c. Sara L. Russell 23/2/99
In the streets
in the underground
like interlocking cogs revolving round
hordes of strangers with the same dead eyes
rush towards their daily sacrifice.
keeping to themselves
no-one knows the face of anyone else
each in search of what the city stole
each with a résumé in place of a soul.
to relieve monotony
some stare through train windows vacantly
thinking of their loved ones or their peers
while travelling puts a blight on bright careers.
Squeezed in crowds
breathing smoky air
in tight suits, tight shoes, acceptable hair
individuals with the same dead eyes
dream of love and death and Paradise.
(originally part 20 from "The Meaning", Sara L. Russell 23/2/99
written while working in London a few years ago)
c. Sara L. Russell 1997
Like a cataracted eye
an oil film on the sea
clouds blot out the sky
steal the sun from me
the city has no heart
its people have no love
each day rips me apart
I have had enough
night hits like a spear
strikes through flesh and bone
like the stab of fear
a sense of being alone
the moon and stars collide
somewhere far away
in astral suicide
yet still comes the new day
yet still I breathe the air
like an automaton
walking here and there
walking blankly on
my mind was just a slate
for others to inscribe
the bar code of my fate
the peer mode of my tribe.
(written one lunchtime while working in Croydon, near London)
The Ire of Spiritiual Fire
Sara L. Russell, 20/10/04 1:50am
Yea, we shall seek them in
their dwelling places
and verily shall we light fires under their feet.
For here be witches, their warlocks,
the faithless and fallen,
who maketh fair speech unto their cats;
who art the very mouthpieces and ears
of Satan, whose beginnings were wiccanings
rather than Christenings.
We shall burn them in the holy fire
and inter their ashes in un-hallowed ground,
For rightly do the pure in heart hate them,
these sons and daughters of the Fallen One.
Yes, we shall seek them in
their places of commerce,
fly planes of fire into their towers.
For here are warlords, their bankers,
their clerks and accountants,
the infidel rabble,
who babble their speeches to minions;
who are the very cogs and wheels
of Capitalism, whose ancient crusades
were parades of mere machismo.
We shall burn them in the eternal fires
of Holy War,
Scatter their ashes to the four winds,
For rightly do we labour against them,
These men and women of The Great Satan.
Yes, we shall find them with
our Own Seeking*,
and a Great Fire shall rage in our Inferno.
For here are Terrorists, Murderers,
Hoods and Barbarians,
Who speak only Verbally* in the Propaganda
of their State-Controlled Channels;
which are the very speaking Mouthpieces
of Evil and Terror, whose broadcasters
protect the Terrorists.
We shall purge them in the Holy Fire
For rightly do we nuke the Hell out of Iraq,
and those Sons and Daughters of Bitches.
(* phrases in the style of Bush-isms)
Sages And Suicides: The Delegation of Immolation
c. Sara L. Russell 4/4/04, 17.09pm
Chapped wizened lips preach to the young
rewards in Heaven
bringing the Dark God from the clouds
teaching the fates of unforgiven lowly fools
while youth may fly with green-winged birds
Gnarled-fingered hands present the Belts
of Heaven's Fire
as chosen martyr-boys dream on
of glory, for they will never age - when their blood pools
their souls will fly with green-winged birds
High above lofty minarets there is a throne
Throne of the Unforgiving God
hungry for lives of infidels and lowly fools:
lovers of liberal gods and
c. Sara L. Russell) Dec. '96
They didn't know the man with the balding head,
eyes down-turned, umbrella lifted high,
or of his books, unpublished and unread,
in the drawer where sleeping rejects lie,
They didn't know the woman with sad blue eyes,
mulling over chances lost and gone,
or the couple having one of their "last tries"
to salvage love, instead of moving on,
They didn't know the children, walking to school,
their junior pecking-order, their silly jokes,
or the sixth-formers, who "skived off", playing pool,
drinking under-age, exchanging smokes,
They didn't know Ajun from the paper shop,
or Jane over the road, or her friend May -
they only knew where they would make the drop
of the car bomb that would blow them all away.