Wicked Rhyme

8.13am

Thank God for my ardent secondhand garment as I wrestled the belligerent rain and irremissive winds, on my futile excursion to desolate oblivion.  Oh for a congenial face, a bona fide embrace and an orifice of gin,  not the sight of four homicidal maniacs armed with dense hearts and already bruised fists from anothers demise.  Their glances looked familiar, then the alarm bells rang, ''I remember you'' as I surmised on bended knee.  Undeterred, they fiercely advanced upon my space, shook me vigourously and rained down a dozen fruitless blows.  They even confiscated my coat with infantile dexterity, left me bedraggled in the mire, then vacated the scene abrubtly, caullously dispensing my quill and literature in their haste to avoid my meticulously contrived sarcasm.  In pain I scribbled something vaguely relevant...

It's In The Air

Yes it swooped down upon me from a nearby tree                  
it was surely trying to tarnish me
but I sensed it's intentions and I bent down low
yes I bent down double in the knee high snow
it returned to the branches and it flexed its wings
as I searched in vain for my valuable things
I was cold, wet and tired in my khaki suit
in the torrid conditions I had lost my boot
I located my briefcase in the nick of time
as it darted towards me to inflict more crime
but my instincts aroused me and I caught it flush
it did a back flip and staggered to a nearby bush
where I found it spreadeagled laying on its back
so I opened my briefcase for a counter attack
inside was a pussycat as time stood still
it was repulsed by my actions and if looks could kill
and as if by magic it regained ripe health
with its wings full of vigour its appease was shelved
it soared disillusioned to the highest tree
any bloody where from the likes of me
it returned to the branches with a slight defect
with my pussy on my shoulders I had gained respect
Then it pulled out a telephone and phoned its mates
there were thousands awaiting at the terminus gates
with the culprit a pointing with a mangled wing
and he sang them a tune that they all could sing
it had ample opportunity to blunt my name
with its self inflicted injuries I brunt the blame
then with military precision they all rose to strike
it was then I wished I'd brought my bike
so I ducked and dived and I ran like hell
and was fortunate to stumble on a wishing well
well as luck would have it I located a cave
and in that cave I dug my grave
and in that grave I found a gun
with sufficient shells for every one
so I took down two and the rest jumped ship
with no sign of the catalyst.

11.01am

A horse drawn chariot emerged the dense fog and harboured alongside my saturated shell.  Then a lengthy but lean hand beckoned me to his Aurigal, his entire body concealed by an extensive black cloak and veil, he said nothing and averted my gaze religiously.  I dared not push my already ebbing fortuity as he shed no heat, just an icy mist enveloped his fragile shell, as the thick fog encroached his container with a vengeance.  He reached into an ancient purse to presented me a crumpled draft with the mere tips of his boney fingers.  I reluctantly absorbed it's contents in silence as the illuminations dimmed around me...

Not Dead Yet

Who will mourn me when I die
who'll console and say goodbye
then a soldier said, ''not I''
normal service shall apply
laugh my head off when you die
press ignite and watch you fry
drink your liqour cupboard dry
gorged in song with head held high
Your God sees all you've been deposed
retribution pact be forged

Who will face his Holy Wrath
Who'll peruse my epitaph
''don't look at me,'' some young punk said
as he filled his gash with dread
grazing on his unkempt bed
mushrooms rising from his head
mind insolvent as he bled
ganja growing in his shed
''Jah! he must provide,'' he said
''You'll pay for that,'' his God disclosed
penitence you shall bestow

                                                                      AND THEN:   http://www.wickedrhyme.com/draft7.htm