Art produced during a period in the years leading up to mid 2017.


Rotting Yellows The Horrid Island

A mysterious island... dreary... dead....

Or as if it never had a birth.

A struggle between sea and seabed,

A regurgitated meteorite, unwanted by Earth.

But dry land. 

And I was exhausted to the core

The sharp stones in the sand

Were unfelt as I waded ashore

It really wasn't real...

I almost looked for a label

The most senseless, pointless feel...

I called it The Island of Babel.

I found shelter and covered my tracks

With stones and canes I could arm...

Preparing for the night's attacks

Shadow took over light. Fear over calm.

Cries I'd never heard... awesome sounds...

The world around me, all hidden from sight

What would find me in these hunting grounds?

Where time had stopped, departed with the light.

I heard them. Their feet, and then their breath

I felt them - waving and lunging a spear

Warning, or stabbing a violent death

And I heard... that I disturb. I heard a fear...

The waking me calmed finally to sleep

Some image... an idea... a taboo was broke

I lost grip on something I wanted to keep

But another, slept me... a friend, had awoke.

Raw meat. A breakfast and bright sunshine

I stroked my dead companions with remorse

But knowing, it had to be their lives or mine...

And joking, urging thought on mint sauce!!!

All needs pressed and crushed. I had to lose grip...

Even the vague me seemed no more aware

Torment... I abandoned a sinking ship

Rational life felt useless. Redundant and bare.

I acted. Lurching and heavy hearted

Quick, furious. Guessing at, against my fate

Racing my worries. And time, once again started

Night. What. How. Where. If. Don't think straight.

Only as straight as... this boulder

Not neat like the lines on it's bar code

… Its got a bar code! 2006! no older...!

Date... references... supplier... quarry... load...!

The beasts were real. The rain, wind and flies

Sadly, by now I knew it wasn't a dream

So what was behind the gargantuan disguise?

And who else was here.... in this secret scheme?

Captive, then escaped to this strange place...

And if I could keep the beasts at bay,

I couldn't live on a foundation of... disgrace...

Real nature, yeah, not coordinated disarray.

The plants somehow... even these, all wrong

Altered nature, and brought for a task

Corruption. Nothing else seemed to belong

Depravity enveloped from behind the mask.

A voice...! As a whirlwind, humanity rushed back...

So still... I hid. I was all ears... and nose!

The ground beckoning like a race track...

But Paranoia charged screaming "Foes! Foes!"

I gritted my teeth, facing a welcoming sea

Had I shouted out like a lunatic?

I unclenched, look to hide... or fight... or flee

Could it be nothing... delirium playing a trick?

The voice again. Yes... again, and unconcerned.

I crept closer, unsteady but stealthily so

The old but empty... mute me, had returned

How far were these, from the world I know...?

Foreign and dark skinned. And like zombies...

Tinted, stained, soaked with something unreal

Their presence here looked nothing but dis-ease

As if whatever I'd get would never heal.

Some huts, and boats that looked fine to take

Yes... uniform, designed-unease in some way

Two piers... a choice for my prison break

Anything would go - to end this final overstay

Waiting for dark, watching... learning them

Becoming aware of ill-gotten commerce

A spirit... to imprison, judge and condemn

The beasts in the dark were a lesser curse.

A boat out at sea, sailed this way

I hid myself more, out of view

Soon, the engine sound and it entered the bay

- Now deserted as the last zombie withdrew

A cargo of people... drowsy, sedated

The crew blindfolded, but could see...!

Was Medusa the host? Eyes armour-plated?

And more layers as the boat reached the quay.

They chanted, but no song of cheer

And on after the boat was tied

Pausing to guzzle from bottles of beer

And check their shields were firmly applied.

Tabloid newspapers... that made some sense...

To prepare, and absorb a toxic dose

The chanting was a mental defence

No weapons, it seemed, but they stayed close.

Zombies emerged, shouting racist contempt

Followed by grovelling and joking

Contradictions that could only be dreamt

Violent handshakes and marijuana-smoking.

Business as usual... psychology, acting and abuse

And of course, they tore and littered the papers

Misunderstanding, threatening, time-wasting, obtuse

Regular updates I bet, on the foulest of capers.

The cargo were led ashore with no protection

No whips, cattle prods, not in leash or chain

Lined up for a soul-killing inspection

Drugged, now awake and quietly insane.

Sorted by age they were led to huts

And no surprise, others led out... completed

At a zombie touch, those emptied their guts

The dismayed replacements were then greeted...

"Watch" said a zombie, and cued the initiated

Their arms raised in a double Hitler salute

"Hail... so! - you greet as demonstrated..."

- "Hail!" the salute, a curtsey... then went still and mute

The chanting... now nearly a shout

An illiterate promise of compliance...

"OK wi' me. Ain't seen nowt, don't care about"

The zombies mocked the "blasphemous" alliance.

Do they think whites maimed them?

Or are they only stubborn, worthless crooks?

It was the Capitalist powers who named them,

Making sure they had their religious books.

Knowing only rot would come from staying

The visitors happily began to depart

Still chanting, or was it praying?

They'd expected nothing from the start.

Another boat arrived. Cautious like the first.

People bound and gagged, and other cargo were sacks

As before, the zombies did or outdid their worst

One went and brought each an execution axe.

No help to give, I only watched the scum.

To give them to sharks or any feeding shoal...

- There seemed to be a perfect conundrum...

I wouldn't feed them even to a black hole. Poor black hole!

But I'd do to them twice their harm.

They'd never hold their heads up, ever

With their kind, no one can be calm.

Shame on them, shame on them forever.

But this crew also kept their lives intact.

Though not seeing - their every move was watched...

The zombies lied and pried, for prediction of every act

Future perplexity, the future truths botched.

As they went I didn't try to escape.

The world's deepest corruption - death for sure

So I waited to see what kind of rape...

The bound captives would have to endure.

Camera on tripod, a zombie set it to record

- The captives thrown in a pit... stoned where they fell

Zombies unflinching, looking up for reward...

Here lies The School of Evil and Island of Hell.

Their hateful spirit now unleashed,

They turned to the sacks of merchandise

With new vigour, ready for another feast...

The axe-zombies opened each with a slice.

Nothing they want, or maybe to burn alive?

Shapes, models, symbols, effigies...

Whatever they were, they didn't survive.

And all was absorbed by the new devotees.

A transformation then took place...

Clockwork slowing, any moment would cease

Like athletes after the most arduous race.

- Together we could put them fully at peace...

But no sign of friendly life showed

In the faces, the bodies... to be commanded still

They looked like they could only implode

Not eradicate the ill - of a zombified Dunghill.

Doctrine begun, they remained placid

Pessimism already soaked in, soul-deep

Rotted by the Yellows, as sure as with lethal acid

In my hideout, I joined the resting and fell asleep.

I woke to shouting and terrible pain...

And wrenching up until I stood

Hate dripped from them like steady rain

"Bossmanmate! You are going to be good!"

"Tomorrow... Boss... Yeah! It's your stoning!

A Breaking! Crushing! and Shredding awaits!

Whitey's in for our speciality dethroning!

Your video will be in our All Time Greats!"

They dragged me off to a lookout post

Kicking, slapping and jeering in glee

Something else took over, like a ghost

A skeleton persona, another me, of debris

But their lives of hate, flattery and vitriol

Couldn't make a knot to hold me secure,

I couldn't have got higher with alcohol...!

And after, later, maybe I could settle this score.

Their final, leaving stones and gravel hurt less.

The hours passing couldn't have got shorter.

Then with all the liveliness anyone could possess,

I made my escape and took to the ocean water.

My kayak's barcode shone, moon and starlit

Shredding it with my paddle, I fed it to the fish

A mantra echoed in my thoughts... I made it....

In my paddle - more hurt and violence every swish.

49 verses and no choruses!

Dedicated to those who racially abuse in the minutest detail, from what appears to be a 'racists cookbook'. And to those who help them. They thrive on being taken seriously. They might not be terror cells, but definitely cancer cells. One breached every part of his contract, yet worked only a few hours and could have been replaced by any dimwit who would have made a reasonable attempt.