Baron Mynd

[Lars]

"Deflowered Rose"




Under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless, guy who hides the carcass ..
.. of a seven-year-old school girl back in his high rised apartment.
She’d tried her hardest,
To escape the ropes he’d tied her arms with ..
.. before the tyrant started to divide her garments,
And molest the child regardless.
The violence started, once she’d rejected his evil suggestion ..
.. he beat her ‘til her cries for help, were little more than silent yelps.
The pungent stench of his stale breath, clung to her pale flesh ..
.. and she balled her fists at each sordid kiss,
Placed upon her by his morbid lips.
A single finger prised open the pink insides of this shrinking violet ..
.. and as his assertive hand plundered her cervic glands -
He barely blinked an eyelid.
Rose couldn’t bring herself to meet the glare of this demon,
So, tearfully, she stared at the ceiling - Feeling her innocence tearing and bleeding.
Her tormentor had climbed, the lengths of her thighs and ventured inside ..
.. Clenching the sides of her face -
To reveal the dark intent in his eyes.
Tensions were high, as the monster snarled through pristine dentures of white ..
.. And spat in the young girl’s face,
Where a mass of fear and resentment preside.
The animal lengthens his strides, as beads of sweat secrete from his pores ..
.. The heathen ignores her pleas for remorse -
His sickening lust still eager for more.
With arms that are strong and sculpted, and veins that feed him copious strength ..
.. he gropes for her neck, holds her over the bed, and chokes her to death.
Poor Rose had tried her hardest, to escape this violent hardship ..
.. Now her lifeless carcass, sits on a dirty mattress back in his high rised apartment.
And under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless guy who’s prides departed ..
.. His lone physique roams the streets,
While looking to find his targets…

[Lars]

"AinT GoT No How WhaTchumacalliT!" (Kurt Cobain Tribute)
04-19-2007





To those who had known him a while, the jovial smile bestowed by this child...
...Was thrown to beguile, masking the one thing he'd hold in revile -
His parent's divorce!
An unbearably fraught event which left him fairly distraught...
...And it was there in the courts, where he was taught to avoid sharing his thoughts.
The air of remorse, shrouding the issue...
...Made it one he'd never dare to discourse.
Kurt became reclusive, and remained secluded in the bedroom where he played his music.
He'e tape acoustic sets from each of his favourite acts, to play them back...
...holding a great attachment, to what each sixty-minute tape would capture.
Elated rapture beamed from his face, as Kurt embarked...
...To purchase his first guitar, which played a major factor in his change of stature.
He strangled the strings, and sang with a grimace as the anger within him...
...Was channeled and driven, through those amateur hands with precision.
And Kurt roared with angst long before the chance had arisen...
...To pour his vast lyricism over coarse clamorous rhythms!
The rasping emission of his howling vocal chords, evoked applause...
...And of his own accord, Kurt was shown a warmth he'd never known before.
His well honed performance soon pertained a slew of rave reviews...
...As on stage he moved, in a way attuned to captivate the room.
The dreary basement proved of great refuge to one so hate consumed...
...A place removed of all the tasteless rumours that shaped his mood.
And here Kurt became marooned with papers strewn around his desk...
...He found it kept him grounded nestling down in his surrounding mess.
But inside the basement, Kurt's eyes awakened with wide elation...
...As they fell on the pine encasement aligned adjacent that tried his patience.
In there he would find an ancient shotgun that was primed and waiting...
...For Kurt to pen his final statements, in a song with no rhyme or cadence.
How could one so silent natured, of grown so tortured in measure?
To those who had known him a while,

That jovial smile will haunt us forever.

[Lars]

Not sure if these were posted previously, just submitted them for an upcoming project and figured I'd re-post while I had them:


"Elephants Never Forget: The Elephant Never Forgot


"What a splendid head, yet no brain."
Aesop

http://www.unexplained-mysteries.com...ephant_man.jpg

From the age of five,
My face comprised, of distinct growths that ranged in size ..
.. and plagued my mind,
When I’d hear the hateful jibes, my classmates devised.
The torrential torment was often initiated by,
Bullies that would take the time ..
.. To state unkind, spates and lies, until they had made me cry.
Empty tears cascade the sides, of my craniums strange design ..
.. And with grace they slide,
Over my shapeless guises grey confines.
The great despise I faced at times, would duly strip away my pride ..
.. But Mother often told me,
“Beauty’s nothing but a state of mind,”
And I held her sweet words with me, up until the day she died ..
.. As they were right,
And I was stronger than the pain I faced inside.
My father would later find,
A stately sprite, to make his wife ..
.. Who placed her spiteful talons, well in view of his grateful sights.
Her waves of white,
And ageing lines, had made her face refined ..
.. But she was as cold and calculated, as a sculpture made of ice.
Her severe disgust was noted,
Through each of her weighted sighs ..
.. And she’d leave the room at the faintest sight, of my heinous plight.
For months she gamely tried,
To exploit this great divide ..
.. Culminating in the deft ultimatum that came to light,
“It’s either I go, or he goes!” she’d proclaim with spite ..
.. And I raged inside,
When asked to leave our estate that night.
I found myself out in the cold world,
With no place to hide.
Followed by the japes and snipes, of children that raced me by.
My deformity meant,
Looking for work was a waste of time ..
.. As nowhere would accept such a disfigured face as mine.
Then to my ornate surprise,
A fly-poster graced my eyes ..
.. About a travelling freak show that sought my distasteful kind.
The pay was trite,
But so were most jobs in these days and times ..
.. And I felt somewhat insubordinate as they caged my hind.
The steel curtain was raised in time,
To meet the publics scathing pries ..
They never saw me, just the disfigured mask I’m portrayed behind.
When one day a saintly guide,
Would enter to change my life ..
.. “Dr. Treves” he stated quite, profoundly. I remained uptight.
His gaping eyes,
Fell on my hideous growths that had stabilized ..
.. And he informed me,
He could help to investigate their rise.
So I moved to Whitechapel Hospital, where I’d the greatest time ..
.. And Doctor Treves,
Removed pockets of flesh from my face and spine.
I yearned to be ‘normal’ again -
To sleep as I faced the sky ..
.. A comfort I hadn’t known in years, due to my heads weight and size.
It was during my attempt in the dawn of one fateful night,
That upon my own stupidity,
I would suffocate and die.
Empty tears cascade the sides, of my craniums strange design ..
.. And with grace they slide,
Over my shapeless guises’ grey confines.
The great despise I’d faced at times, had duly stripped away my pride ..
.. And Mother had told me,
Beauty was nothing but a state of mind.
I held those true words with me, up until the day I’d died ..
.. But these people never saw me,

Just the disfigured mask I was portrayed behind.

- Joseph Carey Merrick
5th August 1862 – 11th April, 1890

"The Nightmare Before Christmas”

http://www.picturegrill.com/images/c...tachimney.jpeg


Don’t you just fucking HATE it when Christmas arrives?
That meticulous time,
When soft mittens comprise, snowmen of formidable size ..
.. From the thickets of white,
Sitting astride, the distant horizon.
The winds cold, briskly respite, navigates deciduous pines ..
.. Whistling by,
On its mission-less guide, where with pure intuition it finds ..
.. A lonesome snowman,
That glistens with pride, deep in the dark midst of the night.
Abandoned by his creator,
The young girl was forced to kiss him goodbye ..
.. Leaving him cruelly exposed,
To the adoration of which he despised.
His movements restricted,
By the barren branches that stick from his sides ..
.. And so he sits in the silence,
Bitterly frightened, with his pummelled face missing an eye.
…
I used to love it.
Christmas had always been a favoured fixture of mine ..
.. And often I reminisce on the times,
When anticipation meant the hairs on my neck would bristle and rise.
Mother was quick to surmise,
That I had to be asleep before Saint Nick would arrive ..
.. But I’d sit with my eyes,
Firmly affixed to the blinds, awaiting the glorious gifts he provided.
I awoke, both betwixt with surprise, and of startled relief ..
.. Heading downstairs,
Where my father would be, clutching the star for the tree.
With his assistance,
I’d place it on top as he marvelled at me ..
.. Then open up my presents as I sat perched on the arc of his knee.
I made a metropolis,
From our laminate flooring that was sparkling clean ..
.. My remote control car,
Traversing the length of our house and all parts in between.
Elated rapture exuded,
From my smile in the most ardent of beams ..
But one year in particular,
I could sense the pretence in her parlance of glee.
It was only when I witnessed,
My dear Mother starting to weep ..
.. That I realised,
She was harbouring me, from the darkest of secrets…
…
And I guess this is where my hate of Christmas derives,
I was six at the time,
When it broke my heart into pieces.
My dear Mother tried her best to guard the fact,
She proved hard to crack,
And when she did - I still struggled hard to believe it.
All that me and Mommy could then do,
Was start from scratch,
The void left was filled with only stark incompleteness.
And this is why I fucking HATE it when Christmas arrives,
Cause now I’M the lonesome snowman,
Out in the dark midst of the night.
That puerile pile you’ll find out on the distant horizon,
Cold
Heartless
Unable to move on, and sitting in silence.
Abandoned by my creator,
But with his memory’s still rich in my mind,
I was six at the time,
And it broke my heart into pieces.
My dear Mother tried her best to guard the fact,
She proved hard to crack,
And when she did - I still struggled hard to believe it.
All that me and her could then do,
Was start from scratch,
The void left was filled with only stark incompleteness.
My father had died from a multiple heart attack,
And that’s why all I want for Christmas THIS year is my father back...



"Washed Up!"


.
.
.

Do you remember when you would call me yours?
When I was the savvy sailor navigating those stormy shores;
And you were the burlesque barmaid we all adored,
The first female that I’d fallen for...


“...All aboard!”


...I guess I’d always been too afraid of letting go;
‘Cos you never know what can happen when you’re caught in the ebb and flow.
But I was carried away by the current and swept to the side;
Where I found myself drowning in the deepest, dark, depths of your eyes.
As their replenishing grace lashed over me,
I embraced it strong,
And with a sharp intake of breath, I would gladly take the plunge.
You were the mermaid on the barnacled buttresses I braved collision,
As I courageously steered my stern vessel on its maiden mission.
But simultaneously I found myself in a strange position;
Because I’d always been careful not to go overboard with inane decisions.
Yet our relationship was as open and free as the oceans and seas;
From the moment you seized my heart,
Gone were my loneliest needs.
And I was thrown in the deep end where you left me amazed;
Where I leapt in elation while riding on the crest of that wave.
I was so desperate to make a splash, I kid you not, I did the lot...
...As you were the beacon up in the lighthouse,
That guided my ship to dock.
But I soon found it wasn’t all plain sailing attached to you;
Even though I’d gladly choose to do what you asked me too...
...And sometimes I’d call you a “Beach” behind your back, it’s true.
But much like the incoming tide,
I’d come crawling back to you.
Yet there was a lot more to me than the guy you’d always see;
Beneath the calm surface lay a cold, scathing, storm at sea...
...You’d drifted into the arms of another as I watched you float;
And up fecal firth with no paddle,
I decided to rock the boat.
But my emotions turned like the tides, and I fostered regrets...
...As you probed my turbulent mind, for what had got me upset.
And then I watched as you wept, on the docks with the jetty;
Before dragging your body down to those same rocks where you met me...
And waves of anger crashed over me alone where we stood;
As I thought to myself “If I couldn’t have you, then nobody would.”
But I was already in too deep,
And that much I’d admit.
I tried pushing her onto the rocks, but during the struggle – I slipped!
And I fell backwards, hearing her gasping screams suddenly stop,
As I hit the ground –The true meaning of Love On The Rocks.
Now I’m just deadwood,
Tossed and thrown around these stormy shores...
...And you’ll forever be the only female I’ve fallen for.
But you’ll never wash my blood from your hands,
No matter what you pass them through.
And much like the incoming tide,
I’ll come crawling back for you...


Beach.



"Deflowered Rose"

http://img1.imagetitan.com/img1/1/16/vandam.jpg


Under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless, guy who hides the carcass ..
.. of a seven-year-old school girl back in his high rised apartment.
She’d tried her hardest,
To escape the ropes he’d tied her arms with ..
.. before the tyrant started to divide her garments,
And molest the child regardless.
The violence started, once she’d rejected his evil suggestion ..
.. he beat her ‘til her cries for help, were little more than silent yelps.
The pungent stench of his stale breath, clung to her pale flesh ..
.. and she balled her fists at each sordid kiss,
Placed upon her by his morbid lips.
A single finger prised open the pink insides of this shrinking violet ..
.. and as his assertive hand plundered her cervic glands -
He barely blinked an eyelid.
Rose couldn’t bring herself to meet the glare of this demon,
So, tearfully, she stared at the ceiling - Feeling her innocence tearing and bleeding.
Her tormentor had climbed, the lengths of her thighs and ventured inside ..
.. Clenching the sides of her face -
To reveal the dark intent in his eyes.
Tensions were high, as the monster snarled through pristine dentures of white ..
.. And spat in the young girl’s face,
Where a mass of fear and resentment preside.
The animal lengthens his strides, as beads of sweat secrete from his pores ..
.. The heathen ignores her pleas for remorse -
His sickening lust still eager for more.
With arms that are strong and sculpted, and veins that feed him copious strength ..
.. he gropes for her neck, holds her over the bed, and chokes her to death.
Poor Rose had tried her hardest, to escape this violent hardship ..
.. Now her lifeless carcass, sits on a dirty mattress back in his high rised apartment.
And under the guise of darkness, lies a heartless guy who’s prides departed ..
.. His lone physique roams the streets,
While looking to find his targets…



"Neurasthenia"


My father raised us responsibly;
As great threads of gray swept through his rich waves of mahogany.
And he also worked as a salesman, so I safely acknowledged he
lied for a living and this was why he hated dishonesty.
His way was the common theme.
But this dictatorship remained a hit due to his smiling face of authority.
He wages on comically, playful and folly free,
While saving a stolid beam for the occasional modesty.
Pops was as neat and organised as any page from a glossary.
While my brother and me would disagree while playing Monopoly,
and David would often leave to create a ***ophony.
Heaven knows our Father must have had all the patience of Socrates.
After a stern talk from dad -
I was more ‘forced’ than ‘asked’ to make an apology.
While David was scooped up and placed on his knobbled knee.
Spluttering threats under my breath, I laid the table with crockery,
“Dad,” David sniffled, before I heard him say -

“Why did mommy leave?”


The atmosphere in the room grew so tense,
I prayed someone would hand me a knife.
As his candid, refined Cheshire grin became sadly resigned.
Before his so called stone-jawed expression was cracked and he sighed.
I sat at his side,
And he frantically tried to explain what had happened and why.
It didn’t make him any less of a man in my eyes,
to stand there and cry.
Because since her departure over a week ago, we’d been a family divided.
Standing in silence as empty tears traversed his great frown,
There was an upsurge of raised brows at the words that came out,
as his lips trembled “Your mother’s had a nervous breakdown,”
I reared up from his beer gut with a sneer but
my austere look was a mere bluff
to mask the disbelief which had sphered up in my tearducts.
It appeared such a clear-cut thing when dad had said she'd gone away,
So what was grating at me,
Wasn't that he made us believe she was on her holidays,
Nor the ensconsed distain which dislodged the pain,
But that he'd lied to me.
To us.
To himself on the odd occasion.
And because of his jejune job where the selfish fool
delved into whichever velvet ruse would sell to you,
Me and my brother held the view we should always tell the truth
When infact, honesty was a welcomed tool he seldom used.
I felt dispelled, deluded, cozen and course
as I spent a moment marauded in total discord with the sobering thought
that the grown man's tears he so nobly fought back
were the coldest I'd caught.
His eyes opened once more.
The pain etched within stretched the skin on his weathered face,
But given his present state,
And the wisdom he'd resonate,
I knew lying to his children was the hardest decision he'd ever made.
Yet even with his troubles part-considered,
I grew sullen, dark, and bitter.
And felt I'd lost the trusting father figure I'd loved with heart and vigour.
I felt crushed with hardened rigor.
But this huge hysteria soon deteriorated and grew inferior,
When I thought of the Mother I loved, being claimed to her Neurasthenia.
And I'll never get used to seeing her reclined in that chair,
When all that remains of the woman I knew, are the eyes that we share.
The pride isn't there.
Inside it's unbearable, but I hide it with care.
Yet since it happened I feel closer than we had been before,
Because I too have no real sense of who I am anymore.
My mood's altered by drugs,
The difference of course is you're administered yours -
While we'll both sit in our rooms 'til feeding time or a visitor calls.
So I'm glad when you'll send me letters,
to write back and pretend you're better.
But most of all i'm just thankful for the time we manage to spend together.

We never had much in the way of duckets or change, just the occasional pudding made for our cousins who stayed a couple of days. When our cupboard’s contained less than Old Mother Hubbard’s, lets say. But you would never hear our Mother complain! No matter how often we struggled to pay the bills, or budget, and save. No matter how often, or emphatically, she tried to juggle her day. No matter how hard she’d just worked to serve a hot meal up on our plates, you would never hear our Mother complain. Not even through the ruction we made! But maybe us being so dysfunctional gave us that strong, solid, structural base. That sense of family values and well-being you just couldn’t replace. And when you have nothing to lose, you start looking to gain. This is how me and my brothers were raised. We were told to go for the jugular vein, to give back as good as they gave, but that good things come to those who have the gumption to wait. Sure there will be punishing days, where you’ll have taken just as much as you’ll take. Where you’ll feel like a blundering great lummox that makes a hundred mistakes. But these testing times are where Mother’s are humbly made! In their multiple roles as a chauffeur, housewife, a cook and a slave. And you’ll stumble or stray asunder some days under the strain. But you’ll do anything to see a smile on that childs wonderful face, no matter how laborious the task or how long that it takes. This is a full-time job with no time to be squandered on breaks, and could even result in you taking a cut in your pay. Sometimes it’s all too easy to shovel the blame, but these testing times are where Mother’s are humbly made, and so I’m asking, if the roles were reversed – Could I really stomach the same?

I doubt it.

Thank you.

[Brian Bryan]

2007-ish

The Little Drummer boy"


I was sat in the high-chair with beans running over my chin ..
In a sheer smattering of sauce they sat,
Cold on my skin.
And as I stared at the food before me,
My coiled hands dwelled on the soft ..
Pristine, plastic, panels of the fortress that held me aloft.
Then towering above a trail of toys; I picked up a spoon...
...gripped the maroon handle, and flayed with poise as I made a noise!
A wave of joyous rapture beamed across the front of my face ..
As with my spoon,
I conducted the imaginary drums I would play.
I craved the rhythmic ensemble, and the thrill it evoked ..
While swinging my arms wildly,
Hoping to hit a familiar note.
With no audience for the drummer boy who cautiously stared ..
Just the crescendo of the metal spoon that tore through the air.
As the cutlery clanged and crashed,
Hitting the plate with a prang ..
In the silver head of the spoon,
Reflected the face of his dad.
Its rounded scoop made daddy's eyes bulge; Cold, hard and pallid ..
And though I was too young to comprehend them fully -
The words he mouthed were barbed with malice.
Turning the spoon slightly,
I saw mom in tears that ran from her eyes ..
With those strong, sculpted, arms of my fathers clamped to her sides.
He shook her violently,
His stubby fingers raked and clenched her hair ..
And I could only watch on,
Helplessly,
As her stoic, frail, body was thrown against my chair...
The impact was followed by one rasping, loud, gasp of sound ..
As my fortress' tall, elongated, plastic structure came crashing down.
The spoon soared from my hands as I looked in awe ..
Its cold, metallic, drumroll -
The last thing I heard before my head struck the floor...
And there I lay,
In a silence that echoed this cruel, tortuous, blow ..
My red-flushed cheeks now pooled by the blood that poured from my nose.
I awoke in a hospital bed with tubes attached to my stomach ..
My father was sat at my bedside -
And I cried out in an attempt to say THAT bastard had done it...
The accident had rendered me brain-dead,
Unable to have fun, to play,
And Daddy's little drummer boy would never get to drum again.
Now, twenty years later,
I sit in a high-chair with beans running over my chin ..
In a sheer smattering of sauce they sit,
Cold on my skin.
The beans sticking to my face,
Beneath the consumate heat of the sun ..
Where I attempt to lift my spoon,


And dream of once again beating my drum...

[Lars]

"Old McDonald Had A Farm"

Old McDonald had a farm
he mowed as gospel after dark.
Alone – a fossil – past the mark
He sowed his crops with crass regard.
In fact, he hardly slept a wink,
the man took charge of everything!
The hens, the pigs, the melancholy
kept him busy in head and body.
He never lobbied cries for help,
He’d get the jobs done by himself.
The pride he felt, he’d honestly say,
was a prize excelling monetary gain.
With no prodigy waiting or son of his own
to have gone & replaced him or took up the role
he studied the process of making a will
that covered his golden acres of field.
The place he had built was more than a business
with horses and chickens or adorable piglets
So all he envisaged in his passing at death
was being staunchly committed to his animal friends.
His Father had him a hen, from what we’re told,
that lavished them eggs of solid gold!
Its produce sold at a rate that alarmed
‘til he got his goal and paid for a farm.
That day was the start of a marvellous run
upto a changing of guard from father to son.
Eggs weren’t harder to come by, the hen was just fine,
but with no partner to bolster the hereditary line
the end was in sight - hence he drew up a will -
put pen to it right then to see his duty fulfilled.
A suitable tyro was the target post-haste
the pupil would be owner of his farming estate.
Old Mac garnered the papers approved by his brief,
and marched through his acreage hugely relieved!
Renewed with a feeling that filled up his chest
he duly proceeded with the will that he’d left.
His diligence led him to read through it all,
& a final signature meant that his dream was assured!
.
.
.
But on seeing a clause, Lord Tenterden ordered
The hen Mac deeply adored was exempt in the small print.
A sentence recording ownership of all animals listed
had no mention of poultry, hens had been omitted!
Old Mac’s non-specifics would prove costly indeed,
once they passed his novitiate the plot that he’d leave.
The immoderate upkeep of maintaining the farm
was beyond disbelief, so he gave up its barns,
Traded its heartland rather than hope for survival,
The acres we’re halved up and sold to a rival.
It’s new owners were spiteful, savvy, marketing sorts
who kept hold of the title of the man who started it all.
It seemed heartless to call it that after they put nothing in it,
But that’s all part of the boardroom -
The subtle difference between love and business.

Enjoy your fucking chicken.


​[img]http://www.adweek.com/files/image***he/node-detail/news_article/mcdonalds-nyc-2012.jpg[/img]

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2004 ] props to Forecast ..

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
.. on some piece of his i read, inspired me for this.






Looking out ..

.. my bedroom window,
the moon's cleavage in the nights sky ..
As i sit and contemplate ..
.. whether or not im in my right mind.
Scared of what i might find ..
.. if i pry too deep,
These voices in my head,
.. make sure i cry to sleep.
Something's inside of me ..
.. a being of putrid form,
It's speech ricochet's my cerebrum ..
.. & echo's through my thoughts.
I hear it calling ..
.. shut my eyes to try & block it out,
but the voice screeches violently ..

.. " You cant stop me now.
Its pointless trying to fight me ..
.. kid, I thought you'd learnt?
Plus you've already killed ten -
.. one more wont hurt.
Why this sudden change of heart? "

.. Because im fucking sick of you.
Filling my head with voices ..
.. & always tryna twist the truth.

" That isnt true ..
.. i just bring out your dark side.
No one forces you to prowl the streets ..
.. filling craniums with sharp knives.
Stop using that as a scapegoat ..
.. this voice in your brain,
cant make your decisions for you ..
.. when choices are made -
its YOU making them happen. "

Man, stop with ALL this shit!
.. Its listening to you,
that's got my life falling to bits.
Your destroying me mentally ..
.. I really need to think a minute,
Try to gather my thoughts ..
.. & maybe pay the shrink a visit.
I cant take much more of this ..
.. You're playing havok w. my mind dude,
This has to stop ..
.. and its either you go .. or I do.

" You mean suicide!?
Come on, lets be honest you ..
.. know inside your heart,
that you'd lack the guts to follow through.
You're a murderer ..
.. cold blooded, you change in the night ..
The reason you're aggrivated's,
.. cause what im saying is right.
The more it plays on your mind,
.. the further you're enslaved to me.
and by killing yourself,
.. you'd just make my day complete. "

You've fucking lost it.
.. Man, i planned to settle down,
YOU made me kill those people,
.. and i fucking regret it now -
I imagine their relatives ..
.. are filled with hate and spite,
& though it wouldnt mean much ..
.. if i were to take my life -
Id escape your grasp ..
.. your murderous ways.
You're the most twisted motherfucker ..
.. that ive heard of to date.
Your lunacy's whats ruined me ..
.. you're crazy as hell.

" Riiiiiiiiiiiiiight ..
.. Says the guy that conversates with himself! "

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2004 ] Shadows of The Apocalypse

3. Insanevillian

Tell the story of the four horsemen of the apocalypse...


.. Chapter one, verse eight, in the book of Revelations ..
Depicting mother earth being shook to its foundation
As God looks on his creation .. as a failure before his eyes
Dissapointed and appauled, the thoughts .. soar in his mind
.. Of whether to end humanity .. To disgard his craft ..
.. To erase all life on the planet and start from scratch ..
.. Such a heartless act .. but take into consideration ..
Everything that he's gave us .. And how we've repayed him.
We've lied, cheated an stole .. are adulterous & dishonest
.. Do you REALLY think that's ANYWHERE near what he'd of wanted? ..
He promised long ago that .. in this event ..
Four angels of the Apocalypse would begin their descent ..
.. Down to earth .. turning our world into a battlefield ..
.. Humanity's final hour .. as we cling tight to a shattered shield ..
.. Until that cast is broken, with no signs of vast emotion ..
.. It was predicted long ago, now that time is fast approaching ..
.
.
.
.. The Four Horsemen Are Among Us ..
.
.
War
.
.. Horseman War began his course from the floors of heaven ..
His cancerous form, taking storm of the war on terrorism
Releasing its agressive rhythm, as war-scarred Baghdad fell
.. Burnt flesh .. heavily decorated by shards of shrapnel ..
The wounded left to die, as bystanders stood the sidelines
.. Wide Eyed .. Watching the blood pour, & tryna fight cryin ..
.. cold tears for the fallen, as the Horseman played Umpire ..
.. to Bloodied Bullet-ridden Bodies; laid to rest from the gun fire ..
Bare flesh .. torn from bone .. As the innocent fall
.. The horseman stake is claimed. Their victim's of War ..
.
.
.
Famine
.
"Help your fellow man"
.. It's often neglected by parliment ..
So the third world felt the wrath; as Famine struck at the heart of it
.. Food sources were scarce, and the villagers starving ..
As fierce floods destroyed the wheat they'd pillaged for harvest
Hunger consumed the pupulace, beneath their hand-me-downs
.. Hungry for answers as to why this .. had to happen now ..
The Famine was God sent; a horseman of ruthless choice
.. That let thousands starve to death for him to prove his point ..
.
.
.
[u]Pestilence / Plague[u]
.
.. Among this apocaliptic apex .. Plague played his part ..
Leaving the world astounded with an outbreak of SARS
.. No one was safe from harm; the disease increased its cause ..
.. through the un-knowingly infected, eager to leave the shores ..
And escape the sudden outbreak; consuming their city
As an increasing death-toll has them doomed in self-pity
The news reached a global audience; announced on TV
.. Brought to the world's attention ..
.. Plague had done what it set out to achieve ..
.
.
.
[u]Death[u]
.
Think back to nine eleven .. To the building the planes were flown
To the second you watched the towers become a heap of paint & stone
.. To when the first plane collided against the Tower's face & ..
.. How the world watched; as it collapsed to its foundations ..
Leaving nothing in its wake, but a bitter tasting surplus
.. Among those that lived to see it ..
.. Death has served his purpose ..
..
.
.
.. Im a religious man, so it's important i stress this ..
.. I strongly believe God's using these events as a message ..
.. A predule of sorts .. Insight into our looming fate ..
.. Of how the Apocalyptic Horsemen WILL consume our race ..
.. If we dont start making a change; or an attempt at stopping this ..
.. We'll all be men in black ..
As
Shadows Of The Apocalypse

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2004 ] Dead Letters: The Crimson Shadow

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Quote:
The Ainesfield Chronicle

A mysterious professor known only by his pseudonym 'The Crimson Shadow'
was found dead inside his laboratory earlier this afternoon by one of his
closest employee's, Dr. Wesley Pagett. The eccentric millionaire had no
known next of kin, and is said to of wanted his fortune invested into a long-
running project of his, intended to advance the human sensory systems and
prolong death. Employee's of 'The Crimson Shadow' refused to comment
further on the subject, other then revealing he had left an entry into his
journal shortly before his death, which they are now looking into ..


Date: 30-10-03

It seems,
ive been successful in my project on heightened sense ..
.. Blotched skin around the eyes & neck,
appears the only side effect.
Despite the tests, confirming my initial thoughts today ..
.. id like to analise the subject before his corpse decays.
See, the research ive obtained -
from the dead is far lesser then ..
.. that which i could of retrieved from a living specimen.
Its highly important, the syrum i injected yesterday ..
.. into those human beings, acts positive & tests the same ..
as my previous results. The slightest change could affect ..
.. their mentality, or even worse ..
.. result in sudden death.

Date: 31-10-03

The .. strangest of events, have occured overnight ..
.. I arrived at the lab this morning, to discover broken lights ..
.. & shards of glass on the floor, as i examined closely ..
It appears somehow,
the test-subjects have broke free ..
.. from their containment chambers.
Our tests weren't finalised ..
.. so they havent received the dose to control their violent sides ..
They're somewhere out in the city,
.. walking time bombs.
Accidents, waiting to happen. WHAT HAVE I DONE?!


Passage abstracted from the journal of 'The Crimson Shadow' dated 30-10-03 and 31-10-03 depicting the escape of various test subjects, yet uncaptured by the FBI - Exhibit A


To Be Continued ..

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2007 ] "Why I Play With Dolls"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I refused to answer the door when the pounding began ..
.. And my fear seemed to intensify the louder it rang.
I'd been left at home for the first time on my own that night ..
.. and as the front door crashed open, my body froze in fright!
A thick cloud of smoke entered first, that was tinged with the glow ..
.. of the brightest light I'd ever had the dis-privilege to know.
A dark, cloaked figure had followed, sweeping me off the ground ..
.. While whispering low and soothing,
"It's okay, it's okay. I've got you now..."

It was several minutes before I'd even started to embrace ..
.. The simple fact that the whole of our apartment was ablaze.
The fireman carried me to a barrier, where I sat and assessed ..
.. The roaring rosin flames which spat and scorched the back of my neck.
“What’s your name, honey?” he asked, to which I calmly replied ..
.. “Samantha Reynolds, sir” while the gold flames bit hard at the night.
“Sarah was in there,” I exhumed, as the consummate heat wavered ..

“She was a special doll from my bestest friend…
…Please save her.”

*****

- Flashback –

I remember the clouds breaking up, to reveal a vibrant glow ..
.. Rather anxiously, I’d b.olted back out the door minutes after arriving home!
I ran to the playground, where my jovial mind spent copious time ..
.. Amongst the sturdy red-brick buildings, where a young girl sat alone on the slide.
I joined her for a moment and said nothing, before she turned to me ..
.. “I bet I can make you sick on the swings!” she teased quite churlishly.
Suddenly our eyes connected, "Bet you cant!" I jested after a while ..
"My names Samantha, what's yours!?"
"Call me Megan," she beamed back with a smile.
Then for hours we played and we flounced, as she chased me about ..
.. before dusk drew near, and my new friend asked me to stay at her house.
"You can have one of my dolls" Megan insisted, cutting brief the discussion ..
.. And we talked into the small hours, before falling asleep on the cushions.
I woke to find her crying, a trails of tears travelling past her light hair ..
.. So I reached over to console her, thinking maybe she'd just had a nightmare.
Megan choked back her tears, but her sullen state had raised alarms ..
.. And there in her bedroom we made a pact,
That our dollies would keep us safe from harm.
"I've never told anyone this before…" she began with a sigh ..
.. Struggling with her own conscious, as cold tears ran from her eyes.
"…my father rapes me." Megan sobbed, while meeting my silent gaze ..
.. Both of us whispering softly, as we discussed how to end his violent reign.
We decided to tell my mother, who then that night alerted the police ..
.. Megan's teary eyes shimmered, under the veil of brown hair they were curtained beneath.
Her rich green eyes were consumed in darkness, and though the brute was heartless ..
.. Her father's hold on her was so strong,
That poor Megan soon withdrew the charges.
Within days they moved apartments, her shoes and garments deeply thrust ..
.. and packaged into cardboard boxes, along with dreams to keep in touch.

*****

- Flash Forward -

The clacking sound of a diesel engine increased to a roar ..
.. Tyres screeched on the floor, as the fire truck proceeded with force.
Lights flashed as it flied past, with it’s sirens blaring their sound ..
.. And in the odd rotating red hue, I noticed it lay there on the ground.
It was Sarah, the patch-work doll I was given with its faceless charm ..
.. The one Megan had sworn would keep me safe from harm.
I stared at the burnt building I once called home, and thought “Maybe she’s right…”
And maybe Megan’s gratitude is ultimately what saved me tonight…

TOPIC: The Hidden Shadow

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2007 ] "I'M THE GREATEST THAT DID IT!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just freewriting. Real talk. Enjoy or endure! :^)




Some say I'm the greatest that did it,
I prefer to say I just stated, and spit it, the way that I lived it.
But almost everything portrayed in this image,
From the day to day living, in the most outrageous conditions...
...to the mental cage I'm imprisoned in,
When my patience has withered.
Every single statement delivered, was based on my life...
...taking you through the pain and the strife, that staged my beginnings.
And every single day that I'd write, it's like that weight would be lifted...
...which was often great for my spirit - but stripped me naked inside.
What I've laid waste to these lyrics, has been made way too specific...
...I wake up and rise to straighten the blinds with hate in my eyes.
But I take it in stride, and tell myself I'm the greatest that did it! ..
Proud to say that I stated, and spit it,
The way that I lived it until the day that I'm finished.


Hate on it, bitches.

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2008 ] "Garden of Eden!"


Imagine the scene,
When Adam and Eve inhabited Eden ..
.. After he reached,
Through a cavity deep in his abdomen region.
The wrath in the screams,
And passionate pleas that he released ..
.. As his fingers passed in between,
Each fatty secretion.
Til they latched to the beetling,
Rib that snapped as he eked it...
...out and gasped in relief,
Placing it flat at his feet, until at last she was BREATHING!
And his immaculate queen basked in the green gaspers of leaves...
...That hang from the trees,
Filling her with a rapturous glee!
Their laughter would lead,
To a snake that would entrap and deceive them...
...into a matter of treason.
Snatching their freedom,
The second that rotten apple was eaten.
In a manner of speaking,
They had to conceive - They had an agreement!
But Kane and Able were named in fables,
As both born to Adam as seedlings.
So if all is as happens to be, then its only standing to reason ..
.. That Eve was raped by her sons,
To continue the bloodline while lay stranded and bleeding.
She'd prove no match for the beasts,
No matter how hard she thrashed or she screeched...
...and its taken until now for us to shatter the secret,
The Bible's been so tactfully keeping!

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2006 ] "Square!" the children would taunt, while she'd build her reports…
…As prefect for the school, Kate neglected to fool around and respected the rules.
The teacher's pet, would even keep a set of weekly tests…
…neatly resting upon the rostrum seated next to her reading desk.
These daily chores retained allure she favoured more than fame or fortune…
…the maze of halls, her quaintly gaunt frame would haunt, became rewarding.
When one day a blaze of auburn, hair would halt our brazen warden…
And bark in a boldly profound, manner “…Wanna show me around?"
Kate duly accepted, moved to the exit looking truly majestic…
"…you must be Sara, the new girl" she asked, assuming correctly.
The red-head gave a stifled “Yeah,”
Exchanged conversation ‘til the tour had ended…
…Where the two had formed a friendship, more authentic, than ANY Kate thought to mention.
They’d meet on the dormant benches, forging an unlikely pair…
…Sara being the socialite with flair and vibrant hair, while Kate was quite the square.
But that was soon to change, as Sara’s influence grew on Kate…
…Bbefore long she’d flirt with boys, with certain poise, and rued the day-
That she’d ever divulged happiness from how she’d build reports…
…Now she’d found acceptance in make-up, and underage intercourse.
Until eventually she fell pregnant,
With the ‘dad’ wanting no part of it.
The thought of her son being raised fatherless, tore her heart to bits.

All she’d ever wanted was a little acceptance from the ‘in’ crowd.
What a waste of a kind young mind.

DaMn.

[Baron Mynd]

[ 2007 ]

“Naked: My Soul Laid Bare”


You fuel the fire, of this fools desire.
You provide the warmth, when I’m frozen by the storm.
You’re the rock of empathy, attending to my every need.
You’re my ray of hope when I feel life’s got the best of me.
You’re the recipe, behind my success - My ecstasy.
My armour,
My weaponry,
My strength from harm or jeopardy.
You’re the karmic energy, to balance my own ..
.. the calming melody, when I can’t cope with matters at home.
The balm and remedy, that soothes my pain -
Yes, it’s you again.
My unsung muse,
My heart,
My every dream come true.


I loved you.


But we’ve been back to square one more times than I care to count.
You stare and pout, intensely ..
.. Questioning my whereabouts.
Those enigmatic eyes greet my every whim with an air of doubt,
Ready to tear and pounce,
If I so much as make a mistake.
So you wait and you wait, with a grimace kept upon that fairest mouth ..
.. Spewing venom my direction,
In no spared amount.
You’d labelled me a liar before I’d even decided to speak,
Claiming that I was a cheat ..
.. With nothing but lies and deceit. escaping through the whites of my teeth.
I try to compete,
Without having my every statement unfairly trounced ..
.. before you dare announce,
That we no longer share the house.
You rarely shout, but your stern silence strikes a chord ..
.. that speaks volumes,
On this over-possessive side of yours.
You’re always inciting wars,
Our once-glowing trust has waned ..
.. in much the same, way we’ve found our very ideals brushed away.
And though it’s cruel to admit accusations of me cheating are true ..
.. It would be crueller still,
If I had chosen to keep them from you.
Now I’m the vile creature consumed, by a shade deeper than blue ..
.. It’s not the fact that I cheated -
More that I was caught and each of us knew.
I rose from the shell of the man,
Over which this secret had loomed ..
.. and prised away my silent gaze, from the walls of this featureless room.
The unease of my mood,
Prolongs each and every tedious movement ..
.. as I work towards a time, where you and me can reach a solution.
And though it’s cruel to admit,
That accusations of me cheating are true ..
.. It would be crueller still if I had chosen to keep them from you.
Now I’m the vile creature consumed, by a shade deeper than blue ..
.. It’s not the fact that I cheated -
More that I was caught, and each of us knew.
I rose from the shell of the man,
Over which this secret had loomed ..
.. and prised away, my silent gaze, from the walls of this featureless room.
The new dawn seeps,
Through my broken blinds as I lie in a sprawled heap ..
Call me a bastard.
Call me a liar.
Call me what you will ..


.. Just call me.

[Lars]

2013-2014

"Inner Daemon"

“Jesus Christ!”
Joe had exclaimed
with sheer surprise
wrote on his face.
His tone gave away
a hint of resentment
and total dismay
the instant she mentioned
to him she was pregnant.
It couldn’t be true!
They lived in abstention
where lust was rebuked
and stuck with it too.
So what had occurred?
The couple concluded
as one that the birth
was God and his work.
A gift from the skies
to honour and serve
his siblings alike.
Soon whispers were rife
of the child she adorned
and Kings would arrive
with a guide from the North.
The messiah was born
in a Barn-cum-Sty
to righteous applause
one starry night.
He started life
in humble surrounds
as far a cry
from the wonders we now
come to denounce
as you can imagine.
His avuncular grounding
was to his advantage
when pursuing his passion
and teaching disciples
numerous passages
that would lead to The Bible.
Believer's were vital
to establish his role
His key to survival
and Christianity's growth.
They travelled the globe
professing religion
recanting his scrolls
and spreading his wisdom.
Lead by his vision,
and aiming to please,
he dispensed them on missions
to purvey his beliefs.
Their Saviour would greet
vast crowds in swathes
regaling them each
about the great
powers he came into
but there was a secret
shrouding his reign
that Mary'd been keeping.
Her heir was a demon
with Jesus sent to Earth
not there to redeem them
but oversee the Devil's work.
An evil menace lurking
amongst the unsuspecting
deceitful in his purpose,
both cunning and deceptive.
The brother they'd accepted
was a sophism of Satan
governed by obsession
to stop them contemplating.
The 'Prophet' was a blatant fraud,
Man-made religion is hell,
Not so much a gift from God
as a deal with the Devil himself...

[Lars]

"Stone"

Take a concrete thought or idea
aim to spot the flaws that appear.
Before you adhere tools of the trade in
your engineering, view it with patience.
- Use your creative juices to crack it,
there’s numerous ways if you just imagine!
Using a hammer could bring you results
but if you were to add just a chisel and sculpt
with unadulterated freedom of thought
& instinctive impulses leading the course
it could be so much more given time to perfect it.
- Clean up the corners and find a direction
File at each section that’s rough at the edges
so its lines are connected & done to your credit.
Study your effort with critical eyes
looking intensely at which you’ve designed.
- Is it precise and holding your gaze
giving new life what you’d hoped to convey?
If no, strip away at the layers of debris
‘til what solely remains the creation you dreamed.
As great an achievement as you could accomplish
a shape that’s ideal and yet brutally honest.
A beautiful homage to original thought
remove what’s unwanted and rid it of flaws.
Strip to the core of the subject in essence
exhibit it purely and cut the excesses.
So nothing is left but the principle premise
to sum up the rest and deliver your message.
See, in the possessive hands of an artist
this gift of expression comes natural regardless.
Whether tablet or parchment or what you prefer
it’s how concrete concepts are turned into bodies of work.

[Lars]

"Old McDonald Had A Farm"

Old McDonald had a farm
he mowed as gospel after dark.
Alone – a fossil – past the mark
He sowed his crops with crass regard.
In fact, he hardly slept a wink,
the man took charge of everything!
The hens, the pigs, the melancholy
kept him busy in head and body.
He never lobbied cries for help,
He’d get the jobs done by himself.
The pride he felt, he’d honestly say,
was a prize excelling monetary gain.
With no prodigy waiting or son of his own
to have gone & replaced him or took up the role
he studied the process of making a will
that covered his golden acres of field.
The place he had built was more than a business
with horses and chickens or adorable piglets
So all he envisaged in his passing at death
was being staunchly committed to his animal friends.
His Father had him a hen, from what we’re told,
that lavished them eggs of solid gold!
Its produce sold at a rate that alarmed
‘til he got his goal and paid for a farm.
That day was the start of a marvellous run
upto a changing of guard from father to son.
Eggs weren’t harder to come by, the hen was just fine,
but with no partner to bolster the hereditary line
the end was in sight - hence he drew up a will -
put pen to it right then to see his duty fulfilled.
A suitable tyro was the target post-haste
the pupil would be owner of his farming estate.
Old Mac garnered the papers approved by his brief,
and marched through his acreage hugely relieved!
Renewed with a feeling that filled up his chest
he duly proceeded with the will that he’d left.
His diligence led him to read through it all,
& a final signature meant that his dream was assured!
.
.
.
But on seeing a clause, Lord Tenterden ordered
The hen Mac deeply adored was exempt in the small print.
A sentence recording ownership of all animals listed
had no mention of poultry, hens had been omitted!
Old Mac’s non-specifics would prove costly indeed,
once they passed his novitiate the plot that he’d leave.
The immoderate upkeep of maintaining the farm
was beyond disbelief, so he gave up its barns,
Traded its heartland rather than hope for survival,
The acres we’re halved up and sold to a rival.
It’s new owners were spiteful, savvy, marketing sorts
who kept hold of the title of the man who started it all.
It seemed heartless to call it that after they put nothing in it,
But that’s all part of the boardroom -
The subtle difference between love and business.

Enjoy your fucking chicken.


​[img]http://www.adweek.com/files/image***he/node-detail/news_article/mcdonalds-nyc-2012.jpg[/img]

[Lars]

The topic we were given for this week in the league was that of a past verse submitted by a user. Hence the quoted verse:

Originally Posted by Vulgar
Raising the Lindbergh Baby

"One should see the world, and see himself as a scale with an equal balance of good and evil. When he does one good deed the scale is tipped to the good - he and the world is saved. When he does one evil deed the scale is tipped to the bad - he and the world is destroyed."
Maimonides


The only thing in this world crueler than a child with a magnifying glass
is the man that takes the brainchildren of a just and equal society ransom.
Here’s an alibi at last, taking fatality’s chances. The survival of anthems
dependent on the youth reclaiming the olden masks of these phantoms
Our lifeline’s short, we needn’t even ask for compassion’s enjambment
It's a long, unrevised poem about theology: shipwreck on Nazareth landing
let’s get past all the chanting, ranting, and havoc to managing planning
let's put a halt to throwing stones at Goliath’s evening carriage at random
I don’t see giants among men, I see adolescent vassals and barons
I see Lazarus baring his teeth in a palace disparaged, collapsed in the barracks
Some would prefer infanticide to being trapped in a harem,
or going to church with no lasting morals, a pale, waxen appearance
the factor's embarrassing. We need to grow up, summon the blue flames
As a race we’re still wet behind the ears from the blood of the crusades
Buttered nougats and soufflés adorn a table fit for no man
Most that dine deserve the boxed lunches at Auschwitz’s daycare program
The fountain of youth without an irrigation system -
causes sandy hooks that do little to lift the veil on properly raising children
Keep your top hats on, my brothers from a number of troubling tribes
Please take your prayer beads out and raise 'em up to the discomforting sky
My point to make is that the age of accountability doesn’t apply;
if we don’t live in an age of accountability, but that‘s the crux of this lie.
Take the offspring of our wives. Those little munchkins make a stunning regime
I hope the mark of the bee sting leads to prosperous fields of honey and wheat
Rather than a toppled veneer, the rubble of Greece, we were rubbin their cheeks
though they crawl, coo, & cuddle in sheets, soon they’ll succumb to the breach
We wear condoms in fear that we’ll give birth to sons that besiege
We’re past the 1980’s coups, the incubation flukes, it sounds crazy too
The first steps that they take…stamping on the human face forever, in baby shoes.
Exaggerations? Few. Just look at the data I’ve collected
If evil stems from childhood, why not at the earliest stage attempt to correct it?
Today’s lesson: Children of men, if given the chance to...
Would take advantage of that undeveloped, foreign disguise
When the umbilical cord is cut, don’t be hypnotized by those adorable eyes
cause I know human nature on a first name basis & he can be a horrible guy.
These first-borns’ll provide much destruction, build missiles and drones
Miniature killers who continue to hone lineages of anti-spiritual rogues
Consider that Reverend Death smiles at us all, smitten in chrysalis smoke
for the crimes our brainchildren have committed in loads
Payback’s a bitch to the bone
and poetic justice wasn’t the most well written of codes
therefore I regret to inform you that your million dollar baby's on official parole...

…our children could grow into bitter monstrosities
without limits, control, and physical monitoring.
But with simple – imposed - dermal digi-technology
the chips on their shoulders administered properly
could give us more honest feedback on their thoughts
their physique, their autonomy, actions and more.
Once that’s been procured, we can start to address
any harmful intentions or partial defects
found in arduous tests, then attend to their cells
& embark on corrections to save them from themselves.
With everyone helped – which is the purpose given –
God’s playground can be enjoyed by the most gifted & perfect children...
…Are these political words of wisdom being used to deceive
or a modern miracle worth conviction? The future looks bleak
no matter how you choose to perceive it. Be that as slaves to genetics
- mere human guinea pigs the meek await to inherit –
labelled authentic when our very identity’s manufactured
with our double-helices the structures really keeping us captive.
Creatures of habit become a breeding ground for clone-esones
and our freedom is banished because of greed. Now it’s otiose
to think how they chose to cope when if only they had believed
what millions of minds all pulling the same way could achieve
with conveyor belt DNA signatures, processed and assigned,
- Genetic designer babies replicating the next that’s in line -
from the pigment to their height – Each identically matched
with no ending in sight as they’re engineered together en masse.
Using replica strands for our betterment & our wellbeing we trust’s safe,
…but our government wouldn’t use if for any other reasons, would they?
A deep mistrust lays beneath the guttural rumble of machines,
that grumble as if realising how their productions been received.
- They splutter and they screech as if appalled by the retrofits,
while the Government release statements on how it’s all for our benefit.
The factory walls see it’s eminency in their noxious, plastic, smiles
- but I wouldn’t trust ‘em as far as I could throw their robotic bastard child.
With carbon-copies stacked in piles & innumerable data collected
we’re promised advance in style… towards the day of our reckoning.
- We automated their engines, sped them up as a novelty,
Took away the attendants who oversaw they were functioning properly.
Now if we look at it logically, with everything we’ve ever fed
them, we’re just a commodity - They don’t consider us a threat.
It’s Darwinism in effect.
Both options fool to deceive -
The future looks bleak no matter how you choose to perceive it...

[Lars]

"Origin of Language"


Let’s start with the day our protagonists met:
For arguments sake, we’ll call ‘em ‘Alpha’ and ‘Bet’.
Two Neanderthal men at the evolutionary cusp
form a hunter-gatherer friendship in pursuit of the hunt.
Food is a must, so in tandem they work
with a mutual trust in an absence of words.
Hands are their first tool, signals made with the fingers,
so an understanding’s asserted to be relayed at a distance.
With a waving of digits and signed interaction
a basic depiction of what’s required is established.
It’s vital for catching prey – their ordinate nature
a survivalist tactic to warn them of danger.
Their calls and behaviour grow ever-expressive
and forge their relationships strength in dependence.
It lends to expression, though their conveyance is blunt,
a succession of gestured sounds made with their tongues.
Replacing the grunts and guttural roars
they are accustomed to trusting before.
Adjusting accordingly, they share with their group
the functioning orders of various tools.
The pair of them use this form for announcing
the areas new food sources are found in.
As more is recounted and usage increases
it also has grounding in grooming and teaching.
Due to this reason adaptation excels
in the communicative region they’re creating themselves.
These basic, but central, components combining
as each stage is essential for homogenising.
The protocol rises, trust’s further cemented
in a social environment through the emergence of friendship.
Working together authenticated the bond
as they learn from endeavours, which makes it so strong.
As communication prolongs, so the larynx does in the throats,
and they place an importance on trusting their own.
The hunter’s are vocal in where and when to attack,
as one studies for opening’s they’re aware their enemies have.
The hair descending his back stood as he heard a deafening bellow
that dared to tremble the canopies with its prevalent echo.
It was meant to let ‘Bet’ know of a new situation -
a threat to the threshold the two were engaged in.
‘Bet’ pursued it to aid him, lengthened his stride,
with no clue what awaited and his chest filled with pride.
He swept at the vines that appeared in his path
expecting to find a clearing at last.
When the searing impact of a blade struck in his chest
hand-engineered from a flat stone, just like the hunter possessed.
The blood unrelenting, a sign of abatement,
he looked up to question and eye his assailant.
‘Bet’s life had been taken by his ally and his friend
with the first lie in creation, ‘Alpha’ brought his life to an end.
The guy he depended on most had attacked
to try and affect dominance over their pack.
The stone still cold in his hand, he waited in watch,
content with knowing the fact -
the ‘Alpha’ male had resumed his place at the top...




TOPIC: Thanks to words, we have been able to rise above the brutes; and thanks to words, we have often sunk to the level of the demons. -Aldous Huxley

[Lars]

As spermatozoa we flock to the egg
our journey unknown, unsure what to expect.
We jostle against up to a hundred million alike
but we’re not just dependent on will to survive.
We’ve a belligerent drive for adventure that’s present
instilled in us right from our very conception.
No sense of direction, yet a desire to explore
inherently extant and hard-wired in us all.
As a child, once we’re born, and our muscles develop
we rise up from crawling to look for new ventures.
A wonderful sense of intrigue and fun
is discovered in everything seen and touched.
Our keen indulgence outgrows the pedagogical brain
which feeds compulsively on the knowledge we gain.
There’s a lot to explain and not always the grown up
to offer their take or talk to and show us.
So the more that we notice, the further we probe,
all in the process to learn on our own.
We still search when we’re older - just with different objectives
from our earlier motives, beginning with acceptance.
It’s a principle of friendship we examine through social need
once were given independence to stand on our own two feet.
We challenge our old beliefs and look to find who we are
with the matter of sewing seeds still just a minor regard.
We up and widen our targets, making our own mistakes,
becoming wiser and starting to take control of the reigns.
There’s great emotional changes as adolescence subsides
& we break the hold that constrains us to question what’s right.
Our identity crisis resolved, we no longer seek the approval
respect or advice of the people we used to.
In our teens they were crucial for our self-esteem to have grown
but now we’ve different scruples and ideas of our own.
We’re reaching the moment in life to think of our future
and key to this goal is a similar suitor.
It gives us security when paired in marriage,
possibly producing an heir apparent.
We share and balance the weight of our needs
through careful planning of aspirations and dreams.
We help managing each other’s choices; Agreeing to
establish a medium or point in between the two.
Voicing our fears and views in what course of action to take
to then jointly proceed in doing all that stands in our way.
Talk of families raised, as lovers we’re wed,
and sure our paths are the same - a new map of discovery’s set.
As our young couple commence, with life’s cycle coming full-swing,
one journey comes to an end, as another begins…

[Lars]

"Same Chips, Different Table"

I adored my Gramps and how fearless he used to play.
“Call it,”
“Black,” He sneered at the croupier.
The wheel was excruciating to watch as it sped
past the gleaning enumerations possibly left.
The polished roulette centre-circles turning beside each other
revolving against a whirling dervish of vibrant colour.
Certain; He slides a number of chips stood to his left
perfectly timed to cover his introductory bet.
As numbers descend into focus, the wheels momentum slows,
the ball jumps at one section while rolling – I feel the tension grow.
The sphere a metronome while bouncing from jaws
to jeers and pensive tones sounded by all.
Gramps scowls at the ball, I watch as he stands
open-mouthed and it falls into a pocket of black.

***

The hospital staff say it’s no good for his heart
that he’s got to relax and stop pushing so hard.
Gramps shrugs their remarks off, smiles at me blank,
before thrusting a card in the slight of my hand.
It read: “Life is a gamble, roll the dice,
find you an angle, know your price.
Throw the blinds up, make a profit,
but don't sit by just chasing losses.
Weigh your options, spread your bets,
raise the pot to get ahead.
Second best's unsatisfying,
never fret or have to buy in.
I've had a try and lost it all,
stacked them high & watched 'em fall.
Flopped and called with deuce and king,
dropped the ball on roulette spins.
Seen losers win and winners lose,
threw them in - then hit a fluke!
Missed a few and made a buck,
in pursuit of lady luck.
If you play for fun that’s all you’ll have,
but your day will come, I’m sure of that…”

***

I thought that Gramps had lost his mind.
I was too small to gamble - the slots too high!
I’d not a dime to bet or keep;
Was the rhyme meant for me?
I spent my teens and adolescence
endlessly just asking questions.
Had Gramps intended me to risk it
once his gambling tendencies rescinded?
Why need to bring this up to me
- a means of hinting subtly?
I took to read and retrace the lines
when another meaning came to mind:
The game of life has peaks and troughs
but play it right, you can reach the top.
You’ll need a lot of luck to best
and beat the odds you’re up against.
Some have spent obscene amounts
where others went and beat the house.
Clean ‘em out and hone your edge
before the dealer shouts there’s “No more bets!”
Hold it steady, check or fold,
composed as ever – let it roll!
Roulette had shown me life's hurried at a frenzied speed,
the ball they set in motion doubles as our destiny.
The jump at interventions relayed as past mistakes
and us coming to our senses to change the path we take.
The pace we travels made slower as we reach the age
to make our lasting place known before we leave the game.
The green and beige set the tone where most become unstuck
either way, you never know when your numbers up…