The Final Day of God

Fair face was caged
like a fingerprint
on the dayiron swatted glass.
When steel went from butterfly
to shark,
and hearts fell as one
into tributes.
But the face sighed like a ballad
when it heard voices of war.
Its cheeks sagged heavy,
the ears howled
and bald lips sipped bullets.
Witness to Love
in shapes of memories and plague...

@Steven Francis Poems 2008

Saline Sunset

Tomorrow I sail into a heavy forest,
and shall learn
what poets seek in life,
the Mysterious Trick
of shadow fire.
And I will be of flame.

For the Ancients
let justice be done in unholy disgrace.
Hang this wretched body
with boiling furies,
lay it down before miserable laws.
Honour the hood and lunette!
Meat machines
all we are.

Devour this bloodied bastard
you paper judge,
God in cannibal skin!
Let this pallid life and rotten bone
be your terrible soup.
Gut me in sleep,
throw my arms to priests
so they may fold them in prayer
and give these legs to children
to skip beyond chains.
But my heart I keep beyond the howl,
for fires of Saints and heroes
will dry my veins.
Parched flesh holds no Sin.

So to fiery crowds
tomorrow I go,
in a perfect pose
for the death obsessed.
Send for hail and thorn,
come see the gallows buckle
under my flabby skull.
My exit,
dying alive!
A blizzard for chapel idols,
owls and gulls be funeral coal...

@Steven Francis Poems 2008

Hardcore Diva

Shape an ego
from rat farthing city lights
and cage it in lament to idle styles.
My dick is such a worn out tool,
waiting for Tennessee Buddahs
and wives with flapping knives.

Wanted by
praise and envy,
obsessed fans
cigarettes
and tired looking prophets.

Tune in to appetite
to find me staring at you
from the mouth of a clownish corpse,
where dormice dare cross the landlord
and legends are born to coked brethren.
Falcons hack at their stoned eyes.

Feed the crooked cat
live rats,
bourbon and humiliation.
Watch its skull escape
like Houdini into freckled days.

Tie me scissors my darling
cut me into shape.
Pornography has me bloated,
a sexy bible blown my boots.
These are drugged visions on a rampage
firing up voodoo.
I cannot lose the blues
to poker playing cowboys.

Save me from
wicked trends
shackled tigers,
tinsel town
and lovers lane.
I am not a God,
I am prey to temptation.

This is hardcore,
this be a crumbling school
where fish mime to radio
and rock stars are born to lightning
on bathroom floors.
Needles bought from Tiffany's
like smoking pistols in their paws,
empty of the graffiti bruise.

Bury martyrs
where the sun shines for funerals,
and take their freedom
to use against addiction.
A holy diva lifts darkness
and fear disappears,
monsters don't live in the day.

Cafe princess
guide me to caffiene
and gold plated belly aches.
Lure me to vanity applause!
Tea from hookah pipes
shouldn't taste so good...

@Steven Francis Poems 2003

Frozen Veins In Sunburnt Park

Khay
hold the ball
pump it up
watch it fall.

Take a bus
to the park
score by the paddling pool
feed the shark.

Khay
sit on swings
back and forth
on sickly things.

The shiny city
is yours tonight,
no escape
calling lights.

On climbing frames
like a monkey,
hang around
handsome junkie.

Khay
go down the slide
a cobbled road
a bumpy ride.

Devils dressed
like Santa Clauses,
feeding addicts
spastic pauses.

Frozen mouths
too tired to bark,
Khay lay down
in Sunburnt Park...

@Steven Francis Poems 1998

Resident in Mind

Tomorrow is delicious hope
but yesterday is caught in my throat.
It will not be swallowed,
like a stubborn bone
it scratches at doors in my mind.

Tsunami hectic brick attack,
difficult moods wail.

I do not know what made yesterday
feel so fine.
What is it I cannot chew or wretch?
Why does it need a memory?
my tongue is knotted
in threads of mad questions.
Lick lips which repeat words,
blood washes the anxious.
An immoral everlasting skulks
behind my wishbone
giving life to days ago.

Sour lithium scares ghosts,
I want funerals to every day...

@Steven Francis Poems 2002

Twin Spines (Serpent Song of Repent)

Again the snake
is at my spine,
I feel fangs behind my eyes
ready to baptize my spirit
in holy perversions.
I am saint when I am hooked
to the toxic.
Beautiful to the last
the last of the beautiful,
angel petals stab my sleep.

Volcanic heart, feral urges,
I shadow queer kings totheir vanities
like a vampire on Artery Street
and bleed them of fat and ego.
Wealthy shine
fortunes for underdogs,
murders for scars.
I repent in suffering
as my devil tongue lashes at sores.

Soul hound baying
among fermenting flowers,
rabid for scented poison
and curious to the universe.
I am one big mass of rattlesnakes
and lambs,
(fury of the dead and dying)
waiting for silence.

Cherubims in pirhana
rest in corals inside my lungs,
ready to strike the snake
and beat its crazes.
Batter dragons
stone the drugged liver.
These bones are dry now
clean of buzzards...

@Steven Francis Poems 2003

Prising With A Splinter

Call to all ends
in a city of euphoria.
I am cunning
and yet guile
could never create utopia,
for our generation died
when our fathers were born.

I will take you
begging on bandaged knees.
Mercy has no place here,
my heart is the shade on graves.
Eyes like dew
on the grass above the maggots.


My fingers reach out
like wilted flowers on cemetery gates,
waiting to hang your soul
on my aged bone.

Twin lives
envy or greed?
Or the blood on a rusted knife.
A noose swings from my moonlit fangs
making victims sulk
with every morbid breath.

Bewate boy!
Death has lost its romance,
lost its patience
and its horny mind.
Where will you go when I arrive?
To paradise?
Or to twisted tantrums
beneath the sea?

Rest in peace,
but rest is already in pieces.
So fold your hands and thank the fathers,
for that circus which awaits
was created by their habits...

@Steven Francis Poems 2002

Skin Mirror

I am..
the claw
tearing insanity from sobriety,
the shine on a smashed glass.

Or am I vanity?
Stalking reflections in a skin mirror,
admiring ghosts in my head.

I am a..
promise
falling from a shabby jesters lips
trying to impress in a cartoon.

Or am I pornography?
Clutching onto a tabloid dignity
in a flesh alley.

I am..
a coffin
yawning from below the footsteps
growing deathly whiskers.

(Roses fall like damned nightmares
from the cancer of mourners above)

I am..
rage,
stoking fires ready for the disco chaos
I have prepared for ghouls.

A masterpiece of victims

I am..
obsession
flowering in a never ending hell,
suffocating slowly in the undergrowth.

I am kitten
I am wolf
I am youth.

I am..
love eternal,
knitting angel feathers around my heart
to reach Elyssium

@Steven Francis Poems 2002

Vase In A Cage

Batter up my puffer fish chops
its time to wield the gin cutlass,
have at you!
Creepy whiskers that crawl on my cheek
drop like soldier ants.

My skin still milky
from the womb,
has youth on its side (just)
as it stretches to hold
the beer ship,
and inky nightmares which
make up my arms.

Vanity cowers among the wrinkles
modesty tied to my tongue.
Good looking
looking to myself,
hole in one in my belly.

Its time to pinch the Adonis
in the mirror,
chop chop you handsome pussy kitten.
Pretty as a hangover
in a sober kind of way.
Gnash like scissors
pass the smile,
lets go chase the lipstick...

@Steven Francis Poems 2002

As Love Makes An Exit

All those playful things
that lovers do
turn to horror films
when lovers go.
Usual senses like
touch and smell
get caught in cobwebs
woven in hell.
Not everything lasts
and like tears on frost,
love disappoints
and its spirit is lost.

Dusk descends
on a lonely coffin,
drained of blood
and long forgotten.
Sometimes theres pain
in what lovers do,
the hurt of leaving
when a lover goes...

@Steven Francis Poems 2002

Grave Fish

Fractured...
The freckled darkness,
a drugged howl splits
its garden in the sky
as rainbows cross black holes,
the hero has arrived
for the love of babies and princesses.
No more mysteries
or melanomas or cancer jacks
frozen to casket beds.
Queue for cure
bow to legends,
there be sympathy in the wilderness of sorrow.
Saviours fight
and martyrs die to keep young things
from sin.

On earth we are bonded,
as helpless as the belly
of a worm,
grounded to graves whilst spirits bounce.
And yet a jewelled space awaits our tomes
our hopes,
a place of eye dolls and idols
where satellites have nver been.
Pretty things don't grow old
or fade
or wish for bombs.
And girls never fall for heroes.

Would grief destroy faith?
Howl again to God to please Him.
Simple people
walking into comas,
cry darling nomad.
Sadness can be such a rage
and this odd world needs emotion
(and villains),
needs passion.
This world wants
both terrorists and lovers to make it
through the silk...

@Steve Francis Poems 2002

Snake Spine (Soul In A Mirror)

Split suicide grin for seasons of terror.
The smiles are born of hurt and deaths
stony eyed philosophers and sharks
shrug their impassive shoulders
at the reaper bird.
Months fly with dragon tongues for wings
but days crawl through undergrowth
swollen with paranoia.
There is no mirror big enough
to capture my reflection,
big as Heaven
tarnished like hell.

Serpents around my spine
excite new addictions
within me.
Under this shroud I call skin
bones tingle like epileptic reptiles,
my penis coils around lust.

There are free deaths
awaiting the brave.
Choose a soul in a mirror
there is no ego like self,
a song of self
a gospel sung of rainbows.
Twist into a pose
break the snake,
turn the snake
throw it to the dangers.
Damnation is closed on sin days.

Feel the wound
made from greed,
spirits fade today.
Happy people never remember
sad ones never die.
Jesus,
kiss me like a hurricane.
And mould my heart
into a symbol without curse...

@Steven Francis Poems 2002

Re Wind

I'm not feeling myself
anymore,
scenes long gone
glow in my scars
and anxiety shreds my patience
should I fail to paint the picture
perfect.

I'm running away
this time,
running scared
of the hatchet season,
the obesity sessions.
Reason has ceased to exist.

I am fraying
blind and uncontrolled
like a posessed Picasso
as I close my eyes
to replay useless images
in this storm I call a mind.

I'm running away
this time,
heading for the exit
of the static prison
where locks are insecurities,
created by a dizzy trauma.

Haunted in a place
I no longer want to be,
hunted but never beaten
by a vandal madness.
I'm getting out
peeling off the layers of
neurotic stains.

I am not rewinding
this time,
not rewinding any time.
Sick of doubt baying for my blood
tired of this juvenile cancer,
sunlight must touch
these bone flowers.
It ends the cactus jive...

@Steven Francis Poems 2001

Curtain Fire

Bye bye never going back
to the fire where once I belonged,
where ghouls lived in silent movies
and blood was the new shade of wrong.

Draw the curtain on a static mind
before darkness arrives in season,
kicking heels, run like rhymes
kill the father and pray for the son.

There was a place where I'd go crazy
trying to rewind scenes in my mind,
but past is past and iron dead
nothing there to love or find.

Clown with tumours touring confusion
valium away the hell,
walk away from the haunted chorus
and crush the once safe shell.

Bye goodbye, this time it ends
no more zombie fat clogs these veins,
I have muted echoes in this head
and stitched up all the pain...

@Steven Francis Poems 2001

Galactica Pathetica

I tremble
down to my last cigarette,
my fingernails
grey at last.
Frail as ash
hurt as a bee sting,
I look for girls
on a radio phone in.

Squeeze me
until someone else knocks the door,
I need all the sex
in the world.
Bitter like lemons
angry as anvils,
cut off these limbs
cool me down.

A celebrity pose
od's on the wall,
put on a face
why don't you?
Be Lara Croft
from the tv screen,
I watch (you)
but i'm unseen.

Purify me
for one minute only,
fan the flame
I become tonight.
Lightning stalker
happy as caffiene,
death on heat
bloody gasoline...

@Steven Francis Poems 1996

Zombie Man (Hope Song for Silent Choirs)

Terrorised and bruised to
utter nothing,
lady divine
barer of souls,
riiped wide open
catching spiders,
fro the silver which
ran down her legs.

What was it?
That secret when stars
flex in the sky.
Cast a light
and throw the kerb away.
Crush the hand
without a mind.

He man filth eater with
storms in his pocket,
you are monster in disgust.
Bile balloons inflate perversion
sick kings should implode.
Raw dog eat bullets.

This hymn is out
for the forever quiet,
choirs with zipped teeth
and strength of Saturn.
Those bullied worse
than a cancer doll.
Live on,
peace will tame
the pulp creatures...

@Steven Francis Poems 1998

Are You Dead, Ted?

Are you grateful
in the grave?
Gentleman madman.
Did two thousand volts
keep you warm?
Or did you shudder
from shock
after the cold?
Victim of hate
schizoid pigeon.
Alone now with suited tendons
and cadaver skin.
Are you sunburnt from
the unforgiving flame?

@Steven Francis Poems 1996

Morgue Lounge

Lost and deaf
in Poisonville,
where startled humpbacked cats
flee from pregnant dogs.
The poor raped
the rich escaped,
one way street
dead end.

Shift between
Cremation Street
and Hooligan Avenue,
its ouija time again.
Beneath a graffiti moon
coffin streetlights
burn naked wallflowers
grinding against brickwork.
Nobody here reads romance.

Chains in the park
fool addicts
into believing only silver shines.
Strange habits trick the dying
snakes draw blood
from wilted bone.
Chaos reigns at the funhouse.

Along Gambling Alley
where honesty lost its step,
dashing vampires
cook pavement artists in tin ovens.
Smells of fat and salt
attract cannibal vagrants
with cider eyes
from their fingerless beds.
Smash the fish
swim like the drowned.

In shadows
of the dead
mourners go on safari,
collecting cobwebs,
chasing poltergeists into chapels.
Nothing is spared
in this lounge,
tiger butterflies bathe
in sin and heartbeat.

Black Hole City
where Christmas never comes
and vulgar canvases run.
Scorpions lay wrapped
in barbed wire
waiting for prayer.
Fall in love with Dracula
honeymoon in the morgue...

@Steven Francis Poems 1997