POETRY by Michael G. Stone
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A DEMON IN THE SKY -- Prose
•August 17, 2012 •
There is a demon in the sky above tonight.
His eyes in flames,
His arms point down
As the chaos you now see reigns.
There is a demon in the sky tonight.
Pointing down its lightening bow,
Pouncing the land into flames
Wars evolving compliments of his black arrows.
There is a demon in the sky tonight.
And people will run wild in fear
People by the millions rushing like ants would into their mounds
And this demon in the sky tonight smiles
With a wicked eye.
Black Arrows rain
Fortune becomes useless
Survival futile
It’s time to see the demon in the sky reign.
There is a demon in the sky forever now
With its black tongue,
Spitting down a rainfall of virus
Spitting down a rainfall of chaos
Spitting down a rainfall of famine.
And with the demons bow
A falling of death rivers
A falling of humanity soils
A falling of your dreams futile.
It is time
It is time
It is time
A demon has come down from the skies.
-End-
(c) 2012 Michael G. Stone All Rights Reserved
Dedicated to all who praise god.
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LITTLE SPARROWS -- Excerpt Poem from the upcoming book "Forest of Caves: Deeper Within the Flesh"
Little Sparrows – A Forest of Caves II: Deeper Within the Flesh Excerpt Poem
This piece was inspired by a song that was released by the musical group Coil titled
“Further Back and Faster” from their love’s Secret Domain album.
I suggest listening to the track at 1:42 Minutes (SONG POSTED AT BOTTOM OF POST – See video VbelowV) before reading the poem. Listening to the song with headphones will give the reader the mood it needs to feel the full grasp of the piece.
Thank you ahead of time for reading and I hope that you enjoy Little Sparrows.
———————————————————–LITTLE SPARROWS————–
Batwings flop
And the flock swoops out of nowhere
And down into the darkness
Of the mist filled skylight.
Tick-tock’
The little sparrows zen freely from thought
…Roaming shyly flaccid and lucid with the wind.
Bats radar locked on target
Calling out into the night
Their hymn of Tibetan monks chanting
A meditation while in constant flight.
Flip Flop’
The little sparrows
With tender beats in their chests
Flowing brightly—their mourning begins.
Time stops’
The little sparrows sense the monk hymn
Swooping down
Cautious in a distance behind—Can you feel their shivering?
Bats attack
The Sparrow flock
A moment of silence
Thrashing, crushing, bleeding
Those little sparrows
Dying, falling and losing tonight.
© 2012 The Distorted Poet All Rights Reserved
•September 14, 2011
Please be fair warned this spoken word piece was written with explicit words. Mature and Broadminded adults please read only. And for the rest of you; Another part of my blog perhaps? Thank you.
The title is: Puppet on all Kinds of Strings but Getting Paid
Soul suck the life out of me.
IT is as SIMPLE as THAT…but it must be!
I soul suck my own luck for this four dollar an hour fuck.
And what do I do; sip a few from the cup of tea.
And mind my own business; like the unfortunate bumble bee.
There are no queens here. There is no happy endings honey…
“I’ll write if you pay me…” A non soul filled twit said.
Puppet on all kind of strings –Code Red! Code Red!
A cable in a jar just in case you stray too far.
Young child, your parent’s do not even know why they pay their taxes;
But they know you’ll be spoon fed well by the corporation.
Young woman and man, well –I simply pity you none…you enjoy your nurishmental establishments.
…A young educatied man; fresh from the cattle pin enters the cubicle realm.
BOXED
…He stares into his monitor; while enjoying his morning Starfuckers;
Chocolate,
nonfat,
bullshit filled with organics
…and just a dab of cinnamin late’ to go please with a stain on my shirt at my desk.
The monitor is vibrant with corporation fuel;
NUMBERS
FIGURES
PROFIT
PROFIT
PROFIT
…A neighbor from his cubicle enters and whispers;
“Quit now before you become as evil as I am”
“Hehehe.” He giggles.
“I am already part of it; they put my chip in during the class of 2310.”
He whispers back with a smile on his mechanical face.
“Good. Let’s get these consumers giving us a blow-job their credit
cards and wallets will never forget.”
“Oh, by all means —I got that program.”
-End-
(C) 2010 The Distorted Poet, Michael G. Stone
Please do not copy without permission; unless quoted in a newspaper or magazine.
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Please note that this website is still Under Construction.
COMING SOON: Parts I, II, and III of the short story titled: DESTINY
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If you wish to read more of MR. Stone's work, please find his work at your favorite local bookstore and order it at the front counter. A sales person will be more then happy to place the order.
Thank you kindly for understanding.
-Webmaster
"I sit here waiting as the time ticks. Seconds slowly become hours, and hours become days. Sounds familiar doesn’t it? That last paper drop onto your tongue becomes the gateway to your private eternity. That million mile an hour ride that takes you over, and drives you to places you may, or may not have forgotten about. Those memories, and how to accomplish them. Those fears, and the long fight to retrieve your sanity. But I’m not here to write about an LSD trip you had, or may be thinking about having...". -The Distorted Poet, Michael G. Stone (July 21 2005)
