti
sewn onto ghost legends
by greying kitten whiskers.

Camera blinks
lens filled with murder
sequels are never this good.
Chipped teeth
a poets pearls,
wisdom bleeds from melancholy.

The return of a reaction
exit wounds like graves,
viva la gravola!
A sword slices the veil
truth lets out,
vicious to feline born.

January winds
shotgun the June sun
applaud its attitude.
There was a hole here once
its gone now,
stinking in the underworld.

Little truths
honest as dewdrops,
noble bruises
part of our religion.
Eccentricity is seeing
angels in coffins.

Trust and faith
are what the brave have
tucked into their flabby mouths.
To define angst
scatter the monkey
onto plagues...

@Steven Francis poems 1999

The Cure For A Lemming

A bus
picks up the skins
and leeches,
the busted wealthy.

I plug my ear holes in
to drown the atavistic din
of vulgar sins,
while the aged guard their passes
I am misfit to the masses.

The tin shuttle
stops for a crash ahead
(wonder who is dead?)
My pulse feels the itch
of a jawless black angel.

I strain against the glass
my heart bold as brass
to see the wounded pass,
as others around me
try hard not to see.

A man
waves us on and on we go,
vipers to our funerals
tigers for lust
the love of the dead.
On we drive
like a murder of crows.

I spot a buzzard in the sky
before I close my eyes
to dream of its prey about to die.
A young ladt coughs
I open them again to watch her breasts lift and drop.

This tender chaos
the journey
the slapstick comedy,
boredom and cruelty
everyone is thinking of death
or their world in solitary.
Lemmings try
and I know why...

@Steven Francis poems 2001