Harp Mantra

People bounce
and people sing,
but heroes never let
the ogres win.

And people dance
and people shout
but never let
the angels out...

@Steven Francis poems 2010

The Ragged Fox

Guy,
you felt the tumult
of pain,
but Fawkes
you punched
and not in vain.

Man,
upon the scaffold
above fetid crowds -
battered
but not bested,
still remembered now...

@Steven Francis poems 2010

Windows (Beneath & Beyond)

Time outside sinks teeth
into rifles and manacles,
as pistons work the mannequins
and sauce is poured,
this dog -
this cloth horny, butter hawk,
sunk in jaundice and shame,
looks beyond the veil
to watch strangers.
Watch them screw
see them die,
and tell them he is thin.

In reflection and puddles
the fish is minnow,
with elastic waist
and minted belts,
a chiselled lord of delight.
There are no bubbles
or creases -
because glass is smooth,
but reach in and there is carrion.

Over the bristling traffic,
my eyes dry as coconut husks
are drawn to tungsten blondes
and lady shades,
behind the plastic frame
I am lust in panther coloured Levis.
They see this,
the women want the lava
in my volcanic, septic loins
but the mass graves
hitched to my chest
continue to echo the dead on my skin...

@Steven Francis poems 2010

The Glow

The fires rage
there is trouble coming,
fear breeds fear
as it grows.
But I will be fine,
I will be spared
because I am feeling
the glow.

The glow is mercy
a coups de grace,
for when Life
gets a bitch or too big.
And its here for all
both saints and sinners,
simply open a bottle
and swig.

Demons be damned
in the light of the glow,
sleeves of ginger
in tin or in glass.
Never alone
and shielded from pain,
become a sunflower
amongst matted grass.

Screw the sober
with wise intentions,
they think
but do not know.
Life's biggest secrets
or crazy ways
for they do not
feel the glow...

@Steven Francis poems 2010

To Beard Knit

I always wanted to be pretty,
a glass oiled peacock
with tattooed beak
and diamond singe'd organs.
But now im old
with barnacle pitted cheeks
and a beard -
a terrible hokus pokus
beneath my jaw.
More wizard than hero
this mad wire
smothering my lips
holds me,
sensible looking
and aloft...

@Steven Francis poems 2010

Welcome Us For 5 Minutes

Say hello
for the five minutes
we are here,
the five minutes
we hang around
this bubble stocked corner.
To sing
to paint,
and turn murder into portraits
we are a band
of wasps with lethal anchors.

A savage breed
with frail egos and limits,
the kind of punks
that cowboys follow,
dead angels in the sand.
We curse
and spit,
we drink
and die,
reflections whom
you never dared to be.

Dead men with bold
stores of Life,
stacked to deliver wisdom
and shrug off moderation,
fat men with thin hips.
We point towards
columns of sanity,
we mad
the crazed,
dying fevered bards.
Frosted shades
over stale and modern graves...

@Steven Francis poems 2010