Dogs

My dogs smiles at me; it loves me
I who had its balls cut out for my own convenience
I who leased it when it would roam free
Does its tailor made DNA even remember the forests,
The hunts and the packs it moved in
Meals torn from bone
As appose to a bowl full of pellets
My dog would die for me its captor
Of course it gets to sleep all day
And occasionally run on the beach
Or join me on a hike in the wild
Where something stirs in it
And its ears prick up
And its wet nose twitches
As it catches the scent of what it used to be

 

 

 

Stressed

We have forgotten our manners, all of them
Sure the door is open but there is no welcome
We greet only when greeted
And only out of habit
Without shaking hands or meeting eyes
Hugging seems out of the question
We are lost in our own worlds
Entire worlds where we are alone
With only our worries for company
When alone
It is easy to walked around the world many times
Around and around
Like a clown balance/walking on a big ball
Destined to fall

Why

Why must I should what I want to say?
Why must my life be lived your way?
Why must the poor live on their knees?
While the powers that be do as they please?

Still I will have my say
And live my way
Even if I do it alone
For none can sway
Try as they may
This voice I call my own

Jihad

No we will not forgive, we will never forgive
We will shun forgiveness
And doom our children to an endless war
As our ancestors did before us
And theirs did before them
Because we are angry
And find our anger justified by scripture
Religion offers us paradise in the next life
And hell in this one
Because that is how we want to see it

We read the scriptures with one eye closed

We are blind to the verses that speak of love
That speak of peace and brotherhood
We find no justification for our hatred in them so we don’t see them
Or when we do we say that they are only for our own
That only those who believe as we believe
Are worthy of love
Are worthy of the God that created all
We alone are special, we alone are chosen
Therefore it is alright for us to murder
And do what we condemn in others
The path to heaven is paved with blood
Paved with murder because we read the scripture
With one eye closed and one eye open
Seeing as holy any action that gives us vengeance
That lets us judge everyone but ourselves as if we are God

 

 

Lightning

Lightning sibling of thunder
Is your violence any wonder
Being born of the storm
In a flash you live and die
No wonder why
You crack the sky
But in that single frightful bound
So much power can be found

The dark clouds
From which you came
Gave you power all the same
Is that not what you are for
To be a light in the downpour
To electrify all those who see
Power wrought from adversity

Enough

How much do I need?

I suppose all of it would be enough

All of it here, all of it everywhere

Bring me all the fish in the ocean

All the birds in the sky

Bring me all the trees

And all the vegetation

Bring me all the soil

All the precious stones

Bring me all the rhinos

All the whales and dolphins

Bring me all the corral reefs

All the oil and rain forests

Bring me all the bees and flowers

All the elephants and tigers

Bring me all the mountain gorillas

Bring me the last of them

Bring me the skulls of children

To drink all the water from

Bring me your souls

In parcels of silence

Bring me this precious moment

In which you stand by watching

Bring me enough

To keep this extinction trail going

Littered with the bones of the future

Bring me everything

Until I have it all

Though it will never be enough

Cats

It is easy to see why Egyptians used to worship cats

Felines do after all think themselves gods

Or so it would seem

As they wait for doors to be opened for them

For food and drink to be laid at their feet

They don’t know distraction

When they are with you, they are all there

Their claws come out in love

Kneading your lap into a nest

And they purr like an engine running

They head-butt with pure affection

And they purr like an engine running

 

God’s Silence

If God knows he isn’t saying

Mum is the holy word

With blank pages for scripture

At least he’s a good listener

One must give him that

Millennia have passed

Without a single interruption

And we all know how we can carry on

Especially when in need

But what is the silence God answers by?

Have you ever put your ear to it?

Have you ever felt it beneath

The whirlwind of thoughts

Under which it rests

As steady as the Earth?

Could it be a blank slate?

Or the space stars are born into?

Could it be the understanding

That no matter how much I know

I know nothing

And therefore am wise?

This is my quiet time

Now I hear you

Now that I am no longer

Waiting for an answer

Now that I am content

To let it be

The Apocalypse

When is the world meant to end again?

I keep forgetting and don’t want to miss it

I am looking forward to the clouds of fire,

The meteor hail and mile high waves

Of course it only looks good from a distance

And there is bound to be a big fuss

One wonders why we have to have an apocalypse at all this year

The previous ones were all a disappointment

I suppose the doomsday enthusiasts need something to look forward to

A reason to build their fallout shelters and stockpile provisions

They will be crazy until the day it happens

Still the Mayans in their temples

Believed they saw it coming

When they mapped the future

The event guide for the past five thousand years

Maybe they just ran out of things to do

And called it a day

Stephen King vs Dean Koontz

King is the more literary of the two, while Koontz could well be the better entertainer. This can be demonstrated in how the two begin their novels. Koontz almost always starts with an action scene, while King likes to get things going at a more pedestrian pace.  Also most of Koontz’s books contain large helpings of suspense. King is more a straight forward horror writer. King does, however, on occasion stray from the supernatural with stories like Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption and Misery.

 

Koontz is easier to read; I tend to fly through his novels. King’s work being more literate requires more concentration. Make no mistake Koontz at his best is worthy of great literature but his books have more ups and downs. In every Koontz book there are one or two sections where I think he could have written better.

 

That said, King is more verbose.  One often finds him ranting on about things that have nothing to do with the story.  This is of course part of his charm. Nobody blathers on quite as amusingly as King. The man gives free reign to his imagination like no other writer I have read. Not so much in what is happening, though his stories are certainly relentlessly creative, but in how he presents his stories.  Check out Firestarter for an example of that.  Sometimes, though, he goes too far. In Bag of Bones, for instance, there were many sections where I wished he’d just get on with it.

 

Although both write a lot, Koontz is the more prolific. He has written over 100 novels and counting. King, however, is no slouch having penned 60 novels and eight anthologies to date.

 

According to Wikipedia Koontz has sold more books with a staggering 400 millions copies sold. King isn’t that far behind with 350 million.

 

When it comes to having their stories put into film King dominates with over 50 film adaptations of his stories having been made. To my knowledge only Shakespeare comes close with all of his 30 plays having been translated into film at some stage or another.  Koontz has had a respectable 10 movies based on his stories.

 

Both writers approach their stories from different angles. King is more of an external writer while Koontz is more internal. By that I mean Koontz goes deeper into the psychology of his characters; his villains in particular. King tends to deal with more material threats. There is always some monster lurking are the shadows in King’s book, while with Koontz it is more about the monsters lurking around within us.

 

That brings us to another question. Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the scariest of them all? Koontz truly knows how to spook, especially in books like The Taking and Winter Moon.  King certainly has a knack for bestowing the creeps as well, check out The Shinning and From a Buick Eight. King is, however, more macabre and less preachy. His work will take you to darker places and often without any hope of redemption.

 

Ultimately who wins with battle between these two colossal authors?  As you might have guessed my chips are on King. While both are truly awesome writers, old Stevie has more weapons in his arsenal. He has truly mastered this tricky craft of writing. To my mind he is a literary author who just happens to write horror. Had he chosen to write something other than horror or fantasy, I am sure his name would be alongside the greatest English writers.

 

Recommended works:

Dean Koontz

Watchers (Of the 15 Koontz’s books I have read to date, Watchers is the most well rounded)

Lightning

Midnight

The Taking

Winter Moon

Stephen King

The Shinning

Firestarter

From a Buick 8

Duma Key

Salem’s Lot

On writing (this non-fiction book lets you in on many of King’s writing secrets and is a darn good read)