Other New Poems

Dancing Leaves or Air-brakes

Invisible Nourishment

Looking Inside the Wicker Coffin

Open Air

Served You.......?

Some Facets of the Inside Out

Song of an Astonished Peg




So is it all down
To being changed
By some one? Loners
Are stuck inside
Their single minded

Is this so?
A common view point currency.

Some one comes along
Times infinity
And every little weeny one is
A roulette ball
Me Me Me Me Me Me Me Me Me meing
All the way
Of tune.
Many a me on the run
From one me after another me's mean-ness

No more tango
More more wrangle
Tangle-mangled inside wrangle.


It was that look. She saw I knew
She'd gone stale. Soul-dead,
Poisoned in the isolating daze
Of lust. She was frightened of seeing me
From the deadening
In my heart.


I'd been waiting for her
To wake up and see her
Game had morphed into toxic distraction.
But she kept flogging
Her suppurating narcissism.


Empty habitual 'erotic' ritual
Pre-seeding the weakly harvest
Of denied psychopathic projections.


I left her a lot of room
She cunningly used as man-bait.


She soon hooked a sucker.


Doesn't mean I haven't felt pickled
In her acidic absence. She'd hissed
"You won't miss me!"
I do.


Psychopaths are almost unbelievable
In the way they use charismatic vice
To torture their damaged victims.
They are convinced cruelty is exotic.
"I hurt you because you love me."


Hooked on her own line. I failed
To free her. Hooked inside
Too deep.


Can psychopaths ever learn
To be kind? She refused to re-call
What she'd understood! It was me
Who woke her up hearing her
In and out of the house
In and out. In and out
(for the last two hours)
Within what turned out to be
Our last trip
Together. All I shouted out
From our sunlit un-used bed
Was "Reeeta!"


"O my God!" She howled.
I've got no conscience!"


She crumpled down beside me
Sobbing. "My mother trained me
To be hard. I'm so sorry. I'd forgot you
Were here! What can I do?
I haven't got a conscience." Of course
This confession was surprising moo-sick
To my neglected soul.


"Can I get my conscience back?
Do I need to be
Do you know anyone?
Don't let me forget this
Tomorrow! Ever!


"How can I get my conscience back?"
Was the repeating weeping theme
'Till we slept twelve hours later.


Next day (Sunday), she gave me HELL!
"You love confessions. You're sick!"
"Reeta, don't do this
To your self! Re-
Member what horrified you!"
"What horrified me was finding myself
Shacked up with you! I did all that
Crying confessional crap
For your perverse enjoyment!
(Hit! Kick! Shouting. Screaming.)
Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!"
What could I lose in losing her?
I banned her from ever coming near me
Again. "You should have thrown me out
Ten years ago when I still had pulling power!
You stole all my power! Bastard!"
It's taken two years to write this resting
On the same double bed. Two years.
No see.


Reeta's slut power came before
Reality. She was terrified of being
On her own……trip.


Reeta had imagined I was so deeply enslaved
To her everyday slut performance
That I would eventually destroy my conscience
For her whim.


Yes I was very naïve to believe
That she would stay loyal
To her shocking in-sight
That summer afternoon.
I went to sleep believing
She would struggle to regain
That most precious faculty-
Her conscious soul
She'd wailed she'd lost.
Cold fish.


"You raped me for twenty-five years!
You bastard!" Screamed at me
In the day-time street. (In front of our child
I'd saved from being aborted). O liar,
It was you who raped your self-tortured life
With your stupid, lesbian fantasy game.


You are willing to do anything for power.
Be anyone. Be anything to stay loyal
To narcissistic sex. Being inside
Your game I failed to see
How your crafted cruelty made me
So very small, a mere nipple-
Warmer you could stuff inside
Your bursting bra. A little git
You could pull out to suck on
Now and then to warm up
The cold, cruel dike in you
Who would rape your soul
Once again…whilst you pretended
It was me forcing you down
Into the cess pool depths
Of your solipsistic hell.
Your addictive sickness
You caught from me!
But you're a proud, well trained agent
For the Nephilim who fell.


A soft, quiet voice inside
Suggests this 'what if' theory:-
That I, in fact, had trapped her
Inside the 'I don't need you
As much as you need me' psychic game…
Projecting onto her the idea she should feel
Gratitude for the loving space I was giving her!


Got what I served