Hello World!

In order to begin any journey, one must first establish a point, however lowly from which to begin.  With this in mind I here publish my first serious poem, written around 1998.  While I am no longer in possession of the original manuscript of this poem, the words are emblazoned firmly on my conciousness and still speak to me on some deep level even now.  They capture the circumstances surrounding their creation succinctly, and, while twelve years is a long time in the modern world I think this poem still has very much something to say.

Thattered Scoughts

The rain pelts, heavily upon my architrave
I wish it would not so...
I scream! but still the giddy knave
Bombards my woodwork etc.

Shun ye the hellhound's rainy ranks
That endlessly pour forth.
They rain on cars they rain on banks
And also noisome Geriatrica

Yea Geriatrica I say to thee
They live upon the hill...
...and piercingly glare down on me
Whilst I prepare my famous curries

That issue forth with fiery glee
E'en after they be consum-ed
A ring of flame that's hard to see
by all but those famed contortionists

Who with the fabled toasting chant*
To the rain to cool the scorch,
And skyward Cyclops' faces slant,
More soothed than if they'd used Optrex.

I think there is a message in there for all of us, don't you?

* "bottoms up"