To Abraham

To rest hungry eyes
on such a face of interest,
a pleasure,
my poison, man of craggy countenance.
Oh face! Like a map of ribald scars
each leading to sonnet danger tales,
idle creases in collusion with fear shy bones;
Lincoln of the People
a triumph in a land of ages.

Bow thy solemn head
and shake those bats in hoods
under a heavy brow.
A structure future perfect
maddening the timeless printworks.
Magik ending in a K
as your bottom lip nods apologetically
to your castle of A,
Merica
Braham,
silent letters missing
off to fill the liberty spirits...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Dragon Streets

Mouthless svengalis line the pavements
where suns dry like coked out moths
under Tesco signs and local ads for tyres.
London to Cardiff to blah blah blah,
as wild winds and cities go
London is just Swansea with an ego.
Blunt and tired stiletto parks all,
full to the brim with orange faced girls
in tight skirts without menace or style for slogans
on their chip fat heavy breasts.
And then come the men
as lethal as moles in a bookstore,
dampened by a flat crotch and tin eyelids.

Little Los Angeles!
Dragon streets untamed
untamable,
a menagerie of flame and crusted sauce
battling to be King Blade
on the artery streets...

© Steven Francis 2013

Light Of Nails

Its time to pack and say goodbye
to fold these limbs and stop to die.
No more blinks or lardy coughs
the time has come to sleep with moths.
You'll miss me but not I you
a crystal eye as sharp as dew.
Hang the coats and burn the shoes
no more jokes, no more news.
Pain and trouble now myths to me
bodies wilt but souls go free.
A sash of light around the earth
sells this head and marks my birth.
Goodbye all, it is time to leave
the heavy shell of a bard called Steve...

© Steven Francis poems 2012

Vokal

The last chord from a red lane,
grinded away by tooth
and mortal air.
Two of us
granted no stay of death;
end words
as parched as desert stones.

Hear no more of me
and this clicking tongue.
Only in hearts and memories
are stages set
for a round of heavy sighs and prophecy.

Press "Play"
when lips will play no more,
and eventhough this soul has gone to roost
the vocals survive in mechanics.
No true end of words afterall,
no end no more in a televised century...

©Steven Francis poems 2012

On Blogging

Dead To Worlds

Tongue strained to overtures
and sand;
eyes closed yet alive to clocks
and inches,
rolling to tea and shop fronts
where stockings rise for chariots of ages,
the thellish strained overtures
and choirs of death.
I am death!
Eyes closed
and looking to the blind...


©Steven Francis 2012

Come Endless

Come end
come distant seas
where throes of man
live as idle fruit for kings
and mirrors send their spirits
keen as devil tongues
to viper morturies.
Amen
and say again amen!
Bring garden patches
to deserts of the deep,
the fractured paradise
a nylon pulse of man...

© Steven Francis poems 2012