Poetry

A  fertile wind  lures a petting call
from the bull who  will swim the Lough.
Immortality lurks within its perfume
of dynasty and a future king.
 
The scent of tomorrow makes love extinct
for our genes are perfumed with success.
Prada and Versace can make the lemon sweet
but the offspring will question  this statue,
we call David.
 
 Poets will bleed a loves embrace
this  beauty of presence a royal write.
While nature spins the spiders web
of a lover who creates life with  death.
 
These tears will soon be forgotten,
in the rose that  greets the winter.
For love grows cold in the markets of man.
 
But love  should not be abandoned
for creation is a spiritual thing.
As the warrior holds his head against the tree,
unspoken words transcend this earth
that only  his isolation can see.
 
And  in its meaning
love can find a nobility,
that prostitution will never be.
 
Love was a word that once  made empires fall,
now reduced in the confetti of modernisation.
A face book soul caught in the pouting lips
of adolescence,
 staring into the depths  of an old man unseen.
 

And the obese teenager that parents adore
go blind to this locked door .
While mirrors delight in snow white dreams
and a wardrobe that secretly desires perversion.
For the window of porn gags for that.
 
Sex is the ticket to the premiere
that eventually all her friends will see
and the weak  will be the spillage
Of a corn sack  filled
by a man that only a rapist will see.
 
Walk into this gas chamber
And succumb  to a kiss,
prostituted   by a River Island fee
 and a Rimmel greasy lipstick.
That makes the suitor hard
inflamed by the chemical caress of perfume
which will procreate another lost child
Into oblivion.
 

And love will show its face once more
In the bottle of regret
and a being  too fat to work.
Spilling the grease from his chips
while watching the latest premiere
Of another  adolescent dream