Dincara's Lair

Welcome to Dincaras Lair,

If you have browsed throughout our site, you would have no doubt encountered some poems along the way.

They have been randomly selected from the collections below and published within the site.

This poetry was written for many purposes, the main one being therapy to let the demons out. Other reasons would be of course love. Love for everything and everyone.

Below, is a randomly selected poem from our collations.

Every day we will pick a random collection and add a button to view it in it's entirity. Some have been put into their correct order, others are a shamble.

This is to keep everyone honest, and means you have to come back tomorrow and see what's on the slab.

Today, being the 19th of October 2019

We have chosen




Days of Memory


The final astral mission,
To be in limbo for two years.
Is to complete the transition,
As already have my peers.

Like a moth to candlelight,
Images we attract,
Unaware of their flight,
Into our subconsciences are trapped.

To conquer this shell
In which we do arrive,
The controls are hell
And it's hard to drive.

To keep it upright,
Balance is the trick;
Like a newborn chick in flight,
The takeoff isn't that quick.

At first, it's hard alright,
But soon, it will be fun
To see faces of delight
As a father catches his son.


White Coats and Blue Dresses

They wheeled me through the automatic doors,
Then down the passages to casualty.
There were white coats walking briskly,
And blue dresses parading quite casually.

Everything was so clinically white.
Whiter than the moon on a summers night.
The cleanliness had an overpowering odour,
Sending my nostrils into a dance of fright.

They placed me upon a high rise bed,
Scrutinising my injuries and open sores.
I was surprised with my injuries myself,
I looked like I had seen a few wars.

If ever my heart was to ache with desire,
It'll be memories of the caring nurses.
Their manner and touch touched me deeply,
Even when my cries were full of curses.

I was near on a plaster factory,
One broken leg and one fractured arm.
A few lacerations and a couple of bruises,
But all in all lucky that I came to no greater harm.

Blue Light Man asked me who I was,
So I told him that I was Kildren.
A different kind of smile crossed his face,
That's when he informed me about the missing children.

He said that some of us were runaways,
While sometimes we were flights of fancy.
Others were misfortunate victims of crime,
But I was caught up in some wild fantasy.

Paradise Contradiction

Calling Inspiration

The sky was ablaze out toward the west,
The darkness creeping slowly from the east.
Stars were appearing casually one by one,
Like pinholes pricked by an unseen beast.

Night sounds of a chaotic orchestra,
Music of insects and my idle machine.
Drifting off into thoughts and solace,
Hoping to see things as of yet unseen.

Trees stand in dark foreboding shadows,
Serving as memories of a time not gone long.
When powers were constantly standing over us;
Watching over our deeds both right and wrong.

The shadows lift every once in a while,
As the moon appears from behind a black cloud.
Shedding knowledge upon those unknowing:
Individuals standing out amongst a gathered crowd.

The trees lose their overbearing presence,
No longer are they ominous and frightening.
There is a new wave spreading amongst the people,
Both illuminating and quite enlightening.

One world in it’s sky, land, and sea;
Is a thought with emotion running through the deep.
Surely this is not an impossible undertaking,
When there’s nothing left to do but to sleep.
Originally written in the year of 1993


Where's the Wall

Where's the wall I'm trying to find,
So I can drive these thoughts from my mind.
To receive it's pleasure I need the wall,
Then I can see what I'm searching for.

The body craves for it's addictive damage,
Yet the soul creates a new way to manage.
Although the wall is hard and cold to the touch,
The body still desires it's violence too much.

The head becomes numb from the bashing,
Images smashing their way through the crashing.
We continue to stagger through until, thud!
Recognition has the sweet taste of warm blood.

I found the wall I've been searching for,
Why wasn't it there when I looked before.
But the wall is too high as you can see,
That there's nothing of what used to be me.

Serenades to a Priceless Princess

Wounded in Action

A tremor;
The heart has been moved,
From bliss to blunder,
Love to anger,
The heart has been moved.

A tear;
Falls along the canals,
Coming to rest upon the heart,
Where it hits and tears at,
What is left of right or wrong.

A moment of anger;
Sets it's course through the veins,
Ripping at the heart once more,
No reasons for it's actions,
Just an unending "never wrong" thought.

An apology;
Although not needed,
Is sent forward at haste,
Only to be crushed on impact,
With a cold yet shaken wall.

The remnants;
Of the apology are returned,
To the heart from which it was sent,
Suffering from an unknown confusion,
It ages and dies that little bit.


Title to Song

Oh I do recall my first, real, memory,
At the age of three, what a man stood in front of me.
Three fingers on his left hand was all he had,
And it made me sad.
But it made me glad,
To shake his hand;
“Shake hands with a gentleman” is what he said to me,
Beautiful memories of a child of three.

Out of the darkness comes, more, memories,
Through the house, out the back past the almond trees.
Three sheds stood like sentries, eyes had no tears,
Brewing beer and fishing gear,
Wood turnings there and here,
Then he took my hand;
“Shake hands with a gentleman” is what he said to me,
Beautiful memories of a child of three.

As I travel through life’s, strange, mysteries,
The path I walk, is shaped by what was behind those trees.
The Man, the sheds, his beliefs, his abilities,
For there was no lock,
For which he had no keys.
I took his frail hand,
“Shake hands with a gentleman” is what I said to him,
Beautiful memories of a man of twenty three.

The Garden

He Calls Me Sloth

The Master, he calls me Sloth,
He, he and everyone thinks that I'm dumb.
That is not at all true, it's a lie,
I'm intelligent, and what's more, I'm handsome.

The Master is very mean to me,
I mean to say, I am quite hairy;
Plus there is the advantage of not being legless.
But what he does to me is scary.

He tells me that I need a rest,
That I should cut down on a few things.
Anyway, I get myself a silk blanket,
An when I wake up, he's gone and given me wings.

My body needs the warmth of light;
The Master plays more tricks than anyone.
While I'm not looking, in the right direction,
He makes the warm light, as hot as the sun.