The Stampeding Herd

Head down
No questions
No need for questions
Don’t question
Just Run
And Panic
Just like everyone else
That’s all this is
Each of us a member of the Stampeding Herd


Our endless race to out pace our own humanity

Firework Phobia

“Remember your pets on bonfire night,”
Read a warning poster at the vets.
“For failure to lock them safe and tight,
May cause fright and possibly even flight, that night.”
So pets are locked away and secured,
Except for Rufus my cat, who scoffs at such a ban,
And who has always been a fan
Of glittering flashes and of distant bangs.
And who casually saunters,
Past the brightly coloured mortars,
Fired from the neighbourhood’s Bad Lands.

Well, there’s always an exception to prove the rule,
It’s not only pets for whom this night can be cruel,
So now spare a moment and have a thought for,
Those individuals who on this night, more so
Than any other are filled with dread,
Who scream and jump until they’re asleep in bed,
For whom this night is so horrendously long,
And wrong in its very nature,
It’s damning for them to watch others taking pleasure
When it’s blatantly obvious for them to see
The stark conceptual irrationality
Of selling gunpowder in toilet roll tubes,
Just to amuse the general public
On a night when mob mentality rules!!
The fools…..

Bigger bangs; a brighter burst,
That November Thirst,
For Chinese crackers and rocketry,
Make the firework phobics whimper with dug in rationally:
“Why not sell: ‘One Night Only Bullets and Guns?’
You know? Just for the fun,
And years later when it’s all a bit blasé
People may have to think of what’s next, and they’ll say:
“On this one night for us to play,
There are plenty of other types of projectile weaponry.””

Dorchester Man

Once ‘e sat weary
His wife and girl gone
In a tavern, where ‘e feared ‘e
Forever be twenty one

Days lost to frumenty
Laced with rum
Still slurring it furmity
Off his Dorchester tongue

What a sorry creature
Cos e’d knowed what’d done
Loosing it all to that sailor
To that name… NewMan.

For everyone sat there with nothing better to do than drink themselves stupid

Downed drinks drown their stagnant realities
Their conscious crises ebb and wane away
His body thaws to that broken measure
Just so much pain it’s her only pleasure

In the mundane you dream of a bottle
The mediocrity blurred by the bubbles
Unfound pleasures rest with magnum green glass
Dance merrily merry men as though this drink’s your last

Mornings after speak of memories lost
Bulbous noses, reddened faces, inflated navel places
A lifetime dedicated to forgetting it all
He sits with his drunk wife he’s drunk ‘n all

Sugar Triangle

Picked up, pulled away – dropped off
Whips cracked, flesh cut, lives lost

Baths boiling with sugar
The writhing wretches reel
Torture traitors by tearing tree
Barbarism supporting profitability

Ivory towers set concrete in crimson mud

I Dreamt a Dream of a Dream

Indecipherable dreams encroach once more,
Is this the summit; the terminus,
Or simply a plateau in this perpetual cycle?

I dream of a day-dream of a dream,
Of a different reality,
Of a different me,
Of a different she,
Of a different what could be.

Nails dig into my palms,
I’m back again,
Woken quickly by violent shaking.
None sleep.
Thoughts that pitch me against me.
Thoughts: I can’t be the things I want to be.

I see the father before me,
He knows me from the inside out.
He can’t let me progress here.
We’re fighting.
He’s right,
He can see my dreams,
And knows they should never be,
Not for him, me or she.

I day-dream a dream of a dream,
Of elated faces,
Of inscrutable pride,
Of indestructible belonging,
Of infinite possibilities.

Fading hopes.
Fading embraces,
Fading away are,
Fading faces.

I dream of a day-dream of a dream.
But wake up,
To find it’s just me.

The Doubter

To be the fastest; the smartest; the bravest; the greatest,
This all seems very appealing to me.

To be the nihilist; the self-deprecator; the self-implicator; the self-denier;
I tell myself: This makes no sense to me.
But in the recesses of my mind,
Where I know what it means to be me,
In that dark and misty void,
I scream freedom of misery, of contemplation, of belief.
And I see this in me.

My conscious mind plays tricks on me,
Through tired eyes and erratic thoughts,
A vision hidden in the mists.
A vessel presenting my soul to the heavens,
Is sucked under the deadening ichors that flow beneath.

So all is lost to me,
All that could be.

Taken down, once again, emptiness evermore.

Stride forward, pointlessly, onwardly, in vein,
And when I die who will remember my name?

So live this life day to day.

Hollow man centre stage,
Love me……

Twilight Takes Hold

Twilight takes hold and the feasting begins,
A celebration of our pagan rites,
Osseous kingdom of pain,
And we shall burn in the flames,
Satanic verse to be chanted tonight.

A cavalcade will come,
The charge of Thunder will be done,
Lupine cries pierce the midnight air,
Sweet red wine on her lips,
And my hands on her hips,
And the fragrance of sodden hair.

Faces go by, Our victims do cry,
Temptation sweeps through the night,
Propensity to hate and be destroyed,
Contrasts to the vulpine fight.

We enter into Eden through the gates of despair,
To pluck the fruit from the tree,
Take one bite, climb another height,
I shall give a florid memor’ of me.

The multitude close upon the fire,
We inhale deep the wood-smoke,
Our vision speak prophecy,
Of malice and of human slump.

Dawn takes hold, and our cycle concludes,
We whisper requirements for the dead,
Remembering what has been done,
And what our twisted prophets have said.