MRH Blog

Ramblings and mutterings

Category: Poetry

Halloween Haiku 2018

A triplicate triptych(!) of haiku for the celebration of Samhain.

Halloween Haiku No.1
The sun sinks early,
foreboding winds prevail as
night swathes its ink cloak.

Halloween Haiku No.2
Chill, pitch autumn eve.
Frightful terrors haunt the soul –
Samhain Night once more!

Halloween Haiku No.3
The graveyard beckons,
a winter moon draws shadows
out of granite teeth.

Halloween Haiku No.4
Alight the candles,
pumpkin carved, a wicked smile
keeps the ghouls at bay.

Halloween Haiku No.5
Midnight comes too soon;
Witching Hours begin to tick,
palpitations pound.

Halloween Haiku No.6
Fear seeps down my back,
these morning hours; a lifetime.
Ancestors help me!

Halloween Haiku No.7
Thrice knocks the iron,
the dead remembered await;
keys shake in my hand.

Halloween Haiku No.8
Darkness pervades me,
vile children of the night drool –
my living flesh threatened!

Halloween Haiku No.9
Gnashing fangs, blood spumes.
Bones crunch under ground meat-skin –
You chose the wrong door.

M.R. Hume © 2018

Unfinished – No.45

I think I cried once,
when it was cold, and I’d lost something precious.
There was no-one there to catch me
as a hole in the world opened and I slid under.
Under the ice, slowly drifting with all the other debris.
Until you offered hope –
it tastes like honey, or cocaine, I’m not sure which –
very moreish with a cup of chai.

Yet, you grind away at me.
The brief periods of calm I used to take for granted
are now the dreams of a life once lived.
When did time become so important?
You are my ‘choice’ of recreation,
filling hours that used to be mine alone.
You require constant, undiluted attention,
twenty out of twenty-four.
Never mind – I can sleep when I’m old, and you can look after me.

M.R. Hume © 2018

A Matter Of Faith Over Proof

I told you They did it, didn’t I?
The News said they didn’t, but I know They did.
The truth has been concealed,
along with them rats that squealed,
and the facts now skewed, have all been well hid.

You didn’t believe me, but now you do?
It’s a gross injustice and misrepresentation.
People have been killed,
I’ll wager after their guts were spilled,
and the PTB are playing God with this nation.

Hidden amongst the lies you can see the truth?
There’s blame to be explained here and now!
But the wealthy and well-connected
will always be re-elected,
because The Machine is a sacred golden-cow.

I told you They did it, didn’t I.
I told you, but you didn’t fucking listen.
If you give Them a single inch
They will put you to the lynch,
and I’ll be just another statistic gone missin’.

M.R. Hume © 2018

A Prayer for the Raven

The sound begins.
Floating notes from a golden bough,
leaves drifting, turning,
soft as his angel’s kiss.
His once beautiful facade
has played the harmony of autumn’s fading.
Once was the sound of his wings.

The tenderness lasts.
Falling forever into a lover’s feathery touch,
caresses of lace lined clemency
within a potent command.
He lays upon a bed of down,
embracing with silken, gossamer moments.
Once was the touch of his wings.

Existence could be eternal.
Born into the radiance of the morning star,
a glorious presence spurned
away from the intimacy of others.
Crawing indignation at the un-just
with every heavenly beat of his strident span.
Once was the strength of his wings.

Soaked in blood.
Perfection withers away
as time burdens his despair.
Black feathers stained with impurity.
An eclipse shadows his eyes,
darkening in the everlasting torment of nature.
Once is the death of his wings.

M.R. Hume © 1997

Crash

Let’s say love is a train,
with passengers who presume to know where they wish to go.
They believe it has solid tracks
which outside forces cannot alter.
They hope it has strength and power,
so it will not stop, will not falter.
A one-way journey trundling
towards a private destination,
your bounty of happiness and trust –
a personalized railway station.
And if love is this allegorical train,
well today baby, I’m your driver and I’ve lost control.
We’re about to cruise at breakneck speed
and take a detour through your soul.
We’ll career dangerously near to the thresholds
of my pleasure and your pain,
I’m gonna make you sick, you’d better jump quick,
‘cos honey, I’m about to crash your train.

There ain’t no more stops, no more vanity shops,
we lost the marriage, the baggage, and buffet car.
I’m sick of sticking to the rules
only to watch you shrug them off,
this time sweetheart you’ve gone too far.
“If I can’t have you, no-one will!” – a cliché,
I’ll carry out to the bloody end.
So sit back, relax, and remember your words –
“I’m never gonna leave you, I’m your only friend.”
We’ve a few moments to reminisce,
the bad times that we’ll miss,
before we thunder into that wall just around the bend.

Yeah, that’s right, love is a terminal train,
with plexi-glass and padded walls,
and passengers who are quite insane.
So remember that in your next life when
you destroy your next husband or your next wife;
when your happy glow is sunshine shimmering,
when wild fire burns down the forest of lust,
when icy silences leave your mind shivering,
when the blues of break-up feel like a rain of the un-just.
Remember these words, and remember this pain,
‘cos baby – I’ve just crashed your train.

M.R. Hume © 1992

There Will Be No Revolution ’14

We stand before you broken, beaten, and tired.
We have no strength left to fight.
We can no-longer resist the burden that is forced upon us.
We can no longer fight the good fight against mediocrity and populism.
We are to become sheep.
There will be no revolution.

We will follow your religion without question or deviance.
We will obey your laws without falter.
Listen to your politicians,
read your newspapers,
watch your televisual brainwash.
We will not deny ourselves the chance
to be influenced by advertising,
the celebrity circus,
and all the media fair.
We will resign our free spirited mind to the masses.
Join the melting pot,
let fashion dictate our clothes,
our hair,
our accessories,
and the cars we drive.
There will be no revolution.

We will succumb to the property sponge;
buying into overpriced houses we cannot afford,
while happily, blindly, paying a loan shark by any other name
a non-negotiable, non-associable rate of interest.
We will contribute to your expensive taxes,
insurance,
health plans,
dental care,
and charitable organisations,
without considering where or how the money is spent.
We will worship your one true god,
striving to fill your bank accounts with as much of it as possible,
substituting any need for a spiritual identity
with that of material greed.
And we will not rest or relax
until the day we can no longer raise our bodies to work,
or dedicate our life to the almighty purpose of slavedom
There will be no revolution.
Children! There will be no revolution today.

We will eviscerate and feed ourselves upon
a sexuality that finds pre-pubescent girls and boys desirable,
quench our lust with malnutritioned,
paranoid,
neurotic partners,
who strive to stay young,
in a vain attempt to deny our mortality and lack of purpose.
And we will condemn those who cannot understand,
interpret or define your blurred borders,
by labeling them ‘different’ or ‘abnormal’,
classify,
stereotype,
and exclude them,
contain,
punish,
and exile them,
from your social utopia which we proclaim to have created.
You are advanced, sophisticated,
the very height of an evolutionary pinnacle.
There will be no revolution.

We will continue to ignore
the growing global contamination
of our one and only true asset – our home,
The Earth.
Because we will find it easier,
and eventually more rewarding
to do nothing when faced with the concept
of diverting from the course
of your self-perpetuating system of rules and regulations.
There will be no revolution!

We will continue to deny responsibility
for any of our ancestral in-justices,
ignorance and merciless violence,
by hiding behind feel good,
guilt relieving constructs,
such as biased education,
the pretence of religion,
pseudo-science,
and false morality.
We will continue to relish in our ability to fuck,
to glorify the fundamental instinct of propagation.
We will congratulate ourselves for recognising
and defining our own purpose,
in the continued production of weapons,
and feebly hide behind the proposition,
that they, bring us to a state of peace.
We will never relinquish the fantasy of control.
We will never succumb to the reality of a simple life.
There will be no revolution.

People! There will be no revolution today.

M.R. Hume © 2014

Awake at Midnight

It’s just one of those things I guess,
like deserts moving meters a year, grain by single grain.
Or water dripping from an overflow after heavy rain.
A cat cleaning its paws, even though they’ve only just been cleaned,
or people spoiling the end of a movie before its even been screened.
The universe, getting still bigger and darker after thirteen billion years.
A snowman turned into a shapeless mound, like a billion frozen tears.
Too big-ish boxes being used to package tiny, mail-order gifts,
or the smell of other people’s fear whilst packed into fully loaded lifts.
Using a six hundred and forty tonne aircraft to fly us like a bird,
or mixing sugar, butter and eggs together, then adding lemon and calling it curd.

I am still awake at midnight because my brain won’t go to sleep,
and I’ll drop off a few minutes just before the alarm goes beep.

M.R. Hume ©2014

The Dookle Cat

She was the softest of kittens,
who liked the softest of cushions.
Her paws were likened to mittens,
but her claws were used for ambushing.
And when she purred,
she was tenderness untarnished;
but when she cankered,
she left behind carnage!

M.R. Hume ©2014

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