VenPoet. The poetry on this site is the original work of the author, and is protected by copyright law. If you would like to use any of the pieces on this site, please request permission via email by clicking on "contact" at the top right corner of this page.
The following poems are based on various subjects, some serious some not. I hope you find at least a few that you enjoy.
( WARNING. ONE OR TWO CONTAIN STRONG LANGUAGE AND OR SUBJECTS THAT SOME PEOPLE MAY FIND UPSETTING )
Insomniac Extreme.
Repeated images,
projected, woolen but strong,
against a backdrop
of inner eyelids.
Yawn.
A quarter century,
of conscious thought.
Insomniac extreme,
this way
born.
Restless nights,
break dancing on crumpled linen.
Her over thumped pillow,
abused and
well worn.
Images repeated,
sheep jumping fence
10,875 ... 86
and sleep comes,
at twenty five,
to Dawn.
© Ven 2002
A Key to Me.
Climbing crystal cut stairs to infinity.
Searching, seeking sublime tranquility.
Looking to find,
a state of mind.
Inner peace, love,
and a portal to something thats already in me.
Swimming crystal clear sea's of destiny.
Diving into emotions, that truly set me free.
Opening my heart,
baring my soul.
Turning the locks,
with a key to the doorway that opens the best of me.
© Ven 2000
A lesson learnt.
The precious gift you gave me,
Lies broken on the floor
Fragmented by my anger,
as i screamed and stamped and swore.
I watched it in slow motion,
go hurtling through the air,
you said it narrowly missed your head,
I said, I didn't care.
Yet now I've calmed, I sit here,
In sorrow and dismay
and I gather up the pieces,
from the carpet where they lay.
and place them in a prominent place,
upon the sitting room shelf.
As a reminder that in hurting you,
I also hurt myself.
So the precious gift you gave me,
although no longer intact,
Is more special because it reminds me,
To think ... before I act.
© Ven 2002
The Nightmare Cure.
Hidden in my pillow,
is the place I keep my dreams.
A hollow in the feathers,
a magic place it seems.
A place where life's restrictions
cease to have effect.
The laws of physics don't apply.
A place where I can get,
completely naked in the street
and no one even see's.
Where I can fly with nightingales
and settle in the tree's.
Or swim with dolphins, frolicking,
in waters warm and clear.
A place in my subconscious mind
that knows no pain or fear.
Yet, on the flip side of this pillow,
another hollow lies.
A hollow filled with Demon's
and Imps with evil eye's.
Where monsters lurk at every turn
and darkness fills my heart
and gargoyles wait behind closed doors,
to tear my soul apart.
I awaken in the early hours.
Trembling with fear.
Confused, not knowing what to do.
Then suddenly its clear.
I shake myself to consciousness, then,
the ritual to which I keep,
is to turn my pillow over
and just drift back off to sleep.
© Ven 2001
The Dead End Of The Road.
Bare foot and bedraggled, lonely tired and cold.
She huddled in the corner near the dead end of the road.
At the entrance to the station, where she new that she could find,
the commuters and the shoppers. She hoped they would be kind
and spare some change, through pity, concern or maybe guilt.
Hoping they would swallow this facade that she has built.
This picture of downtrodden, mistreated and abused.
Yet she is not the victim, its they who are being used.
and this cunning little waif isn't begging for a feed
She's begging for a fix, and the brown's her only need.
Its turned her from a student with a future looking bright.
To a whore that sells her virtue to strangers in the night.
A liar and a cheat, with no conscience, no respect.
Stripped of all emotion and not even a regret,
as bare foot and bedraggled, lonely tired and cold,
she wallows in the gutter, at the dead end of the road.
© Ven June 2001
Mundane.
I stand at the sink,
stairing blindly,
at a mountain
of last nights
dirty dishes
and wonder
... when?
did my life become
this mundane.
© Ven 2002
Emotional High.
Mind ticking,
twisting, turning.
Fingers tingling,
senses burning,
mouth dry.
Limbs weak
tongue tied,
cant speak.
Cheeks flushed.
Eyes wide and bright,
Not drug induced,
just love at first sight.
© Ven 2001
Watching Summer Die.
Wiping down the misted windows,
peering out at a dismal sky,
as clouds the colour of age stained linen
pour down autumns tears.
weeping,
watching summer die.
Drawing curtains on early darkness
hearing the wind whistle by
as the first bars of falls lilting harmonies
turn to winters song.
wailing,
watching summer die
© Ven Sept 2001
What a palaver.
Here we go again,
a hunting, merrily.
Looking for some pennies,
down the back of the settee.
Checking jacket pockets,
and the nippers savings jar.
Frantic in my quest.
Searching near and far.
Five pence in the ashtray,
hurray I've got enough.
Rushing to the closet,
to get my coat and stuff.
Heading for the corner shop,
I scurry through the gate
Phew! all this kafuffle,
for a bar of chocolate.
© Ven 2001
Drink Me.
Open the door,
that turns on the light
and admire
my perfect form.
Caress my slender neck.
Run your fingers
across the tiny beads
of perspiration like, condensation.
That forms as heat
meets cold.
Ease me open
slowly drink me in
Savour each and every
ice cold amber sip
and I'll be your Bud.
© Ven 2001
Did you ever dream.
Did you ever dream of infinite nothing,
of a black and empty void.
Did you ever wake up shaking,
cold sweat beading,
on your rose flushed skin.
Afraid to open your eyes,
Too scared to let reality in.
Did you ever dream you were awake,
that all your fears were truth,
Did you ever see the demons,
empty eyed
and full of mortal sin,
sitting at your bedside
Did you know, you'd let them in ?
Did you ever dream that you had died,
and never more would wake.
Did you ever see the inside,
of your casket
with its silk and satin lining
and feel the claustrophobia,
as they gently screwed you in.
Did you ever wake with the morning sun
and think, "today's the day".
Did you ever open up your heart
and let it lead,
Just trusting fate to win
and give to you, a locking box,
to put your nightmare's in.
© Ven 2001
Blessed Be.
If I do not understand your god
and if I do not believe.
You preach to me of suffering
my conversion to achieve.
If I do not understand your god.
your god of grief and pain.
You preach to me of afterlife
and what I stand to gain.
If I do not understand your god
because, I do not think like you.
You'll preach to me of mortal sin
and war with me, till I do.
If I do not understand your god
you won't hear my reasons why
so secure are you in your faith,
That he's truth, and I am lie.
And yet my god is beautiful
made of water, earth and fire,
My god is in the air I breath,
in my passion and desire.
She is do as you would be done to,
and love as you would be loved,
she is everything that fits together
perfectly, hand in glove.
She is sun and snow and rainbow,
flower, tree and bird.
and in the breeze through autumn leaves,
her whisper can be heard.
But the whispering never preaches,
your conversion to achieve
and she'd never harm a living soul,
just because they didn't believe.
You do not understand my god
yet I forever defend your right.
For you having your god and I having mine ,
should never be reason to fight.
Blessed Be.
© Ven 2001
Broke.
Resisting the urge,
to dwell on the irony
of the strange twist of fate that brought us to
this downturn of circumstances.
A little depressed,
but not obsessed.
Coming to terms
with the changes ahead.
Learning to adjust the budget
and live within new means.
Cope with the dwindling finances.
Settle for less.
God, what a mess.
Searching the press
for the latest vacancies.
Considering anything, even the dross.
Labouring for labour
daily at the D.H.S.S.
Not giving in.
Planning to win.
Then comes a thought,
from out of the blue.
The realization that this
turn of events
that was not of our making,
could be a test.
So we'll do our best,
to turn circumstance
into something constructive.
To walk by a different path.
Perhaps poorer in money,
but richer in soul.
Who knows?
These lows...
could be sent
by forces unknown,
to give us new strength
and teach us new lessons.
Making us happier.
Somewhat broke,
but better folk. :)
© Ven 2001
Catch Me.
Help me.
Catch me.
Stop me from falling.
Falling ,
face down,
with the ironic monotony
of freshly buttered toast.
© Ven 2001
Neglecting the Heroes.
He sits in his chair,
near the patio door.
Smelling of urine and age.
He stares through vacant,
mist eyed dementia.
Enclosed in his senile cage.
No longer able to express,
the amazing things he's seen.
To show the scars,
of two world wars,
what he's done and where he's been.
Only the medals upon his chest,
remain to tell the tale,
of bravery beyond the call,
heroism off the scale.
Now, he sits in his wing backed chair
and dribbles down his chin.
His medals the only outward sign,
of the great man he has been.
Carer's pay him little respect,
though they meet his every need.
Believing its their duty done,
to clean and change and feed
but if only they could see behind
and glimpse the inner core.
Feel the things that he has felt,
see the things he saw.
Then maybe they would take the time,
to gently stroke his head.
Or spare some words of comfort,
for this man they've washed and fed.
To share some of their thoughts with him,
for though he can't reply.
I'm sure that he is listening,
as he sits and waits to die.
So spare a thought for this unknown hero,
in his chair in the old folks home.
Surrounded by carer's, yet inside his mind,
he sits and weeps ...... alone.
© Ven 2001
So What Next?
WE watch them as,
as they vomit their noxtious industrial dross,
into our water
and into our air.
WE let them,
ravage our planet with their monitary gluttony.
An environmental slaughter,
in which we share.
WE aid and abet them,
with little concern for the next, our sons
and our daughters,
so where...
in the name of all things sacred,
do we go from here?
--------------------
© Ven 2001
Resigned.
Through endless days of drudgery
and years of struggle and strife.
I find myself,
to the fact resigned,
It is my place to be.
Tattered, torn and battle scarred
from the beatings dealt by life.
Lightly basted,
and constantly turning
on life's rotisserie.
© Ven 2002
The Archive's Of My Mind.
Reminiscence, childlike whispers,
from the archives of my mind.
Searching through redundant files.
A nostalgic time rewind.
To a time when responsibility
was nothing but a word.
When mortgage, children, work and rules
seemed utterly absurd.
To a time when loving, living and feeling,
was all there needed to be.
To days that required little meaning
and I was young and free.
The garden is full of roses
in the memories that I find,
or could it be that just like love,
retrospection is also blind.
Subconsciously do we recolour the past
to the shade that we want it to be.
Maybe the best things lie ahead
and our future's what sets us free.
© Ven 2000
The Vamp.
With painted eye's
and painted nails
and lips of scarlet red.
She stalks the night,
in search of prey.
Her passion must be fed.
Never venturing
far from her lair,
she seeks just any man.
Indiscriminate
and dangerous.
She takes whoever she can.
She woo's them
with her flame red hair
and the twinkle in her eye.
Sinks pointed teeth,
into soft neck flesh
Then gently ... sucks them dry.
© Ven 2001
The River. (cinquain).
Water
liquid crystal,
tumbling over grey stone.
Flowing onward, longing to be,
blue sea.
© Ven 2002
Road to Hell
Shhhh ...
Listen to the quiet.
Hear the sound of sanity
that can only be found
within the depths
of tranquility.
Shhhh ...
Feel the calm
as your pulse slows
and your blood flows
through your freshly
severed wrists.
Shhhh ...
Bow your head
kneel at the feet
of your creator
and beg his forgiveness
for your mortal sin.
SCREAM ...
as he turns his back
and leaves you to take
the long and lonely walk
down the road to Hell.
© Ven 2002
Would You?
Would you be the cushion, to break my fall ?
Would you offer the world, if you had it all ?
Be number one fan, at my curtain call ?
Do you love me this much ?
Would you forsake all others, only for me ?
Would you trust my love, unconditionally ?
Grant me solitude, when I need to just be ?
Do you love me this much ?
Would you break, when you see me cry ?
Would my death, make you wish to die ?
Do you yearn to lay, wherever I lie ?
Do you love me this much ?
Because all the above I would be for you,
So when we fight, remember its true,
that if you bleed, then I bleed too.
Because I love you this much.
... and then some.
© ven 2002
What a Day !
This morning, at breakfast I dropped my toast,
butter side down in a dish full of butter.
The start of an utterly dreadful day.
Utter to bleeding well complete and utter.
Fell over the hoover and bumped me head.
Bed fluff .. a'chooo ... sneezing under the bed.
Curios kitty flew in through the flap.
Lap dancing ... claws out, she danced on my lap.
Wind blew the wash into next doors yard.
Jeez I cried, why me? ahh Jeez.
The thunder and lightning, then down came the rain.
Again I thought, No ! why me ... again.
I decided to end this disasterous day
In the pub, where they welcomed me in.
started the night with my favorite drink
Gin ... mmm mmm the glorious gin
It all ended up in an alcohol stuper.
Gutter snipe, giggling, sniping the gutter.
With all of me mates there, stood round laughing.
Nutter they shouted. Your nowt but a NUTTER !
I recite this wee tale from my comfy safe bed,
Head, I'm thinking ... Oh God ! my poor head
Feeling right queezy, I cuddle my bucket.
F*** it ! Tomorow, I stay in bed. F*** it !
© Ven 2002
Putting it Right.
Quintessentially an English rose,
with skin unblemished porcelian white,
In an age and tear stained Victorian dress,
She endlessly wandered the lonely night.
Awaiting what purpose? I heared you ask
In these cases, the answer is always the same.
She seeks the soul of a long lost love,
for who's untimely end, she shoulders the blame.
So.. entirely, for this she blames herself?
Oh yes, and in truth, quite justly so.
For, t'was her beytrayal that incited the duel.
T'was her that said nothing, and watched him go.
Asleep in her room, as he met his fate.
yet now, no rest, to no peace she'll be laid.
In grief she searches, to seek his forgiveness
and wander she must, till her debt is paid.
Convinced she'll be able, to set the past right
This weeping specter of alabaster pale,
exists in the certain knowledge that,
forgive he will, for love cannot fail.
Oh so many of our yesterdays harbor a wrong,
that with future's knowledge, we would undo
so to change a day, from your distant past,
if given the chance, right now ...
would you?
© Ven 2002
Relinquishing the Demon's.
Open the doorway, just a little at first.
Then afraid ... so very afraid
of the hidden terrors that lie
behind the shuttered portals of my
inner being.
A little wider now, almost half way.
Fear subsiding ... Strange!
Terror more real
yet somehow with a little less
tangible meaning.
Shutters down, doors cast open.
Age old nightmares released
and fears dispelled.
Relinquishing the Demon's from within
finally healing.
© Ven 2000
Looking After You.
I deliver the meal that was carefully
timed to coincide with your arrival.
You sit in your favorite armchair,
its cushions plumped to perfection
and settle, thoroughly exhausted,
from your nighly roaming.
I watch as home comfort gently
soaks into your soul
and I smile and tell you
that I love you.
I gently stroke your brow
as you drift into sleep.
Even knowing that come darkness,
you will again be overcome
by your instinctive urge to wander.
Unable to resist.
Yet regardless of your independence.
I will forever continue to feed, nurture
and care for you.
Because with cats,
thats just the way it is.
© Ven 2002
Just for a Laugh.
Do whatsoever it takes
to get you through the day.
Laugh a little,
sing a song,
watch your children play.
Light a candle, say a prayer.
If it works for you, its great.
If it does no harm
and you yearn to do it,
don't procrastinate.
Go on out and grab life.
Tickle it till it squeals.
Roll it in sugar
and lick your lips.
Imagine how good that feels.
Do whatever you fancy,
to light you on your way.
In your own,
inimitable style
go set aside a day.
Fill it full of laughter
enjoy the response there'll be,
as you pack it with giggles,
then share them around
for all your friend to see.
© Ven 2002
I Saw Your Spark.
Hey, hey ... Yes you,
Where's your spark?
and what are the circumstances,
that lead you to
become
one
of the grey people.
Oi ! Boo !! Wake up.
Make your mark.
Justify your existence,
with an action,
or philosophy,
to make your being worthwhile.
Oh thank you, Yes you.
For the courage you showed,
in the face of evil apathy,
by standing tall and free
and unlocking the shackles
of can't be bothered.
Bless you, I knew,
you could make a difference.
When I saw,
your spark, internal.
That, though clouded by neglect,
shone on through.
© Ven 2001
No More ...
Cowers in corner,
hands over head.
Crawls though filth
to piss stained bed.
Tear stained face
matted hair
Listens intently for
foot on stair.
Silence is comfort,
solitude safe
painless alone,
unloved waife.
Waiting, hating,
mothers return
shouting, hitting
cigarette burn.
Terrified, listening,
for key in door,
ha! last laugh,
no pain ... no more
final escape
from pain and sin
as alcohol and pills
kick in.
© Ven 2001
Special Things.
Like the snow capped mountain peaks glistening against the backdrop of a clear blue dream sky.
Like the crystal ice waterfall cascading into the river of hope that peacfully flows along.
Like the iridescent feathers of the Kingfisher that shine and shimmer as they fly.
Like the joyous tones of the nightingale as she blissfully chirps her sunrise song.
Like the rich variegated flowers adorning the final resting places of those we have loved and lost.
Like the faith of all the religions on earth, giving hope to those that need them to.
Like the selfless few who sacrifice all for others and never stop to consider the personal cost.
Like the blessed and true unconditional love that forever binds my heart to you.
© Ven 2000
The Last Performance.
The whole world sat expectantly,
awaiting the start of the show.
It was billed as a one off performance,
we were all expected to go.
So people came from the cities
and the remotest parts of the globe.
Then when all living souls were assembled,
God appeared in a long white robe.
He stood center stage in the floodlights,
looking decidedly sad
and said "I've been sent by my tutors,
to give you some news and its bad".
They've said that my project is pointless.
That there's too many names on my list.
So I'm afraid from tonight, once the paperworks done,
your all going to cease to exist.
© Ven 2002
A to Z of the UNDEAD.
About before,.............
Called, ....... desperate,
excited, frightened, gasping.
Hopeless, I'm jinxed, killed.
Lamented, mournful, nervous.
Obsessive ? ... perhaps.
Quiet...resoundingly soundless,
Try unmerciful vengeance ?
Worryingly xenophobic,
Yours,
ZOMBIE.
© Ven
alphabet challenge 2001
Anything You Can Do ...
"I'm as good a driver as you", I say,
as I pull off with the hand brake on.
"I'm just as fast as you", I add,
then I turn round and your gone.
I say that I can find the way,
but I can't even read the map.
I say "I rely on instinct",
you say I'm full of crap.
"I'm as good a cook as you", I say,
as I burn the shepherds pie,
"I'm just as creative as you" I add
Then you laugh until you cry.
I say that I can do coc eau van,
but I haven't got a clue.
I say "I can make goulash",
You grin, because .... YOU CAN.
"I'm as good a lover as you", I say.
Your eyes light up and you grin.
"I'm just as horny as you", I add,
and this one I know I'll win.
I say "Your a whiz in the kitchen",
and at driving, your better it seems,
But you have to admit in the bedroom,
I exceed your wickedest dreams. :)
© Ven 2001
Be World Warriors.
Acid rain falls on grassy plains.
Human pollution for financial gains.
Fetid air, the rancid spoils.
A planet plagued with septic boils,
Induced by greed and lust for power,
but who? when comes the final hour,
will pay the price for all the pain.
Not just those that made the gain
but every living thing existing.
Pointless complaining, or resisting,
for now is the hour, the time to act
and not be complacent, or matter of fact.
Indifference is our greatest foe,
feed your conscience, let it grow.
Don't sit on the fence with regard to pollution.
Don't be part of the problem,
become the solution.
© Ven 2001
Don't Swallow The Hype.
Why break your back,
to earn the cash,
that pays for the things,
that make you happy.
Things to relieve the stress,
brought on by working,
to pay for the things,
that relieve the stress.
No need to be tense.
Think, have some sense.
Watch baby birds eat bread,
from the roof of your shed.
Relax, earn less, buy less.
Relieve the stress.
T.V. sucks anyway.
Why destroy your soul,
day in day out,
so that you can spend,
your evenings,
watching a box that distroys your soul.
Get out,
natures free.
dig a hole,
plant a tree.
Don't buy into this life,
that they try so hard to sell you.
Forget things,
think people.
Forget money to buy things,
that your spirit doesn't need
and take heed.
Get your mind freed
and nurture the seed
sown by these words.
Just earn what you need.
Screw the T.V.
Screw the P.C.
Screw the nice car,
that you drive to work,
to earn the cash,
to pay for the nice car,
that you drive to work.
Avoid the trap.
Avoid the crap.
Let others do
what they want to do,
but don't swallow the hype,
Its not strictly true.
© Ven 2000
Wanting.
With the unconditional trust of a child, she ambled through the misty pathways of her existence.
Wanting nothing.
With the unswerving arrogance of a teenager, she trod this same path, at a faster pace. Searching.
Wanting something.
With the unending passion of a lover, she chose to follow his, more enticing path.
Wanting everything.
With the unexplained cowardice of a deserter. He left her,
Wanting ...
© Ven 2001
The Snow Drop.
duo-symbiotic sonnet! (Phew).
A little flake, crystal drop,
tiny, icy, white snow.
A tiny little icy flake,
white crystal snow drop.
© Ven 2002
EVIL WOMAN.
Abracadabra,
No, that wont work.
Your still a cadaver.
A strange fate quirk.
Brought it too this,
me killing you.
Magic cant fix it,
what will I do?
Bury you deep.
Will you be found?
In your terminal sleep
under the ground.
Or cut you to pieces
and feed you to pigs.
Hope the search ceases.
Hope nobody digs.
Too hard for the truth
for maybe they'll find,
an evil woman,
of the cruelest kind.
One that loved you
but smashed in you head,
simply because,
she wanted you ...
DEAD.
© Ven 2001
Fantasy world.
There's a perfect place,
in my fantasy world,
where birds sing
and sun shines forever.
Full of beautiful things, such as butterfly wings
and the sweet smell of blue/purple heather.
Where the laughter of children
fills the air
and no one is ever upset.
Where thunder and lightening,
is not even frightening
and rain doesn't get you all wet.
Where rivers of chocolate
run down from the hills
and cookies and ice cream are free.
Have all that you want
and pay no bills.
Sure sounds like heaven to me.
Where there are no rules,
no police and no schools,
politicians are all obsolete.
Where kids are allowed
to stay up all night
and make noise and mess when they eat.
This fantasy place
is just in my head
and its probably just as well.
For what to me ,
seems like paradise,
could well be your vision of hell.
© Ven 2000
From The Hippie That Lives Inside Me.
For God's sake man, just listen.
Cant you try and get a grip.
This is life thats happening here,
not some psychedelic trip.
The sky above is blue
and not made of tangerines.
Just wake up and smell the coffee,
time to quit your mushroom dreams.
Because carpets don't have waves
and grass ain't florescent yellow.
So its time to knock it on the head
and switch to something mellow.
Cos too much acid in your brain
burns holes and you'll loose track.
Soon you'll find you're too far gone
and never coming back.
So think before you make that brew,
for reality, you might find,
is the wildest trip you'll ever take,
so go on ... Free your mind.
© Ven 2000
I Am Serenity.
Shave my head.
Brand my skin
and nail my palms to the wall.
I'll take the stoning,
for my skin is thick,
my shoulders broad and strong.
Burn me with words.
Cut me with looks.
Empty your rage upon me.
It matters not,
For you are anger
and I ..... serenity.
And though I wade
through brimstone and flame
I whistle a happy song.
and my path is ultimately,
sweeter, warmer and
easier to walk along.
© Ven 2001
Its My Thing.
You called my verse too "lilting".
my rhyme too "la dee da"
Then left me to consider
My dilemma !!
Quietly.
Did you tell it as a crytic
honest opinion, told as it is
or was it merely
todays weapon of choice.
out of spite ?
You say those who,
favorably comment,
are just polite.
but, in honesty, just as unimpressed
as you.
That you knowing me,
as well as you do,
gives you a right to tell it
straight.
This may be true.
Yet, what of me?
Do I change my style,
In doing so, make
your judgement
more important
than my verse.
Subconsciously making you
better than me,
I think not.
For we are in truth
Equally talented individuals.
The words I write are my therapy,.
My mind cleanser.
So your thoughts on how well I ,
handle the mission.
are inconsequential.
This ones just for me.
Its my thing.
© Ven 2001
Jump ?
Jump.
Jump higher.
Jump highest.
High flyer.
Run.
Run faster.
Run fastest.
Pace setter.
Go.
Go further.
Go furthest.
Go getter.
Burn.
Burn out.
Have breakdown.
Get better ?
... or Jump ?
© Ven 2001
Closet Optimist
At first I think, "half empty"
Then stop and think, "half full"
Constantly striving to set free
the hidden optimist in me.
For sometimes doubt creeps in
and I neglect to see,
That I'm rolling in the clover
and my cup it runneth over.
© Ven 2002
Obsolete Images
Click Click.
Stored images,
gathered from the light.
Paper snippets
of the past.
To keep the memories bright.
Tick Tick.
Time filed away.
In a tattered and dusty box.
Seldom sighted,
resting in peace.
With the scrabble and odd socks.
Quick Quick.
Twenty ears on.
In urgent nostalgic need.
There neath the cobwebs,
a glossy record,
of history to read.
Trick Trick.
Dont need these
stills of what's behind.
For faded snaps,
don't hold a candle,
to the pictures in my mind.
© Ven 2000
She's a Rebel.
They say, "watch her", she's a rebel.
and "We dont want that in here".
She'll upset our apple carts, rock our little boats
if we take her to our hearts
They say "We have to keep it nice"
"She'll only cause a stir" with her radical idea's,
views and stong opinions,
It'll surely end in tears.
They persuade her that,
it would be best, to stoop and tow the line
and that if she ticks the I Agree,
all will be dandy and fine
Then they say "welcome, come on in",
"Now you can be like us"."all as one", they say
Then I realise, I can't conform"
Its too high a price to pay.
So I speak my mind, have my say
and with flowing rhyme, get my messsage in
then they crumple up my radical words
and casually throw me in the bin
... but did they win ?
© Ven 2001
So What Next?
WE watch them as,
as they vomit their noxtious industrial dross,
into our water
and into our air.
WE let them,
ravage our planet with their monitary gluttony.
An environmental slaughter,
in which we share.
WE aid and abet them,
with little concern for the next, our sons
and our daughters,
so where...
in the name of all things sacred,
do we go from here?
© Ven 2001
The Death Bringer.
Miniscule javelins, spearing iridescent carcasses,
in a vain attempt to forever preserve the beauty,
that was extinguished this day in the killing jar.
A beauty that the finest glass showcases,
edged with the purest gold
could not even begin to recapture.
This inane, insane offering,
brought to you by,
the lepidopterist.
© Ven 2000
The Glass Carousel.
Roll up ... Roll up,
follow the crowd
bring your friends,
their all allowed.
Bring your children,
your parents too,
I've such a treat,
in store for you.
All must see,
what I have made
though it looks fragile,
it's made the grade.
So, follow me,
come ride aswell,
upon my fine,
glass carousel.
© Ven 2001
Road to Hell
Shhhh ...
Listen to the quiet.
Hear the sound of sanity
that can only be found
within the depths
of tranquility.
Shhhh ...
Feel the calm
as your pulse slows
and your blood flows
through your freshly
severed wrists.
Shhhh ...
Bow your head
kneel at the feet
of your creator
and beg his forgiveness
for your mortal sin.
SCREAM ...
as he turns his back
and leaves you to take
the long and lonely walk
down the road to Hell.
© Ven 2002
Walking the wisdom.
They came to your village
to burn your witches.
Not one word in defense,
did you manage to say.
They took your eccentrics
and locked them in cages.
You averted your eye's
as they dragged them away.
They labeled your children
as problem delinquents.
For having the courage
to just disagree.
Then took them to purpose built
buildings of learning,
where they rendered them harmless
and then set them free.
As mindless, thoughtless, faceless no ones
among the rabble of
voiceless and weak.
Who, when faced with great injustice
were too afraid
to stand, and speak.
Some birth instilled, with mortal fear,
an abject terror,
of standing out,
of admitting to having a single voice,
of daring to use it,
of daring to shout.
Shuffling onwards from day to day,
merging, melting,
within the crowd.
Their voices low and whispersome,
their heads hung low,
eternally bowed.
You take your place among them now
and if someday
it should occur,
that someone points a finger at you
and accusingly shouts,
"I think its her".
Because she is looks abnormally tall,
or her skin is far too pale.
Her eyes are set too deep
and she bears the Devils mark.
Speaks a different language,
or tells a different tale.
Giggles when she breaks the rhyme
or dances naked at dusk
Evidence ... vague and flimsy.
yet we know
what verdict we'll see,
for the power of "THEM" is awesome.
they decide
what the outcome will be.
They invent for you a persona,
of "DAMAGED" and
"CANNOT BE HEALED".
Once the masses are told that their better than you,
your over and done.
Your fate is sealed.
You understand their power,
Judgment passed,
in the blink of an eye.
as they pronounce you guilty of "not fitting in"
and prove your defense,
to be but a lie.
From deep within you find your voice,
Accepting...what its for.
ironic sadness raises its head
as your shouts make you stand out more.
protesting, screaming, hysterical,
watching your fate pan out.
Beads of sweat appear on your brow,
as the eyes of your friends fill with doubt.
You watch the whispers encircle the group.
See friendship and loyalty
start to sway,
as each of your trusted, avert their eyes.
forsaking you
as they look away.
Each searching for justification,
to ease the pain
placate the guilt
Each giving their pride as a sacrifice,
to this civilized world
they think they have built
As for you, in your final hour.
You deserve no voice,
no axe to grind.
For you walked that walk in the very same shoes,
when the Witches were burned
and the Madmen were tried
but a thought invaded my conscious mind,
as you snatched your final breath.
I think your spirit put it there,
as it left this place of death.
It spoke with a quiet, confident voice
as it passed the knowledge on,
It said "To shout your message loud",
and sing your protest song,
This has its place in the furtherment
of this, the human race.
Yet many who instigate awesome change,
never show their face.
What evolution requires of us
is to share the truths we've found
and without any discrimination,
share the knowledge around.
So I, with my voice low and whispersome.
Without need to stand out,
or be loud,
will share the facts with all I can.
As I mingle,
unseen, in the crowd
© Ven 2002
Yonder.
absolutely beautiful.
calm dreamy etherial
fantasy gateway
Hallelulia indeed
joyfully kaliedescopic.
laughter makers.
nambipambi orchids
piquant quaint
rejoice spectators.
tranqill undertones
veiled watercolours
xanandu.
Yonders zone.
© Ven 2002
(alphabet challenge 2002)
GOODNIGHT. :)
"sh!t f**k"!,
what a day.
"sh!t f**k",
Is all I can say.
"sh!t f**k!,
No fun.
Sh!t f**k"!,
Pass the gun.
"shit f**k",
did I end it all
"sh!t f**k!,
no, not at all.
"sh!t f**k!"
Now I'm pissed
tried to shoot myself
and f**kin missed.
"Sh!t f**k"!,
Cant do f**k all right.
so I'm off to bed,
F**k it all.
Goodnight. :)
© Ven 2001
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