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The Death of Poetry Will be the Death of Me!

The Death of Poetry,

Will Be the Death of Me!

Darren Hobson

Published by Darren Hobson at Shakespir.

Copyright ©2016 Darren Hobson



The Death of Poetry.

A sun rises on a new day,

I place a word on a new page,

You might think that is predictable,

And you would bet a week’s wage,

What if the sun did not rise?

To your horror and to your surprise,

What if I gave up writing?

Who would make you laugh then?

For there can be no poetry,

If there is no glorious shining sun,

Imagine what it would be like,

Writing under a black hole would be no fun,

Things would be close to insanity,

As the whole world panics and attacks,

That would be the death of poetry,

And that would be the death of me,

You have heard of many horror stories,

And you have seen the various remakes,

You have seen the same old mish mash,

Using the same old silver and wooden stakes,

There may be a different angle or back story,

Maybe filmed in glorious 3D,

But these modern twists on an old folklore,

Do not do the justice for me,

Maybe it is time to get to basics,

And let us all stop looking for glory,

Let us find something from deep within,

And let us write one last fantastic ghost story,

And the coffin awaits for us all,

No matter whom we are,

Stop playing around with yourself,

Get your ideas down on paper,

Let the pen do all the hard work,

Pull the cobwebs from your imagination,

Dust off that self-confidence,

Write down something original and tantalising,

A new form of menace!

So when that sun arrives on a new born day,

And the words are all written down,

Distributed and published work,

For when Armageddon comes to town,

You can say with your dying breath,

That someone somewhere read your story,

It did not make you a millionaire,

Because you were never looking for glory,

The best payment for the storyteller,

Is to see fear in the audience’s eyes,

All types of listeners listening vehemently,

With the lust of the upcoming surprise,

All of these centuries that have passed,

As we stand on a bridge trapped in time,

Watching as years slips under our feet,

Constantly learning,

Burning to be told,

A fantasy of dimensions,

We find intoxicating,


Simulating our minds,

To plough through monotonous,

Insidious lives,

Tediously wanting to be told,

Through a story or poetry,

That life can be marvellous,

The sun will always shine,

Writing will always be mine,

To wrestle with and toil through,

Grinding out another verse,

Labouring at my art each and every day,

Trying to make my words read,

By more inquisitive people,

Who are searching for someone,

Some artist that will stimulate,

Wake up the primal parts of our minds,

Dragging them through another day,

Warmth from the sun and poetry,

Breathing life into ancient woes,

Narrating the past and fixing the future,

Poetry cannot fail in this modern age,

It is too big of a monster to be conquered,

It lives underground and is hard to find,

But until the pulse remains in her,

Then the pulse when remain in me!

There could never be the death of poetry,

Meaning there could be no death of me!


A wanderer on a long road,

Maybe heading out of hell,

He packed his lifelong belongs,

In the smallest of rucksacks,

Travelling light,

Drifting through the night,

As the road stretches imaginably,

Into the horizon,

Our wanderer should feel defeated,

The shoes are falling to pieces,

Blisters burning under his feet,

Since what our drifter has come from,

Means he can never retreat,

Keep on moving,

Seasons are changing,

Fleeing from that place,

Can’t hide in a cemetery,

If Death is waiting there,

Ominously and impatiently,

It is hard to see the stars,

When there is only darkness,


Inside and outside,

The monsters and the madness,

No time to cry,

Tears are a waste of much needed liquids,

Onwards and upwards,

Cannot turn back now,

Looking forward,

The wind between his teeth,

Pain in various places,

Forgotten where,

Drifting like the seeds in spring,

Seems like nowhere,

Cannot rest,

Cannot hide,

This road is my only companion,

Cannot stop,

Cannot wait,

Imagination is the only way forward,

It disguises what is real,

Constantly fine tuning the vision,

The wanderer sees before him,


Resurrecting old dreams,

As he walks through the darkness and cold,

He imagines autumn colours and warmth,

Golden fields of corn,

Dancing in the autumn winds,

His concentration lets him down,

As darkness waves at him,

The last thing he wants to see,

Is another damn cemetery,

A century of entrapment,

Rotting away the years,

No interaction with the flower layers,

As if they did not care,

In his wild imagination,

Our drifter pretended to be dead,

Logic seems to be missing from,

This wanderer’s lifeless head,

How can he not remember?

Being killed on that dreadful day,

Falling under the wheels of the horse drawn carriage,

Nobody deserves to die,

In such a cruel and violent way,

He was always a drifter,

Even when he had life in his veins,

He could never remember his family,

His was an orphan from a young age,

In his first twenty years on this earth,

He drifted from place to place,

He always found an escape,

A means to survive,

Hunger tore at him,

An empty vessel forgotten by society,

Buried without fanfare,

Nobody really cared,

Tormented and tortured in death,

Persecuted to have a haunted afterlife,

Drifting on as a ghost,

Memories are centuries old,

There can be no pain without flesh,

That left him decades ago,

His prison was the cemetery,

Even Death has abandoned him,

Poor tortured soul,

Wandering on aimlessly,


The cold he feels is supernatural,

Darkness is all around,

He is looking for an escape,

But he is confused in his predicament,

A dilemma he cannot understand,

If only he had someone to guide him,

Just take him by the hand,

Tortured and tormented for a century,

Who is punishing him? Leave him be!

Let him rest finally in peace?

This ghost story is insanity,

Lead him back to the cemetery,

Show him a resting place,

To hang his weary bones.

A wanderer on a long road,

It is longer that it seems,

Forced to replay it night after night,

Whilst us good folk are having dreams,

Nobody knows of this drifter,

His name forgotten in the passage of history,

Nobody knew him when he was alive,

And that is a great pity,

Forgotten in life and death,

Our young man will never grow old,

Instructed by an invisible voice,

To keep on walking along,

The road stretches for decades,

Our drifter does not know he is dead,

He does not realise he has not moved in centuries,

That’s why he always looks ahead,

He escaped from the cemetery,

This is when all hope was lost,

No he drifts because he’s a ghost,

As cold and unwanted as the frost.

Deadly Souls.


It is at times like these,

And days like these,

That gets you in a mood,

With cold evenings,

Winter is beckoning,

And all you want is food,

Finding time to reflect,

A reflection distorted,

Not perfect like the mirror,

That mocks you in the morning,

I never stand before the mirror,

With that empty soul,

Staring back at me,

That empty shell of a man,

Haunted and distressed,

That I should and never be,

Just finding time to reflect,

Getting cut up on the sore points,

All the jagged memories,

Of where I’ve come from,

I line up every mistake,

And count them as deadly souls,

Supernatural shadows from my past,

It should be me sent to the gallows,

When the real world,

Wrestles with the romantic idea,

Of ghosts and ghouls on Halloween,

I hide in the shadow cast by me,

Listening to a silent scream,

I have sent many people to hell,

I have tortured and killed many dreams,

I have turned myself into a pathetic zombie,

Far too many times,

When kids are masked to party,

I realise my disguise is permanent,

I have built a monster like Frankenstein,

With deadly souls as a foundation,

I have sucked the life out of myself,

Like some dishonest vampire,

Counting my failings takes too long,

As I crave to disappear,

As the real ghosts haunt castles and bridges,

An electric memory of a horrific death,

Blue lights and orbs floating randomly,

Reflecting the victims final breath,

While people close to me are angry with me,

Saying I am wallowing in self-pity,

I am just performing the same old lines,

In a world that is cruel and shitty,

With my pessimist views and loss of self-confidence,

I count over and over again,

My mistakes as lost and wandering deadly souls,

That come back to haunt me,

Tearing at my inner self,

Attacking me when my guard is down,

Draining me of my wealth,

Of intelligence and confidence,

Cut down to the bone,

Destined to rot all alone,

As I fight with my demons,

And the plague of past wars,

I am slashed and cut to shreds,

Even more than before,

As I suck all people into my vortex,

A real living nightmare,

I try to put on my bravest face,

While I am tormented and in despair,

Don’t talk to me about ghost stories,

On the night before Halloween,

I am a twenty four hour living nightmare,

The stuff of horrendous dreams,

As I watch the kids doing trick or treat,

Smiling as they have a good time,

Hoping these kids can find peace in themselves,

When they become adults sometime,

As I try to dissect myself,

In what seems a black listed surgery,

Amidst the pools of blood and hanging flesh,

There is still something that resembles me,

As the films get slapped with an eighteen certificate,

Because the real films no longer have the gore,

Why not read some poetry of mine,

I will have you hanging on for more,

So enjoy yourself when Halloween appears,

Do not take it so seriously,

Remember there are a lot of people worse off than us,

And will have a nightmare for all eternity.

Intergalactic Monster.

I woke up early,

To feast upon star,

Sweeping away the cosmos,

Damaging the nebular,

Stretching as the universe,

Creates itself before my eyes,

Before I sleep again,

I would see its demise,

I am in the void,

That no human can understand,

Call me names that,

Are so unintelligently human,

God or Satan or the creator,

Call me the intergalactic monster,

All before me,

Is mine to torment,

Every planet every star,

Every microorganism,

Is there for my suffice,

When I sweep away,

The boredom from my soul,

I have carelessly made a galaxy,

Fall into a black hole,

I have so much enjoyment in destruction,

So I can rebuild once again,

I have no pity for the souls lost,

I have no tears for your pain,

Everything is irrelevant,

Everything is just chaos,

Everything you see and hold,

Are just random events,

In an endless fathomless void,

You could be just bacteria,

Randomly growing in a laboratory,

No matter how great you could become,

You still have no worth to me,

The deadliest of earthly diseases,

Maybe the enemy of your life,

Is only a pin prick,

Upon a planet,

A million times greater than Saturn,

You cannot grasp who I am,

The invisible destroyer,

Living in a different timeframe,

The intergalactic monster,

Pitiful earthlings,

A blot on the landscape,

Fear of being invaded,

By another humanoid form,

When the real threat hangs over you,

An invisible force,

Who could become bored,

With all the progress humans have made,

Sliding gleefully into technology,

Sliding backwards out of humanity,

Raping souls and anarchy,

Human life is such depravity,

One day I will become bored,

Of all this pitiful scene,

I will wipe you off the universe,

What you may call a spring clean,

When I devour a universe,

Without guilt or thought,

Why should I save your souls?

While you plead and gloat,

I do not fear anything,

That has gone on down there,

So microscopic and insignificant,

Progress? Don’t make me laugh,

In what has been and become human,

I still haven’t digested breakfast,

What was your century old dynasty,

Was just a ripple in a pool,

Nothing compares to what I am,

Nobody can fathom where I come from,

I am an enigma hidden from view,

The puppet master to all of you,

What you paint as Satan,

I am a million times deadlier,

I am the carver of this entity,

The intergalactic monster,

What you perceive as deadly,

A hurricane or earthquake,

I am a billion times deadlier,

Than just a simple mistake,

What you see as a dying planet,

I see as another asteroid,

Your fears are so shallow,

Not knowing of the void,

Life span is so glorious,

When what falls before your eyes,

I swim between the unknown,

I am very rarely surprised,

All those little beings,

With very large fears,

To satisfy their lust,

They make simple monster movies,

Studying all forms of brutality,

Supernatural and so far from truth,

I am the only monster you should fear,

With or without me,

Your fate is already sealed,

Just a lab rat trapped in a cage,

Sensing you are close to something,

And that something is unexplainable,


But you succumb to it just the same,

I am the intergalactic monster,

And you were just part of my game.


There are many pools,

There are many rules,

There are many sayings,

There are many books,

Open a page,

Read the lies,

Twisted facts,

Bloated fiction,

Politically motivated,

Politically incorrect,

Written for a motive,

Written for fame,

Written to make a name for oneself,

Written as a game,

And pools of ink,

Like pools of blood,

Seeping through pages,

You put your soul into it,

But there are no soul searchers,

As you bleed your thoughts,

Pools grow,

There are many pools,

And many rules,

Dictators in publishing houses,

If you don’t write what is needed,

Your pool will be rejected,

Book burnt,

Pain felt,

Not everybody wants your watery ideas,

Blood is thicker than water,

What you write,

Blood lines,

Poetry and prose,

Just the beginning,

Pools of blood,

Don’t mix with water,

Oily mess on the garage floor,

Nobody to mop up the mess,

A literary corpse,

On the library floor,

Nobody wants to check for life,

Nobody wants to check its pulse,

Jumping over the lifeless toad,

All heading down the road,

To where the pathetic books are held,

Full of watery colours,

Nothing stands out,

Predictable and foul,

Let the cat out of the bag,

And she met him,

And he did her,

Paint the sky grey,

Plant a tear,

And watery lines,

Leads to oceans of filth,

The sewers in the library,

Are ready to explode,

In pools of excrement,

Thicker than blood,

Huge turds of literacy,

Where does it all end?

Severing the trend,

Of unwanted swishy washy lines,

Read it,

Fake it,

Laugh at it,

Burn the fiction,

Recreate the facts,

A few decades down the road,

Where will we be at?

We need pools of blood,

And books with guts,

A story with a spine,

And big hairy nuts,

Explaining the truth,

Underlining new ideas,

Far away from the political bullshit,

Stop telling lies to fit your story,

The history should not be rewritten,

Pools of blood spilt in battle,

Men and boys fought for a free world,

Honour them with your spirit,

Free speech and dignity,

Pour your heart out,

Spill the blood,

Mop your brow,

Write down,




Let the pen be your friend,

Let it lead you somewhere,

Lines of wisdom jotted down,

Prepare to go everywhere,

Necessary to hit the spot,

Whetting the appetite of your reader,

Satisfying every need,

Exercising brain cells,

In everything they need,

Blood now pumping,

No more pools on the floor,

Time to return to the action,

And write a little more!

Waiting to Dissect You!

A single man,

Moved by hormones,

Judging and deciphering,

Many female signs,

Somewhere in a normal city,

Sometime in the 1990s,

Lots of specimens before him,

He would like to dissect!

Studying those closest to him,

Watching carefully,

Examining what they are drinking,

Jotting down notes,

In his overactive mind,

Every little flicker,

Every laugh or smile,

Everything these females do,

He places it on a pile,

Just like a science lesson,

Way back in high school,

He analyses all before him,

Intelligence is his tool,

Decipher the code,

That is women’s talk,

Trying not to be seen,

Does not want to be branded,

A pervert or stalker,

The music drowns out the words,

But the way they talk is key,

Searching for the correct lab rat,

So I can have all for me!

Some girls are far too forward,

Grabbing and caressing every man,

Some girls hide in the corners,

Scared of the disco lights,

Some girls are in and out of the toilets,

Like some over excited cat,

Some girls dance on the dance floor,

As it was Saturday night,

So much information,

So much to understand,

Keeping calm and patient,

Looking like a hologram,

Finally a choice is made,

And then comes the approach,

Hoping to break the ice,

And not look a total cunt,

Hoping she will not laugh in your face,

Hoping you will not get showered with beer,

Hoping you don’t get kicked in the nuts,

Hoping she will not disappear,

Phase one complete,

We have eye contact and a smile,

A conversation begins,

The first signs of success,

The future is looking bright,

Everything is going well,

Slowly and surely you will get to know her,

Dissecting her life,

Studying her history,

Caressing her biology,

Being happy,

Finally you have your conclusion,

The experiment went well,

The union will last a lifetime,

With no side effects,

It just goes to show,

That if you are meticulous,

In your preparations,

Than the outcome will be fine,

So when you are out and about,

Remember this little rhyme,

To study and to observe,

The craziest of the species,

Takes a little time,

But when all things come together,

You will be the happiest geek,

And now all is true,

And there is no more need to dissect,

You now lead a family life,

No more time to go to the discotheque.

Cosmic Pulse.

Everybody is alive,

Eyes wide open,

Feeling the energy,

Heart beating faster,


Well timed,

Marvellous machines,

Pulsing away,

Vibrating all that is near,

Heart to hearts,


And if we all become one,

And if we all learn to be kind,

Our pulses will be joined together,

In one cosmic pulse,

Harmony and simplicity,

No threat or harm,

Nothing to do with religion,

Just being patient and calm,

Sharing with one another,

What is yours will never be mine,

Because we do not own anything,

We have given up our trinkets,

Let go of everything we own,

We have learnt to become one,

Universally whole,

Distributing everything about us,

Spreading our spirits wide,

Embracing everything that is living,

All conscious beings alive,

So futuristic,

So fragile,

So many weak links,

To destroy the dream,

A universe beating with one heart,

Could never survive

Utopia too far way to reach,

Too distant the cosmic pulse,

But we can try,

To be a little kinder to ourselves,

Try and find some peace,

Make some quality,

In something we do,

Some people are nearer to this,

I feel I am so far away,

Especially when anger rules the day,

Frustration fuels the mind,

Finding always discrepancies,

Weak links in the armour,

If we all joined together,

If we all had the same idea,

If we all agreed to be social,

Could we eradicate fear?

Sometimes I grow tired,

With what humans have become,

We spend too much time quarrelling,

Instead of having fun,

We seem to take too many things for granted,

Our time on this earth is limited,

Before we know it we are old and worn,

Lost everything we needed,

Hot headed and bad tempered,

Mentally unstable and physically unkind,

In many ways we jump on land mines,

Destroying the beauty in our minds,

We have corrupted souls,

Over inflated egos,

We are vain and selfish,

We have damned our souls,

The noise of the world is deafening,

All our pulses are out of tune,

We are vibrating the universe with erratic beats,

Random waves of delusional views,

Out of order is nothing new,

We are so far away from where we began,

We learnt to fly before we turned into man,

Wanting everything far too soon,

Sacrificing ourselves for a piece of the moon,

Everybody is alive in some way or another,

Eyes wide open from the drugs and decay,

Feeling the energy corrode away our bones,

Heart beating faster due to weight excess,

Synchronised is no longer a word we can spell,

Well timed was just a day dream,

Marvellous machines are things of fiction,

Pulsing away in between pages of a forgotten book,

Vibrating all that is near to collapse,

Heart to hearts broke and forlorn,

Everywhere we can find despair,

Only if we all become one,

Only if we all learned to be kind,

Maybe our pulses could be joined together,

In one cosmic pulse.

My Girlfriend Dances on a Pentagram.

In my life that I thought was sweet,

I had the honour to meet and greet,

I lovely lass with dyed black hair,

Full of piercings and nature,

Tattooed here and there,

When the day came,

That we decided to live together,

I was prepared for some little skeletons,

To creep out of the closet,

But I was surprised when I found out,

My girlfriend dances on a pentagram,

I was not prepared for this,

I was almost offended,

Not knowing this dark secret,

But she seem quite happy,

Showing me her inner self,

Erotically moving,

Between huge glowing candles,

A sight for sore eyes,

For lad with a religious upbringing,

I was lost for words,

I was stung and stunned,

Watching my half nude girlfriend,

Meditate on a pentagram,

And as her ritual ended,

She crept on over to me,

She wanted to hug and kiss me,

Caressing my neck,

Now I have a vivid imagination,

And not a lot of balls,

When I felt her kiss my neck,

I dashed out into the hall,

All those films of horror,

That my mother banned me from,

Those vampires and witches,

Seemed to be real somehow,

If my girlfriend was a witch,

Then I have to watch my neck,

I don’t want to be bitten,

Or seduced by someone like that,

Looking at me now angry,

Her glare meant she lost her sex appeal,

She was not impressed with my reaction,

Or the way I screamed and squealed,

Maybe I was her sacrifice,

Her poor little lamb to be slaughtered,

I fled down the wooden stairs,

Looking for a way out of this mess,

But all doors and windows locked,

And there was not a key in site,

As I cowered in the porch,

I realised my girlfriend was near,

Now she laughed insanely,

And that I had nothing to fear,

As we talked in that little room,

And the cold seeped under the door,

My ass was numb as was my brain,

Crouched like a dog on the floor,

She confessed to me everything,

But there was no malice in her heart,

She was attracted to black magic,

But more attracted to me,

She did not intend to scare me,

She laughed knowing I have pissed my pants,

She dragged me into the adjoining bathroom,

Made me shower before her,

What happened next is not for your eyes,

All the events this night,

Was in reality a great surprise,

If this was the result of black magic,

Then I have no qualms with that,

That was the longest dirtiest shower,

That I have ever had!

Now back in our bedroom,

The candles no longer lit,

The smell of perfume and smoke,

Was quite surprisingly nice,

Even though I have come to accept,

A few oddities from my lass,

I still keep an eye on our butcher’s knives,

Not wanting a blood bath,

She might eat her meat a bit too raw,

And she gets excited on Halloween,

But I confess I love her more and more,

Even though her rituals are obscene,

So my girlfriend dances on a pentagram,

I hope everyone is ok with that,

At least she is loyal and kind,

Most people would die for that,

So if you see my shopping in town,

Buying strange candles and pink chalk,

Remember I am doing it for the love of my life,

The one who just loves to talk,

She is a library of ideas,

She knows so much detail,

She has studied the dark arts intensely,

She loves the dark nights of winter,

I do admit deep down inside,

I am still scared of her,

But our love life is so super,

I could never be without her,

So what if my girlfriend dances on a pentagram,

I am pleased to be her sacrifice,

We have a bond that is like a spell,

And an understanding that is nice!


Hey mister what do I see,

Something in the pot all for me?

Judging by the carnage,

Out on the porch,

What you have cooking,

Is not traditional,

Cruel and sick,

Added spices,

Bone chilling,

This is not going to be,

Seen on TV,

My some tart in make-up,

Trying to be brainy,

I see potatoes and celery,

Everything fresh,

Don’t want to think about it,

Cannibal fool,

One thing is for sure,

I am certain about being certain,

Is no matter how vile,

Your recipe is today,

Nothing can be worse,

Than the lasagne tasted in Milan,

In the foul restaurant Grog,

Don’t go I beg of you,

The waiter is without humour,

And the dishes are sin,

No beauty in the serving,

It was like it had fallen,

Onto the floor,

All over the beetles,

And mice droppings,

Scoped up and place back in the pot,

Fag ash residue,

And slimy grey hair,

That was the worst thing,

I have seen placed before me,

I had the courage to taste it,

Never again,

How could they have the balls to serve it?

So beyond me,

So mister cannibal,

Cooking for me,

I might regret this dinner,

It might be too heavy for me,

But the real horror,

That will haunt me for ever,

Is that dog shit of a lasagne?

Served to me in Milan!

Skimming the surface.

Just a little below,

Just out of reach,

Caressing from within,

Skinning the surface,

What we see in society,

What we are told in the news,

What is underlined as important,

The reflection of our views?

Murder and rape everywhere,

But not all crime is reported,

The world is a lot darker now,

Don’t expect them to say that,

Total chaos,

Dignity lost by the wayside,

Nowhere to hide,

The shadows are hazardous,

We should all cry,

For every single loss of life,

For every violent event,

History is repeating itself,

What goes around

Comes around,

The plague has returned,

Darkness in our souls,

Torment in our eyes,

Hating everyone equally,

No surprise,

Putrid decay of dignity,

Lepers of society.

What has gone wrong with humanity?

Bring us back the pleasantries,

We did no wrong,

We fell away from the straight and narrow,

We become empty inside,

Filled up with agony and vice,

Numbing the day with evil medicines,

Making another man rich,

What you see and hear today,

Is only skimming the surface,

Cemeteries are expanding,

We have made a grave mistake,

Hospitals overrun with the weak,

Please give us a break,

On and on it goes,

The river of evil flows,

Infectious to the touch,

Did you not love humans that much?

Bursting out of the underground,

Foul language and bad breath,

Riding on a wave of blasphemy,

Mocking the lord of death,

There is too much horror out there,

Too much salt in the apple pie,

The recipe of chaos has turned good,

No one wants to die,

Slaughtered and butchered and forgotten,

Dumped by the wayside or woods,

A miracle is when you are found rotten,

Dental records to identify yourself,

The plague is all over the world,

The internet transports the disease,

Porn and violence downloaded,

Sadistic urges pleased,

Extremism is killing us,

In our thoughts and politics,

Everyone cannot be trusted,

An old dog without new tricks,

Tidal wave of fear,

Barbaric propaganda,

Videos filmed to scare the weak,

Death stains the film,

Everything you have unearthed so far,

Just skimming the surface,

So many war crimes,

Mass burial of innocent victims,

Frightened teenage soldiers,

Forced to fight a war he doesn’t understand,

Too weak to hold the machine gun steady,

The rifle too cheap to perform,

Explodes in the face of our soldier,

Killed by the neglect of the government,


Terrorist bombs planted by our secret police,

To keep the population in check,

We cannot trust our police or our military,

Just like we cannot trust our banks,

We are just skimming the surface,

All crimes are death to society,

There is murder in the high street,

Raped by the government,

Victims force fed lies,

Right before eyes,

There is so much wrong out there,

Brothers and sisters slaughtering themselves,

Fathers and mothers and more atrocities,

Celebrities and politicians getting away,

With acts so indecent,

It makes your milk curdle,

When you read this news,

At your breakfast table,

Slavery in plain view,

Of this almighty western world,

More crimes are committed,

On a unprecedented scale,

What is harder to know?

When you read the daily news,

Is each act reported and glorified,

There is a million more the same,

It seems everyone one of us,

Has a small part to blame,

Getting excited by the tidal wave,

Of refugees in the need of aid,

Helping the viewing figures,

Double from another sick story,

Twenty hour news of putrid glory,

It seems that violence is on demand,

All murderers now TV stars,

Getting jailed for five years,

It does not seem fair,

That society has putrefied,

Quicker than a Hollywood diva,

We all want to reach,

And live in a society much cleaner,

But in each day that passes,

And we see the headlines before our eyes,

Attacks even more violent,

Underlining our demise,

But what is even more wicked,

Is our hunger for murder,

Pushing the boat out,

Condemning us even further,

Into the deep deaths,

Of a putrid society,

Just skimming the surface,

On our harsh reality!

Sickly Serenade.

As the clouds reveal the blue,

And the green come into view,

Before the cold chill arrives,

And we button up our coats,

Facing bitter times,

Twisting through the pain,

Knowing now of this,

I turn to you again,

With a tear in my eye,

Thinking of all the things we’ve made,

So I sing to you a sickly serenade,

All the flowers i have bought,

Seems so long ago,

The flowers dry of colour,

Distancing themselves from the memory,

When sunlight caressed their petals,

And you was close to me,

The colours vibrant and true,

Change like the seasons use to,

When the green was flush with life,

And the roses red like a light,

Shining through with hope,

And flowers wilt and die,

Signifying all hope is lost,

No time to reflect and cry,

The end comes too soon,

For anyone to prepare,

For the worst avenue,

Leading you to a place,

That you wish you could avoid,

But the scents and perfumes,

Makes your resistance fade,

Amongst a sickly serenade,

The avenue long and wide,

The stony path beneath your feet,

Without shoes the gravel between your toes,

You can’t feel them no more,

But they lead you on,

Along this mysterious avenue,

No strength to run away,

Destiny leads you on,

Fear makes you afraid,

Music seduces you like the sirens did,

In this sickly serenade,

Blossom is fragile and pink,

The cruel wind blows them away,

Beauty is fragile and for a moment,

Never lasts more than a day,

Death always comes too soon,

The end is always closer,

Wearily knowing we carry on,

With a heavy weight on our minds,

Through the swamps of frustration,

Just like all of mankind,

The wooded avenue leads away,

You follow it with curiosity,

Leading up a small hill,

You see some kind of shelter,

Maybe it is a phantom oasis,

Maybe the temple does not exist,

But you have to know for certain,

You have no will to resist,

As you knew all along,

The distance is longer than you thought,

But nevertheless you continue,

Going across fields of pain,

Looking into yourself for answers,

Being inquisitive once again,

When was this strange road laid?

As you hum a sickly serenade,

On and on you go,

Upwards high than you thought,

You seem to be living a metaphor,

So what is all this for?

The green hill rising above,

Surrounded by the blue sky,

No gates or fences close it in,

Open to all of us,

No discrimination like down here,

Where race and colour divides,

The blue has become grey,

The green has turned to concrete,

The sky is overcast,

All weather manmade,

As we sing a sickly serenade,

Reaching for something we can’t have,

Leading us somewhere,

Blindfolded and without sense,

Roaming through fields unknown,

Burnt out and flowing away,

Living is more painful every day ,

Bleeding for everything we crave,

In another sickly serenade.


Teenage acne,

Cursed skin,



Bad diet,

Greasy food,

Chocolate chips,

French fries,


No surprise,

Something stirring,

Under the skin,

Feel the weight,

Under the jaw,




Until you’re raw,

Check the mirror,

For signs of,

White heads,

Just a bulge,

No exit,

For pus,

Days pass by,

Temptation higher,



Sore to the touch,

You want to burst it

Oh so much,

Waiting for a sign,

That means,

The boil is ready,

To explode,

But the bastard,

Stays under,

Hidden from view,

Under lays of skin,

Tormenting you,

Harassing you,

Swollen jaw,

Fucking sore,

To the touch,

Can’t squeeze,

Hurts too much,

Wanting to be rid,

Of this boil,

Praying it will burst,


Laughing stock,

At school,

Growing a new head,

Same old jokes,

Same old cruel,




One morning,

In front of the mirror,

Biting down,

Against the pain,

Boil between fingers,

Squeezing the hell,

Out of this bastard infection,

Harder still,

Pain is almighty,

Just when you thought,

You could take no more,

That enemy,

Squirming beneath,

So fucking sore,

Erupts like a volcano,

Bright yellow pus,

Explodes from within,

Splattering the mirror,

Seeping down to the basin,

Squeezing still,

Emptying the mountain,

Of sickly fluid,

Now comes the blood,

Mixed with yellow,

Mixture of colours,

Infection ripe,

Job done,

Phase one over,

Hopefully now,

The swelling will ease,

Cleaning now,


Washing now,

Mirror and basin,

Feeling sore,

Disinfecting now,

Hopefully the end,

To this horror story,

Bursting onto the scene,

When a teenager has dreams,

A social disaster,

When the boil comes to view,

Don’t be so shocked,

Because it has happened to you,

Don’t pick your scabs,

Don’t pick your nose,

Don’t show parents,

Love bites on your throat,

Just some of the innocent,

Stupid things we do,

Bursting into teenage life,

What did you do?


System overload,

And you know,

That I know,

What you are thinking,


Perverted thoughts,

We all have different degrees,

With that wicked smile,

Different targets,

On our spectrums,

And the urge,

That becomes,

Calling from within,

Pushing us to madness,

Heading towards sin,

Something opens up,

Inside all of us,

When chemistry,

Melts our hearts,

And the veil of innocence,

Is dissolved,

And that long lasting shyness,

Is quickly resolved,


Can you feel it?


Don’t you need it?

Not right now,

I have better things to do,

But it doesn’t help,

When you bend over like that,

In front of me,

Temptation is higher,

Than ever before,

This urge is an urge,

I have being dying for,

Sweating harder,

I can’t give in,

Urge is a bitch,

I’ve tried to give in,

Doctor be good to me,

I know I have been a little lazy,

But when my wife cooks meat,

I just go fucking crazy,

I know I promised,

Many a time,

That I should reduce,

This weight of mine,

But when I smell a steak,

Cooking on the grill,

I couldn’t care less,

If it makes me ill,

That mixture of aromas in the air,

Chemical foreplay for me,

I try to live on sprouts and beans,

But it leads me to insanity,


I can feel it,

Growing inside of me,


I can taste it,

Meat is just part of me,

Diet is for tomorrow,

I promised you that,

But somehow,

Tomorrow never comes,

And now I’m twice as fat,

Temptation is higher,

Than ever before,

This urge is an urge,

I have being dying for,

Sweating harder,

I can’t give in,

Urge is a bitch,

I’ve tried to give in,

At my funeral,

My last lover cries,

Here I am six feet under,

Well it’s no surprise,

The urge won me over,

I ended up with two black eyes,

Temptation too much for me,

Reaching out for ass and steak,

I knew it was one huge mistake,

But weak as I am,

I was just a lousy man,

Beaten to a pulp,

By my jealous wife,

Thought I would die,

Of a heart attack,

Did not think,

I would die this way,

No remorse from her,

I did not get any judge or jury,

Just the quick hand,

Of all her fury,

No time for my last meal,

I was dreaming of steak,

Whilst she minced my brains,

I don’t think I will,

Ever do that again,

Now I am down here,

And the relatives above,

My wife behind bars,

Because she fell in love,

With a man like me,

Who wanted pity,

From a urge and a scratch,

I could not resist,

I blew away my life,

And for that I’m pissed,

So beware of the urge,

When she bends over like that,

The smell of a fine steak,

On a sunny summer day,

Both of these urges,

Will only bring dismay,

Don’t be tempted,

Don’t be a fool,

Your doctor and wife,

Have made some rules,

And in those regulations,

There is no room for urge,

Just don’t succumb to it,

Or it will be your,

Last day on earth!

The Passing.

The end came far too soon,

They said there were complications,

Destiny is so cruel,

He was a loveable bloke,

Always with a smile,

He sure loved to talk,

He was always there,

He came around to visit us,

Whenever he could,

Pleased to see us,

With his infectious smile,

Proud of his family,

Sons and daughters,

All with heavy hearts,

We must protect them,

From this cruel world,

Angry and bitter at his passing,

A father who was a friend,

With a huge comic book collection,

His wife driven up the wall,

No more space to keep them,

Mickey Mouse and all,

A lover of great films,

Now family and a whole town,

Mourn his passing,

I promised his son,

That his dad would be around,

For Christmas,

That me and Elisa,

Would come around to visit,

Celebrate together,

Have fun together,

His son would show us his art,

His daughter would speak about music,

His youngest would smile that smile,

Everything would be great,

But it was not to be,

Taking away so quickly,

We seem so far away,

To embrace the family,

I hope they understand,

We would be there if we could,

I hope they understand,

How much their father meant to us,

I know they understand,

How much their father meant to the town,

In mourning we celebrate his life,

Unbelievable his passing,

Too young to die,

As everyone sheds tears,

Nobody admits,

Anger inside,


The festive period darkened,

Christmas will not be the same,

There is emptiness in all our lives,

From his passing,

But we have to carry on,

We have to embrace his kids,

His infectious smile will live on,

In them,

In their drawings,

In their music,

In his little girls smile.

Ciao Dino!

Embrace Your Fantasy?

You have survived,

A bitter week at work,

Stress of getting through forty hours,

Has driven you berserk,

Angry with the way things are going,

Sad to see how you are treated,

Pension seems so far away,

Seems like you are being deleted,

By the shirt wearing pawns,

But at the weekend,

You can be free,

To live your life,

And embrace your fantasy,

Without stepping on anyone’s toes,

Not getting in the way of bloated egos,

Not being made to bow down to rules,

Being yourself,

Embracing your fantasy,

Watching football at the stadium,

Eating a pizza with friends,

Watching a great concert surrounded,

By people you can relate to,

Did not expect to be shot at,

Did not expect to be part of your war,

I came out to relax and let my hair down,

I shun politics and religion,

And now you aim your gun at me,

Randomly shooting,

At innocent people,

Murdering my friends and relatives,

Destroying our weekend,

Because you believe in another way?

We should do what you say?

And not embrace our fantasises?

I know the government was wrong

I know they have slaughtered innocents,

I wrote about that somewhere,

I know we have destroyed communities,

We have built hospitals to cure,

Victims of violence and atrocity,

Only for those hospitals to be destroyed,

By the trigger happy military,

Killing doctors and nurses,

That we made proud,

And now those same people,

Are buried next to the patients,

That they decided to cure,

Blasted out of their fantasies,

Because of a nagging suspicion,

They were hiding the terrorists,

Under the stairs,

Professional people with human blood,

On their hands,

Wanting this because they stitched up wounds,

Realigned broken limbs,

Cleansed the infection from people,

No matter what religion or upbringing,

I know that,

I read about that,

But I personally did not come to foreign lands,

To preach my ideas against your wishes,

You are so young and so cruel,

Twenty years old or so,

What do you know about the world?

Besides the propaganda that has been fed to you,

You are just a puppet with barbed wire,

Bitter and extreme and alien to this world,

An emptiness inside you ready to be filled,

With a brutal fantasy of cowardly dictator,

I know there are atrocities all over the world,

I don’t just read the local news,

I see the death and the blood stains,

On all of the continents,

Poor innocent victims killed in their schools,

Blown out of this world,

Whilst they were doing the shopping,

All innocent people forced to die early,

Annihilated whilst flying home,

From a long awaited journey,

We have the right to be free,

We have not committed any atrocities,

When we see violence,

It breaks our hearts,

No matter whom the innocent victim is,

Spilt blood is always a wasted death,

Victims with golden hearts,

Who helped the wider community,

I write about this all the time,

I show the world what humanity is,

This poetry may not be traditional,

But what I write is crude and truthful,

I speak for all people in this world,

We are tired of extremist views,

Within in politics or religion,

You have no right to be violent,

Nobody has the right to murder,

Not a politician in the Kremlin,

Not a cop in New York City,

Not a burglar in a China shop,

Most of all not you,

All we wanted was to live out a fantasy,

All they wanted was to have a party,

All they wanted was to get lost in the music,

All they wanted was the home team to score,

Now the nation and the world is in shock,

Borders closed and the military strikes back,

More murder, more slaughter,

Even more innocent victims slaughtered,

Who then is embracing a fantasy?

The young rocker in the Bataclan?

The young soldier in the military?

The young striker in the national team?

A young minister getting himself on the front page?

A television host getting record breaking ratings?

This world is sicker than I thought,

Some people profit from atrocity,

This is a big cruel world,

Too many sick fantasies.


I am searching,

Looking for new ways,

To express myself,

To point out,

Give you my opinion,

Hoping my words hit a nerve,

Creating something unique,

Looking at the horror in this world,

No matter how bleak,

And in the meantime,

I write and I write,

Trying to get my words out,

Making it sound right,

And all of this time,

And all of my verses,

Looking for a plus,

Looking for my Opus,

Somewhere someone is searching,

Looking for a good read,

When they find some poetry,

They run away quick,

Maybe I am cursed,

Writing down in verses,

Maybe I am not deep enough,

Just as shallow as a puddle,

Maybe it is out of reach,

But I try still the same,

Trying to find an opus in me,

Trying to play the game,

Someone wrote somewhere,

How to find your audience,

Write what needs to be written,

And not what you believe in,

So you may get a million hits,

But you will be feeling fake inside,

I’d rather stick to my four thousand,

Knowing that I have never lied,

Maybe in a century,

Nothing of mine would have survived,

But everyone knows that lies live forever,

And the fragile truth always dies,

But what if you try a little harder,

Use your mighty thesaurus,

Make your words university proud,

Make the paperback into hard,

Write in an old age font,

Write for the fashion moguls,

And not for want,

You can’t bow down,

As low as that,

You cannot see ahead,

Whilst laying on the floor,

Waiting for the world,

To stand all over you,

Expecting the unexpected,

Gossip and old milled out lies,

Creating a devil of an opera,

Whilst poking out your eyes,

And the dust is blown off another volume,

Another book is burnt,

No more smell of the leather perfume,

No matter what we have learnt,

It is so sad to see,

The end of me,

Not knowing if I hit the heights,

There might not be life after death,

After all it was just a tragedy,

Two words combined doesn’t make an opus,

Not even in the dead poet’s society,

And the news is getting grim,

Can you keep up with it all?

Libraries once bursting with ideas,

Have now started to fall,

And fail the curious communities,

Nothing more to read,

Nothing more to see,

Nothing more to talk about,

That will be the death of me,

Meanwhile as the last of the warriors,

The writers who won’t stand down,

The sellers and stockers of rare books,

Who don’t want to leave town,

Just like vinyl was condemned

By the smaller crispier CD,

Now the LP is back in the shops,

Luckily for you and me,

Maybe the book will not die off,

Maybe we love the smell of old,

The ribbon or the bookmarker,

Or just creasing over the page,

While there are signs of life,

In this writing lark,

I will continue searching in myself,

For my hidden opus.


Death is a vile word,

Just saying it is cruel,

Does it bring bad luck?

Should we write about it?

Murder is a vile word,

Dreadful as can be,

A life taken before its time,

So many what ifs,

Murder from warfare,

Murder on the streets,

Murdered by force,

Murdered by mistake,

The world has become vile,

Too much violence,

No concept for humanity,

Heated arguments,

Killing each other,

Over such stupid situations,

The papers are full of it,

Death is everywhere,

People mourning,

From car accidents,

Terrorist actions,



Vile actions,

No remorse,

They don’t feel the suffering,

Doctors terrorising,

Restaurants selling rotting meat,

Disease is everywhere,

Actors spreading aids,

Vile news for the community,

It seems people have lost contact,

With themselves,

Heartless people everywhere,

The minority,

The bad apple of the bunch,

The tree of humanity tainted,

By one bullet,

By one misdiagnosis,

By one night stands,

By drunken behaviour,

Fear rides like an upcoming storm,

Battered into an honest man’s day,

Vile actions can turn our lives upside down,

It seems we are all falling away,

Losing grip with what was before,

Violence and horror,

Everywhere in our normal lives,

Screams in the night,

Gunfire and sirens,

Panic attacks and hard to breath,

Vile outcome and headline news,

People out to use and abuse,

Singled out and in single file,

Every outcome has become vile,

The priests are no better,

Than the paedophilic leaders,

The worms are crawling under the skin,

Bursting on through into the light,

Growing and eating innocent flesh,

Expanding and reproducing every night,

This is beyond porn,

This is surreal,

How can a human venture so low,

How can the heart not reveal,

How can they exist in themselves?

Knowing what they have done,

Can they sleep at night?

Is this really their idea of fun?

So vile,

It is beyond words,

It is a shock to the system,

So sick,

So vile,

Let’s protect what we can,

Push ahead with ourselves,

Keeping away from the tainted,

And all that is vile.

The Death of Me!

Don’t do it,

Don’t be silly,

Get down from there,

The whole world loves you,

And your matted ugly hair,

We all make mistakes,

It is what makes us human,

You have showed us the way,

To be happy with ourselves,

The year is 2015,

And it is coming to an end,

You have detailed so many atrocities,

I am glad you are a friend,

No matter how many endings,

You have wrote over these last twelve months,

You told us it was Just the Beginning,

And that is why we like you so much,

So get down from that suicidal thought,

We haven’t finished with you yet,

The sun is still shining after all,

And we readers are in your debt,

I speak to myself,

In a funny old way,

If I had no voices in my head,

That would be the death of me!

The world awaits,

I hope,

The world wants me,

I hope,

To continue writing on and on,

I hope and hope again,

Sometimes I want to give in,

But then I get a scratch I can’t itch,

My hands start to shake from lack of writing,

And that is one hell of a bitch,

I need a pen by my side,

A phone or a half dead computer,

I need to get my ideas down quick,

Plain sailing with plain paper,

So many words written,

So many negative thoughts,

Did not think I would survive this long,

Keeping myself alive for you,

I have done something with my writing,

I have made myself available,

Not everybody gets my humour,

Maybe not everybody likes how I write it,

Frustrated lots of times,

Tormented over again,

But something says write on,

Release your pain,

Sometimes I get stuck,

In my angry part of me,

But somewhere deep inside,

I cannot see the death of me,

Not like before,

I seem to be angrier in some ways,

I am fragile and delicate,

With the rage of a demon,

Cannot go hand in hand,

I’m someone most people,

Could never understand,

I hate dissecting myself,

In a philosophical way,

Slicing my skin years ago,

Seemed simpler any day,

I cannot distinguish,

What is wrong or right honestly,

But I can make it, I know,

This cannot be the death of me,

Some days it is harder,

To see where I am heading,

Those close to me get upset,

They think I am selfish in my auto destruction,

Maybe I do regret,

But talking does not make things easier,

It makes me look arrogant,

I try to be the best person I can be,

Without being the cunt,

But I have a rage inside of me,

A fire that is hard to put out,

I write to cleanse my soul,

And live another day,

So maybe it is time,

To smile again, you nutter,

Remembering all the things said,

You may have not written an opus,

But you are certainly not dead,

More and more people will read,

What you have to say,

More and more people,

Will understand you somehow,

The words keeps on rising,

That isn’t surprising,

The world is in need of a poet,

That writes like he feels,

It is hard work and frustrating,

It is a must,

It is a must,

In the frequently seen mists of doubt,

Someway or somehow,

Sort it all out,

Be kind to yourself,

Try to be happy,

This is the end of the book,

But not the death of me,

You want an encore,

Let us go over this again,

Another group of verses written,

Life will never be the same,

Correcting grammar and mistakes,

As we realign ourselves in our lives,

Facing the danger with optimism,

Feeling stronger and confident in the veins,

Where once dark clouds hung,

On the bleakest, wildest day,

The day after is warm and sunny,

Predicting a different way,

So for all the doubts inside of me,

I should forgot my misery,

Because this is not the end,

And definitely not the death of me!



Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won’t you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer?




Darren Hobson


About the author:

Darren Hobson was born in Preston, Lancashire in England and moved to Italy in 1998.Currently living near Rome working for a multinational company.

In his spare time he loves traveling to mainly Calabria in Italy and to Yorkshire in England, where both landscapes rich of history inspire him to write intense poetry.

The poet started submitting his work for inclusion in many anthologies between 1990 and 2009, but with the help of social network sites and self-publishing sites he started to publish his own books in 2014.

Connect with Me:

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/D_Hobson_Poet

My blog: http://darrenhobsonpoet.com/

Favourite me at Shakespir: www.Shakespir.com/profile/view/DarrenHobsonPoet

The Death of Poetry Will be the Death of Me!

This collection of poetry is another golden chapter in this indie author’s book of life, never before has a poet written something so horrific and so truthful. Just by reading the titles of his poems you know what to expect, deeply driven verses with sentimental opinion, the words come at you like snowflakes in a blizzard, hard hitting but completely true and mesmerizing, once you start to read this collection it will be difficult to stop until you have digested every last word. This is food for thought and this sums up the world we live in today.

  • ISBN: 9781310305207
  • Author: Darren Hobson
  • Published: 2016-05-26 16:50:08
  • Words: 9142
The Death of Poetry Will be the Death of Me! The Death of Poetry Will be the Death of Me!