Paper bomb

If we could read all the love letters

the poetry projected over the years

the ink would form the night

the words stars

the sun our intention to love

Would rise every time we wrote the words

the sky and birds

would scream we are alive

I would use the paper and poems we wrote

to drop from the sky

letters and prayers from us to god

to breach the void between us

The elation of creation

within our United Nations.

Undead poetry

whispers of poems in every generation

long forgotten

bodies may decay and become rotten

But the words hang in the cold fresh autumnal air.

The undead poet from their grave may save

humanity still

it’s a battle of wills

selling poetry at bookshop tills.

softness and grace left in memories of one’s who knew them the most

although it’s his words live on like ghosts

a gnarled wizard staff

summons the poets craft

summoning words and stanzas

and questions rhymes and answers

Pulling them from sleepy faded ink

to relive times and make us think…

A manual for being human

Exit womb

enter hospital room

feed of your mums breast

grow big and strong

play and learn

have an active imagination

listen to the voice that guides you

and makes the most sense

write your story present tense

find beauty in what you like to do

it’s that simple

Make your smile into dimples

don’t focus on looks

it’s your soul being tempered

by life’s fires

give it what it wants

you can change the narrative even if it’s the font

remember people love you even if life gets in the way

be a compassionate friend to yourself first