Death’s Merry Dance

(Inspired by Ingmar Bergman’s film The Seventh Seal)

 

I see dystopia unfolding

like a map being unfurled in a storm

In hysteria-panic a new chaotic world emerging

the big bang in reverse…

 

Unlike the fall of Saigon

no choppers overhead

ferrying the defeated to board ships of hope…!

 

I’m left writing futile words

trying to make sense of it…

Tavener’s song for Athenea

a fitting soundtrack, my own lament…

 

Trapped inside my crazy head

yet somehow loving the madness

for this asylum belongs to me

 

finally finding my purpose

sitting amongst the insane

playing never-ending games of chequers…

Sanctuary! Sanctuary! They cry…

 

Bells cease ringing – clocks backward spinning

naked bodies smeared with wode

run crazed into battle

fighting the Legion of the damned

whom they will slaughter without pity

for all showed themselves heartless…

 

Butchered entrails worn like scarves

necklaces of ears

dangle between Amazon women’s breasts

strong – proud – justified

For it is all now over

pretence finally vanquished

the Truth left hanging

haunting, blowing in the wind…

 

Mankind returning to live inside spiritual caves

to be slowly fossilised like their endless dreams…

Only the innocent left, stirring the broth of lost souls

forever trapped in this cauldron of death…

 

I, like Colonel Kurtz, shuffle into the darkness

to quietly await my assassin…

Knowing I will be the least in the Kingdom of Heaven 

but surely the most grateful………….

 

 

 

M C Bolton,  March 2020

@MarkCBolton1 @UrbanDandyLDN

 

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Photo from Brittanica.com

Nomad

It’s in the wilderness

I find true inspiration

that internal dry place

where I look deep into the soul

 

A confrontation with my true self

with all its peculiarities, insecurities

anxiety, stress – deluded dreams!

Oh! How I wear that cloak so easily

like taking the king’s shilling

to fight wars of attrition against my subconscious

 

Once born truly rounded

until the jig-saw of life

cut deep into my being

manufacturing another puzzle piece

creating my fruitless quest to fit in…

 

A spiritual lobotomy

those missing parts – lost – forever gone

Never again can I be whole

 

Learning to live with those internal apmutations

suicidal fears – toying – tormenting

not that I ever would

just my free will says I could…

 

Inner voices – choices

feel like the Joker

yet nobody laughs…

I’ve spied the promised land

like Moses it will elude me

never to cross the Jordan River

the land of milk and honey

beyond my reach

my time is nearly done

was it ever real

or existing only in my dreams…

 

©M.C. Bolton

@MarkCBolton1

 

Apocalypse 1

I knelt in front of heavenly beings

creatures of unimaginable form

striking fear-terror deep into the hearts of men

destroying without mercy or pity

sending souls to that dark place

without light – devoid of love

to be eternally damned

outside of this dimension

where there is no tomorrow

just the constant now of torment

screaming tears wailing

overture to the lost…

 

Those who refused God’s hand of grace

wallowing in this world’s pit of sorrow-lies-falsehood…

who through their own self-righteousness-intellect

needed not a saviour…

 

Ridiculing the simple-hearted

who believed in salvation

through the cross…

that followed not political ideology

or utopian dreams

knowing their own hearts

were beyond cure…

 

Never judging or virtue signalling

impelled to show kindness to all…

to be hated by the masses

who despised their old-fashioned ways…

lunatics-fools-truth seekers…

spiritual lepers clothed in rags

exchanged for robes of righteousness

through the blood of the lamb

the son of God

who rides a pale horse

bringing death and judgement

to all nations…..

 

© M.C.Bolton January 2020

@markcbolton1

 

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picture from here

The Fall

 

I see faces of old songs

that float inside my head

surfacing from that subconscious place

over which I have no control

Musical notes pass before my eyes

everything black and white

like a Felix the Cat animation…

 

I am now so used to solitude

loneliness has finally left me…

This haunting dark lake

so still tonight – tranquil

reflecting my inner being…

 

A brief moment of contentment

before the madness seeps in

like molasses being slowly poured

over ill-fitting floorboards

inside the log cabin

which was once my home

 

Migrating geese fly overhead

as if to the moon

which shines eerily through

haunting evening mist

its searchlight beams

penetrating my soul’s dark, hidden depths…

Where it remains forever Autumn…

 

 

©M.C. Bolton, November 2019

@MarkCBolton1

Photo by TC

Remissio

Virtue signal me

with your Colgate smile

microscopic minds

seem to be in style

 

Scrutinise my every word

written or spoken how absurd!

I don’t care or share

your BBC bias…

 

For I know deep down

all men are liars

skeletons hang in all of our closets

thoughts, deeds – shameful acts

that is the truth

those are the facts…

 

Hiding under your cloak of hypocricy

as you mount your attack

diversity your mantra

faux concern expressed

to those of minority faith, colour, culture

just pawns in your game

building your deluded Utopia…

 

See me as an embarrassment

maybe I am – offending your conscience

ruining your plans

despisingly you stare straight in my face

not knowing my children – all whom mixed race

 

But that wouldn’t compute

could never be right

I must be an Islamohobic racist

cos I’m working class white!

 

I’m not concerned about Brexit

leave or remain

for you it will change

for me stay the same

 

Just trying to be a man

dealing daily with his pain

living a quiet life

never making the news

with an open mind n’ independent views

 

Sure I’ve said things in anger

in moments of rage

things I regret – but wisdom comes with age

 

Do my best to live this side of the law

but the odds are stacked – I’m nobody’s fool

still try to show kindness to everyone I meet

I’m just that old guy who lives down your street

It’s not that I’m slow – just everything so fast

living by old school values I learned in the past

 

Yet I know a world without forgiveness

a world without grace

will be ruled by men

who feel no guilt or shame

 

So my SJW woke friend

take a deep look within

throw that first stone

if yourself without sin….

 

© M.C. Bolton October 2019

Lost

On visiting my heart’s darkest places

finding a small boy

slowly walking through its damp caves of solitude

loquacious dripping tears

like Morse code esperanto

 

Tapping in desperation upon granite

trailing behind this pitiful creature

forever a prisoner in this stone maze

Masks of my many false selves

hewn out of this cold rock

staring like Easter Island heads

deep into my soul…

 

Turmoil, torment – my long lost companions

reminding me of alcohol, drug fuelled evenings

nights of lust masquerading as love

my sober morning conscience

washed away by another drink

before my deluded state exposed

 

‘Why do you wander?’

that is my destiny

never to rest, eat, sleep

until I find what it is I seek

 

Reason-meaning devoid of my quest!

‘tell me your name’ I begged

reaching out his hand

whispering softly like God to Elijah

‘I am you

‘My name is Fear….’

 

Lost

© M.C. Bolton September 2019, 

Drawing by @tomhcharles

 

Recherché

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I sit amongst my dreams

in the graveyard of my mind

like Legion – no chains can bind me

Tormented by my failings

as a father – as a man

a husband, lover, friend…

walking with the dead

into the mist

leaving society…

 

Pacing slowly towards eternal insanity

chanting in unison

sharing candlelit pitiful piety

with aged knights

wearing armour

that has rusted into futility

stopping neither arrow nor sword

my heart pierced by steel

no crown of thorns

as I cling to the cross

thirsty for my saviour’s blood…

 

Forever carrying the splinters, the scars

of infinite salvation

offered freely – yet costing all

morality of the highest order

expected – demanded

countered by universal grace

judgement defeated – vanquished

 

My feet bleeding

from walking on flint

knowing like Joab

I will be struck down

clinging to the altar of the Lord…

 

 

by M.C. Bolton, August 2019,

photo of Bole Hill Quarry, Peak District by OG