Drawing of Blood

He aimed his rock most carefully
And threw it,
His casual swing attesting to his
Practised skill.
He sauntered jauntily away
Before it hit,
With a resounding crack
Her skull –
The first drawing of blood.

For that day.

“Stupid little tart,” he muttered as he walked away,
“Showing off her porky belly – she deserved it anyway.”

Sitting at the back of class,
He yawned
With mouth enopened most expansively,
A garlic smell.
“You stink!” he heard,
And in a trice
He'd hooked his boot about the chair-leg,
Down his taunter fell, his head
a'scraping at the corner of
The desk.

“Shithead fuck”, he mouthed upon the creature lying on the floor,
“Why don't you come outside and taste my boot a little more?”

Idly scratching on the benches, doodles
Of his enemies,
Caught in rude positions, as befitting
Dogs they are.
On standing up, his limp left hand
Scratched the knife
Up his bench-mate's leg.

“Oh, sorry, mate”, his bloodied neighbour through a smirk could see him say,
“Next time don't be a faggot, and just sit a little bit away”.

But when our hero got to class,
Upon the board, in fine marker, was a picture.
A daring jester braved a snipe at his committed father,
Drawing him in an aggressive, suicidal pose.

Next week, in all the campus papers, they condemned the fatal violence
But they noted in errata that it wasn’t quite his fault –
When confronted with a picture such, how could he keep his silence?
What could any son of such a holy madman do if not revolt?

See The Other Side:
http://lostundercontrol.blogspot.com/2006/12/prophets-pictures.html
http://sudanesetruthseeker.blogspot.com/2006/12/sudan-fairytales-pain-over-danish.html

The Bald Eagle

(To those who believe that the recent US elections change anything)

I saw an eagle, flying low,
All bald and ponderous, and slow
But still a quite disturbing sight
For both its wings were on its right.

It could not help but circle 'round
And spiral down towards the ground,
Then when upon the ground it lay
Its wings fell off in rank decay.

Bienvenidos

Left hand pointing to the floor,
Rapier towards the door,
Chest up high and shoulders back,
Right hand poised in half-attack;
Here you'll find me, so with grace
I'll ask you in... But watch your face.

Successful Invection

Since Ancyent Times the Bards invected with six feet,
Indeed it was this end for which their shoes did meet;
Yet English Bards reject this meter with disdain
And dance their dance with only five to their refrain.

Yet I speak neither Latin, nor an Ancyent Greek
And for my words their meter is by far too meek,
I'll shorten lines,
I'll be incisive,
Keep the tone
Aggressive,
Decisive,
Mine.

Mine to keep, and mine to break,
Mine to use and mine to make,
Yours to read and yours to hate
Yours to ignore,
If you like.
Or if you don't.

In Verse

I'd like to say to all my hosts
Upon whose pages I make posts:
My words are not malignant curses -
Read behind my cheeky verses;
And see me not as one perverted,
Simply know you've been "in verted".

Genesis

I start this blog with one intention -
Sow discord and raise contention
Higher, hotter, keep it burning,
Keep them on their feet and turning
Into what they truly are -
Show them up,
And leave a scar.