Tag Archives: horror

The Death of Stalin

Sergei Ivanovich was once “tovarich”

and hummed along to the “Internationale”,

he once was nearly bloodied at

at the barricades,mentioned in official

despatches he became a Party “hero”;

Sergei Ivanovich grew accustomed

to snap-heeled salutes in the

Kolyma Peninsula,1936 or thereabouts,

supervising prisoners’slashed-vein evenings

and their bowls of tepid soup

and the twenty kilo boulders being

passed along hand to hand:

and then,

They came for him;

the official ZIL saloon arrived

bringing with it The Silver Braid,

who lit their cigarettes tracing

scarlet arabesques in the gloomy dusk,

Sergei Ivanovich didn’t keep them waiting,

bowl-spasmed funk robbed him of

his steadfast demeanour as he opened

the door and the ZIL saloon

with its incense of iodine and

brown leather slinked back to

the wolverine forest where in

the night memories lose themselves,

and in the morning are found,

covered in quicklime..


Author’s footnote:-

I originally posted this as “Stalin Calls” on 19 July 2011.Only the title and featured image have been “re-booted”.

Daily Routine

Every evening at 5.09
he leaves the office,
takes the streetcar
into town,
goes for a stroll
down to the park
by the canal;

there he sits
on the bench nearest
the ornate water fountain;

He dreams,
of a lost childhood
long summers ago
by the sea,
days filled with singing,
laughing and

Crying now,
the little girl
by the fountain
who has lost her way,
golden hair,eyes of grey,
reflected in his thick lenses;

As he watches her
he dreams,
of long summers ago,
a childhood by the sea
filled with laughing
and crying;

now in the park
he lies beneath a summer sky,
side by side with
the golden girl
she lies
very still.

The Library at Alexandria

What words were they

that were lost amid

intolerance’s rage?

Whose verses,knowledge,wisdom

were swept into oblivion

by the fires’ wrath?

A pyre stacked

with a million scrolls

the deeds and glories of Ages past

gone into the long forgetting;

and in the Now and Forever

Hypatia remains exiled

in the garden,

where the Sun refuses to shine.

22/3 : Westminster Bridge ( Kyrie Eleison )

( I )

Quiet now ,

the day’s storm

has passed ,

and we

and we all ,

are out of harm’s way

for now ,

and that is all

we need for now ,

to be out of harm’s way

now that the day’s storm

has passed

and all is quiet.

( II )

Silent ,

the waters lie undisturbed ,

and they

and they all ,

are gone forever

though their memory abides ,

and that is all

there is to say ,

for now ,

that their memory abides

and they are gone ,

and the waters

lie undisturbed now

and silent.

Notes on the Lives of Dreams

Years tick away with

their incessant urgency,

days expire in a breath;

There is not world enough

to encompass all that

has been dreamt;

Unrequited dreams are

promises of a future

aborted in the womb;

I am left raging

with the fire

of a thousand unborn Suns.

Empires Falling

Forever falling

falling into the far below,

far far below

where the embers glow;

Falling from grace

grace and favour

favour, renown and that glory

they once grasped

made their own,

adorning it with their songs

and stories,monuments and laws;

All now falling

falling into that far below,

from whence they came

to which they go;

sweeping like rain

howling like wind

reaping that harvest

empires have sown.

Shipping Office

The great smell of roasted Arabica beans,

the joyous sound of Haydn on the radio,

the grey-green overcoat slung on the rack,

boots dusted down with snow,

shipping office morning;

early yawning,tired greetings,

pages sifted sorted scheduled deliveries,

traffic reports orders from Head Office,

small talk,

family matters,

wallet-sized photographs,

his of Hannah and Gregor

both in Year5 doing well;

an absence of hurrying scurrying down

below in the yards,old hands talking

about the rail no longer punctual;

Daylight passes;

shifts change over

as the train rumbles in,

his thoughts now only of home

and comfort and what presents

to get for Hannah and Gregor;

trudging past big crates

lowered onto the platform,

out of the corner of his eye

he reads their embossed legend,

” Zyklon B “.

Memo to a Dead Politician

Was it something that you said

was it something that you did?

were you always out in the open

or did you keep somethings hid?

Perhaps you spoke the truth,

trouble is no-one ever saw the proof;

A few things come to mind,

some thought you made a difference

fed the poor gave sight to the blind;

trouble is we’ve been around too long

read all of those stories

listened to that same old song,

about what you’d do for us tomorrow

and when tomorrow never came

some thought they’d remember you

but I’ve already forgot your name.


Blank eyes,

a detonator

a trigger mechanism;

They stole our heritage

from us,

they made us forget

all we once were,

they made us bury

our dead,

we buried our dead

in autumn;

Autumn is a time of slow dying

there is no need to hurry,

the leaves will have time to shrivel

the branches of the trees will be denuded,

the leaden clouds will drift across the sky;

Blank eyes,

a detonator

a trigger mechanism;

Now there will be nothing more.


Where were you

who did you see

what did you do ?

was there someone else there

someone you knew ?

On November twenty-second

I’m sure I saw you run

you looked kind of guilty

throwing away that gun ;

were you alone or was

someone with you at the scene,

and who could that someone else have been ?

When the time comes in a Mall or market square

wearing a heavy vest and carrying a phone

you’ll be there,

why can’t I see you I can only guess

you won’t be calling home with the numbers you press,

and when it happens what they’ll see

is that the someone else I’ve been blaming

turns out to be me.