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I've posted it all before, but here it all is again, in one giant blob:
A poetical treatise to life…
The love of life keeps me going each day.
My thought processes lead me on my way.
Tomorrow will bring a new proceeding.
The past is gone, there is no redeeming.
Gone are the days of times, good and bad.
The future will bring times, happy and sad.
Love will come and it will also go.
Many new friends I will get to know.
Others will be lost or will be gone.
But what matters, is that my life will go on.
Geck0
13 October 2001
Reflections in a blacked-out mirror
Scared of life.
That's what I am.
Scared of death.
That's what I am.
I dream of the perfect life.
This idea crumbles immediately.
Denial is a cruel thing.
Truth is deadlier still.
Dreams never come true.
Neither do wishes.
Forget about everything good.
Let the bad take over.
Scared of living.
That's what I am.
Scared of dying.
That's what I am.
I dream of the worst life.
This idea crumbles immediately.
Denial is a great thing.
Truth is greater still.
Dreams still never come true.
Neither do wishes.
Forget about everything bad.
Let the good take over.
Timor mortis conturbat me.
I said.
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Geck0 - 02/06/2004
A Collision In Another World
An Ethereal being, clad in armour,
sword wielded; approaching slowly,
getting ever closer to his prey,
somebody is about to suffer.
Travelling majestically through walls,
lightning is seen to emanate from him,
aimed at the enemy approaching,
who will die first, who will suffer?
A fireball hits the ethereal being,
he winces in pain; but he continues on,
Another fireball approaches him,
he dodges the flame and it misses.
He charges up a spell, a deathly spell,
but he is in trouble, a blue light approaches,
it's a blue nova and it's going to hurt,
It hits him and he falls over in pain.
He somehow stays focused, looking up,
waiting for his enemy to make a mistake,
he cannot wait and unleashes his spell,
a bright white light careers onwards.
It hits the target with gusto; they fall,
holding their side, obviously in pain,
they struggle onto their feet, slowly,
but they fall again, dropping their dagger.
The Ethereal being quickens his pace,
approaching the enemy with ease,
he pulls back his right arm quickly,
and launches the sword into the enemy.
The enemy struggles on; still living,
vainly trying to cast a spell; they fail,
they feel death approaching them,
their mind is set for the inevitable.
The Ethereal being pulls back his arm,
ready to launch his sword once more,
the sword comes down with speed,
and pierces the enemy's heart; silence.
Geck0 - 26th July 2004
This is my first sonnet. Here are the notes associated with it:
Note: Written in the Petrarchan style, using an octave and a sestet.
Also uses Iambic Pentameter (This maybe wrong in places).
This sonnet is principally about the threat of nuclear action.
The
'Common men' being the members of Government around the world who can
destroy this planet without trouble or care. Only they can stop this
plight.
Without a care it seems…
When will the world realise in the whole truth?
People need to start to try hard to believe,
That Common men are trying to deceive,
Oh, believe thy words, including the youth.
Blind Fury maketh the common men a spoof,
Ever presents, they nought shall ever leave,
Using their elitist ways, with no reprieve,
Being bad liars and cheats, all so uncouth.
Then they shall come, starting the apocalypse,
The day of judgement is nigh, beyond all,
Common men can only stop abomination,
The world shall end on a solar Eclipse,
Forever gone, every one will likely fall,
The dawn of ages past; no more tension.
Geck0 - 10 December 2003 - edited: 13th December 2003
This
was my second (and currently my latest) sonnet that I wrote. It is a
personal poem that only the person who it relates to and some friends
of mine would understand. I am hoping it relates to others as well
however.
Note: This was written in the Petrarchan style.
On concerns for a friend dear to my heart
Oh! My sweet darling of my life be here,
You have not learn'd your lesson about my life,
Indeed you have not realis'd of my strife,
About my apparent distress and fear,
You may look at my face of strife and sneer,
But I know you care for me, a lowlife,
I also know that you will never be my wife,
All I want to do is shed a small tear.
I have decided to give up on you, sorry,
It is nothing you have done, believe me,
I just have issues with a certain individual,
Everything it seems, is feeling somewhat blurry,
If only you were aware and were able to see,
That I now feel somewhat lost and unusual.
Geck0 - 13th December 2003
Death will be my destiny
Distance, looking into the distance.
Gripping the harness tightly. Galloping.
Approaching a life form, but it's dead.
Killed by a stray bullet, they stand upright.
Trotting. Slowing down to a walk.
The smell of rotting flesh, an awful stench.
A cacophony of bullets. Shouting. Death.
I stop, look around, crying with grief.
I see an old friend; dead, covered in blood.
Corpse starting to rot, gangrenous legs.
He was a good man, doing his job; fighting.
For what purpose? An unnecessary conflict.
I continue onwards, through the gate.
Approaching safety; scarred, but not wounded.
Feeling distraught. Upset. Disturbed.
I laugh. I cry. I wonder, all for nothing.
Get me away, let me leave. Bring peace.
I think of family, how I miss them. Not good.
Slowly. Sedately. I get to my destination.
But nobody greets me, everyone is dead.
It's only a matter of time now. I wonder.
It will be my time soon, they will get me.
I have nowhere to hide, to run. I'm scared.
Death will be my destiny. I wait, sobbing.
Geck0 - 27th July 2004
EMOtionally distant
There I am, sat on my chair, wondering.
Wishing for a miracle of coincidences.
In front of me is my computer, buzzing.
Then there is me, still on the chair.
In my world: cold, hungry and lonesome.
I stare, aimlessly, at nothing in particular.
Wanting to do nothing, feeling isolated.
Who am I?
Defiantly wanting to be cured. Normality.
Scared, defensive, wicked to an extent.
Satisfied at doing nothing.
I'm a failure, depressed failure.
Brain dead, no thoughts in my mind.
I continue to stare.
I struggle to live.
I struggle to love.
I struggle to breathe.
Death. Turn out the lights please.
Silence, calmness, peace at last.
Geck0 - 8th November 2004
Enlightenment
There sits a Robin, on the branch of a tree,
looking at the world, rather contentedly.
Below, is sat a man, contemplating life,
head in his hands and holding a knife.
Off flies the robin, chirping and cheeping,
over the fence, twisting and sweeping.
The man looks up and sighs, then groans,
"Sticks and stones, may break your bones..."
The robin appears again, with some food,
a tasty worm, succulent, delicious and good.
"but words will never hurt you, yeah right",
said the man, loudly and with no foresight.
Startled, the robin flew off, frightened,
but returned again, feeling enlightened.
The man noticed the Robin's actions,
disturbed by her unfearful reactions.
He moved the knife towards his heart,
He was emotionally broken; falling apart.
The Robin flew off, landing on his shoulder,
as the man's heart grew ever colder.
"What is it you want with me little bird?
I want to kill myself, I can't be cured"
She chirruped louder, trying to assist,
trying to make the man resist.
"You're not helping, push off! Fly away"
But the little robin, she wanted to stay.
"I told you, fly off, disappear, shoo!"
Annoyed, off the little robin flew.
"Finally, peace at last, must try once more",
He was shaking, more nervous than before.
Then a startling noise could be heard,
Little wings beating, as other robins lured.
"Oh my! What a wonderful sight!".
Lots of little robins, all in flight.
They landed in front of him, chirruping,
He looked at them, distraught, wondering.
"This has to be a message from god!"
Thought the man, giving a slight nod,
"Tell me, why have you forsaken me?"
The robins continued to sing with glee.
"I shall look at life again and be hopeful,
I shall be positive and not so resentful".
Then one solo robin, chirruping loud,
arose from the ground, feeling proud.
"Oh little robin, I thank you, I really do,
I shall try and give my life another go."
She flew over to him, rather sprightly,
landing on his right knee very lightly.
Casually, the man threw the knife aside,
it landed softly behind him, he smiled wide.
The robin looked up at him curiously,
then she flew off, rather flittingly.
She continued on, landing back on the tree,
content, happy, yes happy as can be.
Geck0 – no date attribution
Scammed
Let's all write a happy tune!
Right, let's not, let's go emo! Oh yes.
Depression, bad love, bad sex.
Flirting goes nowhere. Sexless.
I feel sexless. Why? Is it me?
Maybe it is, maybe it is not.
I am not convinced with either circumstance.
Let's go all angsty, let's cut myself.
It will cure everything, of course it will.
Black is the new black.
Colour bracelets are so me, don't you think?
It's all a scam. Emo is a complete scam.
Get over it, rebuild your life and be happy.
So what if you've had bad love?
You're not alone. I'm with you on that one.
I'm not emo, I don't need to be emo.
Let's all scam together.
Let's all be scammed.
Pass it on.
Geck0 - 20th March 2005
Narftastic
I wandered over to the bar; it foolishly broke into two.
Bizarrely spoken voices couldn't be heard, but seen.
A deafening tribe of Navajo were sleeping roughly,
or were they roughly sleeping? Who knows.
A trick of the light, a puma running and dancing,
black and as drunk as a mouse in a house.
Juvenile delinquents drink White Lightning,
Emo tendencies installed into their brains.
The Puma jumps erect, flaps its wings and
flies on like a chicken wing on Kronenbourg.
Dark voices turn into light voices.
Evil renounced, they speak unwickedly, softly, sparingly.
A monobrowed Mancunian walks upto the bar.
and slurred: "Newcy Brown please mate, bottle of"
"Sure thing mate, £2.20 please".
"Oi, I said Newcy Brown, what's this rubbish?"
"That's Newcastle Brown Ale, as you asked for".
"Oi, no, I asked for Newquay Brown!"
"That's what you've got, don't mess me about".
"This ain't from Newquay is it? No, so grr...".
Clouds darkened the room became quiet.
Psirens could be heard in the gents bogs.
Buxom women’s bras could be heard snapping,
Sid James could be heard laughing, crudely.
A toucan walked into the pub and walked to the bar.
"Pint of Guinness please!" he asked the barspider.
"There's one on yer 'ed matey boy, you sure?"
"I know, it's superglued there, it's well heavy."
Geck0 – no date attribution… 2005ish
No light shines on us anymore
Swirling archangels crash and burn; trying to fly,
The lesser angels are in laughter, cherubs smile.
Defenceless against the evil thoughts of man,
All heavenly beings will soon crash and burn too;
To perish. Angels, Seraphs and Cherubs, all spirits.
Man thinks not of green, but of crimson and black.
Blood red.
Dark, puerile. Dripping.
Tap.
Screams of pain.
Tap.
Screams of anger.
Tap.
Cries of laughter.
Tap.
They laugh at life;
They laugh at death.
A nefarious fiend is taking over.
Sliding...
Angels disappear into nothingness.
The never ending ramp of life, broken.
Nothing to arrive at except nothingness.
Bleak. Empty. Black.
A Spatial abyss.
All known light now fades.
Walls crumble, silence arrives.
Silence arrives abruptly.
God itself is now disturbed; it feels uneasy.
It is sinking. Its empire collapsing around it.
Not dying, but metamorphosing.
The once sexless, neutral personification.
Turning male, turning evil. Eyes now glowing.
Piercing red eyes of death, focusing on one and all.
He is now completing his metamorphosis.
Limbo is no longer.
Heaven is no longer.
Even hell has gone.
This is far more evil than Satan ever was.
Satan enjoyed his evil life-forms.
The new personification of evil wants death.
He wants no living, he just wants our hearts to stop.
He won't even live long himself, he is not immortal.
He is as mortal as we all were.
He just had the means to destroy us.
All of us. Himself included.
Goodbye Earth. Goodbye Life.
Geck0 - 20th March 2005
Call me Elliott
"Call me Elliott". Utter Silence.
Jarringly obvious ignorance.
"Fine, be like that, be ignorant"
One utterance, one noise.
A sneeze.
"Bless you sir"
More silence. More despair. More Anger.
A terrible stand-up comedian. Awful.
Truly disturbingly awful. God help us all!
Defiance is the key. Perseverance.
Going down slow. Lead balloons.
All that baloney. Not a funny joke anywhere.
Nostalgia, do a joke about that.
No!
No?
No!
Glass walls or thick perspex?
A spanner in the cogs.
Wheels stopping.
He needs some air.
His jokes are dying and so is he.
Respiratory problems. Artery's failing.
The grand scheme crumbles, everyone silent.
He draws his last breath, or does he?
Acting never was his strong point; was this his moment?
Was he "in the zone"?
A trickle of noise.
Reverberating round and round.
A raucous non-committal snigger from one.
A small, insignificant twittering from another.
This would be his finest minute.
A minute of respect. No. That would be a lie.
A minute of acceptance. Maybe.
Or just a minute of his final moments.
For he was dying; slowly and painfully.
A life of bewilderment and bitterness.
Nothing has he lived for.
A moment of tranquillity he shall die for.
Not often has he felt like this, but now, well...
Almost there.
He raises his head one last time.
"Call me Elliott".
Cheers of laughter, cheers of joy.
Finally.
Acceptance and Appreciation.
Everyone thought he was acting it all.
Oh to wit! He had the last laugh.
Geck0 - 23 March 2005
Schizophrenia
Darkness belittles all that is good in me.
Morals die, evil starts to take over.
All sensual thoughts about women,
love and the living world flicker,
as the flame inside me dies.
I feel all kinds of sickness inside me,
not all painful;
Hatred, Malice and lots of flashes of death.
I see myself floating in The Styx,
watching all those people I have killed,
appearing from the dark depths.
Moaning.
Groaning.
Trying to grab me and pull me under.
They are bitter at me.
They may have lived a happy and good life,
but they have to go at some point don't they?
During the day I am a Lawyer.
I see every kind of person in the world.
Anaesthetised from all that I encounter.
Murderers, Rapists, Muggers, Felons,
Schizophrenics.
Schizophrenia...
Schizophrenia...
Can one be schizophrenic just in darkness?
Can one become affected by their daily work?
Schizophrenia...
Dual personalities.
Madness? Confused? Affected?
I kill for no reason, for no purpose,
for no goal, at night.
Why do I kill in the dark?
Tell me why.
Schizophrenia...
Geck0 - April/May 2005
Basking in the moonlight
Basking in the moonlight; mourning,
another member of humanity gone.
The beach glistens, albeit with menace.
Inviting evil onto it by night. Death frequents.
It's always at night it happens, out of sight.
One minute they are fine;
The next they are not. Is it the elements?
Or do they know death is upon them?
Maybe they go to the beach at night,
knowing they are out of sight.
Maybe it is the pleasantness of the sea,
lapping upon ones feet.
And the feeling of ease and serendipity,
the quietness of the sea and air.
He had a good life, he worked hard.
Now he's gone, but not forgotten.
Many People will mourn his loss.
But why now?
Life's adventures make things inevitable,
one cannot have things how they want.
Happiness prevails and then,
like a slap in the face,
one is hit with a reality check.
About time too though.
One cannot live a falsity forever.
Time to once again ponder life,
death and the after-life.
Time to bask in the moonlight.
Mourning.
Until morning.
Geck0 - 8 May 2005
Mr. Pretentious
Hey Mr. Pretentious, how dare you,
Grab me by the balls and then squeeze.
Millions dying.
Millions dead.
Soften that grip, I'm whincing here.
Did you not hear me?
Unjustified.
Hear that? Unjustified.
In their masses.
Gone, used as pawns.
Your offensive gambit failed.
They had a gambit too, you know.
A defensive gambit.
Guess what?
That failed too.
Who won then? Tell me.
What was achieved?
Questions.
Questions without answers.
Hyperbole.
Lots of indignation and uncertainty.
I can't feel that grip loosening,
Not any day soon.
Tears in my eyes.
Physical pain.
Mental pain.
You don't amuse me.
I can answer a question.
Oil. Lots of Oil.
Jump into it and sink.
Sink without trace.
Let us all rest; in peace.
Geck0 - 13th May 2005
No fixed abode
You see a face,
A face familiar,
Familiar to you,
Familiar to many.
It is you.
A reflection.
You see remorse.
You feel pain.
You fear anger.
Reflective overkill.
Old, crumpled shirt,
Unwashed,
Unkempt,
You look a state.
But why is this?
No thoughts,
No worries,
They all died long ago.
Broken.
Torn open like a bag,
Of Walkers Sensations.
Bitterly cold,
No heating,
No light.
A misguided fool.
Driven to despair,
Driven to drink.
On the streets,
Away from the stress.
The hustle and
The bustle,
Of a normal life.
You look away,
Drop the razor,
Half-shaven face.
The bed creeks,
As you lay down.
Sleep my friend,
I know how you feel.
Alienation.
It gets you everytime.
Geck0 - 19th May 2005 (edited on 2nd June 2005)
The pang of thinking
Shallow minds think alike; I say.
The curvature of minds... they exhaust my thoughts.
Simplicity worries me, it makes my head spin;
Violently and incoherently.
Self obsession; a bleak look at life.
I shelve my thoughts under miscellaneous,
but this is a ruse, I really mean unfathomable.
I'm scrupulous really; mulling over trivia,
Selecting inappropriate thoughts.
Unleashing them; making others suffer.
I discourage others to be like me.
Please don't be my role-model.
But at least I do think.
Complication. Does it worry me?
Very much so.
But simplicity worries me more.
So where do I go from here?
My collection of thoughts tell me thus:
Look under miscellaneous.
Emptiness is all I find.
Oh well.
Geck0 - 7th June 2005
Surprisition
With slight of hand, the ace of spades emerges;
My brain feels numb, my thoughts are intense.
You surprised me.
Surprises never happen to me, I'm hard-hearted.
I cannot trust anyone at all;
Experiences tell me so.
"Trust me" you say.
Two words that are fake and dishonest.
Two simple words that I cannot believe.
"Trust": Relying on someone to do something.
The petard, the ridiculousness!
Why say something you don't mean?
You have failed me so many times.
What makes this time any different?
Relentlessness.
It spirals out of control, your deceit.
Something flies into outer-space, burning up.
An explosion occurs, it's your dishonesty.
But this time you seem different.
I feel the magic you are portraying.
All the false hopes I had before, they're dispersing.
That was one mean trick you played on me.
Surprise me again, I like this feeling.
Geck0 - 7th July 2005
Pedanticity (Looser Arrangement)
Consider me a cosmic biker,
A uni-lateral back-breaker.
Shin me, but never kick me.
School me until teaching fails.
Deny me the wonder of speech.
Shelter me from destiny, as well
As from designer clothing and
Random French pop music.
Colloquially talk about me,
In a tongue only a miscreant understands.
Hit me for six, run like hell,
And never return to your evil.
Balls it up and blame me,
Everyone else does.
Realise.
Release.
Two entirely different words.
With very different meanings.
Release me and realise I'm normal.
Realise and release me, I'm normal.
Generalise me generously,
Or shut up and dribble.
Geck0 - 9th June 2005
Pedanticity (Tighter Arrangement)
Poker-faced politicians;
Condescending oddballs.
Making our lives unliveable.
Un-bloody-believable!
Don't grope me in the dark,
Or gouge my eyes with cynicism.
Never utter prophetic words, as
I shall never believe them.
Foul your own pavement,
With the excrement of your soul.
Nurture your Deadly Night Shade.
And then poison your ego.
Scare-
Monger-
Ing-enius; I don't think so.
The cosmic biker is coming,
to unilaterally break your back.
So fashion that thought;
Don't provoke me.
Geck0 - 8 July 2005
In Absentia (Fly/Tea - not Aspic)
There sat my mug of freshly made tea;
on the coffee table; cooling down.
I was relaxing with King Crimson,
settling down into the sofa; bliss!
"The Talking Drum".
It required more volume;
more intensity.
Remote control; volume up.
I settle back down again.
It was getting more intense,
I was in my own world here.
Some Frippian whines;
David Cross violin and
wonderful Bruford drumming.
Wetton's bass setting the pace,
Muir's percussion just intense.
It was like a dream sequence.
A higher state of consciousness.
The climax; the ending.
I'm ready for Larks' Tongues... part 2.
I quickly remember my tea;
it's getting cold, it needs drinking.
I sip a bit..., good, not too hot.
A few sips later...
A coughing fit.
Eyes watering; body shaking.
I finally stop, spitting something out.
A fly.
It had got into my tea.
Still alive after it's ordeal.
Larks' Tongues In Aspic.
Why not a fly in aspic?
Now it was just a Musca domestica;
In Absentia.
Geck0 - 18 July 2005
Pendulum Unswung (Sunny side down)
The agony of waiting for the sun to shine,
why do I feel so spiritually unawakened?
Rain just seems to pitter-patter on my roof.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
Voodoo Chile (Slight Return).
Panic attacks
and anoraks.
Pendulum swinging from left,
to right, to left...
then the ball drops off.
Rollin' and tumblin'
I have the blues.
The clouds shutter out all logical thoughts,
all I feel is pain, with a topping of chutney.
Slam me against the wall,
shout at me and touch me.
The sky's the limit they say.
In this case, it's true.
All I want is the sun to shine on me.
Craving for pleasures I can't have,
I feel sick.
My brain is addled with impure thoughts,
as I lie in my bed, scarred.
Scarred from the top down.
Head to toe, arm to arm.
Darkness falls on me from somewhere,
the rain still swells my conscience.
The sun, the moon, the stars,
the light, the dark and the relatively unseen.
Get a grip, take the rubbish out.
Then make that life changing 'phone call.
Geck0 - 31st July 2005
De-Arted (Downfortunate)
Making circles in the sky with matchsticks,
I am in my melancholy world of creation.
Artistic designs instilled into my mind.
But they are stuck there; trapped,
Like someone between two walls;
Moving closer together. Feeling crushed.
A living hell.
Having artistic thoughts;
But no artistic skills.
Feeling useless and entrapped.
Bring me the head of Lord Dunsany,
'Lo, exercise my sterility.
My hands weak as wet clay; I'll gladly swap.
Gratis, I am no shrewd writer; alas.
I just want to violate my notepad,
Pen in hand, I shall write again.
Geck0 - June/8th July/2nd August 2005
Slumber: Pillows a-plenty (sleep/comatose)
The sofa speaks, I swear it does.
The sofa called out to me.
It said:
"Come hither young mortal,
lay upon me and follow your instincts.
Dream the day away and wake for night.
Enter a world of fantasy and lucidity.
Call up those who you love dearly,
make them the central attraction.
Let them lead you onto temptation
and do things you cannot physically do.
Be a murderous and lecherous fool,
be a pirate or a pilot, or a Prime-
ministerial-ordial soup-son of kedgeree.
Swim in a flatulated swimming pool,
suitable for 5 year olds and under
the boardwalk you'll go; drifting,
aimlessly guiding a vagabond to riches.
Grant yourself three wishes a fortnight.
Violently attack yourself with a straw poll.
Get yourself entrapped in a snare
drum up the courage to learn chopsticks
on the piano play Eine Kleine Nacht Musik.
Mozart will be proud and turning batons
at the pearly gates upon your entry
into the womb of a pregnant woman,
who listens to J.S. Bach and Mendelssohn.
Be whatever you like young mortal.
Capture those dreamscapes a-plenty."
Geck0 - 22 August 2005
Pensionable age -30 (unacceptably fake James Bond blonde)
I saw her at the end of the street,
underwear looking like overwear,
gross indecency.
Escort her off the premises and
drop her over a precipice.
She'll hit the stones below,
breaking a nail, losing her pride
and her makeup will crack,
it's no skin off my back.
Her mind is a labyrinth of lost illusions
in a world of Barbie dolls and muscular men,
Stiletto heals sharper than a dagger,
sharper than her malformed tongue.
L'Oréal Elvive, because she's worth it!
A critical mass of hair products way her down.
Brain-cells are oozing out of her ears.
They become vacant, but like a condo,
nobody wants to move into them.
Patience isn't a virtue, she wants instant results.
She approaches me, hips betraying her walking skills,
just about managing to speak on her phone.
Talking about boob tubes, cellulite loss techniques
and her dieting regime.
I laugh, she stares.
I point, she glares.
There is just no hope in the world.
Geck0 - 9th September 2005
Para-shouting-chuting-noia/tongue in the post (via FedEx)
I've always thought one day,
that you'll end up losing your...
paranoiaic tendencies, awaken me.
Slip into that FedEx mode,
be impromptu and forgetful,
lose that callous on your finger.
Awake, feel your own magnified solitude
and realise you've shrunken the world.
Spare me the diatribe that your sex-fiend
Jessica so politely tells you to pass-on,
Fancy a slice of tongue?
In cheek I keep mine.
I mean in check.
One must never divulge a loose-woman’s words,
of regret after she became pregnant.
The baby inside her will only kick her hard
and when she grows up, she'll hate her life,
all because she was like a clam shell.
You will never learn the reason,
you'll just remain inept, but you'll per-
severe your arm with a sharp instrument,
longing for love and affection.
You'll only get an affectation of love.
Bail-out at 10,000 feet, measure every increment.
Inches will pass-by, escaping this world.
You may land on your feet, luck is tricky.
Nobody will be there though, you'll be alone.
Feet in wet clay, the sun shining bright,
you'll be naked after a while.
Only a savage beast will welcome you now,
wanting to break free from their loneliness.
Remind me next time I see you how you are.
Geck0 - 13th September 2005
The Clot Thickens (frenetic running: liberation)
Echoes of an insulting tone,
disdainful madness.
Slap dash.
Inaudible to me; excruciatingly loud.
Colourful language, abusive increduality.
I want to hear a dulcimer.
Easy prey; fists a-flying.
Screams of horror and abuse,
Feet a-tap tap tapping,
people are running scared.
Others are calling for loved ones,
whilst some are defenceless.
Collectively, people are broken,
the hurt processes clotting their minds.
The crowds thicken.
The blood thickens too.
Vacuum up freedom fighters' discoloured soles,
lap up the mess like a German Shepherd.
Rubber bullets, rubber souls.
The culprits just eye-candy,
strutting along in their attire.
A shield from the riot squad...
catches a passing doting mother,
the push-chair goes a-flying,
nobody but the mother seems to care.
Onward they stride, confident aplenty,
trying to capture that moment of glory.
Fame.
It's not a fame game.
People are lacking oxy...
morons start shouting abuse.
Grabbed hands are cuffed tightly.
Ungrabbed hands struggle free.
So they're caught, what now?
A slap on the wrist and fine?
A gaolor will await patiently
hoping for miracles and his lunch.
Geck0 - 24 September 2005 (started late August/early September)
Terraforming terror (bysitting & a consequence)
A quiet death,
featureless, subtle, but terrifying.
A person didn't die today,
a whole world did.
Everyone stricken; brutality.
Not pleasant, but quick and silent,
nobody had a clue and never will.
Nobody will be forgotten.
Nobody is left to forget.
It had been building up for months.
Each day, a disaster.
Minor at first, greater by last.
The sick died, the poor then succumbed.
It was a survival of the fittest.
All then seemed well.
Immortality of spirits died.
People gave up belief.
Hope was sat on her porch,
quietly sipping her sangria.
But then she passed.
Just like the rest.
Gone, barely forgotten.
Lucky Heather...
No thanks.
Great wads of cash vanished,
people got desperate.
Banks closed.
Seedy nightclubs opened.
A dark shadow loomed,
it was the President.
He gave a lucklustre speech.
People cried.
He backed down off the podium
and swallowed hard.
Down went the cyanide pill.
Joy was no longer happy,
she was soon to join Hope.
That was the bird-flu pandemic.
The hurricane.
The tsunami.
So what happened today?
Nothing.
The consequence: Widespread panic.
Geck0 - 17th October 2005
Drowned Up (sidedownacross)
Shall I?
I could do, but why?
Expecting miracles,
Living in a shamtasy.
Shallow.
This water never evaporates,
it surrounds me,
strangles me,
The deep end I cannot trust.
Sliding down the tube,
twisting and turning,
feeling sick.
There's nothing I can do.
Here I go...
I can't breathe, I'm sinking,
legs akimbo, arms everywhere.
Shouting is useless,
I'm giving up.
Head hits the tiles,
all I feel is peace.
I feel happy and relaxed.
Miracles do happen!
Shell eye.
In the water, a lifeline.
Why is it there?
A perplexing manner.
I want to live.
A figure blurs,
A lifeguard, maybe...
I don't remember the rest.
Shelley.
She rescued me,
slapped me,
kissed me,
it was instant lust.
Good fortune at last!
Shall I?
You bet I will.
Geck0 - 13th November 2005
Moonlit serenity: guilt, passion and a girl
Knocking on the door, he waited,
longing for a reprieve; standing.
He was guilty, but remorseful;
the handle creaked, he felt fear,
stood before him, was his mother.
His head heavy, fell into shoulders.
'Come in Tommy, come in slow'
The chair looked comfortable as he sat.
'Now Tommy, my love, why are you here?'
She was solemn, standing ready to listen.
'Forgive me mama, an ordeal has occurred,
for passion has got the better of me...
my loving Eliza, she's... dead mama'.
'Dead? How so? What have you done?'
Anger appears in her face, cheeks redden.
'Mama, it was an accident, a tragedy,
for we were cycling to town and...
it's a moonlit night, it's late.'
The chair was not comfortable at all.
'Tell me, what happened, are you to blame?'
Forlorn, she felt uneasy on her feet,
taking rest slowly upon the hearth rug.
'Mama, I am sorry, I feel deep guilt;
for she died in my arms, in pain,
but happy that I was with her; blameless.'
'So you had no involvement in her death?'
She knelt down, fire burning brightly.
'Alas Mama, I did not, she was attacked...
By a madman, maybe a murderer? Who knows.
We were passing the river, by the bridge,
out of the dark he emerged, approached her,
pushed her he did, my world collapsed.'
'That is truly awful son, have forgiveness,
do not blame yourself, you did your best.'
There would be a frost, the night was clear,
the moon was bright, the air still - serenity.
The coal crackled, there was an eerie presence,
How could such a tragedy occur on such a night?
'But Mama, she was stabbed - below the abdomen.
She had not a chance of survival, she bled,
but alas, she lived. I put her in my arms.
She spoke her lasts words and then she passed.
I blame myself, we should never have gone,
the night is treacherous; quiet, but deadly.'
'Son, you did no wrong, you cared for her,
were there for her at her time of need'
A smile crept upon her face - sincerity,
she was thinking back to past times,
that first meeting that night in April.
'What were her final words by the way?'
'Tommy - whatever you do - be happy in life,
never leave my grave unattended and remember:
I will always love you and I will wait for you,
knowing that one day you will join me, smiling.
Never seek revenge for this, for it was you,
Tommy McNamara, that put that knife into me...'
Geck0 – no date attribution (around November 2005)
They (ego-maniacs): High
They rode to the liquor store,
shot a man, left and got away,
with it. Man were they lucky.
But who were they?
Why did they?
Liquor is an expensive commodity,
tasty too if you like that sort of thing.
Worth a few bucks as well; so?
So, it's worth nicking.
Were they justified?
Hell no.
They thought: Ten, maybe twenty quid?
They theorised, but rarely did they do.
This time they did and they would pay for it.
They that thought they were lucky...
Got caught in the city, high as kites.
Crack, dope, amphetamine?
No.
Ego. They were high on ego.
Thinking they could pass by unnoticed.
Fools I tell thee!
Still, a few months and they'll be back.
Geck0 - 17 November 2005
Underachievingpyromaniac (lost in a world of solitude - denial is loose)
Freak!
They call me a freak of nature,
it disturbs my inner conscience.
Firelighters,
Wood,
A sense of loss.
Burn.
Burn it
Burn it ignite it
My mind ablaze,
thoughts burning up.
Everything I've filed - from
A through to Z - frazzled.
A collection of notes, jotted down when I was 12,
fragmentary ideas on how to build a nuclear reactor.
It is all nonsense: teenage years.
Teenageism - angst, fear, desperation.
I filled 10 whole pages full of satanic nonsense.
Ghouls, ghosts and gargoyles,
Witches, warlocks and wizards.
Aleister Crowley.
Klu Klux Klan.
Paganism.
Yes I was a freak.
I could still be.
My teenage years burn away - guilt?
Bronze swimming certificate floats in the smoke.
Wanting to burn, but refusing.
An achievement - surprise?
I had underestimated myself entirely; typical.
I am entangled within a web - of fabric-ation.
A poor representation of myself,
I have denied myself the goods of happiness.
But what of it?
The fire is dying,
but my memories still remain - warm?
I feel sedate and melancholy.
Bereft of foreboding an happenstance.
No longer a singularity, becoming multi-faceted.
Coleridge's pleasure dome glazes over my thoughts,
I am easing slowly into a world of solace.
But many pathways pass me by.
Give me time.
I will arrive at my destination...
Orthenthian Street?
Geck0 - 11 December 2005
(May) Flyby Tours - Borodinosaur a.k.a. Sorry I borrowed a few of your ideas pH
It doesn't matter if I live... or die...
Why?
I... fall into the maelstrom,
thunder cracking on my back
down to earth I (may) fall, but
the (may) fly, flies itself to sleep,
making my time with him a calamity.
Of course, time dissuades me,
from ever being what I want to be.
The (may) fly isn't a (may) bee,
time forces him into many mannerisms,
a ponderer, a wanderer, an organiser -
of the Anti-Anteater Association.
But at least he tries...
Unlike me.
I used to be a positive soul,
waiting out time for miracles,
but the materials required?
Well they were out of Stock,
Aitken and Waterman songs.
I should be so lucky...
Always popular, but never brilliant.
I specifically asked for pot...ash,
so I could grow some Amaryllis -
I got some dead stoners ground up bones.
Incinerated?, insinuated more like.
It's typical, mysunderstandyng.
I've been disqualified from the rat-race.
Snow bites my top lip, as I fall ever deeper,
time may start to pass backwards soon...
The thrill of the hunt - my piercing spear,
too elaborate to fly straight, it hits...
me in the face, time continuum.
No wonder the Woolly Mammoths died,
they hadn't bargained on my spear - useless!
I... want... to... spend time with the enemy,
working out their lies and deceit.
To see why they have all the luck.
If I open this door, will I live?
Or will I die? If I don't open it...
Well, what of it?
Stalemate - a life of content.
I can do that, yes.
But I open the door anyhow...
to find, another door.
I hear field guns, is it 1812?
Have I travelled backwards in time?
I feel younger, but I look old.
Fitter and lithe, but with a stick...
I poke myself.
Then I see the (may) fly, he's awoken,
as bashful as ever - buzzing around my head,
dogfighting like Manfred versus Albert.
He settles on my right earlobe.
"Maybe I'll (may)be your life... away?"
He says.
In the confines of this...
What is this place?
I hear Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture
...the door opens.
Welcome to Paranoia, please enter.
Geck0 - 1 February 2006
Me you/Mind you (together as one)
----Me you (?)----
I need you to interlock your thoughts
your body, your skin, your lips,
with me.
Will you accept me?
I want you to interlock your mind,
your life, your presence, your past,
with me.
Will you accept me?
----Mind you----
You are constantly being pushed to the front of my mind...
A wall surrounds you, stops you leaving.
(If you wanted to do so)
It soothes you, it protects you...
It values your presence and love for it's owner.
He is thankful and grateful.
He loves you.
----Me you (two)----
Everything used to be misty and clouded,
and now,
it's clearer and more decisive than ever.
No longer lost,
no longer clinging to the precipice,
my hands are searching for your hands.
Will you lift me up?
Fay Lee Err... go now!
You were never loved by me.
You only ever brought me harm,
...making me choose depression...
over living...
On the brink, I felt for land,
I found rubble, but I struggled,
I almost...
(Fell)t this is the right thing,
falling, ever deeper.
Struggling on, down and up.
----Me you (three/free)----
I found up!
Beyond that rubble, there was hope,
...gripping the land, I lifted up...
And you were that hope.
You are still that hope.
Your smile greeted me at the top,
grabbing my hands (as asked).
I had been lifted.
Spiritually.
Literally.
I was safe now.
Fay Lee Err's brother had also left me.
Fee Err.
Gone, hoping to be forgotten.
Without your hands, I'd be dead...
Geck0 - 17 March 2006
Toiletry (missing: rhymes with...) - the fun of flowing hoses
Widdly dee, widdly don't.
Panties wetten like a hose flows.
Spurt forth, spurt fifth.
Widdly dee, widdly do.
Don't widdle the floor, sit on the hole-y.
Moley pops out from the holey,
but not that holy - whiffy.
Ploppety plop, hopscotch,
Hoppity skip, picnic.
Bacon butty, sand-witches
Old Mother Broom-cupboard.
Down the hatch, snatch it.
Catch it, match it.
Out the holy hole it goes.
Widdly dee, widdly do.
Panties wetten like a hose flows.
Note to self: pull 'em down
No more panties wetten,
hoses flow like rain falls...
In the Sahara desert.
Float.
Sink.
Halfway house.
Brown sugar, sucrose, saccharine.
Geck0 - 1st May 2006
No mention of a tail of a mouse (this time around)
I've got a mouse with three heads.
I want to POP them.
POP them.
POP!
I've got a mouse with (k)no(w) heads.
He's still more intelligent than you.
So there!
He's a creationist you know.
That moon (of cheese)...
Yes, he made that.
Geck0 - 12 Jul 2006
-!-yes... maybe-!- (the tale of the nonsensical voice of Pedro the chocolate bar)
Where have all the threads gone?
Talk
(but don't walk into a...)
Walrus's are only here for Christmas
don't worry!
*bounce*
It's Easter
*bounce*
Seasonal goodness
*stumble*
Leftitude
Leave it chewed
Eaten... gobble gobble
Walk
I've found the threads!
Geck0 - 13 July 2006
Bob's curious about security (and so he should be)
My heart has broken all the rules
By sitting on a wall with fools,
Who don't know wrong
From wrong
Right?
Wrong!
But still it sits on that wall,
whether with fools, or pilchards.
It matters not. No.
Wait!
What?
Wait!
Why?
Nevermind.
Rules are meant to be broken.
As is this poem, as it meanders,
unaware of it's limpett like ways
into Bobscurity...
Geck0 - 25 July 2006
The Bric-a-Brac Tree
Take one brick.
Add some sulphur.
Shake for five minutes.
(You forgot the gloves!)
Wait...
And a bit longer
Almost ready!
NOW!
Bash brick against wall.
Crumble.
You now have a bric.
What's a brac?
No idea...
Put bric in a tree.
You have a bric tree.
A mystery.
Bric, no brac,
bric in tree,
no brac, but bric
tree, bric in
brac no, bric but
bric brac? No but.
Why not? I said so.
Fine.
No, it's a pine
(with a bric(k) in it).
Geck0 - 8 October 2006
Cold comfort balm (A way to vent-ilate, pontificate and confiscate the human psyche) - part 1
It's a wonder I'm alive.
Scars betray my inner wisdom
Outer space, out of date.
Living is apparently a fun task
although laughing is better.
So what's my plan?
I have no idea...
I think and think and think
nothing really comes to mind
Scarred, strained, pained.
Wake up!
No!
Make a name for yourself,
you deserve the accolades,
but why, I don't feel I do?
Shout, shout, make a noise.
Those who are noticed, get places.
A fine philosophy maybe...
it's not for me. A maniac.
A cad.
A clinically depressed fact.
Am I well?
Am I swell?
Am I to dwell
on things past and present?
Possibly.
Shout, shout, make a noise.
Those who are a pain, well
they are always a pain.
I'm messed, stressed, a pest.
Maybe one day I will be forgotten,
remembered
shelved under miscellaneous.
Lest you forget...
I am a human.
Geck0 - 22 October 2006
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