Beneath the Carrion Weight of God

End has had its say
(draped in karma)
death is forever,

dying the hole inside.

A life to celebrate
time is near,
time is now

and man must raise its soul
toward gentle thunder
and bloody sunrise.

Aa above
so deep below,

below
'neath the dread box...

©Steven Francis poetry 2016

Solitude in Earnest

Down on hands
partners in time, meteorite age infinite miles
and more,
more mad dying
into fade and exits.

Hide sanctuary, a bloody trail of kisses,
carnage made foul
the love that stalked feral as shadows

death passes as we live
I dont see death pass by on way to living
the weeks that fell like cement anchors


Codeine dawn

© Steven Francis poems 2016

Sugar Knife

See there,
buried in sleep
and coated in the leather skin of worms

Rise of beasts
to end the king of ends.

Fuck,
this world and all who sail it,
the mad eyed blonde

a feminine assassin
honest heart

leads us to tempt
shadows from the crimson veils
and lose

to get lost
on summer's gay spine.

© Steven Francis poetry 2015

Motor Spirit Calls on Midnight Wolf

And regret ran down my bastard face
as never had done before,
the merry click of good times I'm my head
replaced by a clockwork of gore.

In joy arrived, in mournia left
with memories replaced by blood,
as the bait of Man will rise and seethe
to rest in a nocturnal hood.

Lay me down in dark throated connects
welcome to ministries of dread;
in praise of flesh over river highways
reckoning of hours as winter fled.

Noble night under rhythms watch
horned shadows twist like grave hounds,
a force of nature, life at end,
pierced wall of sounds...

©Steven Francis poems 2014

See Man See Their Doom

Come take a seat
and wait for me,
I am called Danger
or Cancer,
some are even honest
and call me Death,
while others recognise my rodent face,
they know my  doom in many acts
as I arrive in many breathless shapes,
ready for your sickly finger
and pills and  things.

As the sun falls on the dark parade
pull me at your will;
drown me, tie me, shoot my rotten face,
dress me in disease,
hang me in my free bird frame,
you knew so well,
your Jesus,
the figure who sees your tears in the dark.

No trickster I,
no God nor devil,
no ghost,
look deep and see  in in memories,
look deeper into mirrors
and hear my joy again.
Out of the black in to the light,
shaped again as shaped you saw me first...

©Steven Francis Poems 2014

A Kid Named Fear

Time to answer the mirror's shrill cry,
where even bones of warriors
grieve for time's sharp exit
despite the wolds shaping the hammer of Gods.
Awake to shadow,
follow footsteps of the great scythe man,
stay sharp for nothing skips his icy gaze.
Silence, a worthy ally.

Firebird, take to thy wings
bring another soul to morgue town.
A full harvest, fit for mouners
dressed in sombre rags.
We know it well this dying caper,
know it better than our aged skin,
this flesh which hides so many crafty schemes.

Stretch the pose before you go,
one last go at life,
a last of this, last of that.
Then home to the crusty hole,
oh how Eden grows for weepers.
Meet End,
end meet life for a final grainy burial

Regret not, fear little,
that empty date which follows birth
isnt shaped to shake the frail,
or marked to crush the fatal sick.
Numbers,
digits of no order which need no script
to play the audience.

No equals nothing,
no for no;
men of hoods and guns,
of blades and viper words ~
every heart be it mad or virtuous
knows the track to ruin.

And yet not all die.
Not all will look through maggot eyelids
and feel their nails wilt.
Shut away the doom boys,
rip them from tiger roots to feed sharks,
perhaps honest creatures exist afterall...

©Steven Francis poems 2014

Stray Child

You stay bold as oak
and plant petals on babies heads,
loving life as if it ever loved you.

I remain wild on the graveyard shift
stomping on slow insects and seeing truth
from every jellied corpse under my dirty heel.

A stray child
a feral on wolf street;
stray forever
because honest hearts don't care
for loose blades,
or poison kisses.

You keep well
stay decent,
never tempted by the bilious ivy
which conned me of the only life
we cloth servants are given.

Keep true gaijin
no stray child you...

©Steven Francis poems 2014