Monday, 26 March 2012

The Cries We Hear

Listen! There are cries now high above us
Circling ravens in the sky. And sirens
Loud and encompassing as we wonder
What is happening to our treasured place?

There seems to be much chaos and violence
Much to protect our sacred children from
And yet we are powerless in our state
We must rise to the fight in new clothing

The day is drawing so nigh upon us
We must all stay strong, be ready and ripe
To take on this which falls to us women
And to the few survivors of that night...

Sunday, 18 March 2012

Wrapped in Bedsheets...

Wrapped in bedsheets the deaths do revengest
The lives they have taken brutally, too soon
were these visciously so removed
And the demons haunt the minds every night

The blood that soaks the conscience will not go
And the torturous whispers maketh pain
Far too much sorrow for the soul to bear
And the spectres remind us constantly

The knotted sheets are the only thing left
With which to soothe the mind, the eye, the heart
Too much grief to bear. And so goodnight all.
Take away the guilt, take away darkness...

Saturday, 17 March 2012


Am I enough?
The question pecks at the hem of my dress

I dare that I am
I dare that I am not
I dare that I am
I dare that I am not

Dare to dare of dares trickle by
Truth to untruth as lies stick to my parched palette
My nail is long and black
A point which pricks with prisoned purpose
I lace up my taut skin
Covering the wound which tries to sing
I plaster the holes in my face
With widowed white paste

I am not enough
I am enough
I am not enough

I shake at the beat of pregnant confusion
Rich within me
Poor without thee
Hold my hands and whisper in the cherry filled lullabies
Marching melodies which dictate a tender rule
I will now be that which I am called

Chosen to swing in this buggered belching breeze
As I sway the swish of my feral seed
In dark days which do howl wth an unmeasured need

I am that which I am not
Enough is enough

Wednesday, 14 March 2012

A drum, a drum!
Macbeth ah come.

Act one we run, a plotting an' a spotting.

De dog had fun, de bird did caw,
Reine Du'can leave true dat fateful door.

Dem witch did tell ah lucky lady,
Gal's days from now gone be rich like gravy!

A drum, a drum!
Macbeth ah come.

Act one we set, a tweaking an' a squeaking.

Ah Lady M ta dem Devil turned
When of Glamis new fame from dat letter learned.

On Banquo...hmm...dare be more ta say,
But me gone leave dat for anudder day!

Sunday, 11 March 2012

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...
And still it comes.
Word upon word.
Page upon page.
As time drips by to whence our tale must taketh to the stage.

A fight, a kiss, a cry.
Of loss, of rage, of blood.
From the new world of the women,
To the wild men of the mud.

Oh tell me wise sooth sayer,
'Pon this road that we all tread.
Can there be an absolution,
For those haunted in their bed?

When our set is up and ready.
When the costumes, cut and sewn.
Will there be another morrow, 
For this country we have grown?
 Thou art a little chicken so say the dam with knife.
Who clutches at my throat and so endeth my short life.

The times of darkness creep on.
As the dead rise from their graves, for the dwellers on this tormented isle, the peace they so struggled for has been forever tainted by the actions of the few.

Alas, poor country!

Their Reine, viciously murthered while she slept.
Her heir, in hiding, the heavy weight of leadership now hers to bare.
A mother, a child and the power of a few well chosen words; that carry with them more blood than a hundred soldiers. 
Words fail the writer.

'Tis hard to reconcile.

Wednesday, 7 March 2012

Last night was strange and indeed beautiful
When I was summoned by the Weird Brothers
And able to help Macbeth see the truth
Of what may lie before her in this world
Of loss and desperation. Oh do hear
The words which need to be loudly spoken
So as to stop this bloodiness and strife...

Signed by An Apparition