Tag: living

A carnivore’s forbidden desire

The follow up from the archives…

You should read this first.  I did so enjoy writing it.  Below is quite the opposite and not a single word of it is true.  Ok maybe the frog pasty bit but only that.

 

After much consideration it appears I would perhaps

like to try Koala glazed with cranberries and schnapps

and I’m now perhaps quite tempted by a plate of hamster fillet

just as long as it’s deboned and someone took good care to skin it

 

These days I’m rather ready for a broth made out of Turtle

I would even eat a pokemon, say Pikachu or Squirtle

and I’d not say no pasties filled with vegetables and frog

and my mouth sure starts to slaver at the thought of slow roast dog

 

Ooh a seventies style fondue with small chunks of cat and monkey

and a creamy sauce of gruyere cheese would be ever so funky

and then wash it down with beaver juice fresh squeezed, soda and lime

or a thick stew made with Panda bits would hit the spot each time

 

Then at lunch time there’d be squirrel cakes and sauces thick and tasty

and a wellington with mushrooms and a parrot wrapped in pastry

there’d be volauvents with gold fish tails and budgie infused cider

and a lion steak and hippo cheek and tender side of tiger

 

Oh the banquet of the carnivore holds such delicious treats

mouth watering and quite sublime with most forbidden meats

they care not now for beef or lamb or chicken, goose or pork

to the extreme their pallet’s crave such dark things on their fork.

 

 

Raw

“She shone bright, a lifetime ago

In joy filled summer days and warm and wanton nights”

 

She shone bright, a lifetime ago

In joy filled summer days and warm and wanton nights

When he was still the man he could have been

And dreamed of more than he would ever have

 

Now fingers pointed voices raised and hearts long lost

to others, cruel words cut deep

To the bone

white flashes in crimson flesh

Day into night

some more ramblings

Each breath searing, stumbling in darkness

Infant cries as day turns black as night

And in the dark a plume of crimson towers high

As earthly fury snuffs out all hope with fingers black

that squeeze the throat and blur the eyes

as gods old and new heed not the screams

and turn away and unto fate condemn.

Sharon

Sometimes I see a picture and just …well this just happens.

Perfumed and poised she stares into rich rioja red

painted lips stained darker still and eyes heavy at nights end

Thump of base and lights dimmed low

She remembers, head and heart hunger for his touch

rough hands on soft skin and back arched in blissful bond

though now just a memory and she waits for the last dance

to be held and to feel alive once more

for chance to forget memories of his leaving

because she was a dirty cow and never cleaned her bathroom

Remembering

Just a bunch of words mostly.

At times his mind like treacle thick and black, slow flowing

Of days so laughter filled yet now mere echoes remain and drift

across mist shrouded distant views of vistas once so bright and clear

and to those things he clings yet through frail fingers slip

Forgotten Sepia faces smile back knowingly from curled cornered photos

and in the dark they call his name, voices long forgotten and shut out

and though he turns in search of face familiar

he stands alone and yet

the things he pushes down and back and out of reach they call

reminding him of thoughts dark as pitch and deeds to match

and with covered ears he chooses to forget once more

and into restless silence slips…

 

 

 

Through My eyes

My gift to you

 

If I could give you this one thing

of all those gifts I may possess

from love to life to sweet embrace and all I am and know

take chance to wake each day to see yourself through eyes of mine

each word, each thought each moment lived

then surely heart and head and soul would know

and conscious raw and raging thoughts

these truths so sweet with honesty tempered

that yes, you are a twat

A carnivore’s forbidden desire

It’s a work of fiction okay, don’t report me!

You should read this first.  I did so enjoy writing it.  Below is quite the opposite and not a single word of it is true.  Ok maybe the frog pasty bit but only that.

 

After much consideration it appears I would perhaps

like to try Koala glazed with cranberries and schnapps

and I’m now perhaps quite tempted by a plate of hamster fillet

just as long as it’s deboned and someone took good care to skin it

 

These days I’m rather ready for a broth made out of Turtle

I would even eat a pokemon, say Pikachu or Squirtle

and I’d not say no pasties filled with vegetables and frog

and my mouth sure starts to slaver at the thought of slow roast dog

 

Ooh a seventies style fondue with small chunks of cat and monkey

and a creamy sauce of gruyere cheese would be ever so funky

and then wash it down with beaver juice fresh squeezed, soda and lime

or a thick stew made with Panda bits would hit the spot each time

 

Then at lunch time there’d be squirrel cakes and sauces thick and tasty

and a wellington with mushrooms and a parrot wrapped in pastry

there’d be volauvents with gold fish tails and budgie infused cider

and a lion steak and hippo cheek and tender side of tiger

 

Oh the banquet of the carnivore holds such delicious treats

mouth watering and quite sublime with most forbidden meats

they care not now for beef or lamb or chicken, goose or pork

to the extreme their pallet’s crave such dark things on their fork.

 

 

Nonsense

It’s late, I probably shouldn’t have bothered.

Now I ask myself so many times when I see what others do

Would I maybe like to do as they and try those wild things too

Could I dangle like a Christmas bauble bungie cord attached

Though I fear that I would shit my pants and it run all up my back

 

How about I run in Spain with bulls it seems intense for sure

Though I’m fat and old and rather slow and my arse they’d surely gore

And I don’t enjoy paint balling as I did it once, and no

I’m far too big a target and it bloody hurts you know

 

And no to surfing thanks no thanks, I tried it when much younger

as my trunks came off and my arse was filled with sand when I went under

and I have no urge to parachute though I have no fear of flying

it’s the mess you make when the chute don’t work and Im quite averse to dying

 

I’d thank you kindly if you said you’d we’re hiking in the hills

But I’ll just stay home as its full of bears and they give me the chills

Though they’re not as bad as sharks so no with them I’ll not be swimming

Think I’ll skip it and watch Netflix and my nails they do need trimming

Each memory a star

In the dark of night.

At days end when time flies and sun sits low

In crimson skies and blood red stained gives way to black

He thinks of her and years of love come flooding in

From loves first flush to darker days

But always light with golden rays and hope and joy

Illuminate and feeding, green shoots blossom bright

And smiling, eyes closed he embraces

Each vision clear as days gone by and into nothing slow he slips

a burning sun quenched in swirling seas of time

A twinge of fate – March Prompts 25/31

A brief meander

M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:

“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”

Let us see what whimsical nonsense I can whip up in ten minutes…

You can see the prompts here.

I’m not a believer in predestination, but I know people are, and that’s great.  In fact, I am not a believer in much other than what I can see or what can be proven.

I used to believe in all sorts of stuff, but no more.  I gave that lark up a few years ago and whilst I’m still working on parts of what I believe I find that mostly, beyond that which can be proven, I think we’re a huge stroke of luck and in this mind mindbogglingly large universe we are very much a ripple in a vast ocean of  chance.

Now I know I should probably have a better answer than that but you know what, I don’t.  A friend of mine insists we are here for a good time not a long time and I like that.  I am not talking pure hedonistic pleasures, simply the pursuit of that which makes you happy.

I reckon that when we’re dead we are simply no more and whatever energy courses through us is released when we are disposed of in which ever way we might choose.

I know it is simple and that lots of people have compelling arguments to the contrary but I don’t really care because I have found a peace that I never had at any other point in my life and I’m rather happy with that.