This is a Dead Man talking,

speaking through borrowed tounge and teeth.

This is a shaman stalking

Painted animals, ancient shadows

‘cross the cliff-face bas-relief.

This is a skeleton hand that carves

a hunter and a horned moon,

leaving keys and clues

to haunt the long lost leys of language.

Some poetic poltergeist perhaps,

ghost-writing ex machina.

Composing his puzzles

for pedants to ponder.


This is machine and meat talking.

Ay! And the meat-heart that beats

a Tattoo of Fear

at Deaths approach.

Oh yes, you can hear it coming,

in the railway tunnels humming,

harmonies rising in the rails

like the pipes and drums that herald the entrance

of Pan with a soaring wail.

Panic gripping your guts you run,

as Goat-legs he gets up to start

to rut and strut and sing.

Old Father of Fear in ritual sewn

into his bloody skins.


Joining his Dance

I tied feathers to my hair

in token of times impermanence

and acknowledgment

of my own brief passing through an azure spring.


my hands like

Yeats’ old tattered cloak & stick that sing!

And thus I danced, not ever knowing

what my next steps might bear,

my only knowledge, the certainty

that the Music would take me there.


No review this week, coz I’m a lazy bastard and its too hot, but Hey! you got a video of todays poem at..


The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet and an ordained Minister of various shadowy cults. Aii! Yog Soggoth!!



~ by reverendhellfire on February 20, 2011.

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