Gator Breath

Scrawl airless sonnets
to bounce like rubber into shiv'd arms
for those involved in minion trends.
Our ghetto brethren
from A to Z
have us frolicking
on shells
to skip a word or six.
The death bambinos
suckling from cruel iron rows
under broken skylights.
A queer uprising
failures on the captain ship....

© Steven Francis poems 2012

Blink

The fish scales have it all,
a camera roll on one.
From a downward swing in golf
to the never ending yawn of death
and a stretch of butter from a honey bird flight,
the lather from fish has it all.
A blink
a tear,
sterile gasps from drowning folk,
the theory blinks of man
are dying in hooked muscles...

©Steven Francis poems 2012

Idle Patterns

Wealth and happiness oft enemies,
seldom harmony exists between the two.
Dare slip the darkness inbetween them
and manservants will shoo away morning lights and dews
into comas where vomit skirted angels hang
in Bill Sykes shadows.,
Damn illusions of petty paper joys
forget the sons of mischief who decieve.
Its all,
all a stinking bone idle lie
that only grave hearted airheads would beLIEve...

©Steven Francis poems 2012


©Steven Francis 2012

Familiar Uknown (Force of Nature)

The pull of home brings footsteps back
to pad corridors that cannot tell email from teeth.
And as familiar as the public are
with voices and the tilt of necks,
bricks see nothing
while flowers spew their froth,
no lights in warren solitude.
That knuckled spook in gartered, cotton gown
may as well send its ghost to roam
amongst the propped up eyeless vinyl
on Ikea avenue.
Lost man out of style
in a Geronimo moment of masks and streets,
inbetween the grey and cold.

Tap
tap tip tap,
naked bones on keen heels.
One gone again to internet jars,
tap and then another,
famous names used like towels,
off to delirium beds at last...

@Steven Francis poems 2012

Coal Man (Relative of Death)

I am no fun
tick no mercy in your box of chances
as I leap around your shaggy frame
to shake it into putrid mulch.
When I am done (this no good fun)
no medicine or friend will recognise you,
or son or daughter find comfort in holding fathers hand
as it withers in a paper bed.
Disease tenants,
I love you to death...

@ Steven Francis poems 2012

Diana Dead

Satan grant the knock
Princess Diana's death,
the quiff
the quiff over sunglasses
swerved the wall into the car,
paparazzi smash!
Satan grants the knock
that kills Princess Diana,
Diana Princess
throne slippeth away,
the snow the blood
the blood the snow,
fingernails point
to lenses flash.
Diana dead
Satan knocks,
the car revolts
the walls revolt.
Diana dead...

@ Steven Francis poems 2012

Poet 666