Fern Hill

At 1:49 you will see the esteemed Mr Jakes reading a line from Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas for the 100 year anniversary. Diolch/Thanks for watching, it was an honour to take part.

5 Second Poem for Poet's Day

Today is National Poetry Day so here is a quick recital of a piece that came straight from the top of my head for the camera. No notes, no thought, simply press RECORD and this emerged. It sounds like I say "Tides" rwice but the second time is TIMES. Just something different I decided to do rather than rehash something written months ago. Makes poetry more interesting, more alive I feel.

Enjoy!

Steven xx

Reading from BratNews

I am currently working on a new play, "BratNews", which has been inspired by the internet and its many forums. Its still in its very early stages but in attempt to beat to death, I decided to put this up in case, God forbid (and I hope im not jinxing myself here) something happened to me before it was finished. I would hate to have this disappear without trace. And even if it is only the title and bare bones idea, that 'makes it', then that is better than nothing.

Diolch/ thanks

Steven

At the Farm Window

The horizon sulks with a gallows on its back
hanging dead wood and sinking stars
as curried clouds clamour for the night.
In my left eye, daffodils and newborn rabbits
cower from deadly weeds and satanic looking wolves
frozen in my glassy right.
Nature, as far away as television had intended,
halts granite ravens with mossy riffs
for butter lilies to rise from dew,
the morning glass.

A sightless explosion,
mother seeds in union
shattering the window with a mortal blast,
kneel deep in those wild, clove prayers...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Throat for Porno

C*cks in silver sheaths
guiding lights to thorny aisle
as clothes look on
(their legs broken by moral foxes)
crumpled from too many triple censors and litter puppy halos.
Banish XXX fiends to hell,
send them to daytime television
and let Poundland scriptures
wrench their groins from penny sands.

Oh my God this boy watches porno!
Wrench his slow worm guts
and toss them to hell,
lest chance befalls the devil's dick
to muddy virgin coves.
Run! Run! Flee from flesh!
Strip it from next door thighs of virtue,
shield natural modesty from obvious monsters...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Politics, Thanks

There is no need
for later thanks
or awards for pints poured
after ages flow.
No need for small dicks
in shallow holes,
tongues tossed by eager crowds,
or postponed portraits
that lead to masturbation.
The wolves will come when all is done
when the wait is over,
and words ignored by drainpipe friends
soon become gospel through green spires...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Remembrance View

This thing kept spinning a soft yarn in my mind, like a butter burn etching its tune into my brain. Thought I would shre the damned thing and see if it infects others.

Over Solemn Walls

Got to name the perfect dead
when once they lay that indulgent head,
sin looks no good on silent frame
hang a halo on saintly names.

No more fault, no lies to tell
the bad it sinks into the well,
bones begone under graveyard stair
ignore the fire that got you there...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Alko Instrukto

Behead those lion heads
who bathe on lotion sands
and twist the fire to replace yoga
with wretching.
Take away the skin plug
and water gags;
install grave
cover with masticated gauze
and proceed, pro seed!

Oily cheating wounds stunned by shame.
Lo behold the bruised flytraps
as heads roll and teeth chip,
a surge toward the liquid gallows.
these mourning arms need execrise in craving.

And when all the tales
lay spent like barking dames,
the autumn bandsaws shreik quiet
at the oblivion of blowfish feet...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Gizzzard Yaga

Frog Morton
frog Morton
lead the boys to their dune,
witches on stars
those goombas on ink
frog healer dance to your tune.

Ferret heart
ferret heart
straight until ya bend,
leather giblets
from grilled moles
carnivorous sonnets to the end...

© Steven Francis poems 2013

The Banyan Tree

The Banyan tree!
The Banyan tree!
Pray to never see the Banyan tree!
Where shadows dance in locust fits
and werewolf silhouettes prey
on those pray.
Empire of ghosts
orchestra of undead
worship the gods to hatchet the tree.

The Banyan tree!
The Banyan tree!
Darkness holds the devil
in the Banyan tree.
And where she roots
anfgels fall
because the devil holds darkness
in the Banyan Tree...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Burry Port

The Leather Ass of a Hollywood Dracula

Stars, all born to fade
as knives cry victory in Mercedes footwells
under the shadow of bitter, neon columns
where fame is just a ring~tailed cur.
Golden gods shaped with the sincerity of tabloid pus,
that lottery of demons for kid minded outlaws.

Burger joints and L.A.X,
hanger of the damned.
Glamour zombies miming a perfect bad world
of love and murder,
its a dull blast this bomb.
Hollywood, HollyGrief
the birdman of a dislocated Alcatraz...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Funeral Skirt

Oh raven sheathed ankles
fuelling abandoned passion,
as I drop these eyes
not in mourning but sincere lust,
to imagine rowing the boat uphill.
Drop the hem
and let us raise a bomb together...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Jade of Night

I only speak with family in dreams
where eyes are flat and voices low.
No longer trees go by in seconds flight,
life is hesitant where tombstones grow.

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Friend Of Waves

Rag doll bounce
'God help me' words
as you sink like a mole
beneath watery hole,
goodnight sweet forget-a-lot
adieu.

Bikini innards
twitch zombie strobe,

heil heil the summit floor!
For sale
forget the ale,
smorgasbord mama
help!

Revelations 999
flip six six six,

kidney Dostoyevsky.
Werewolf smiles
bedouin miles,
reap the
Titanic, sink...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Woman

Batter the crust
while souls soft as sea anemones
grind around plotted ankles

faceless.

Heels commanding chalk sermons.
The heron wails...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Hounded By Sonnets As Death Gives Chase

"And the poet Ste..."
No not yet
please no radio nails tonight,
this morning
whatever it is.
There is much to do still,
tea to brew,
ghosts to chase
and a thousand other scenes to set.
Please don't kill the rat just yet.

"His last words...."
I beg ye invaders of a tragic soul
not now, hold off,
my head too full of random errands
to be the death I must eventually become.
More songs for machete anthems
more bitter ink for sun....

© Steven Francis poems 2013

Propaganda to Electric Hives

The sense of man
the madness of mankind
held fast in nail'd broth,
drowning courtesy of electric currents
of clouded ignorance and haste.

Super highway Messiah of Torquemada shores
untwist the mystery in red
from Herod's robe;
spit news of the world
and raise the spirit of bubonic nations
that wills glass to move.

Stale time, stalled into space
and stagnant beyond days,
lethargy,
unwashed frailty
used as weapon...

© Steven Francis poems 2013

Olympic Twelve

Not for me
the batons dedicated to victory,
the rivers of tamed Thames snared
but as I heave no eyes
to look above at runners in their two by twos,
those many many few
I feel the gold surge from their chariot lanes...

© Steven Francis poems 2013