Mooncats – A Collection

Collaborations with the talented, startling & beautiful Nara15blog.


1

EFFULGENT CRUCIBLES IN THE NIGHT

In dimensions, twilight ash
And comets of agate blues,
Body language that gives away clues.
Hold the sun down, quietly untie these eyes.
Fill these lungs with a vividness of spirit metal petals

We — the crucibles of change,
Pillows of basalt.
Tiny remnants of dinosaur bones.
Suffering into existence.
The remains of relentless urges,
Floating in our eyes and
Flowing in our mouths.

Breathe and speak no more.
As the solar flowers bloom in our veins.
Suffocating these dreams into blue.
As magic spun stars speak to us in silence.
Alchemy—taking us to the end of time.


2

SOLAR CRADLE SOUL

Our burning photospheres
Once sprung forth to their highest peaks
The Sequoioideae of space, marveling at our lofty heights
Yet a ruin grows in our binary bark
Threatening such chaos and calamity
Inevitably to be pulled into a great nebulous stir
Overcome by the tug of war
Of fighting zodiacs and the duplicity of time
The catastrophic collapse swell into the blossomed nova waves
An ethereal outreach on god’s fingertips

As our space sediments
Brought by stellar winds
Found their way to this cooling valley
Where we rose to life
Spread about on vast lush pastures of complacency
Fertile like the Nile’s riverbed
That stream of thought
Wavering on the edge of existence
Counting the memories as they floated by like clouds
And we began to bottle up and measure time
But our greatest fiction yet was to
Forget our stardust aril souls

But now we feel the metals in our blood
The fetter of cosmonaut coins that rattle in our brain
And that endless acceleration of gravity
The only feeling we allow ourselves
Our whirling fire
The core essence to recall
Orbiting a repose and the quietening of quantum regret
Our sunspots
Imprints as a marriage had once been
A snapshot
Capturing our ultraviolet ascent

Now we wait to be lifted up
Coddled once more in that stellar nursery
Suckling the teat of Shiva
Covered in the interstellar yoke of change


3MOONCATS

The depths of space.
Cold and frozen like a liar’s tongue.
Decorated with imagination, and the Christmas lights of the Milky Way.
Like kings we travel across mountains, the time valleys and the soundless desert to offer the myrrh of our hearts.
Watching the world from up high above.
Metallic buckling and inclination set us down.
Dropped onto that dusty surface.
That sunken dark side of the moon.

A whirl and snap, a titter and tap.
The astral music of our future calls out across the dunes.
Feeling our subtle energies, ameliorate with the salt intake.
To deflect the dark interference, a vast endless shriek

In the indigo star mist they barely exist, through cells of the unknown.
A flight of fancy tickling their whiskers, as the mooncats rise, out of klexy carbonize ebony.
A night call that sounds all hours of the day, as the sun passes them by.
How their lives abide, stretched and multiplied by the gravity of circumstance.
They ceaselessly divagate in the nebulous noon-shine quest.
Tunnelling in the honeycomb of a starry satellite.

Beware the fringes of the universe and the edges of the rock.
For lunar moths will dance on their nose, and call them out to space.
A grave of diamond dust to mark where they had been.
Eclipse our minds with astral sulphur, and sing us to sleep with the haunting Egyptian sounds of the gods.
Bastet tiptoeing in your ear, while the mooncats purr.


4

BATTLING THE SUN

I found the king in my sour patch kids.
Summoning me to him.
Inch by inch.
The patchwork of truth beneath his sweet release.
Matted and mired in the threadbare trails of my existence.
All my thoughts encumbered into one, like the great shadow occulting the sun.
Moments before the light links to the dark.
I know the iconic gestalt will not escape my mind.
Now darker, as the black spirals into the white.
The nightingale consoles all the day’s dissonance.
While the chaffinch closes his eyes as he rushes the earth.
Which hand from which god reached into the heavens?
To blot out the sun and cover us with black oil.
Stuck down with feathers and falterings that overcome one another.
Reaching across each contour that shifts and shivers in our temporary aphotic zone.
Treading water with the creatures of the lunar deep.
Beholding the moonshadow through the trees.


5

GHOSTS

It splits my soul.
Dragged back towards these melancholy shores.
Running through the downpour of emotions and memories.
Slick and sticky.
Covering me completely.
The ghosts gather, licking their ectoplasmic lips.
Feasting on the flesh of a thousand mistakes.
The subtle beasts, stealing my lazy reveries.
They haunt me still.
Rumbling up and down these bones, while I shiver towards catatonic sunder.
The god shape hole is back-filled with the deeds of the devil.
A By-product of love maneuvers and binding selfishness.
Like evolution.
The toxic waste of time.
………………..
Oh El I, El I….
………………..
Sweet and short reprieve.
What libertine hope is haloed into these thought chests?
Where ghosts hold the keys and cover the locks.
They never had the power of speech, yet their words haunt and taunt me.
They know the reasons for these tears.
Smiling at the circumstance.
With a spectral hand they reach in and catch me off guard.
Talismans dropped and facing away from mecca.
They whistle my lingo, until I’m driven into solid black and white.
Kiss me over and over again, staining my broken lips with shame.
As I absorb the white noise.
The crackle and hisses coil.
A mountain of monsters merge into one.
All names fade away, into the pinhole of the shadow-less.


8

IN SEPTEMBER THE DEVIL COMES DANCING

Crinkled veins that litter the ground.
My smile carved like a pumpkin crescent.
Circling the moon.
Laying down for September’s kiss.
A spiced potion that thickens my eager Heart, bone felt and embraced.

Store bought and rhinestoned.
A mask for a hideaway.
A little glint under the eyes to shimmer.
In the cooling sun’s blaze.

Turning on a dime in a year’s sigh.
Tiptoeing back in time.
Last year, to rival such memories.
365. What a year to be alive!

Smelling the dying throes of summer.
As the trees feign death,
In the rustic cinnamon crunch.
Planting poison ivy to creep through my vines.

In a day’s ramble bramble.
Tomorrow, today. Witch way? This way.
On the broom off to do mischief.
Open the door for October’s devils.
Felling my rooted heart, awash with treacle.
Filling my soul with black stars.
These tar-like sediments like shock treats to my mind.
To make me dance manic eyed.

Howling at the orange fire moon.
Silver bulleted like a ghost through gloom.
In ebony tricks.
In a bubbly brew fix.
Rotting my teeth from the roots.


GOLDEN FRAGMENTS

GOLDEN FRAGMENTS

Measuring out my apathy, sieving out the soul.
Reduced.
My senses in a state of flux, spinning off into the unknown.
This world had trapped me for so long.
Kept hidden under the bed of existence.
Blocking out the light.
The wheat fields of my mind looked for the grains.
Tiny fragments that seeped in when all was dark.
Each one a world of its own, taking seed within my soul.
And now I shake, I quiver into the unknown; yet so familiar.

Wiping gems and the precious truths on my eyes and heart.
Feeling an inward rush of an amber glow, preceding this labored love.
For fear of only gleaning, a break in my skin.
I call upon Ceres deep within me.
She sends me slumbering with the sparkling antidote of hope.
Until the bountiful golden harvest rises from my old soul.
Creeping the vines up my chalky spine to my crown.
Tin foil turned in the alchemy of tears, to forever shine in gold.


7

DISLOCATING THE SENSES

Pulling the earth around us.
Cocooning our bodies away from the world.
One that talks with such momentum.
Being so perspicacious, yet knowing neither you nor I.
You start by talking around the problem.
Your mouth full of diamonds and your hands with a foreign tongue.

Audic, melodic, erotic…
On reverb, as you fuck me

Sweetin’ my mind
Wrap me in silver binds
Come on, we only have so much time

Turn me over
Pull me under
Upside down
Totaling in wonder

Fuse these moments, stop the clock.
These tectonic shifts within threaten such ruin.
Threaten such remorse.
The metronome of your heart pulverises my senses.
Destroying my reserves with each swing of your scent.
Dripping honey in my ear and forging silver from my sweat.
Touching what I cannot afford.

Oh, it’s so…
Audic, melodic, erotic
Caught in this sonic
Audic, melodic, erotic

On, reverb; the quickening of your heart
And the panting of my own.
My own ventricle velocity leaves me shaking.
Each swing of us of this pendulum together.
Sets my heart aflame chasing the tiger.
Down underneath; over, tumbling, cartwheeling.
Burning brighter, like the sun in your eyes.

Lick me
Swirls within me
Occipital joy,
Waves right through me
Caught in this sonic
Dancing to,
Audic, Melodic, Erotic

My heart returning to its habitual taciturnity.
Problem solved.


 

Let the dead in

Those little lights above my head.
Calling the skin to murmur.
It prickles the spine to know, I’m not alone.
I can’t remember when I was lost.
Wandering in the fog on a wavering strength.
These pulsating voices call, welcoming me back.
Those faces remain.
Allowed in to suffocate the bloodstream.
Occupying every darkened corner.
We let the dead in.
Taking everything but understanding.
For they are welcomed by an impulse.
An idea that creeps in when the darkness takes hold.
Better to be surrounded then end up alone.
Yet I was the last to know.

Hate

The weight of hate, is too heavy to hold.
Lost in an illusion of lead turned to gold.
It deadens my heart with its poisonous grip.
Forcing my soul to abandoned ship.
So my ghost sails on, unfurling the rope.
That drags out behind, never snagging on hope.
Yet your lighthouse before me, beckons my fate.
You full of light, will surely banish my hate.

Fright night

(from the vault)

All year round he kept to himself.
Quiet and content, like a book on a shelf.
It was Halloween when the tables turned.
And in his head, those thoughts had churned.
To live it up, go mad and wild.
To put on costumes, like any other child.
He loved that night when he fitted in.
And wasn’t shamed or drenched in sin.
He could go out, and talk to others.
His friends, his mum and all his brothers;
accepted him and played for ages.
Some souls to flick through his dusty pages.
It was Halloween he loved and longed for.
The candy, the skulls; the dismembered gore.
That was the time he loved the most.
For poor Charlie was such a lonely ghost.

Oxford’s Eeriest Ghosts

“For heartbroken Sarah, it was clearly too much, and she hung herself from the couple’s four-poster bed. Today it’s claimed that if you see her – and you surely will – but ignore her too, she will either scream and shriek like a Banshee or hang limp and lifeless from the bed.”

A Magazine piece available online Co-produced my with friend and amazing human being Shaunna Latchman.

Click below for the article’s main page:http://oxhc.co.uk/Oxfords-Eeriest-Ghosts.asp

Land of the free and the home of the brave

Her eyes flickered from the calendar on her desk to the phone quickly as the device in front of her rang out shrilly. She knew who it would be on the other end of the line, she pictured them, slumped against the phone booth while the hot July sun glared in through the tampered glass. Her arrangements were all unfolding as she had anticipated, each one of her children doing exactly what she had expected them too. All was coming together, there was just one thing left to arrange and this phone call, she hoped, would finalize that. She let the phone ring once more before lifting it from the cradle, placing it up onto her heavily powered face.

She did not speak, she waited for their voice.

“Mame?”

“Yes.” she said, curtly.

“It’s all arranged. She said she will be there for the 4th of July.”

“Good, thank you Perkins. She is aware of the situation I trust?”

“She is aware yes. She wasn’t surprised at all, but it’s strange as she…” He began, but was interrupted.

“Excellent. See to it that money is arranged also.” She said, and hung the phone back quickly into the cradle, her mind now dancing over the weekend arrangements.

In a phone booth in downtown Boston, Robert Perkins held the phone to his ear, trying to hear against the traffic which sped past him outside his glass shell. He heard Veronica Van-Black, his employer, hang up the line her end; yet he finished off his sentence that he had begun, as if trying to figure it out still himself.

“…it’s strange, she said she was already there.”


This fourth of July, come and spend the weekend with the Van-Blacks who will delight you with wit, suspense, good food, séances and murder. A good time to be had by all, except maybe one.
Keep it together – out now in paperback and eBook. More stories here.

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Ghosts

A Collaborative poem with ‘Enshrined Poetry’ (not the first time, more here).


It splits my soul.
Dragged back towards these melancholy shores.
Running through the downpour of emotions and memories.
Slick and sticky.
Covering me completely.
The ghosts gather, licking their ectoplasmic lips.
Feasting on the flesh of a thousand mistakes.
The subtle beasts, stealing my lazy reveries.
They haunt me still.
Rumbling up and down these bones, while I shiver towards catatonic sunder.
The god shape hole is backfilled with the deeds of the devil.
A By-product of love maneuvers and binding selfishness.
Like evolution.
The toxic waste of time.
………………..
Oh El I, El I….
………………..
Sweet and short reprieve.
What libertine hope is haloed into these thought chests?
Where ghosts hold the keys and cover the locks.
They never had the power of speech, yet their words haunt and taunt me.
They know the reasons for these tears.
Smiling at the circumstance.
With a spectral hand they reach in and catch me off guard.
Talismans dropped and facing away from mecca.
They whistle my lingo, until I’m driven into solid black and white.
Kiss me over and over again, staining my broken lips with shame.
As I absorb the white noise.
The crackle and hisses coil.
A mountain of monsters merge into one.
All names fade away, into the pinhole of the shadowless.