Scream

Jam, your head into the vice
You have to pay the price
I'll make the cut precise
Now scream

Spill, blood onto the floor
That scream I will ignore
Now where's the power saw
Now scream

(chorus)
Sucker punch
Punch the sucker
Fucking waster
Now waste the fucker

Die, this is your sacrifice
Now let me take a slice
Not once nor twice but thrice
Now scream

A girl on this planet loves fame
she is crazy to change her name
when up in the heaven
for some crazy reason
changed it to Angel of Fame

"THE SOUNDS OF SPRING"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 23rd March 2011.

The hollow sound of sticks on ice,
the ski sticks on the snow,
the wail of winds in crevices,
this winter's going slowly on to spring,

where winds still howl their ditties
deep within the bushes, forests, wilds,
and down beneath the cover white,
the gurgling brooks take up the strain
and with them sounds the rain,

Tracing pain…

Hurtful skin tight
tired and taught
his pain dampened
no I’d say it’s not,
each line contoured
like a craggy heath
never to see
what lies beneath.

Draw the pencil
make it speed
don’t drag those
lines deep in deed,
spare the rod I hear
from his past, he
never slept first
night or last.

The voices in my head spake thus:
"Pray heed a word from all of us
should what we prate to you make sense
as host we deem you somewhat dense

'Tis folly to believe we're real
to banish us would be ideal
we're products of your fantasy,
your own authentic fallacy

We're sexless; neither gents nor dames
and so we have no need of names.
as playmates we have little worth
we're in your head, not on your earth

So many of them are gone now
those old men who fought the fight
who saw the beaches and the snow
soaked in blood so red and bright.

Young boys were called and thus they went
with no doubt of where they stood
to see their friends and buddies rent
and felled in the hedges and the woods.

Then on to free the walking dead
from death's fearful fiery factories,
visions ever wedged within their heads
of ash dumps and spewing chimneys.

Look at me
What do you see
are you able to see what is truly me
Could you see more?
More than a face
More than a voice
More than a man

Do you see what might be
Have you seen all that i am
My being unique as all others
To walk a mile in the shoes
of those who see what is unseen

My voice my words
Hidden from all but those who seek
Whispers with such intensity
They reach beneath my skin
There they remain..
a reminder of whispers that touch me

Spring, wakes
shakes her head,
salutes the sun,
washes her face
in the dew of the morning

stretching her arms
she embraces
the new day, it's
a good day
for a rebirth.

Sometimes in the tired darkness,
stumbling on a grasp of yearning
older than times spent
in remnant memories,
stars wonder at my absence,
their shine so cold
above a crescent moon
adrift in ragged clouds
as air grows cool
across forgotten prairies.

It whispers through the unseen trees
and I,
a thousand miles from ocean,
from life,
listen to the rush of wind
and ache,
remembering salt air,
the gleam of moonlit water
and the sound of surging sea.

fall into pools of swirling merriment
shirk substitutes that others recommend
firm in the knowledge of purest joy
your visage clear in mind, no mental toy

stab with wanton thrusts this warm caress
reveal dream's scorn amid phobic duress
with fiery brand your chariot swift - protect
lunar spheres in shaded ponds - thoughts collect

tinge red this broken tune - unbroken still
wave its braided locks on crested hill
press in, unhearing ears to hear each cry
reveries opalesce, no longer dry