Scarred by Bambi

Scarred by Bambi
as a child,
tricked into believing
that soft is the wild.
Oh idle wishes
of a Disney mind,
those yoghurt souls
fooled and blind.

Shun burger pools
with thy lily hearts,
think flower toothed lions
and candy stars.
Hop and skip
to the panthers lair,
care not for lost limbs
which take you there.

Amen Amen
wild is the God,
who put His creatures
on mortal sod.
And two by two
those animals follow
'Fluffy' and 'Tufty'
your blood will swallow...

©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

Grimace (Or Not for Dogs)

Stay that heel
assassin of night,
dont make me dead just yet
for my head is too full of random errands
to be the death I must eventually become.
And while the minds eye tumbles over boggy meadows
my heart slices the khardoma sun,
needing one more blink
to breathe before I suffocate.

And then after sips of maple syrup
will I fold my cadaver
into fountains of earthy whiskers
and give my morbid hand to the tantrum shore...

©Steven Francis poems 2013