At Sea

Young girl by boat – Santo de Vita

 

This the story of a man and his muse

Who went out to sea in a squall

Among the slapping waves a cruise

 

They sailed out in a dinghy

He the habitual drunkard

Eternally under the soporific influence of emotions.

 

She the reality transient

Slipping in and out of his memories

With small naked feet.

 

The little dinghy

Plimsolled in a bright red line

With her dusky white hull.

 

They crested the waves

Listening to the thunder clapping

All the while the rain kissing them.

 

Jaunting steadily over each mountain of water

He looked her in the eye

Her smile did not falter.

 

The wind tossed her tresses

And she slipped out of her rain sopped clothes

Bronzed; a goddess.

 

The poor fellow gaped

As she walked right through his mind like she was always wont to do

Into the beyond.

 

The wind howled

The sails flapped

And the waves crashed!

 

Oh what a nightmarish din!

But she held her own

The brave little boat.

 

His muse faded into the gray sea

And the ocean chucked spray into his eyes

But he was not there.

 

He saw her

A bright light glowing

His siren.

 

Haunted by the memories

He followed her footsteps

Tracked into the library of his memoirs.

 

The little dinghy lifted high into the sky

Was illuminated by a thread of lightning

And was swallowed by the glow.

 

All that remained after the storm

Was a piece of driftwood

Plimsolled in a bright red line.

 

THE END

 

 

Image courtesy pinterest.com

 

© Sena Frost 2k16

 

 

Chaos Theory

Fire rains from the skies

Hurtling alien rocks from space

Brimstone and Sulphur eating up the clouds

As

The heavens crash to earth

Falling into the ocean

And

Bathing us in dust

Creating

Beautiful sunsets caused by volcanoes spewing their guts

Choking life

And salting the loam

So that plants die before they are born.

Brothers rend each other from limb to limb

Ligaments tearing and tendons popping from sagittal cuts

And rhythm is an ungainly rhyme scarce used in these parts.

Here the weak do not survive the week

Nobody looks out for you.

Survive or die.

Thoughts swirl in my head on the morning run

They are

Private

Deeply rooted in my psyche

And not subject to prying.

A failsafe

For when I fail to keep myself safe

From marauding brigands

And femme fatales

And problem children

All out for one thing;

My blood pulsing through their veins

Still warm as they drink from my carotid artery.

Truth

Is an anathema

Lies the propaganda

But no one person holds the power.

Hyenas are ruthlessly efficient at what they do

Exerting supernatural bite force to crush

The bones of civilization into

A calcic pulp.

Art is irrelevant

Music unnecessary for survival

The only way

Is to

Tell tales of the good old days by the fireside,

Dredge the mind for memories

Of

When it was a free for all

For confidence tricksters seeking votes from all.

However

Everything is in freefall,

And fruits in windfall

Are the stuff of legends.

The killing sacrament

Is

The enduring baptism of fire in this cold world

Borne on glaciers of one thing hardwired into every human being.

Survival

Losing your humanity is the first step

Into death

The cliff bordering on nothing

Into which

I drop.

The harmattan cold parches my lips of love

Crossing Xs and circling Os.

Grey matter

Lobotomized and unemotional

Transorbital procedures taking away everything warm and cold

Reflecting the dull steel which took them.

Eyes deadpan as pink matter is spread on the ruins of a pavement

Carcasses of the helpless strung from erstwhile electricity cables

Darwinian in the devolution from reason to cold unfathomable logic;

Only the strong survive.

There are no heroes in this world

What is glory to a rumbling stomach?

A borborygmus

Of morals going under.

There is no rock music ushering

Courage

Because lions are nothing but flat track bullies.

 The gods are but cannon fodder to unbelievers

Bile in the mouth of the faithful.

The rivers are stinking and full

Of

Bodies bloated and drowned for lack of

Empathy,

An antithesis of order,

The knowledge of good and evil is extinct

And man is shown for what he is

A flawed beast in a perfect image.

Because when it boils down to the bone

Freedom is a drug peddled by discord,

True freedom is but

Chaos.

© Sena Frost 2k16

Image courtesy http://www.dreamstime.com

The Butterflies In My Tummy Poem

I

Fancy you

So much it

Cuts me

Right through

To

The core.

 

Feel

My heart

Thundering

Skipping a

Beat

Because you just passed me by

And

Said

Hi.

 

Butterflies

In my tummy

Flutter

Science says it is muscles being sensitive

As a

Fight or flight

Response

But all I want to do

Is

Fly

To you.

 

In

My heart and mind

There is

No one else

But

You with your

Awkward laugh

And

The smile

You smile

With the corners of your

Dark

Eyes.

 

My

Hands carve your face in

The

Dark

Whenever I

Sleep

Because

I

Miss

You.

 

Tummy

Filled with the sweet tooth that

Is your

Favourite snacks

And pillow

Because I have

No abs.

Whenever

I

Think of you

I smile because

You

Are just so

Pretty.

 

I

Dream

Of days

Turning into

Nights

Where

You are the damsel

Saving this knight

In shining

Armour.

 

See

Me

As I see

You

Perfect in every

Way

Right up to

The

Acne on your cheeks.

 

You

Make me feel

Complete

Because

I feel

Butterflies

In

My tummy

Whenever

I see

You.

 

© Sena Frost 2k16

Image courtesy mehtakid.wordpress.com