Theatre

Wear a touch of compassion
like the latest fashion
never let it get out of date
Dare to take off mask
breathe in deep and then ask
to sign out of the theatre of hate.

D.Hinson
Jan 2010

Madness/More Madness

Madness

Some brush it under the carpet
or try to lock it away
but it breeds within our human genes
madness is here to stay.

Madness smolders slowly
in packs of  burnt out cigarettes
some drink to drown madness
but then fill up with regrets

Some people will pay out millions
to search for sense inside their heads
I saw madness sleep with sanity
in Tracey’s unmade bed.

You cannot lock it out
when you know it’s waiting there
behind every cracked reflecton
the eyes of madness stare.

More Madness

It’s madness to waste money
but we do it every day
while some fight to survive
some just waste away.

Some think it is pure madness
to buy organic meat
when factory farms are full
of cheaper hen pecked treats.

Wars are fueled on madness
and the lies of politicians.
Madness lurks in factories
fired up with ammunition.

Madness walks in corridors of power
paying lawyers by the hour.
In so many cases the victims pay
madness watched criminals walk away.

It’s hard to stay sane in a world full of insanity
I’m off to scatter seeds of madness for humanity.

D.Hinson
Jan 2010

Torn ~ Butterfly Woman

He flits from flower to flower
devouring their delicacies
until his appetite is satisfied

She lies wrapped in a silk cacoon
waiting for the warmth
of the spring sun to emerge.

The silver tongued beast
carved a well worn path
into her hibernating heart

Awakening her inhibitions
exposing her to the elements
vulnerable to the world.

She feels the sap rise slowy
but summer is an ancient myth
wrapped in history’s  damp pages.

Free to follow the sun
which may shrivel her dreams
or set fire to herdesires.

The symphony of raindrops
drown her fondest memories
in the swirling, swollen river.

Torn between the world
of the silver tongued beast
clothed in darkening skies

or leaping into the blank pages
where new worlds are crashing
on beckoning summer shores.

D.Hinson
Jan10

Herne

He wears the evergreen forest
the sharp horns of the strongest beast.
He is life, He is death
He is the valley in between.

He is hungry for a change
As nuclear reactions are released
He is war, he is peace
He is the future still unseen.

He blows holy smoke rings
As angels fall and devils feast.
He is light, he is dark
He is all the shades in between.

He is the wild man of the woods
He is hunted by the priest.
He is love, he is hate
He is lost in a sea of green.

He wears the evergreen forest
the sharp horns of the strongest beast.
He is life, He is death
He is the valley in between.

The devil wears a plastic mac

The devil wears a plastic mac
the truth is plain to see
Time is melting on his back
he’s going to tempt me.

The devil smokes ten packs a day
his lungs are burnt down trees
his followers, the chain saw gang
fall on their wounded  knees

The devil smiles a toothless grin
through sugar coated lips
his blood pumps black petroleum
through undulating hips.

The devil lives in boiling seas
on poisoned fish he dines
the devil thrives on  days like these
he wanders through my mind.
.
The devil’s never satisfied
he’s always wanting more.
The price of progress is too high
I will not be his whore.

The devil wears a plastic mac
it’s plain for all to see
Temptation rides upon his back
longing to be free.

D.Hinson

The Lady of the Lakes

The Lady wept.
She let out screams
that could not be heard
above the roaring hoards
that had invaded
her wilderness.

The Lady wept.
Her reflection quivered
on the surface, calm
as time slowly dripped,
her past life tripped
through acidic forests.

The Lady wept.
The air filled with fumes
like smokers rooms
Once undiscovered,
now silently smothered
in paradise lost.

The Lady wept.
Her tears filled the lake
dissolved the fears
of unborn years
The people stopped to think
To drink the holy water
Overcome with sorrow

The people wept
For Our Lady of Tomorrow.

D.Hinson

Unmasked

No lines for worries to get trapped in
Gift wrapped in, Sinner and Saint
Torn from the same skin.
Wild hair to catch nothing but the breeze
Eyes so clear no deception could cross
The deserts where thoughts flow
On waves of desire they echo
Crashing onto the shore of wanting no more
Satisfied to reside in the shelter
Unarmed, where snakes lay charmed
Waiting for the heat haze to rise.
Naked, Love needs no disguise.
Unmasked, No need for spare baggage
or a horse drawn carriage
we travel down fresh tracks
with no lines for worries to get trapped in.

D.Hinson

Poppies (for the unknown soldiers)

 

How strange.The Dead flowers
took hours to rearrange.

Ivy wrapped around
his pale skin hiding him
from the wind and rain.

Saturated stems bowed down
towards his pale blue lips.
Kissing him softly.

Roots embraced him.
dragging him deep underground
feeding the beasts in her burrows.

In the warmth of the Earth
he lay as Spring burst through
the wasteland above.

Unarranged, the flowers
blood red and well fed
a carpet on the waste land.

He loved to pick wild flowers
Fill hours rearranging
them to please his  love.

She walked through the poppies
tears drenched the earth
in The Summer heat.

She gathered the wildflowers
as he slept beneath her feet.

D.Hinson
Nov 11 09

Magpie Feathers

Dressed in magpie feathers
she hid behind dark glasses
stole glances for tomorrow
from unsuspecting guests.

Drawn in black and white
the world revolved around her
Attracting gold and silver
she furnished her  fine nest.

Dressed in magpie feathers
stuffing  superstitions
in her lucky bag she found
her sparkle has been raided.

She stormed out of the city
She brooded on the horizon
she learned to love the grey clouds
while her friends became jaded.

She danced in the dewdrops
to the sound of the rain falling
she waited to catch the rainbow
but no longer needed  gold

Dressed in magpie feathers
full of glistening raindrops
they sparkle like bright diamonds
She never can be sold.

The New Gods

They worship their gods
in microchip monasteries
with silicon spires.*

They pray for more memory
invisible storage
to fill with desire.

They crave pure perfection
Nature’s song rejected
by their holy choir.

While They build  Utopia
we are burnt offerings
sacrificed in the fire.

D.Hinson
Oct 09

Inspired by a short story ‘Goliath’  in Neil Gaiman’s ‘Fragile Things’ book.