I wish I'd danced with the girl in the picture.

Her arms bend at an angle I've never seen in waking life,

Her sinews are taught as if she holds the whole world aloft.

She's looking at the camera like it's a window to my soul,

Her legs will never move in time with mine.

Swirling on the dance-floor we could have found reality,

Entwined in music I may have been able to make her happy.

Feet tripping and slipping in our own astral orbits,

Shadows of our children appear as we cavort through space.

Bodies pressed gently to each other in awkward anticipation,

Our arms raised to a slightly uncomfortable height as we spin.

Breasts and chest melting into each other like appetent butter,

Eyes transfixed by each others swirling pools of optical jelly.

Hypnotic rhythm and tribal fever erupt as the tune breaks,

Lusty legato love and a desirous dance duet.

I spin slowly in my bedroom tracing imaginary steps,

She is frozen mid swing with her impossibly bent arms.

I wish I'd danced with the girl in the picture.

It looks like she's doing the Macarena.

What Is Utopia?

To hear an audio version of this poem click here;

Ellipsey's Podcast

The Coal Merchant

‘Here have some coal?’

The need to blink was gone,

Residual black dust caked his jaded tear ducts.

The ability to cry was gone.

Carbon based rheumatism racked his body with pain,

Sedimentary relationships litter the strata of his life.

Three decades of inhaling his own sulphurous wares,

Each cancerous breath he takes warms the lives of others.

Thirty years of lonely streets result in a coal-faced existence.

One day a black cat followed him, providing feline assistance.

His bleak days were spent a’ peddling fuel to light their fires,

His name was never known until he heard the holy choirs.

Graphite stained fingers stroke the fur between her useless ears,

Rudimentary relationships between man and beast are a means to and end.

Three decades of isolation built on the off cuts of a dying industry,

Each roaring fire he supplies masks the irony of his cold, bleak reality.

The need to breathe was gone,

Inflamed black lungs collapsed by fossilised body parts.

The ability to live was gone.

Every sound he utters is a question.

Apocalypton Ice Tea Or The Story of How You Cut Me

To hear an audio version of this poem head to http://ellipsey.podomatic.com/entry/2011-10-06T06_25_31-07_00

Where no men fear to tread sleep the Laser-Yaks,

Their hulking masses pitted against the earth's crust battle of wills.

Laser-Yaks are humongous.

Where the Menstrual Rivers run red breed the Laser-Yaks,

Their complicated mating rituals cause cities to fall & Kings to weep.

Laser-Yaks are lotharios.

Where the Lovejoy memorabilia lies wait the Laser-Yaks,

Their vacuous flanks & tangled manes await the coming conflict.

Laser-Yaks are shit scary.

Since the far off days since man first heard a scratchy noise,

The Laser-Yaks waited patiently. Ready to fight. Poised.

Their seething shapes have never had desire to be seen,

In misty clods of air and smoke their kind has always been.

They live within vibrations, they manifest in waves,

They move like ripples on a lake or crotchets on a stave.

With silent maws and molar teeth they graze upon our tales,

Killer laser beams augment, each time that we're regaled.

When a village burns and children lay dead it's the Laser-Yaks,

Their movement alone causes hearts to fail & bones to dissolve to sand.

Laser-Yaks are seismic.

When the sea explodes and tsunamis wreck a continent it's the Laser-Yaks,

Their murderous herds would shatter the bones of the grim reaper himself.

Laser-Yaks are tectonic.

When you see shadows in the distance of a foul mountain range it's the Laser-Yaks,

Their very senses trained upon just you, waiting for their moment to cease existence.

Laser-Yaks are shit scary.

Big, shaggy yaks with lasers for their eyes,

If the ground is shaking, kiss your loved ones all goodbye.

The creatures make no sound despite their massive size,

Feel your bones dissolve to dust, kiss your baby as she dies.

Huge, snorting yaks with their killer death-ray eyes,

Watch as London disappears whilst their bodies block the sky.

The beasts destroy all living things that make the slightest cries,

For though they're made of waves and sound it's noise that they despise!

Awesome, deadly yaks with their eyes of reddish beams,

Quick! They're lumbering toward you and they're burning through your dreams,

The fiends can't stand the din we make, our songs, our words, our screams,

Our speakers, drums and music are our only hope it seems.

So with music we have hope, we can quash their optic ray

We can drum, scratch, sing & dance, we can beat them as we play.

Listen well young children for they must be kept at bay,

It's music that will save us and let us live another day.

-

The Adventures of Crack Dragon

To Be Continued....

Metro Man

I kept looking for her in crowds.

She was a slim lady with puce eyes and a smile that reminded me of politics.

Suffice to say she ex-hued power.

I wrote into one of those Metro columns called "Love on the Tracks" or "High Speed Link to Love".

There's never been a reply.

I wrote into one of those Metro columns saying, "I saw you on July 22nd at East Croydon. I was the guy reading Dan Brown and I let you go before me in the coffee queue and when entering the train. You smiled at me as if i was courteous and my actions pleased you. You changed my life"

I read it the day it was published, it made my heart smile.

The week after that I was a giddy little schoolboy scanning every face, nonchalantly walking through every carriage of the 7:15 to Victoria. 

I never found my perfect seat. 

I would crave one of those 4 seaters with the little plastic table jutting from the window, empty apart from me. I'd sit facing forwards so as not to get travel sickness with my Karrimoor rucksack on the seat beside me and a cardboard cup of coffee resting in my palms. She would sit on the seat opposite me. Not directly but opposite my bag as if it was too soon to be that familiar with a person but not a problem to care for an inanimate object. My inanimate object. Our eyes would meet as we both stared out of the plexiglass window at Battersea Power Station and I would see inflatable pigs tethered in her eyes. I imagined where she would lunch, she had far too much grace to touch Pret or Benjiis & would probably just eat something from home. I wanted to see her at Speakers Corner. I wanted to stand up and say "Here yea Here yea! I am yours." 

I wanted everyone to hear me. I wanted her to hear me.

I kept looking for her in crowds.

She was the love of my life and the memory of her smile reminded me of needles.

Suffice to say she ex-hued power over me.

I wrote a letter to try and find her despite only meeting her once.

There's never been a reply. 

Cut Me, I'm Bleeding

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http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ellipsey/162509237142431

                        -----------------------------

I fell upon the Huff Huff house in a state of disarray,

My bendy beams all slavish making clump clump all the way.

The Laser Yaks with eyes & ears were not so far behind,

The snarling Gifflecut, and Dad were spitting spit & rinds.

I hollered out “Ooh Let us in” I screamed “For Fuck Us Sake”,

I knew my Mardi gras was near, I could see my own fair wake.

The beasts and men and jive fauna surrounded my chalk spot,

I felt alone in that circle, my Caucasian limestone plot.

The porch light burst bright into flame, I thought at last I’m saved,

I darted through the wire mesh, my thanks I raved and raved.

Then Jesus turned and sat me down, he smiled his winning smile,

He told me I was on my own but could rest in here a while.

I thought now hold on Sonny Jim, a lark you must be havin?

I said my prayers, I loved your Dad and I lived without much sin.

Yet now you leave me to this fate with all the MustNotMentions;

To face Supperutts, Laser Yaks & Dad with no God intervention!

So now my bendy beams did shake & my leg elbows did knock

I threw my Bible on the fire, good riddance  to that croc!

I puffed my heart's prison fully out and settled my grey matter,

I opened up the door ajar & heard the Poinglings natter.

The Laser Yaks stood furthest back, each one 12 foot high,

Their sonic lowing rumbled deep, the neon in their eyes.

The Supperutts skittered around the porch making whistling sounds,

Their scalpel toes scuffed the wood, their thoughts burnt through the ground.

The gnashing Gittleguts whooshed a lot, my hair did stand on end,

One got caught in my minds eye an attack I can't defend.

But what should end this frightful night, which beast was most depraved,

The Mensaclumps & Grownup Shoes were at least all well behaved.

No, the one who stirred this nightmarish clan and snuffed out all my light,

Was none other than the seed giver, the one who I can't fight.

So just like Jesus I'm all things to all men, a counterpoint to the bad,

I can fend off all the nightmares but get killed by my own Dad.

(Just an aside, i was never abused by my father or suffered any mistreatment at his hands. This is a work of fiction apart from the bit about the Laser Yaks which is so real it's scary. Ok, see you when you get out the joint Dad!)