The Behemoth of the Deeps - Chris Hudson

Temples of the briny, star-encrusted cave mouths
Realms of razorwire around the sacred sacrosanct abomination
Hallowed ground where now fireweed and poppies
Abound in profusion, the smell of charred metal
And periwinkle and pea-vine flower, udder-like blooming
Where bikers in lace up leather stood in silent surrender
A fell beast had been slain; ‘twas a passage of violence
Innocent choir boy and riddled hag, dishcloth disdainful
Even your own creditors didn’t recognise you, platroon
The “Beast With Two Fronts”, abhor-front and degrade-front
This Narcissus of mine impersonates, blasé and glib
No bouncing bomb of the autumn adage, out of style
Out of fashion, no blues cruise vision revamp,
Spread eagled of the craggy peaks, no shrimp’s water
Of the fecund folio, a folly of fellatio, “So used”,
To hold back a voyeuristic legion, offspring of the cloven goat
Too many stories from the inky black gloaming, to roam is sublime
To pour one’s innards out over a lacklustre page
The toil of kings and slaves, a niggardly “pension”
Martlet, ringing in his hammer-blown ears
Men of high repute dancing dalliance with speckled prows
Whatever was first so to church in wrinkled innosense
Spread her balm all about in mottled radiance
At birth of calf the probe, so strange, muttering,
“Where’s the other one?” all spoke as one, forgot grace,
“Okay coitus breath, where’s the tub-thumper?”
Cock-fenced a thousand, was wrung and spurned,
Spurred and pricked, branded and broiled
Bailed to the hundreds, nines and fives,
Neutered and impotent, they can use their milk-sop to pander
Skin-traders, epitomes of the knackers’ yards
Incubus and succubus, only pit my unicorn’s horn
The law is perverted, progenitors for eternal conflict
Kingdom’s came and went, rulers wax and wane
Can Willow’s Whisp guide frail Gran thru’ the forest?
Wake up! Yon hills that have hived many an inventor
Grizzled Knight of the icy wastes, hunter opalescent eyed
A humble fisherman, investiture of millpond
Frontiersman and anniversary epitomaker
To roost where the burning wagon wheels rock

Chris Hudson