29 July 2010

A Children’s Crusade

They sing a mournful song,
In the hours before the dawn,
They march in rank procession.
Through the land of desolation,
The lonely sons and daughters,
Of forgotten generations,
The one lost tribe,
Scattered through the nations.
The End

22 July 2010

Fish To Fry


Life is hard,

And then you die,

Yours is not,

To reason why,

You got your own,

Don’t cry in mine,

I’m sure everything,

Will work out fine,

And we’ll be laughing,

Down the line,

But now I’ll leave you,

To sit and cry,

I’ve got other,

Fish to fry.

The End


14 July 2010

The Abattoir

The abattoir was secreted away amongst a warren of dereliction. It stood alone amidst the burned out buildings and piles of rubble. Its red brick walls were mostly covered by a coat of black soot, courtesy of many local warehouse fires. The soot thinned out at the base so it looked like a black occult temple which was dipped in blood, like the feet of Tezcatlipoca the terrible god of Aztec legend. The clock tower towered above the entrance like a great black phallus. Through the gates below countless thousands were once led to the slaughter. The entrance reeks with the fetid stench of rotting flesh. The holding pens, arcane iron contraptions stained red ochre by rust and congealed blood. Meat hooks hang silent witness to the butchery committed in this meat factory, this industrial necropolis. This temple of savagery is not deserted. There is a priesthood yet, practitioners of a dark and unholy art. There are others too, the innocent abandoned. Victims of a satanic press gang, penned like cattle awaiting slaughter. Herded into the bloody death traps where iron jaws are clamped around their necks. They await the skull cracking hammer blow. They wait to be made meat.
The End