I am rounded by the fear
it's queer
and friendly
my friend becomes scornful
my terror is mournful
I've come to be reborn
full of panic
I'm manic it's fear
come here
my friend, I won't harm
don't be alarmed
at my smile
a guile of truth
and fear
to feign remorse when you lied
I cried and cried
and you died inside
and left me alone
with my fear
(c) Scott, 2007
Pink is the Blanket
Pink is the blanket
I pull it taut
Against my only thought
Before it was just a comfortable notion
I know my nemesis
he scares the pink fear
my fear is loose
and easy flowing like spit
sitting on empty shells
So many shells
Hollow and pink
smoldering like smoke spirals
the fear says "never again"
goodbye true demon
pink demon
pull down
pull down
and smile for me
(c) 2006, M. Scott.
Anthem for a Ghost (or "Friend of")
I stand at the end
and pretend
inside this dream i wait
to grow old and cold
you are here, of course
every fear that I played
like a record repeats
just a bit of real light
is like a shower
and I can see myself
tear out the pages
it covers my lovers and
your others
from open sores it pours
freely
infected by trains and tunnels
and empty cartons
and it drains and funnels
the empty eyes
but still I stay even
on this day on this stage
hiding
from ghosts
-c M. Scott 9/04
Headlights
The dance is spectacle
fire eyes
orange daggers
the darkness blankets
suburban levels
Like kaleidescope cubes
blurred and featureless
framed with black
fire eyes
orange daggers
begins the dance again
tread roughly I'm followed
inside the sphere
designed for me
it is night
it is blindness
it is turned on
(c) Scott, 2007
DREAM BEGINS NOW
Her name was Belle, she lived in hell,
in a house she built with dreams I came to see her,
not to be her,
informed of the crimes and of the schemes She was selling
her goods to hoodlums and hoods,
and I caught her out peddling late She ran like the light,
thru the darkness of night,
and I yelled after her "Please wait!" It was very frightening,
her speed like lightning,
and a flash fast like a deadly dart it was darkness I chased,
thinking "What a waste",
for I woke with an empty heart
M Scott 2003
The Moth
I stood by the window for three days. Waiting for the sun. But it continued to rain, like
a ghost, just a ghost. I couldn't bring myself to watch the trees swaying in the gusts or the rain falling heavily on the
parked cars of even the simple pathetic fluttering of a moth trying to fly through the glass window towards the glow of the
light coming from inside my room. But I saw them. Saw the rain, saw the trees, and I even saw the moth. Just a ghost in the
rain, but part of this dream, I assumed. I felt rain on my face just then. Or was it raining from my eyes or perhaps the roof
was leaking again. I don't know, and now, in retrospect, I never did know. But I felt your presence out there somewhere. I
moved closer to the pane and studied my own torn and ragged reflection. This was not I peering back, with pointed eyes and
greasy sentiment. This was a shadow, my former self, many years gone by, and still I could see him, always looking back at
me from the magic glass. My worst enemy. My worst fear.
I noticed a man pushing a shopping cart in the parking lot
outside my window toward a trash bin. He wore a striped wool hat and a beat up black overcoat and I think he knew I was watching
him, because he stopped, in the rain, and looked up at my window, and for one brief moment our souls switched bodies and I
was out THERE and HE was watching me from that window, and in the blink of an eye, as quickly as poison, the moment was gone,
and this feeling of dread passed through me. I couldn't understand it, but knew I would in good time. The bum - and I use
that word for lack of a better description-or might I call him a person, after all. He steered that cart towards the bin and
stopped before it. Climbing over the top, he disappeared into the receptacle, his cart resting beside it. I think I watched
for another 5 minutes and then in this dream I fell asleep. Morpheus dreams filled my private world, under the covers in that
small room alone.
The next morning I woke with a premonition. I stood up and shook the sleep from my head, put on
my slippers and went to the window and observed the parking lot I had dreamed about. To my surprise, there was a shopping
cart, near the trash bin, overturned and spilling out with a cacophony of trinkets, towels, and necessities one who lives
on the streets might savor and collect over time. And next to the pile of wares and cares of this unknown man lie a striped
wool hat. There was no sight of its owner and for some reason, I still felt a loss. As I started to turn away, I noticed;
outside at the base of the windowpane lie a dead moth. It appears that what had happened was not a dream. Or was it? Actually,
I think I am still sleeping and this is part of the dream, and I don't think I will ever wake up.
M. Scott 1985
What if you combined the rockband "Shriekback" with a "Clive Barker" film? I think it might sound something
like this:
Underground
underground Midian
the monsters do dwell intrinsically guarding their own unique hell the creatures of night wallow deep in these halls
and quietly live 'neath the ceilings and walls
they call it their Nighttown, their shadow, their dust parading
through nightmare, erotica, lust the trusting, the jealous, the artful, the shy the hoards of them living outside
of a lie
god is an astronaut so say the bastards and Midian's where all the monsters are masters its meat
for the beast where these angels ne'er tread and they'll build up a new home, the useless, the dead
so call out
to Nighttown who's seeds will need sowing the gravestones alive where the grass should be growing they live underground
in their chasms and wake with a prayer in their heart for humanity's sake
save me from nemeses who's wind brings
the plea and save them from all that their minds cannot see these demons from hell are the last of their kind these
tribes of the masters, these masters of mind
M. Scott 2001 (with a little help from my friends)
Afternoon One
Inside the cold curtain
thats hiding my eyes I see them watching me with their coldness and lies Laughing and waiting for my faults to falter
to show themselves and manifest in form and fashion These are true, I admit to my altar
To reveal is in error
and error proclaimed I hide in this mirror revealing my stains He accepts all the blame for that too surreal As
I live in obscurity, hopeless to feel
Behind the cold curtain that hangs ever tight inside the reflections of
neon and moonlight cast by the glowing that shines like a coin I will stay still and offer, to all, this goodnight
M. Scott 2001
UNTITLED
ten pm and the fire is burning rolled up in
it's own decisions spiraling to the planes overhead turning into the dull gray exhibitions curled up tightly
the smoke so smooth I know this is only a mask kill the clowns who have something to prove while they drink their
fill from a the flask what is it like to be intense who do you hide from in the night when is the best time for regrets a
cotton clad chest rolled so tight what would they say if they knew if I could only tell someone how little affected
until I was through with this life and the next ride
M. Scott 2003
Orgasm
He comes down the staircase
his hair is flaxen, a ghost and is love in flesh form beautiful angel in host
In disguise but perhaps
He lies often and portrays ambivalent distance an ending of days
He ignores this and laughs the clown
on his morpheus flow sent away in mere minutes with no place to go
Time losing him it comes booting and
running and popping for but a moment sheer bliss Like the bombs ever dropping
It comes and teases like an
evil child smiling with his pointed grin ever wild grey and rotted cancer smoke sedates and calls to the sandman
who aimlessly wanders these halls
The sun sets in fire while he drifts into dream It is part of his plan, his
irreverent scheme To fuck with my head and to play little games like a story unfolding without any names
He
is merely a messenger Sent from the deep To implore me for want and to offer my sleep
He comes down the staircase his hair is
flaxen, a ghost and is love in flesh form beautiful angel in host
In disguise but perhaps He lies often
and portrays ambivalent distance an ending of days
He ignores this and laughs the clown on his morpheus
flow sent away in mere minutes with no place to go
Time losing him it comes booting and running and popping
for but a moment sheer bliss Like the bombs ever dropping
It comes and teases like an evil child smiling
with his pointed grin ever wild grey and rotted cancer smoke sedates and calls to the sandman who aimlessly wanders
these halls
The sun sets in fire while he drifts into dream It is part of his plan, his irreverent scheme To
fuck with my head and to play little games like a story unfolding without any names
He is merely a messenger Sent
from the deep To implore me for want and to offer my sleep
2001 M. Scott
Reverie
A cancer of guilt of shame and pity is left in the sand by friends and enemies Their iron
hands crumble As their tears wither In nightmare and Reverie
I am motionless void of emotional rain wasting a smile when grinning is pain the assassin
comes into the dream like a breath dressed in black he is foul, he's a stain, he is death
Between both
the legs in the outland of places unknown the end, I shall blow up with my graces I'll destroy all my thoughts,
for this knowledge is danger pulling carts full of nothing, stop to rest in the manger
I feel empty
in soul and I feel like I'll fly Far above I see chains as below I will cry All these needles of color too painful
to dream my real life begins over when everything's clean
At the end of the sleep time we see through
their hold Its a sight, behold, revel and bask in Life's Gold.
Etched in my mind are the ills of my youth Hatred, resentment are masked by the truth I
cant see thru glass that is solid as steel Or break thru the barriers phony or real
Set the controls for the
heart of the sun Aim for the darkness that comes from the gun Fired at shadows and dust on the dime Covering life
with a blanket like time
Its true what you say This is only today But isn't tomorrow Just a nightmare
away?
My hat with the flower is now in the trash I've taken my last of the cold whipping lash You lie like
a thief just to shoulder a grin And smile like a shamen to disguise your sin
You can't silence me I am stronger
than thee And you are a virus with eyes that can't see
I won't take your life Or pity your strife But
know this is true I will not forgive you.
I hear your proud song from the armies you guide And all of the
time they all know that you lied to yourself, to your God, to your last helpless plea And worst of the worst is you
represent me
c M. Scott 2001
Salvation
It is only a myth Dont leave me yet I cant
stand to be alone
The curtains are drawn The darkness a blanket A deadness on the telephone
The army
a haze of the battle at hand Soldiers in the passion play
Salvation's a rouse There's not yet an answer
Not coming anytime today
I fear in laughter I laugh in silence I know this all is true
It isnt
the end and not a beginning but I will still hold hands with you
M. Scott 2001
A Blank Curve (inside shiva)
Hiding in this quiet darkness I can see through skin and flesh Ive
been painted, probed, and pissed on And fastened with tape and mesh
I hide inside the oils painted The canvas
now severely tainted With my image sad and true The image a mirror and in it is you
My darkness a blanket
it covers my soul transforming a partial back into a whole It's true that I know this a joke understood To behave
like a martyr, a thief, or a hood
Beware of the darkness that enters in dream To know all these things isnt
more than a scheme As I hide under covers I think of those lovers Who gave 'til they felt They were just like
the others
Who is this
man at the top of the stairs who stands with his eyes to the wall not daring to falter, look over his shoulder with
fear that he knows he would fall? If he moves from this spot, if he dares to rebel if he opens his mouth but to feed
on this hell
They will silence his words with their lies and deceipt They will bind him by hand and they'll chop
off his feet They will cut out his tonge and they'll cut out his brain And they'll tell him he's nothing much more
than a stain
On the face of humanity Offer insanity Build up his attitude Drugs for more latitude Turn
out the lights In the darkness of nights But this man isn't real Hasn't learned how to feel Only knows how
to lie And he knows how to die And he knows how to try not to openly cry
Here this man stands at the top
of the stairs with his eyes focused plainly ahead Though he dared to adjust just a hair from his brow for our
hero is now surely dead.
M. Scott 2001
Score
Yes it is true Their lies and deceit And also its true Hear their cries (your conceit)
I am stronger than he Who says life to a "t" Is just life but I see Just to be is not life There is more
And the score of the game Is the shame that you'll feel To believe in the real sight of sights I will
know I was right To go on till the end and my friend you'll continue Your game toxic shame While I live in
the red And forgive the COWARD who hangs from a thread in his eyes he is dead, very dead only I am the
spirit who'll fear It is you bring me down as you frown at my game In your shame that will be Your demise
and my win You will see I am right It is I who'll sleep tight and I tried, and I lied To myself but came out
in the end with a friend
M. Scott 1985
Drop Down
She drops down beneath me so quietly A whisper of words she would say Looking inside souls
for innocence Into the darkness they scuffle away
I heard them in humiliation I told her "Its gone"
and I held her hand She cried and cried though Like a child just borned as blood flowed (not tears) into the
sand
Her face streaked in red it came through her Brigette in rose thorns drank in her eyes just a
blurr through the blood that stirred in indistinct clouds stained of sin
The nondescript colors we
saw from her I can still see her whimsy and wild when I close my eyes tightly Sweet Brigette adoring and
imagine the innocent child
M. Scott 2000
Of Eden (The Bonnet)
She was noticing no one her thoughts deep in nothing Her head
was bowed shielding the stares
from the no ones who watched her the few who ignored her while she clutched at her suitcase of
wares
She was wearing a bonnet displaying a flower picked daily from her private Eden
Where reptiles prospered and apples grew wild Her task she would surely succeed in
As she walked down the avenue looking for tourists to peddle her hopes of the day
She was looking for something or someone to talk to or simply to pass time away
She stopped at the corner (or so it resembled) and sets up her valuable stock
She props up her suitcase then rests on the doorstep and casually buttons her frock
There she sat on the pavement her knees huddled close in and her bonnet she pulled down to warm
For her body did shiver the cold wind was blowing and around her the children did swarm
They laughed and they poked at her It seemed to be hopeless and they tore down her Babellike tower
Her dreams they did scatter wind churned withered memories And her dreams washed away in the shower
She cried through the trouble though nobody heard her the suitcase of wares all were scattered
But that bonnet displaying her flower from Eden She guarded, and thats all that mattered
Inside my head Its dead so dead And future killers Painted
red
Bloodstones breaking like mountains quaking church
bells chiming words are rhyming
Others enter hanging plants in their candor fear
instance
promise empties into blackness continue down discard
that crown
fear plays ghost to fearless host
stay inside follow beside
continue to hear future is fear
M. SCOTT 2002
MOTHER'S DAY
HIDING IN THIS QUIET DARKNESS YOU CAN FEEL MY NAKED FLESH INSIDE THIS BODY I'M YOUR
CANVAS FASTENED WITH TAPE AND MESH
DISRESPECTFUL EARTHBOUND SHADOWS MOCKING ME AT EVERY MOVE AND YOU EVER DISAPPEAR BEHIND
A GOD YOU CANNOT PROVE
PLAY WITH ME, THIS DARK ABSTRACTION TIE ME DOWN WITH PLAYFUL DREAD SING ME SHADOW
SONGS THAT COME BENEATH THE WATERS OVERHEAD
SORROW BURNS A CANYON GRAVE UPON THE MASK YOU SO DISPLAY HANGING FROM THE DEADENED
LIMBS WHOSE FLOWERS FELL ON MOTHER'S DAY
M. SCOTT 1998
(All my writing has been copyrighted, so NO STEALING without my permission please.)
THIS A POEM BY A VERY SPECIAL
FRIEND WHO ALLOWED ME TO PUBLISH IT HERE ON THIS PAGE. IT WAS UNTITLED WHEN I RECEIVED IT, SO, WITH THE AUTHOR'S PERMISSION,
I CALLED IT "BORDERS".