Melodies of a Madman

MARK GREEN’S

  MELODIES OF A MADMAN

  “Poetry Collection”

  WWW.NEXUSDARKWORLD.COM

 

  Nexus Darkworld Productions

  First published in the United States in 2011

  By LULU online publishers

  This edition published in Great Britain in 2012 by

  Nexus Darkworld Productions

  Copyright © Mark John Green

  The moral right of this author has been asserted

  Any persons or events mentioned in this poetry publication, other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to real person(s), living or dead is purely coincidental. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, without prior permission verbally and in written form. The cover and images used in this publication are likewise copyrighted by law and cannot be used, either in whole or part without the prior permission of Nexus Darkworld Productions.

  The cover was created by Miss Holly Knight

  POETRY TITLE LIST

  Introduction from the poet

  “Ginger scaled pets”

  “No time!”

  “Sunset”

  “Sickness”

  “Rival Track”

  “Apostle of nothing,

  yet believer of everything”

  “Unfair bullshit”

  “Sealing your true self”

  “How to converse with god”

  “Summer Heat”

  “What’s more twisted TV shows

  or the people who watch them?”

  “In the middle”

  “World war three?”

  “Game crazy”

  “I must taste bitter...”

  “Ambitions”

  “The human race”

  “Depressing realisations”

  “Split lives”

  “Broken, yet strong”

  “Miners troubles”

  “Powerless”

  “Snakes guiding Dragons”

  “Hiding beneath my blankets”

  “Don’t aim for anorexic”

  “What to do tomorrow?”

  “Finally hunting down Dictators”

  “Yet again, white maiden”

 

  End

  ...And a preview to Mark’s other releases.

  Introduction from the Poet

  Greetings friends and poetry enthusiasts, my name is Mark Green and this book of course is my poetry collection – Melodies of a Madman.

  It is admittedly a somewhat unusual title; particularly for a poetry book, but you’ll find that I am a particularly unusual man. It suits me splendidly – do I mean the name of this book or the referral ‘unusual’ – who knows?

  Reader, you will find some of my work to be rather odd, and that’s fine. Many of my poems are a reflection of my thoughts, worries and experiences and therefore not always the easiest to understand.

  That being said, I hope you’ll enjoy my quirky, graphic, and downright odd poetry...and all the other ones too.

  MELODIES OF A MADMAN

  Ginger scaled Pets

  Madly wriggling in the crystal, murky yellow water spurts as they wait, they shake as my hand hovers above them.

  The Giant bowl swishes and drips, ready for my ginger pets.

  I reach; they dodge – slipping between my fingers and the little net. Tiny circular maws gasp for air, the net sweeps in!

  For a second they taste sky only to descend into their now clear pristine home.

  Pesky tailed pets, their scales glinting from the low lamp light. I watch them, wave and leave them to their castle dodging and weed weaving.

  No time!

  Run, run! I don’t have any time!

  Tumbling, scrambling, I fly from my sheets. Tick, tock of the clock, spinning faster, faster!

  Not enough, not enough time!

  Hitting my knees sharply I scrape a handful of juggled clothes.

  Bolt for the bloody bathroom!

  Diving past the curtains in to Luke-warm bliss, I start to relax – No! There’s no time!

  Soaking, dripping, I scramble into my furs and make a break for the door.

  No time, I’m late for work!

  Sunset

  I stare, adoring you, your orange rounded stomach, rising – falling as you breathe. I drink the sight of your eternal shining eyes.

  I wish I could reach out and embrace you, but you’re so far away, far beyond my mortal reach. Your features are beautiful, sometimes light and sometimes dark, but always beautiful.

  I would run my fingers through your hair, but those golden curls would rend and scorch me.

  I wake up and see your face, golden and warm. When I sleep, I cuddle up against the absent darkness. I will always need you, if you do not smile, I die...and yet your presence crumbles me, turning me to a Sahara cascade.

  I cannot have you, but still I watch you from a distance; you fall gracefully to sleep, slipping beneath your starry blanket. I stare forlorn at the dark; it seems I must content myself with the night sky.

  Sickness

  Chained – Bound and trapped, chest aflame – Can’t breathe! Eyes see red, bloodshot and weary.

  Stumbling and swaying, awakening and sleeping but always weary, weak, weeping. Will the facial torrents ever cease?

  Air distorted, killers staining the clouds and passage ways...and yet I breathe, but only just.

  Limbs weak, head swimming in the cold currents, oh god...how I hate colds!

  Rival Track

  Running ahead of me, muscles churning; a vast dust cloud blinds my vision.

  Where are you, are you really so far ahead of me?

  Desperately panting, running, charging, I won’t lose, I will catch up!

  But others draw up at my sides – Equals, and so many just behind!

  I pant and gasp, I cannot let them pass me...But my goal, the one who runs ahead me, he continues to blaze on through the stars; can I catch up with only my efforts?

  But he is MY rival, no one will pass me by, but there is only one way to find out.

  Come at me, lowly rivals, I accept your challenges first of all!

  A mirror from me to me

  Greetings me - how are you, are you well?

  How’s life treating you now?

  What are your hobbies now, what’s changed?

  I know I cannot hear you, but speak them anyway. We’re linked through nostalgia; the past and the present.

  I can time travel with my own magic box, my old laptop...What box did you think I meant?

  Oh...Are you trying to get me sued? Silly future me!

  So tell me again, are you still in love?

  Do you still hate those people?

  How about where you live now, what has changed?

  We’re linked through nostalgia – the past and the present.

  Apostle of nothing, yet believer of everything

  I am willing to consider all sides of an argument, I like a theological discussion, but only if my opponent is not a fool.

  Despite all this, I do not believe, there is no proof or kindness in this world that would suggest their claims, just twisted ideals; subtly and blatantly fitted between the pages.

  I want to believe, to have the reassurance of an afterlife that my ancestors had – but no! I listen and I think, so this relief cannot be mine.

  When I die, I will cry and scream, fighting the reaper till the very last breath.

  I will live in fear and die in fear, and I am still s
o young. How do others like me stand it?

  I consider everything and yet believe in almost nothing. If there is no proof then it must amuse me, only then will I consider their deceptions.

  Religion...

  Magic...

  Aliens...

  I will consider them all, but only if they keep me from getting bored.

  If not, forget it; a life of nothingness.

  Unfair Bullshit

  Why do they all get away with it, why doesn’t the law lock them away?

  Why is it when I take the law into my own two hands, only then do the coppers spring into action? ...But never the other way around.

  Why do they show the villains such special treatment?

  When they hurt, rape and kill us, are we not victims?

  But when villains suffer; the entire world’s justice rushes to their cause.

  This is unfair bullshit, listen to me – no listen, you must be consistent, if you must treat villains kindly and with love, then you must threat us victims with love and kindness also, not discard and mock us as you do now.

 

  Sealing your true self

  I am stronger and smarter than the others, why can’t I take what I want, when I want, why can’t I enact any passing desire I have, to be true to my black, bleak soul?

  Because they will lock me away, whether it’s to be in a prison or the nut house, they will seal my body with chains or trap my mind with drugs.

  So for a measure of freedom, I made a choice; to seal away my true self through sheer will.

  One day I hope to set myself free, to cast off my mental bindings, when my place in the world gives me immunity from the imprisonment of the body.

  On that day the monster will walk the earth again and then the world will recoil and fear.

 

  How to converse with God

  There are many people in this world who speak with god, some with faith, others are just crackers.

  On bended knees they silently make their obvious pleas.

  Some are chained in little white rooms screaming like banshees. Is there reason to the madness, or are they all caught within the crazy clown’s grip?

  Decide now what is true and what is false, if mass delusion is accepted, adored, how can any be mad?

  There’s an easier way to converse with god, I have found and you’ll even get answers. One simply needs to become deluded enough to gain a god-complex.

  Then you can natter to yourself, problem solved!

  But then the padded white room awaits you.

  Summer heat

  Fire star burning bright, scorching, blinding. I glare up at you defiantly, only to wince.

  The up-waters, blue and pristine are warped and speckled by the flames.

  I crouch there, half shielded by the heated glass, grunting, hissing at the boiling flames licking the outside of my cage.

  Outside my temporary glass prison, I watch everyone else dance and run through the fire, their skin slowly turning charred and ashen.

  Yet strangely they do so with vast smiles on their faces.

  A few visit me in my cage and in passing they compliment the weather, despite their half-blinded, reddened appearances.

  Are they mad?

  They travel to the coast to have their skin flayed, whilst they grin moronically in their striped seats.

  While they do this, I sit in my glass cage, hot and irritable, biting my knuckles.

 

  Are they mad?

  What’s more twisted, TV shows or the people who watch them?

  They say the writers are twisted, perverted, forgers of imagination and madness, and their rabid fans are all the worse.

  But people who hate TV shows; anything risqué or lavished with potty humour, they say that we are monstrosities; seekers of violence and pleasure – are they right or are the wrong?

  They say it influences us to do bad things – well...of course it does! We react to our surroundings, we are easily influenced creatures.

  It is true we can learn swears and to appreciate crime. But we can also learn many grand lessons from TV, just as we can from life.

  If what influences you bothers you – then turn off the fucking television!

  But we both know you just need to blame something for the perverse desires in your soul, that you desperately want to enact.

  In the middle

  Nestled between two great powers, each pulling me in either direction like a twisted game of tug of war, no matter who I side with, I’m in danger.

  A single mistake, a single misplaced step – and I’m a goner!

  If I show too much kindness, too much favour, I will become suspect and disposable by the other.

  But in order for my days to not be torture I must be kind and generous – what to do?

  For now I’ll carefully tip-toe the balance and try not to fall, by doing this I hope that whichever side wins, I’ll be in a position to ascend to greater standing.

  But ambition has its risks, even so I must tip toe ever so carefully in the middle.

  World War Three?

  ‘How do wars begin?’ I wonder as I perch on my favourite stone; Private Jerry Haigs. Is it because it’s fun?

  Is it for the pride of your nation? We all seem to have too much of that. When I look at those around me, I see too much arrogance, and far too much pride.

  Some even lash out at me, for no other reason, except that they can. You’d think the sky belonged to them.

  I preen myself as I watch another lot of diaper graduates march off to die in another petty war. They deserve to grow old and dance between the nurse and the reaper.

  I call out to them, but they pay no mind to me, you’d think they couldn’t understand me, my chirps are clear enough.

  As I perch, I wonder when the real wars will start again, this constant stream of backyard squabbles is clearly leading to something serious. What will set off this serious confrontation? They’ll call it World war three I suppose.

  If it starts, perhaps I can migrate to the moon and wait it out. Shaking my mind of such morbid thoughts, I ruffle my feathers and take to the sky, to watch today’s petty misery unfold.

  Game Crazy

  PSP glued between my forefinger and thumb, I aim and fire! CG soldiers explode; the screen of my console is obscured in a shower of blood. Buzz kill! Three kill streak!

  I’m on a roll, who else shall I kill from the safety of my bedroom?

  My eyes are weary and blood speckled, my hair matted down and my legs cramping. But I don’t care if I can no longer walk, in this online world I am the re-spawning murder king.

  I ignore everything about me, real life is a flaccid bore; in these crafted gaming worlds I can do everything and be anything!

  People call me gamer, nerd, and freak! But I don’t care, I am a soldier, a knight, a magician, a spaceman, I’m everything, yet nothing, because in the real world I’m broke – living off benefit, bald and badly groomed.

  But hey, who cares?