The Emergency Poet

The feel of the pen

on the paper

the poet grabs a verse.

the dripping of morphine

the flow of endorphins

flow of electronic lines

across the monitor

let’s hope we don’t flatline

this mere mortal

needs a portal to the stars

this mere mortal needs

defibrillation to the heart

the way the poetry forms

in the lungs and the mind

the way life needs beauty

is sometimes unkind

I am the blood transfusion

the illusion

of poems

bells chime

Electrons flow

Radioactive X-rays know

Poetry opens doors

I am the emergency poet

I will take flight

in flames

never shall I be tamed

But I will make that heart beat

and get you out of your seat

And on the road to recovery

and discovery

Because poetry heals

and steals back our songs

what could go wrong?

Politician

Spinning

Winning rhetoric

when the masses are losing

make your money on the side

as worlds collide

you have no answers

A gamer a chancer

playing backgammon

a dragon

of a bygone age

waging war

against the poor

and disabled

corporations own your soul

sponsored by …

do you believe your own lies

Media tycoon

your ego more inflated than a hot air

balloon

a lying silver spooned goon.

The heart felt home

The warmth of a fire

in a welcoming home.

The way the words settled I was not alone,

time spent with friends

the tying of loose ends

and memories made in all seasons

reasons why we made this place is home

the love and friendship I was shown

whether playing board games with others

or just laying and chilling out under bed covers

we made this our home

and we feel safe and respected

with freedom to roam.

Orpheus

Orpheus

A beautiful poet singing beautiful poetry

oh no…

lost your wife

went to hades with your life

made king hades and Persephone shed a tear

and let you in

Resolved to rescue your beautiful dead wife

but you would fail

When you turned back she fled back into hade’s shades

destroyed by love

destroyed by love and loss

pray to the sky that you will meet her again

but love is just beautiful blood stain

and what we are is merely blood, fire and dust and a soul.

Exceptional

In the days when the exception they say

doesn’t need correction.

we are all creative

but some have it beaten out of us

at some stage

the war the exceptional person rages

is either to have their words heard

or to keep their creative side alive

and not have it brutalised or strangled

an Angel or messenger of light

has to fight to maintain their angle of light

and their perspective and sight.

In this aching

In this aching

waking dream we live in

I love you is hardest thing to mean

I wait,

but waiting has no solace

my heart I polish for you

but will the stains wash out?

I won’t doubt you are worth it.

Reaching me through the void

and shadows

I cried out to you when they held me down

In the A and E ward I told them who you were

But like big cats don’t always purr

you are something to be worshipped

glorified and feared

If perfect love has no fear

it is love that has been realised

and actualised

I wait in the shadows

dancing in the dark

love is the flames not just the spark

to light my way…