Net Meeting

4 fem or couple, cam2cam only
Well hung male, feeling lonely
Wanna play, ok? Let's start slow
never seen man J/O
Husband at work, Lesbians only please
Do you like asians? You watch, I Tease
Guy, Rick, U.S.N. retired
New J.V.C cam, Hot'n'wired
Virgin@home.com, Break my cherrie
Solo verre e maiale donne hui
Love hair, no soloman
Couple or fem only, cam2cam

© 2005 Kahdoosch

Predators and dead animals

They bring them in
Frozen, mangled, rictus grin
They line them up
Sunken, as if part melted
onto tile, they bring them in

New pretties for me, mice, birds, voles
Should I twitch them on limber poles?
String them on a stout wide belt
Chastity of warding
Should I tamp them down deep-holes?

Mark their hunting-ground with feather,
jawbones, teeth, scraps of leather
Dried blood and incantations
Potent rune of thorn, unleashed,
unbridled, like night, like weather

Thoughtless, force of nature, lawless
Cause of claw imposed on claw-less
Death-thrown sculpture
Lonely, primitive frisson
Clarity of instinct, flawless

Hunted is as hunter be
All are locked-in, destiny
Unbroken cycles of renewal
Mirrors of denied intent
In rows, laid out for me

© 2005 Kahdoosch

Legionnaire

It was the water that did for him
Folded into the neryd-hair at the river bank
They found what was left, no food for fishes this
Soused enough to pickle sticklebacks

The long scars down his forearms livid
Like ash streaks on pallid china, bone dead
Gruesome find for superstitious fishermen
Or aged couple, festival weary, life-battlers

I remember him well, ever the character
The climber, tree-sitter, dilly-dallyer.
Used to watch a portable TV in his wardrobe
A better reception guaranteed

Took the final sail, though
no fiery arrow followed the journey
Left some behind to tell the tales
The long the short and the tall, as they say

Always likely to be one of the first to go
Often teased but hard as a pikestaff
Graced the ribbery, with a nod, with a ha-ha,
with an understanding of, more or less, important things, life welts.

Eased by, a knowledge of the true-cut, where
the sinister edge displays the artery.
The brand that never heals,
badge of forewarning.

It was old Glastonbury that saw him pass
Saw the stillness in the warrior
Many years before escaped, hell-sent warrior
A vision of a different kind of war-dead

The ranks of ancient sappers rose,
limbs lifting, drifting out
Beckoning, reclaiming their own.
Never to be seen again.

© 2005 Kahdoosch

The Sunday Broadsheet

Has anybody seen my copy of the Sunday telegraph
I left it on the easy chair before I went and had a bath
I didn't take it with me cos I thought it would disintergrate
you can't prevent them getting wet (its far too big in any rate)

I read the second column 'bout a middle eastern woman
who negotiated treaties in a shed on Clapham Common
If she couldn't get the signatures her problem would deteriorate
then she would have to go back home and find a bomb to detonate

I'd just got to the section where she met a german business chap
They dickered over dinner and she went to bed to have a nap
she woke up in the morning she was sickening for a fever
but the doctor gave her anadin (he thought that would relieve her)

So that's where I'd read up to now I don't know how it finished
since my newspaper has disappeared my knowledge is diminished
Don't you hate it when that happens, just like every other mother's son
I'll have to nip out to the shop and try to buy another one

© 2005 Kahdoosch

When all else fails...

Pus-breathed, shit-legged...
You mickey mouse, motor mouthed,
mechanical monkey man.
Blue based, baboon faced, rat-arsed nicker.
Time thief... Loose leafed bind,
Blow mind, limp grind, snow blind kitty licker.

Come too quick needle prick.
Dim wit, flaky brick,
half baked belly snake
shite sucking sheep lover.

Creepy crawl, crotch fawning,
fly fumbling puke stain.
Lame brain... Dissolute.
Cack tongued catatonic
quadraphonic fart fanatic.

Weak willed pigswill slurping rancid burping twerp admiring blank firing penile warted spine distorted one bawling nappy filling come spilling spew dribbling whine quibbling

Bingewhore

© 2005 Kahdoosch

The Celt In Me

A drop of the jallop
The 'Pint' they call 'The Black'
Elbow raise, WALLOP
Pat on the back
One glass, another glass
“Pass me the porter”
Off to the ‘Church’
For some more 'holy water'
Switch to the 'Barleycorn'
A song in the 'Heart’
Hail fellow, well met
In sorrow do we part
The Bodhran, Uilean
The bloody singin' fiddle
Drum, Bow and Bagpipe
Another Jimmy riddle?
Stagger down weepy lane
Family dismissed
Not really sorry
Just fock’n pish'd

© 2005 Kahdoosch

The Boat Race

So, I'm sat there
on the rowing machine
Cox's view of the 'varsity race
before me on the screen

At this point I should mention
I'm in my living room
Stacks of 'fitness monthly'
piled behind me in the gloom

I'm waiting for the magic words "they're off"
I tense because I hear the umpire cough
a pistol shot, then, pull, pull, the Cox's cry
I feel the muscles, taut, along my inner thigh

My rhythm quickly sought and duly found
A glance towards the enemy confirms we're losing ground
The cox picks up the pace to close the gap
The wind, in frank reply, removes his cap

I knew my efforts, good enough to win the tie
were doomed before the starting shot had split the sky
I knew... I heard the umpire clear his throat
Why did they put the camera in the losing boat?

© 2005 Kahdoosch

The Two Shrines

What of that day
The day before the shrines
When they came to toil
not to worship a bleak, rapacious god
Where two gods would hope to meet
the temple becomes a place of inneffable sadness


Was it a day for the innocent
Cheery faced lambs giving their flesh
willingly for the common table
or, a day when achievement stood, unashamedly erect
Before a lesser, but ultimately more potent, hard-on
exploded in the belly of free enterprise

Was it known then that the result
of such a malignant union
would boil forward, demanding
ever more from it's mother's breasts
Their purpose violated, ill-redeemed
with many, ever more, venomous ejaculations

Did the Gods shake trembling hands
in thoughtful, rapturous wonder
Marveling at the perfection
of kin-wrought artifice
Then, did they shrivel in dismay as meat and stone mingled
As spirit fled before the unholy spend

Do they not understand
We do this for the sake of freedom
Do they not understand
We do this for the sake of peace
Do they not understand
We do this in their name

It is our offering to them
Can they not see
how much we love them

© 2005 Kahdoosch

Precis

Time - Tick tock

The Client - Knock knock

Mystery - Blah blah

Discovery - Ah haa

A Dark Figure Steps from out of the Shadow - Uh oh

The Story - So far

Conclusion - Dodo

© 2005 Kahdoosch

Overheard on a Salt Marsh

Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?

Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?

Give them me.

No.

Give them me, give them me.

No.

Then I will howl all night in the reeds,
Lie in the mud and howl for them.

Goblin, why do you love them so?

They are better than stars or water
Better than voices of winds that sing,
Better than any man's fair daughter,
Your green glass beads on a silver ring.

Hush, I stole them out of the moon.

Give me your beads, I want them.

No.

I will howl in a deep lagoon
For your green glass beads, I love them so.
Give them me. Give them.

No.



This poem isn't one of mine, it was written by a 19th century poet, Harold Munro.

For me it has a haunting quality, something that catches in the back of your subconscious but defies description.

I've often wondered what was going through his mind when he wrote it.

GAOIS

Fahide lapop
ek widuhudaR
ek unwodiR
ek unwodiR
inarunaR arageu
haeramalaus R
auja alawin
alawin auja

Translation...

HOWLER

I have made the invocation
Me, dog of the forest
Me without rage
Me without ecstasy
carriers of pariah magic
without rest unencumbered
chance with you, friend in all
friend in all, chance with you

© 2005 Kahdoosch

Ye Gods

The bleary eyed mirror God
Saggy, baggy, poorly shaved
The Deity desire
Inside my breast enslaved

The late-night, outright, fever Fetish
Warm and damp and tired
The ‘secret longing’ Effigy
At all costs he must hide

The God of things I like to keep
His Acolyte, the past
This Demon… Whom I do not like
So taunts me to the last

The Idol ‘sitting silently’
His Nemesis, the phone
Resounding, shrouded Banshee wails
Reminding me… I’m not alone

A dark and hungry, vengeful Sprite
Who tends to dine in shame
The Fetch in the subconscious
I can never grasp the name

A pantheon of satyrids
Since Chrysalis have grown
All these gods I now obey
And worship as my own

© 2005 Kahdoosch

Unity of Nations

My nation is Labia, divided and conquered to the hilt
My nation is Condom, pushed too far, driven past breaking point
My nation is Priapus, erected and blown down
My nation is dominance, see the new country.

© 2005 Kahdoosch

Unity

Nothing lovelier than twilight beauty
If the Moon, once again,
kissed mother Earth
The Dawn would last forever
No other light would compare

© 2005 Kahdoosch