The Raven's Writing Desk

Thoughts, phylosophies and Stories by Neil Wagstaff - updates every friday

[neil-wagstaff]

Megaphone. Made by Versace.

[neil-wagstaff]

Punish those who seek

Anything more

[neil-wagstaff]

Miss-take

She increases, five fold in the blink of an eye.

Rips out my heart,

Whilst looking straight into my eye.

All consumed.

I die.

[neil-wagstaff]

I have my hand made porcelain figurine

Although far from perfect;

Proportions an abomination if brought to life, with the exception of in dreams.

I give you my imperfect porcelain figurine.

Please encase it in a secure film coat.

To protect its immortality from the ravages of the time.

I asked you to help my obscene porcelain beauty.

Instead, all I see is cracks, scars

Missing parts.

I blame myself for not being able to see

That beauty is in the eye of the beholder and what you behold is the vapour of long lost dreams.

[neil-wagstaff]

I wish I was somebody,

But I'm nothing to most.

A movie script Casanova;

Not a non-discript ghost.

I don't know why I wish this,

when all in my life is true.

A product of the system of more;

Suicide and sniffing glue,

Perpetually ignored

Conventionally blue

I can't be more

For them or for you

I can only be not enough

Evermore

FU

[neil-wagstaff]

Sometimes I feel so sad I could bury myself alive in the ground.

Stay there until the darkness is all engulfing and not even the slithering earthworm can make a sound.

It's quite intense. I couldn't get this feeling from a drug or alcohol. It's something etched in there, like names of lovers on an ancient oak tree.

Do we remember the lovers?

Will, one day, this sadness end me?

Not likely. But the void is thick.

It's a tasteless soup,

Leaving nothing but bloating and unresolved hunger.

Sticking your finger in the blender and hoping to feel free

Free from this mental torment.

To feel physical pain.

I'm like an autumn weather vane,

Where shall I go?

What shall I do?

I'm gonna wait till the end of this "merry-go-round"

I'll wait for the foreboding figure in the hooded cloak;

To pick the right time.

Even this pain is an adventure

A memory

A treasure.

[neil-wagstaff]

Takers

This is straight

no drafts, no second chances.

Looking for the robed angel 

do you know where to find?

The world is not mine.

it’s theirs

and they know it. 

I can fight

but not grow 

be as good as I might

but when will I know? 

The dark cold night awakens that dark me

tinsel town champagne celebrations 

show me

it’s how it is

and I am not.

That love 

A feeling I fear 

I might have

forgot.

[neil-wagstaff]

Masks

Whisper to me your secrets,

whisper into my devils ear.

Or should that be angel?

Whichever is more sincere.

I see you hide behind a stained glass mask.

Hiding you from ravaging winds

and bullshit storms.

The mask also makes you look in the mirror

and force you to see

you are not the person you claim to be.

Or, that you thought you were.

The lead lining is too heavy to lift off your mask;

dense shades of decadence and finery

hide a weak primitive foundation;

crumbling from many a gloomy day.

Whisper me your secrets

and my devil will say:

“shatter your mask, get naked

and play.”

[neil-wagstaff]

10 Pence

Disingenuity is so common, it’s the norm.

People act in love, they act like friends;

kind, comforting and generous?

In reality,

away from the LED lights,

the wish you were dead.

They wouldn’t think twice of walking on your limp, scorched body.

Or,

at the bottom of the river with boots made from lead.

Take the kindness you receive as you would a mistletoe kiss.

So when real kindness shows,

you can disingenuously say

Thank you.

[neil-wagstaff]

Bow

An empty rowing boat, 

in the middle of a dead-calm sea.

Upon it’s bow;

A raven;

It’s talons tightly tacked. 

The boat bound to endless journeys;

tidally locked.

destination:

Meaningless.

It’s crew:

Forgot. 

[neil-wagstaff]

Time

Our time was always borrowed. Like the water falls fluid and as infinite as the stars.

Time can be taken back. Repossessed. But who are we indebted to? The earth? The Almighty?   What’s the worst they can do?

This is my time. I will do as I please, because once it’s spent, I am no more. Just dust. Drifting in the breeze. Clogging the airways of those whose time is soon due. Time borrowers: Your numbers are being called. You have No more time.

[neil-wagstaff]

Barbed Wire Man.

You stand guard; Over what? Only you know. How long have you stood there? It's easily shown; from the red-oxide stains, across your limbs, over your weathered neck, ankles and wrists. But, You'll stay there, standing guard. Keeping out the unwanted. Keeping up the 'strength' facade. On your own though, you’re nothing much. It'll take and army more, playing your game; guarding whatever it is you guard. You guard; motionless, aged by time, weak without a direction; to propel. Soon replaced by a more vicious Razor Man. And on, and on goes the show.

[neil-wagstaff]

Sins and Curses.

We all have our sins and curses you will no doubt see. A world without either can only be, without the existence of man, or replacement therapy; to an automatical degree. Curses are for those whose sins have been set free. Carelessly flaunted; like a pornstars pearl necklace. We’re cursed to sin. How much we care though; that is what we control. But, I regretfully feel like a combine harvester adapted to be a boat. Most will chundle along; sinning their sins and cursing others for theirs. As I; looking down my telescope from my moral high ground, upon the heights I sit to speak: I don’t think anybody cares I doubt anyone gives a shit.

[neil-wagstaff]

Boo Cuss Incus

You exist to tell me the mistakes I have made. You draw me pictures and show me them at night; graphic animations. A mixture of reality and fantasy. But not beauty, happiness or orgasms. Just faults: Pain, anguish and angst.

You sit in your impervious box; mocking me. Telling me I’m ugly and unattractive; the sexual prowess of a seaside rock.

You question the decisions I make; calculations on point, as if measurements for a cake, for an event; you won’t let me celebrate.

You exist, as I do. I can’t get rid of you; else we both die.

Maybe I’ll start being more like you? Draw your mistakes, mock your loneliness and you inaccuracies. Then; What rests within will be out, and like a vampire butterfly; the illusion will be complete. The illusion of them. Fragile. But all that is needed.

[neil-wagstaff]

Lower Yourself.

It’s time to show the world what you got.

So, drop your pants

and stand forth to show them your length.

Now,

turn around so they can show you too.

Take it well.

As the phallus of the group

slowly,

painfully,

swells.

Pretend to like it,

as your internal organs tremble

from the jack-hammer pounding.

Pretend not to notice

the trickle down your thighs.

That’s just the world;

creampiing in your ass.

As the world spends up

and turns away;

repair the damage,

but never forget;

it has to be this way

For them,

for you.

[neil-wagstaff]

Update

I have not posted in some time I have not upheld the promise I made. All apologies. I have been reevaluating and re-educating. Normal service will soon resume. Who am I talking to? The earth of course! It has not ears but still turns to face the sun A new day! It has always or always will be here.

[neil-wagstaff]

Break

I’ve taken a break from the unusual as the usual is breaking me.

Like the branch on an ornate Japanese blossom tree. Suffocated by foreign vines; social acceptability will fall and a lot the tree slowly will rot.

No pretty blossoms. Just a skeletonised trunk.

I broke a branch to remind me not everything is hard even when it seems it.