Honouring the Black Cat, Friday 13th


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Lustrous Linus

Iridescent in ebony

Like Bob

Voice of The Wailers

Vampiric as Vlad

Prince of impalers

Our love is as clandestine as a mistress’s cuddle

Vehemently untroubled

I surrender to you

My hand

And implore you to expand

Your eyes gilded, yellow guise

And nibble my flesh, like dinner

I submit to your pounce

Like an impuissant mouse

And smile

As you shed my blood

To make you feel bigger

Born to tantalise me and entertain

You who reveal no pain

I make no demands of you

Whose beauty makes me feel less plain

Unlike my brethren

Whom I criticise and curse

Humankind is sad and ill

But cats are never dull

Live Life as Art


“LIVE in celebration of the pain that makes you

And break the ties that bind you to your melancholic nature”

My daemon bride cried aloud

Devoid of a soul I comprised mere flesh and bones

Exhumed from a tomb of my own making

My heart a perpetual beat away from death’s sweet eternity

My mind rendered blank with the noise of my interior distress

And echoes of duality

“Enter me! Enter me! I offer you redemption from the cursory LIFE”

The daemon’s eyes glowed like the embers of her inky black insides

I looked into her eyes and entered AS a nervous youth

Nakedly vulnerable in translucent skin

And searching for my unique and authentic

Poetic voice

On that night I made love with a daemon and found my mortal soul

Projecting my consciousness in the imprints I created

On the heart of human hatred

And the tarnished soil of materiality

“Enlightenment is the capacity to transcend reality,” she claimed

“And live life as (thou) art”

(Meant to be)

Poetry is not the province of academia; it is the voice of the soul. Listen to the bitter-sweet sounds it enunciates.