One Step Beyond The Attic

Crawlspace
beyond the vibrations
of words,
past great arcs of light -
as still
as crooked nails,
like mist
in a carcass heavy night.

One step
without trace,
into velvet waves
as stormclouds brew -
simmering slowly
on a bare horizon,
hanging bats
the death's head crew.

Shadows pool
beneath turtle steps
gathering light
and soul in one -
the moon dims
like a callussed pearl,
shrouded orb
becomes black sun...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Fire For These Bones

No earth do I desire
for my eternal cot;
I shall escape the pattering of stones
over crowed face by flame,
that same fire
which lit my spirit and rages,
my desires and thirsts
and made mighty
this tinder box frame.

Wither not my organs
from these bones
like moulded grapes
left forgotten on a vine.
Burn them all
until my brave kidneys
liver, lungs and pretty eyes
become cinders,
jewels amongst the smoke.
There I will rest
charred,
contented as ash...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Steven Pretend (Birth & Death)

Skeletons sit around discussing Plato
like albino matches
quaking from the fire,
but my other half
(twisted drunken fiend he is)
looks forward to tasting mud,
gristle and laments,
and whistles from broken alley merchants.
The chink in my soul
gives reverence to grief,
while others run
I dare the hole to swallow.

Fall deep the dead
from shadows eve,
where all frail sorrow
ought end.
Nothing can split
the nails of sleep,
fertile bone
will never bend.

And there it is,
my scabbard rusting in a cemetery puddle
after the game is played
and I am but sand in a bell.
Ears cloth,
lips apart letting breath go,
eyes jagged
and heart in cusps of harmony.
From jelly skin to skinned soul,
from butter bones to tiger pattern liver,
from careless footsteps into trenches of tears.
A life amongst billions of lives
a sun within the thunder...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

The Death Chapter

Without invite or knock
like bullets on a doorstep
the prince returns from no return
to secure a grim flock
to his eternal rags.
Vertigo sleep
without dream or chapter.
No mortal pain or terror
for the flesh.

Beyond the valley of the gun
there lies no carrion,
harsh kennels do not stand
in the shadow of bombs.
The mighty freckled river
hides no lash from Keres.

Onward through motley vines
and starry webs.
Man of skin
lay curled as one skull
within jaws of tender malice.
Infant of the sands
giant in eternal seas.
Smooth viper scales
in the awakening,
the storm of black
washes out damnation in our colons.

Beyond the harbour of the drowned
there are no cadavers,
and sick beds do not line bare walls.
The genorous touch
of the hemlock eyed prince
turns Man from scar to feather...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

We Are Dead

We walk dead
we look dead -

to sequined eyes
and spinning circus brains
we are silver chains on doom.

We talk dead
we smoke dead -

young floweres wilt
at our whims,
we brazen killers
pureed in candy sauce.

We eat dead
we play dead -

simmering silence
at the news of the day,
cold to events
and cherry red love.

We happy dead
we happy dead
we happy
we...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Scab Badges/Cancer

Out of blistered loins
it appears raw
like a slug
boiled in mucas,
sucking at pores
eager for destruction
and cowled plague.
Ruffian neoplasm
sending malignant overtures
to shining organs,
then delighting in watching them wither.
Death in abundance
tumour me.
Metastasis bulbs grow in haste
to ravage peach skin
with crops of dark patches
and sugared misery.
Shrinking paper bones
in its milky wake,
nothing fades spirits
like the peppered bruise
of this hand...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

I See Demons When I Wretch

Behind creased eyelids
deformity staggers
while I try to hurl my offensive guts
into clean air.
The rictus grinning ogres
balloon faced evil jesters
and horned babies
all lurk within my cortex
as I screw my intestines into curried knots.
They line the inside of my dome
in a miserable parade,
chittering in silence like wild chimps
while my tongue curdles toxins
and whisks bile.
Every cough brings corpses
to the haze,
little tufts of morbid delight
that hang on my internal canvas
like coal on lace.
I heave foam,
straining vocal chords
pulling muscles,
seeing terrible faces in the dark...

@ Steven Francis poems 2009

Welcome The Dear Ghouls

Beneath cream complexion
and tomato spiked lips
lurk the ghouls

and lurk is right
for we wait amongst disease
a deathly lounge,
and we is right
because I am ghoul.

The lure
of cobwebs and sulphur
of carcass and tomb,
it is a beautiful thing
bizarre and macabre

and beautiful is right
for we delight
in skewered eyelids.
Grand messy sloppy
death beds...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Boys At Play With Dark Undertones

Is it cheeky
to want a sweetie?
All the gang love a sweetie,
is it cheeky?
Is it sweetly sickly cheeky
that all the gang
love a sweetie?
Its a tricky manouvre
the boys pop like a hoover,
is it cheeky
for a fizzy sweetie?
Is the fizzy
in the cheeky sweetie
what makes the boys sickly?
Its a gothic stunt
on dizzy hunts,
is a sweetie that is cheeky
making the greedy gang sickly?
It is cheeky
to take a sweetie
and drop from the fizzy…

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Things That Go Bump In The Day

Rotting pulp at a busy roadside
like a grim bouqet growing from grit;
smashed bone like petals
scattered over
rosy entrails
lavender tinted kidneys,
orange muscle
and curls of wet sinew.

Rest in pieces
furry thing with no head,
as cars and buses dance past
onward into life.
Few passers by will mourn
leaving oil to mix with drying blood
and hairy swarms.
Cheery pip our mangled friend
departed by hurrying engines
into eternal hedgerows...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

My Name Chainsaw, The Others Blood

Beautiful lettering
in coral spotlights;
names splash across fountains
and eyeliner,
big words become messiah
the showbiz funnel web is back.
Noble carcasses streak the sky
as dust shatter the trails.
Life tattoo
strangled by pin stripes;
this name
my name,
alight in curls
but Strange to me.
An ugly motif...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Whales Blood In Honeycomb

In sharp licks of tile,
peppered with soap splinters
I wallow in lavender toxic scum;
stomach breaking through the foam surface
creating a goose pimpled island,
as whiskers,
grey and fragile like elderly limbs
cling to my throat as if to strangle me,
and bed my skin into a watery casket.
I rest blistering kidneys
on the bullet smooth bottom;
hovering in shallow ripples,
steamed cadaver in cast iron frame.
Suddenly I let go
of a pinch lurking beneath
and copper coloured twirls
rise in the cooling water;
clouded and relieved,
whale is happy now...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Snake Relish/Star Dust

The powerful
walk over,
vagrants kiss,
babies vomit
and graffiti stains.
Ladies skip
girls flaunt,
drunks scrape
and waltz,
whilst madmen kick.
Teenagers spit
murderers run,
the penniless search
and fat boys thunder.
Perverts hunt
corpses hug,
showers suffocate
as the sun curdles.
Onward to horizons
and dislocated trolleys...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Puddle Chops

The bathroom mirror sees within
a hoarde of ghosts
beneath the skin.
Keen asylum for kinks and creases
battered reflection
in a hundred pieces.

Sober glass upon the wall
confess to me
the sins of all.
Gentlemen and ladies dare
to spill perversions
when you are there.

Secret host of many masks
guide razors on
their hungover tasks.
Hide all wrinkles without trace
bring to life
a haggard face.

Young and old in front of thee
as naked as
a willow tree.
Frame the pose over soapy sinks
beautiful image
on a frozen rink.

Loyal stamp on wizened pages
life in chapters
on shiny stages.
Darkest wishes shared in colour
a different face
on every hour...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Bloodology

A parliment of howling dragons
seek sanctuary in flesh,
warm is good
when everything is at end.
And it is,
nothing remains but leftovers;
of madness
of friendship,
all good has gone
like it never was.
Fields without life
song with no heart
and playgrounds rusted into heavy soil,
children long disappeared
into offices and hangovers.
Mercy be to memories
that ignite a fleeting comfort
for wanderers to shelter
when grave wax becomes sweet.
Everything has fled now,
dreams have grown whiskers and claws
to protect and disguise on harsh roads.
The insane have sobered up,
attitudes been harnessed,
nothing is left of lust...

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Funeral Mad

Black is all

all dirt,

rat pitch in soul tar.

Dark corners

corner all,

shrouded ribs in glass shadow.

Cold in mourning

bittersweet the memory song,

love hard

until the day folds.

Tanned eyes

milk lips,

beyond the veil

on bat lung horizon.

The dead are not

burning stars,

or satisfied in stone.

In the ground

the maggot is king…



@Steven Francis poems 2009

Perhaps (Hopefully)

People can live in worlds unknown

as long as death machines

stay out of sight,

and grim pulses of fear

jerk our footsteps.

Grains of salt

freshen the nerves,

awake

all we are,

earned a page of breath

with a small word of gratitude

to the king Huntsman…

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Leaving Earth To Play A Zombie

No tan for lepers,

the skin has gone on holiday

leaving blood to froth

over gums,

and fall sickly onto the breastbone

weak as fish scales.

Past life, loves

and mistakes

cling like graffiti to well chewed frame.

Flesh is fine for mourning,

a real tent for umpteen miseries

to shelter from time and touch.

The honest look of Man

in the empire of Death…


@Steven Francis poems 2009

Boulder Mists

There is too much noise

in silence,

lots of havoc being played

on empty plains,

damage done in hours.

And every second

pulls a different greedy chops.

Imagination HQ,

too fertile a canvas

for quiet to remain intact.

The solitary of ghosts

in death responses,

a cruel kingdom resting

on the shoulders of shepards…



@Steven Francis poems 2009

Bambi Inspired A Marshmallow Gut for Jelly Children

Jellyfish do the hickory dance

while pirates save the world

from hell.

Cats whisper to the slain

that death is life,

and we superheroes

come to kill the upset once again.

In cartoon surburbia

inspiration fails the zombies

and the dizzy soft.

Shame on them,

to have such open mouths

and abuse the freedom

by trembling…



@Steven Francis poems 2009

The Zero Angels

The sun is running early
on the a.m,
already there are violent shadows
on the edge of my hangover
bringing the Fear back.
Out of a greasy coma I fall
to be surrounded with Life.
The dull bits
the sharp bits,
the bits I choke on
and bang my head on.
The funny bits I use for comfort
and the rest that wear me down.

A new dawn with the same miserable jabs
as yesterday,
and as the calendar gets thinner
bad habits hurt longer,
but without pain there is nothing.
Every day I stretch both liver and heart,
one to cover nagging wails
the other to plug the scars.
There’s no end to it,
a relentless hail of morbid pictures
filling my kindergarden shoes.

I see the Black in black
and blood on white,
even smiles in shades of grey.
But here in this inked canvas
which drapes over my skeleton
like warts on fish,
I see only dirt scenes.
The shreds of life
where bullets shape honesty
and lovebites twist
into heroin scabs.
Not all fun
not all romance,
but princes were made from less…

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Giant In A Teacup (Megladon)

Forcing power with palms,

eating halo’s filled with bone.

Shower under fingernail and muscle

the sin of man

becomes obvious,

under the pigment of the subtle.

We know no heroes

in shame of flags.

The giant swallows the earth

of the hellbent,

we stand tall

in the terror mouth…



@Steven Francis poems 2009

War (Is My Sheppard)

War is my shepard
blood gifts are what I want.
To lay my enemy down amongst lepers
and madness groves,
filling them with bitter infusions.
In sun waters they repent
there is no freedom for the senseless.
In the shadow of the bark
of cereberus,
I walk guided by red pulses,
beating beneath barbed cysts.

My laments strip the skin
from my tormentors,
and boil their livers in saliva.
My spite be their agony,
vengeance for their unholy tongue.
My veins be the noose around their spirit;
in damnation be annointed.

Surely courage will follow me
throughout trial and temptation,
and victory shall rise
from the pyres of eagles.
And no more bone
shall my enemy have left to sin upon,
no more thirst for evil.
I walk through columns of golden oils
never to be scarred,
into the heart of wisdom fields
and virtue…

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Of Yellow Balconies and Danger

Stirred by flame
splashed with sandshine,
boiled rocks
across fanged wastes.
Navy patch tassled with
eyes of old,
merry the waltz
over opera.
Poison the power
of the worm head.
Walk on glass naked colossus,
Medusa has you stitched…

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Hedonist & Sasquatch

May weather brings lambs
to daisy hems,
sunshine twists on bracelets
like pond skaters skipping over trout.
Afternoon ice cream
jellybeans on cheeks,
there is no cauldron more glorious or alive
than a river in Spring gloss.
Streak of light
putting ghosts in cribs
and nudging lurking shadow into the mouth
of Venus.

Frosted glasses of plum wine
spill over hampers of mutton and berries,
as damsels in undress grope in barns
like excited lizards on railway sleepers.
Neither bully nor Death
has a page in this scene;
jam scones on a Sunday teatime
swat the hammerheads into gasoline coma.
Dried mud paths lead to a
mullet brown harbour,
where chip shops and plastic buckets
turn the air into a potent fog,
pickled lungs never been so glad
tho’ never as full as memories eye.
Those furnace fields still ablaze
long after the gates fell.
Western man in a painting
from the East…

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Clock Press On Overdose

The badgers run
under the columns of thunder,
scattering once light falls
onto artery gashes.
Gold chokeholds and blunt teeth
turn ketamine from troughs
into baby meat;
cider ignites deep roots.
Blind from clingfilm
and studded skin,
a dragon hunts the pit
for blazes.
Rotor blades turn to straw
as candy anthems fight for space.
There be tigers
always,
in bottle green forests;
grey cartoons alive
on marble flesh,
we bloodied figures always sink the ill…

@Steven Francis poems 2009

Rain & Oil

Clouds tip their ball bearings into the clockwork

and as steel falls into laps of scarecrows

hurrying to their stretch,

engines rev lifting smoggy fumes of cities

into the peace land.

Water raising oil

to the chin of sleeping cubs,

framing windows of cluttered horizons

onto walls of wild woodland.

Iron scenes riding on the diesel

cutting through haybarns,

pulling on the tail of the free walkers.

Busy scents ransack nostrils

bury streetlight in the mud…



@Steven Francis poems 2009

In Crayon: Cemetery

And the chaos beats you to it
cobwebbed pictures make it real.
Deathly dying and the dead
there’s a defiance to it
falling into soil.
Graveyard summer
holiday of worms,
there is fever in the bones tonight
we sick,
we merry sick…

@Steven Francis poems 2009