jay 3

Dragged behind an ovulating mule
hands tied, he felt a fool,
battered, cut, bruised and spat on
his helmet lost in a field, a straw hat on
his head like a fistful of hay
upon a disheveled sleigh,
his bare feet into bloody ribbons ripped,
where the going was uneven, he slipped
and slid murmuring with pain,
his agony beating martial tunes on his unprotected brain.
After a day of walking
too numb for talking,
they reached the Castle of Troom
where his capturers had booked him a room.

Jay: prisoner2

Forty years before
at a time of endless war
the entire land filled with gore
the knight rode to the fore
in polished armour, weapons galore,
fighting for king, a lady and the law.
For five years he fought
killing knights and peasants, whatever he ought
hacking, slicing, in conflicts fraught
with constant death, lives taken for naught,
in garish melees, cheaply bought.
Surrounded by enemies, overwhelmed, the knight was caught.
 

JAY: Prisoner 1

Darkness creeps slowly into the room
covering each object in paralyzing gloom
with the crazy onset of unending doom,
flowers that never once again bloom
beneath leaden skies and thunderous booms,
what was once grand has morphed into a tomb,
the crumbling castle of Troom.
Pitted by the silver lances of the moon
the last knight sits alone eating porridge from a rusting spittoon
with a golden spoon
his eyes staring frantically like a captive loon
imprisoned in the awful ruin,
the crumbling castle of Troom.

JAY 3

Curled up, bright yellow petals glinting like glistering metals
Trees that rise and bow, silent now
Cars rushing into the dark, crushing a slow-moving lark,
Cats curled up before a fire ignoring the nearby church choir
Singing melodious paeans to god before a stature soaked in blood.
A rising bright silver moon floating across the sky too soon
Howling dog and wolf scampering across each shadowed roof
In that, the foulest night of the year pumped-up with fear,
With sepulchral screams hammering the brain, the sane and insane
Shackled to the earth before, not after, death.

BY JAY2

In the quiet of the morning, heavy with mist, rabid with scents
a woman settled in the copse meditating amongst the fleeting mice
and secretive rabbits, the bee and butterfly. What was she thinking
of on such a humid day? Her features relaxed, a smile lingering
over her lips, eyes opening and shutting ritually,
the sun poking its frazzled head above the half-light, the grass
heavily hung with dew. This was our goddess, still alone, still alive,
a thousand years after her demise, battered by crosses and incantations,
holy water and an ever-present authoritarian god searching the land
for sacrifices. I watched for several hours.
In that time, that uneventful time, she grew older, flesh flaking away from her opaque bones,
the sun slicing through. Within hours,
her presence vanished, earthbound, seeking to emerge once more within the millennium
exhorting religion's timely death; with once again irrepressible love, life and joy
freely restored. As darkness fell
her shade morphed into a seed, sinking slowly into the soil.

By JAY

In God we trust.
Whenever we are directed by lust
Distracted from TV
By excessive pornography
Or made unhappy
By worshiping idol, icon or book
We trust God not to look.

At night, smothered in darkness, it hunts
Its eyes burning like stars
Slinking through the air, searching
Soundlessly for prey.
“She is such a softee.” Esther sighs
Scooping its favourite food into a bowl.
“My baby. My furry little baby.”
Its claws sink into the wren, ripping
It apart in a cold deliberate frenzy.
Sodden bloodied feathers, slithers of skin
Like red glints in a killer’s darkening eye.
She takes the cat into her arms,
Cradling it and smothering it with kisses.
It purrs, dreaming carnivorous dreams of its owner’s dry flesh