Midnight in the Garden of Necessary Evil

By Richard Sloane

The 50+ poems amid these pages span such an incredible array of subjects as to nearly defy description. From main-stream topics like fear, dreams, frustration and love, to adult material that will offend the delicate sensibilities of many, Richard Sloane's debut will most assuredly shock little old ladies straight into a coma with his vulgar confessions, taboo hilarity and his own custom genre, 'vigilante horror'. Using numerous rhyming schemes, thematic patterns and perspectives gives this compilation a unique flair that helps break new ground in prose form alongside the introduction of the "Shadowman", the author's morally ambiguous criminal split personality. With unyielding dry humor and eloquent sarcasm providing a rich contrast to the more traditional verses, this collection offers something for everyone. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Sloane
• Release date: Oct 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201288006

Book preview

Chapter 1 - Cerebral, Emotional & Inspiring

America, the Beautiful

American made, American slaves,

this cell is what America gave.

An American monkey rides our back on display,

riding us down to an American grave.

American trucks, American bucks,

is all that is sought by American sluts.

Trump’s words are like shit from an American butt;

a middle finger salute for an American fuck.

American speed, American greed;

on these things, Americans feed.

Instead of the patriot Americans need,

our best Americans continue to bleed.

America’s cryin’, America’s dyin’;

an American dream we’re no longer buyin’.

Keep your excuses, there’s no use in tryin’,

and don’t take our guns or lead’ll be flyin’.

America sells, America Hell!

Liberty isn’t just an American bell;

we gave it all up for an American cell;

avarice is why America fell.

Something to See

Through an aperture I glimpse this world,

indifferent to my missing presence;

I witness its breezes render flags unfurled,

though I’m denied the simplest pleasance.

Impervious and secure, the fenestration remains,

allowing no entry or escape;

it isn’t designed like other windowpanes,

but constricts sight with its minuscule shape.

A form of punishment is this meager view,

taken through glass so scratched and fogged,

are scenes that some can’t bid adieu,

no matter how many days are logged.

Looking outside for anything new,

like blades of grass or butterflies,

we regularly fail to take issue

with reflections overlooked by our eyes.

Often, we ignore our mirrored visage

and the possible metaphors therein;

our saddened gaze pleads for a mirage

to distract us from the maudlin.

Despite how near the outside seems,

that freedom is just beyond our reach;

even after observing, aided by sunbeams,

these damned windows, we cannot breach.

Yet, there is much more to behold

than what we only see from within,

for such portals, though not solid gold,

have a value with no margin.

From BOTH sides, things can be spied

and insight can be gained

at openings dispersed far and wide,

in places unknown and famed.

Many similar gateways, though, are merely allegories,

bringing to mind Windows to the Soul,

where shy glances can tell entire stories

amid reflections that can make us whole.

Collision Course

Marching along in single file,

trudging on, mile after mile;

one after another, these travelers grow sore,

because they know what lies in store.

They must fight ‘til the battle’s won,

and only then will their job be done,

a little closer, now they are,

but they have only come so far.

Urged on by duty as its own reward,

these men are all of one accord;

for it’s a war they must engage

before they can ever turn the page.

Their trek is long, with hills so steep,

and all the way there’s been no sleep;

the weaker of the men may one day fall,

if they make it to the fight at all.

Pushing on through fatigue and pain,

these men slog steadily down the lane;

none will turn back or ever surrender,

or their cowardice they’ll always remember.

Strong adept warriors are now drawing near,

while their enemies noisily quake in fear;

arriving on site in trained formation,

battle lines are formed without hesitation.

Weapons are drawn and vanguards deploy,

wielding myriad hardware of metal alloy;

when the combat has finally subsided,

still, there’ll be two sides divided.

Transparent

Venturing out in public,

I’m in the Twilight Zone;

no one seems to see me

or hear my worried tone.

How am I so invisible,

even in this crowded bustle?

Not a single person has problems

seeing through my bone and muscle.

A horrible joke, this cannot