RAVENHEART

The human hunter gatherer brain is so very hard to truth train but maybe not if you start using the new silicon scopolamine dream and drip feed it daily with some digital dopamine served up from our omnipresent Turing machine.

I was quite horrified to read that the human is responsible for the slaughter of three billion aninmals each day , i wrote the poem in a pompous manner after listening to a hunter talking about his blood sports, he belived it tobe his righteous privalage to kill similar to royalty who once regularly pleasured their pallets with the flesh of endangered animals with some still doing so today after buying a licence from secret African auction houses in many of these poorer countries gluttony and obesity are seen as a wealthy status symbol.

I wrote this little ditty after listening to a dear friend who's a lay preacher telling me that i may not be entering into the kingdom of heaven , i answered by stating that i did not want to go to heaven and he asked why surprised stating did i want to go to hell ? , i mentioned i would be quite happy to remain in limbo or purgatory rather than enter into the either where billions upon billions of souls from our past bitter waring human beings would be residing ; after experiencing the enormous divide that we have on this small mad mud island called Britain i really couldn't think of anything worse than to be crushed into a garden of eden with ever so many more people than there are here unless of course that their cantankerous contemptuous souls had been completely cleansed of all human trace in heaven's giant launderette , I have visions of souls on coat hangers totally transparent similar to the plastic covers at the dry cleaners.

The femme fatale overrides all of our rationale her swan song is the sound we hear as our love boat runs aground, the final pheromone is a scent of sulphur we smell as we slowly drowned .

The Belles Angels a song I wrote for a bunch of hell raising Harrogate girls all leather and lace they murdered every midnight hour slaking an slaughtering sobriety , to all those super sexy Ladies college girls I say God bless you all . All rights reserved

A short minute musing about infecting your friends computer's with a virus and how they treat it as though you've infected them with a sexually transmitted STD .

Living as an artist's muse you can understand the expression of The Doom in the room what artist's don't realise is that there ego's can be so burdensome to everyone else and probably has to be in order for them to achieve , this is usually why their muse's are usually so miserable. Whilst living with an artist as a muse I was painted with my own blood she thought it to be a wonderful contrast of colour red onto the stark white canvas my Anglo-Saxon skin reminiscent of the old English flag .

The four elements of life, if we do not lean to respect them as ancient cultures did them they will cease to respect us.

A poem about an old rag and bone man who started out with just a horse and cart then after a life of skinflinting strife became very rich but even there upon acquiring great weath still retained his beggar man roots and rhetoric.

A birthday poem for NENO it's called Black Rod because for the first time in Britain's 1000 year parliament's history the position is now held by a women this spiritual and temporal appointment of power is long overdue for a changing of the guard the willow may look soft and gentle but inside lies her heart of oak .