Spectre

Image by Monica Medappa

Spanning across a thousand yards,

Across boulevards, circuit lines and bottle shards,

Stands a spectacle, stoic and skeletal.

For 800 years those pinnacles like needles,

 Awaits to spike a fallen angel…

Perhaps on one of my nocturnal musings

I might see an angel hanging

On your pinnacle like a flag hoisted

of white and gold afloat.

Your body mightily antediluvian,

is a dance of illumination,

of fire, ochre and feuillemort.

An emblem of divine enormity,

Despite that unflinching austerity,

Do you sometimes sway to impish tendencies?

Hiding within a goetic entity?

What secrets of past feuds and turmoil,

do you hold in those arches, vaults and gargoyles?

Did Gods and demons, within your walls

Debate, inebriate, copulate super coiled?

Towering solemn this witching hour..

Is Petrov, a golden spectre.

Triggers: Roslyn by Bon Iver & St. Vincent and Kometa by Jaromír Nohavica

Vain

Art by Monica Medappa

I died and became a scarab beetle, reborn in Savannah’s torrid heat.
Spinning dung, I’m on the look out for bigger obstacles.
Spiders, wildebeests maybe even an African eagle?
Spin, spin, spin. vision-360 degrees.

Spin, spin, spin – a resting oryx

At a distance, a rhino beetle. I disregard.

Spin, Spin, SPIN! – centipedes curling on a mound spire

Pierce!!
My dung orb rolls downhill! Who knew, I’d be crushed by my cousin’s mandible.
My end in a vast grassland, so trivial.

Triggers: Old friends by Darren Korb and You’re somebody else by flora cash

Visions

Art by Monica Medappa

The blind man and the rooster.
Walked miles and miles together.
Offerings of corn by village folk they shared together.
He sang to him and he clucked in acknowledgement.
One night, the blind man slept intoxicated. The rooster pecked him in several places, unintended.
At dawn, from every peck arose an eyeball. He could see it all!!
Sky and land! Feet and church arcade, fishes below, pelicans overhead! all at the same time. compound vision!
He ran to the village,overwhelmed
‘Magical rooster! visions to me,he rendered!’
People petrified!’ bogeyman!!’kids mortified.
The guards promptly arrived.
‘Magical rooster! visions to me,he rendered!!’
The rooster’s neck was instantly wrung. Following day, accused of witchcraft, he was hung…

Triggers: Fountains by Blvck Ceiling and Save your grace by Scarlxrd

Wolpertinger

Art by Monica Medappa

There once was a creature, so chthonic,

Sighted in the woods of Wyoming.

A hybrid hare with pronghorn antlers,

Names it had, Jackalope and Wolpertinger.

With time it fostered many portmanteau,

Even a love story between a hare and a roe.

At La Bonte its head was a show,

Herrick the hunter made a bit of dough.

The Aztecs adored, the Old West abhorred

About a creature full of mystery and gore.

In 1933, Shope made a discovery.

A villainous virus that shaped Fluffy so monstrous.

Protrusions so keratinous,

Death from hunger, a fate so callous.

Jutting from spine and groin, mouth and muzzle.

How he wished to nibble on his favourite vegetable.

Triggers: This bitter Earth by Dinah Washington

Eugene…

Art by Monica Medappa

Blue light hypnosis.
Hopeless!

Eugene’s world was a virtual closet.

Gaping at the screen, in cyberspace she reigned supreme.
The world outside was falling apart! the war!

Benzene, Bromine, Ethene.

Eugene! GET OUT!!


I witness the transmutation!

Cable queen! Nerve endings jutting out merging with machine wires. Her face a sanctum of multiplying tumours. Her spines shattering breaking out to extensive spikes! Her skeletal framework degenerating-wormlike.

Eugene…..

the void it stares. Chewing lead and titanium.  It wasn’t human…..

Triggers: In Circles by Transistor

Wasted

  • Art by Monica Medappa

They said it would be the bloodiest battle history ever witnessed.For years they practised in mock battles, drank potions to grow fearless.
The battle it came. Chanting slogans ‘this is Armageddon’
Onward and ahead ‘dead more honourable than dread’
Hammers sprung, spears soaring, helmets crushed, jaws smashing, sounds of bronze shattering, limbs flying.
Screams and metals clanking.
Deafening until silence came as a blessing.
Horses snorted confused, charioteers dead.
They looked around, wasteful end.
While the last two men punched and shoved, the horses galloped  ‘this is useless’ and took to making love..

Triggers: Set the night to music by Roberta Flack

Who am I?

  • Art by Monica Medappa

From lunacy and pandemonium, arose an attire of delirium.

The man behind the suit can be your best chum or a repulsive scum.

He wore a maniacal grin, from the ruffles of his linen comes a trick, another gimmick.

You could gape in awe, applaud or guffaw. Or roll your eyes but he never fails to entice.

Is he being plain hysterical? Is he satirical of a you, of a me, of society? his parody of our conformity?

A jingle and a twinkle, a juggle he bungles, you thought he’d miss so he chuckles..

Klunni ol’ phoney, that bouncing rascal!

He hypnotises my santiy to a prismatic carnival.

Is he the very disguise of the devil?

But…

The man behind the clown is a man I will never know. The man who is me will I ever know?

When the mask wears off, when the laughter is unheard of,

Does he ask himself the same question as I?

Who am I?

Triggers: I put a spell on you by Jay Hawkins ❤

Cobalt

Art by Monica Medappa

Oh hello there, I see you coming,

Descending on me, like a feather floating.

maybe softly humming, wavlets of teal transparency.

Nonchalantly, you shall again take away my bleached normalcy.

Here you are to engulf me.. now a world I see..

of cobalt blue, the only hue cast from this prism

encompassing this macrocosm.

Set on me your diaphanous drape,

Let all of world be a cyanide-scape.

Peeking meekly is Normalcy’s penumbra

Whilst armies of thoughts ready to wage a vendetta.

Kingdoms of notions set to revolt,

‘against who and what??’

Until this drape departs,

My reflections bleed cobalt.

Triggers: Schism by Tool

My Pretty slain frog

In remembrance of a frog who unfortunately crossed paths with me many years ago.

Art by Monica Medappa

Kicking dirt. Torpid motion.

Risen from an abyssal aestivation.

A scheme drawn whilst licking her eyeball.

Through the reeds she will crawl,

Onto the lettuce leaf, leap a free-fall

And then to sprawl……

Spit hunt a spider for dinner…

Sedated kinesis but HALT!

Something in the air was amiss

Tympanum tickle. vibrations of a predator.

Slither slither……

Stress hormones diffusing till the last bone,

But she remains as stiff as stone.

Should she leap or should she play dead?

Too late!  At her rear is burgeoning dread!

Cold forked tongue coolly explores her shank,

Fear takes the crux; urine fluxes out her tank.

Dead giveaway! death is now not far away.

As she brings her third eyelid to a closing,

Lettuce leaves for her still awaiting.

Reeds and lilies gently swaying, a hornet gleefully buzzing.

Skin tingling, expecting for fangs to puncture,

Body glistening amber with blotched black lustre.

Why in nature is ‘pretty’ doomed to rupture?

But today was not the day, for pretty to be slain.

Steely scales brushing past but static she maintains.

Vibrations obscuring, life she retains

A trail of tail sliding into mossy terrain.

Triggers: Hello tomorrow by Karen O .

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