Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.22)

Happy Wednesday my lovelies. I hope you are all well today. Here is this weeks attempt at poetry, I hope you enjoy it.

Hot Topic

Clearly I’m psychotic.
My views aren’t always myopic.
The mind casts wide, I never abide; my fairytale biopic.

Clearly I’m psychotic.
I try to avoid being the hot topic.
Killing in silence, testing my patience; my rampant rage is chronic.

Clearly I’m psychotic.
Though I’m hardly schizophrenic,
I plan my crimes perfectly, I murder their souls elegantly; yet still they always panic.

Clearly I’m psychotic.
Constantly pleased with my aesthetic,
I take care how I look, hardly appearing like a crook; my death dealing skills are always acrobatic.

Clearly I’m psychotic.
My attitude deemed as chaotic.
I’ll kill you all. You deserve to fall; plunging my blade in your eye socket.

Clearly I’m psychotic.
My arson obsession called anarchic.
I’ll watch you scream, my heavenly dream; sporting my grin for the bombastic.

Clearly I’m psychotic.
Finishing you off with the car was drastic.
You groaned in pain, it served you right for being vein; this chair I’m sat in, electric.

Clearly I’m psychotic.

Story-time with the Four Bananas + Guests. (No.29)

Well, first off, let me apologise for the lack of a blog post on Friday. Secondly, we're back! For this edition, we are joined by the awesome D.S. Scott and J.P. Royan. So enjoy my friends and be sure to check out their respective sites via the link embedded within their name.

The Thought Process of a Definition by C.S. Bailey

I can clearly see the sadness in her stunning hazel eyes. The lack of dignity, as she elegantly parades around naked in front of me. My emotional state is at the polar opposite of where it should be. My energy should be shy rocketing. My blood should be shooting through my veins but it isn’t.

My frustratingly busy thought process will not allow me to concentrate of the positive. It will not let me complete my goal.

For I will only ever see the sadness in her eyes and for this, I will never watch porn in high definition again.

A Drabble Questionnaire by Nav Logan

You’re hanging on a precipice by your fingertips. To make matters worse, you’ve an overwhelming urge to itch your butt. Your phone is going off in your pocket. It must be important as they keep ringing and ringing. 

Just then, a brilliant Idea comes into your head for your next novel. 

Using the last of your strength, you pull yourself up so that you can rest your chin on the ledge for a few seconds and free one of your hands. 

Do you: 

• scratch that annoying itch, 

• answer the damned phone, 

• or scribble down the plot before you forget it?

I Spy... by Bryan Thomas

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with s," said Harry, as he looked out of the window of the train.

"Sheep?" said his sister, Poppy.

"Nope."

"Scenery?" said his mother.

"Nope."

"Squirrel?" said Poppy.

"Nope."

"We give up, don't we, Mum?" said Poppy.

Her mother nodded.

"Shitehawk," said Harry.

"There's no such thing," said his mother.

"Dad says shitehawk all the time," Harry protested.

"Your father says plenty of things but that doesn't mean they're right."

"I saw one hovering at the side of the track," said Harry.

"That was probably a kestrel, now just forget about shitehawks."

CLOWNING AROUND by Rick Haynes

I never remember my dreams but last night that changed.

Lying in a room with a fan overhead told me I was somewhere hot. But the silence confused me; even the spinning fan was noiseless.

The sweat oozing from my open pores stank with fear.

I couldn’t move but I didn’t want to.

For all the time I remained motionless I felt safe.

Looking up at the huge pendulum and the swinging axe I felt the air rush on every pass.

But now awake my nightmare should end.

Yet the axe still swings as the laughing clown pulls the rope.

Friends by D.S. Scott

I lost all my friends. Every last one. It’s all the doctor’s fault too. He prescribed those new medicines and they found out. They say I’m different now, so they all left me. They don’t think I should be on medication like that because I’ve changed. That’s what they said. The doctor says I don’t have a choice though. He says true friends would never leave because of this. I need to find new friends. Real friends. That’s where he’s wrong. Maybe I do need the medicine but he doesn’t understand. The voices were the only friends I’ve ever had.

Death Delivery by J.P. Royan

George saw the figure walking towards the house through the window. Sweaty palmed, he held his revolver as he walked down the stairs. 

Knock knock! 

Barrel shaking, he aimed the gun at the door. His wife appeared from the lounge to answer it. He froze with fear!

Paying for the pizza George's wife closed the door turning to see her husband on the bottom step, weeping uncontrollably with revolver at his feet. "I'll call Doctor Borovsky!" She blurted, rushing for the phone. 

The man walked from the house lifting his wrist to his mouth. "Target acquired. Operation is a go!"

Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.21)

Happy twenty first! I was in two minds of which poem to put up this week. There's one I have written which I have been looking forward to sharing for ages, but I will stick to sharing them in the order they are written. I think, I get to put it up next week, finally. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one for now. Have a lovely week.

C.S

Ode to the Earth II

Your lives look to be fed,
Yet we all end up dead.
Consuming life’s dread,
A fear will surely spread.

Spreading your wings and failing to fly,
Expanding your reach for the one great lie;
Struggling to cope and get by,
Until the day that you die!

Dying is only the end to your beginning,
A time honoured tradition in understanding.
But you still feel the need to be demanding,
Perhaps it’s a game you’re imagining?

Imagine a world without you here,
A world so beautiful and clear;
The promise land looming near,
And all you can do is peer.

Peering into a heaven regardless,
But not the one before your consciousness;
A fictional dream, told in distress.
Lies before your eyes and yet you digress.

Digression at its best, a twisted tale from birth,
Tangled in a mess of false worth,
Pounded by these deceitful stories of mirth,
And still you ignore the wonderful planet earth.

Story-time with the Four Bananas + Guests. (No.28)

Well, after a somewhat eventful week, it's that time again. We are once again joined by D.S. Scott and J.P Royan. So grab that beverage and enjoy...

Gravy Ambitions by C.S. Bailey

“Hello and welcome to KFC, I’m Dan, please can I take your order?”
“Hi, I’ll have a large big daddy meal please.”
“Would you like it large?”
“Erm… Yes.”
“What side and drink do you want?”
“I’ll have gravy and a latte please.”
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”
“I’LL HAVE GRAVY AND A LATTE, PLEASE.”
“No worries, there you go.”
I arrive home and open up my box…
“Where’s my fucking gravy!”

The more I think about this exchange of words, I’m sure I made the right decision to kill young Dan, although the prison gravy isn’t as good.

A Brush with Death by Nav Logan

It was a miserable winter’s day. We were walking home from school, passing the rows of soot-covered terraced houses, counting Christmas trees. The rain was coming down in bucket-loads, with the constant rumble of thunder and flashes of lightning to hurry us along.
We were nearly home, and I was leading the way, wanting to be in out of the storm.
I turned around to check on my sisters’ progress, waiting for them to catch up.
As I started walking again, the lightning flashed before me, right where I would have been standing had I not waited. A close call!

XXX by Bryan Thomas

Ted Hunter, America's foremost news reporter, entered the giant distribution warehouse of Depth Charge, the biggest pornography producer in the world.

"This place is absolutely vast," said Ted.

"It's the size of sixteen baseball stadiums," said CEO Chuck Kulick.

Following Chuck's enthusiastic prompts, Ted looked at random DVDs on his guided tour of the warehouse.

"Chuck, you've got some pretty weird stuff in here, what would you say is your hottest niche seller at the moment?"

"Crustaceans."

"Crustaceans?"

"Yeah, crustacean BDSM in particular is flying off the shelves at the moment."

"What category would that come under, Chuck?"

"Hardcore Prawn."

AUSTERITY by Rick Haynes

The sun was shining, the sky was a perfect blue and the ‘postie’ fell off his red bike.

It was an old ‘postie’, on an old bike, on an even older road.

Just another everyday occurrence in a small Greek village.

Except of course that it didn’t really happen like that.

The ‘postie’ was really suffering from the previous night’s party that ended in the early hours.

The bike was sort of ‘newish’ and the road recently resurfaced.

Still, in times of austerity, it’s better to say that nothing works.

Today, the sober ‘postie’ really did fall off his bike.

Oops!

Let Her Go by D.S. Scott

“We must let her go!”

“We? You’re the one who took her!”

“But you told me to. You made me do it.”

“Yeah, and it was just me. You had nothing to do with it.”

Sandy could hear the two men arguing next door. She had seen the face of the man who took her but couldn’t get a glimpse of the other’s. She was tied to a heavy dresser and had to pull on her restraints to see around the door frame. She gasped when she saw her kidnapper speaking into a mirror.

“But we have to …”

“No … we don’t.”

Sunny Day by J.P. Royan

It was a gloriously sunny day and the  sunlight dazzled off the bleached white sands. The air moved in waves of heat from the dunes to the blue cloudless sky. Rodriguez's eye were focused on a troop of ants marching the sand, carrying flotsam and jetsam, no doubt to their anthill and their queen. 

Rodriguez had been watching them for hours, watching them march closes and closer. They would spot him soon. Hard to know what was going to kill him first really? The ants, the circling vultures, or the desert heat, berried up to the neck as he was! 

Life inside a Psychopathic Balloon Release Information!

Life inside is out today! It has taken a lot longer than I had planned but finally it's here! Check out the blurb:

Life inside a Psychopathic Balloon,
Its description can now resume.
Attempting to rhyme the synopsis,
By using finely tuned harmonics.
Short stories will be told,
They are hopefully entertaining, brash and bold.
Poems will be sang thanks to the spoken word,
To the asylum shall my thoughts be referred?
Drabbles that keep your attention until their closure,
Like this one, Game Over…

My hand’s drenched in blood. It’ll soon dry and will agitate the fine hairs on my hand causing an itch. Peering over the busted skull, it’s hard to feel guilty. I mean, life is all just a form of deceptive progression; and in our reality, you forced my hand.

I warned you time and time again. I pleaded with you, almost begging you to stop, yet your persistence was the key for the lock of my patience.

You didn't stop until I was forced to react. Maybe in the next life, you will desist from sending me bloody game requests.

And some of the teasers I created:

If it sounds good to you fine people, you can get it here:

Amazon UK Kindle
Amazon US Kindle

If you do get my little book, I hope you enjoy it.

Attempt At Poetry Wednesdays! (No.20)

Well, who saw that coming? I know I didn't. The twentieth edition of poetry attempts. Anyone would think I enjoy writing poetry ha ha. Anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful day.

The Beating

A dimly lit room,
Creaks creepily on this stormy night;
Raindrops pound the windows, enhancing the gloom.
Thunder and lightning crash and clatter; filling her with feelings of fright.

Murmuring gently, she wipes the tears away,
Rubbing the wound, it stings viciously.
Hoping and praying for a better day,
How could he treat her so maliciously?

Using all her strength, she stands up tall.
Her legs battered, every step is filled with pain.
Making her way towards another certain fall;
Wondering about the freedom she can attain.

There he slouches in front of the television.
Drunk and groggy, unassuming of her presence;
A two way street, measured by her decision,
Her destiny changed within an instance.

All she wanted was to end her suffering,
To be free of his fists;
How he could hit her was baffling.
Begging for him to get it over with and slit her wrists.

Yet empowered she felt on this darkest of dusks,
The change she had longed for was in reach.
Leaning on the kitchen worktop, she could prominently smell his revolting musk’s.
Grabbing the knife, she knew all too well of the arteries to breach.

Looking in the mirror, her black eyes peered back.
She crept up behind him and stood still for a second.
Biding her time, before the last attack;
The end of the life she knew soon beckoned.

A stab! A slash! A cut! Blood splattered across her face.
Laughing as he screamed, it was the bastard she was defeating.
Death and joy walked hand in hand around their place.
No longer would she endure another beating.

Story-time with the Four Bananas + Guests. (No.27)

Happy Tuesday everybody! I hope you all have a lovely day. My thanks as always go to my bananas for their continued fine works. Once again, we are joined by the dynamic duo that is D.S. Scott and J.P. Royan. Enjoy everybody.

Therapeutic Pickle by C.S. Bailey

Harry had been married for fourteen years. Currently, he and his wife are in therapy, desperately trying to work through their issues.
Recently they have been trying to spice up their sex life by bringing in food, role playing and a whole host of new positions.

One night during a night of passion, Harry proceeded to eat a pickle as he penetrated her from behind. His wife liked the crunching sound.
“I want you to put it in my bum,” his wife panted.
“Are you sure?” Harry asked.
“Yes!”
“You asked for it.”
 “Not the pickle!” His wife exclaimed angrily.

A Bedtime Story by Nav Logan

Mr and Mrs Rabbit lived on the outskirts of town, near the local dump. It wasn’t ideal. In fact it was a bit of a hole, but it was home.

They often struggled to make ends meet, and Mr Rabbit sometimes brought his kids down to the town’s allotment to ‘borrow’ a few vegetables from their better off neighbours

Winter was on its way, and the nights were getting longer, making their lives even harder.

The family settled down to a dark time of X Factor and I’m not really a Celebrity, so get me the feck out of here.

The Dealer by Bryan Thomas

Kyle approached the shadowy figure in the dimly lit alley. "Have you got the stuff?"

The figure took a block covered in silver foil out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

Kyle took the block and opened one corner. "It doesn't smell right, is this cut?"

"I don't do adulterated stuff, man." The figure said, pulling another block out of his jacket pocket. "Try this."

Kyle sniffed the merchandise. "That's better, but you're holding back on me."

The figure produced another block.

"That's it! That's the good stuff. What's it called?" said Kyle.

"Green & Black's 70% Cocoa."

WHY? by Rick Haynes

I am awake.

Yet I am not here.

Sleep is beckoning me like a moth to a golden flame and I can taste the call of freedom as my mind yearns to fly free from my body.

Was it only recently that my feelings caressed my soul and heart, through throbbing ruby veins? Are they not the very same feelings that now urge me, to sleep, to slumber, and to dream?

Thus I yield to my world beyond imagination.

I so easily succumb, for I know that I’ll be travelling at the speed of light when I leave this wheelchair.

Symphony by D.S. Scott

Jack waved his hands back and forth slowly, orchestrating the symphony in his head. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers down on invisible piano keys as his hands flowed through the air. Somewhere deep in his mind, Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” played. He too was deaf, in a way. But only to the screams and only for a few moments more. When he opened his eyes he was back in his basement with his soon to be victim. With the knife in hand, he pointed it, singing softly, “It’s all music to my ears, the melody of your fears.”

Wonga by J.P. Royan

Caller: "Sorry, did I hear you correctly? Did you say 5853% APR to borrow just £250?"

Call centre: "Yes sir, that's correct".

Caller: "That's incredible, not in a good way! How on earth can you justify such a percentage?" 

Call-centre: "You'll find it's a competitive rate in this sector sir."

Caller: "Competitive! It's fucking robbery mate. Charging the poorest members of the population the highest interest rates known to man. I mean........really...........how do you sleep at night?" 

Call-centre: "Please refrain from swearing sir. Would you like to proceed with your application sir?". 

Call-centre: "hello Sir?"

Caller: "Yes... yes please".