Book of shadows

Magic can be drawn from

the spaces under your bed

where there are night and shadows

there’s magic instead

like the stars that burn

dark energy forms

we are the universe born

scribbled chaos in ink

sinking into depths of imagination

and sensations

magic that is a promise

yet to be made

An obsidian blade

that protects us from harm

cuts through curses and dark arms

unseen

we need the shadows as much as the stars

for contrast is what we are.

There’s a cat made of light on my window

There is a cat made of light

On my window

watch them sun glow

sometimes they wake me up in the morning

There’s sometimes a cat made of shadow

it hides from the rain

and my worrying mind’s brain

There is a cat made of stars

blinking and meowing

purring and scratching

latching onto the window with its claws

There is a white cat it’ll find me death

it’s name it’s Azrael

and when it’s on my shoulder

I will walk into the life beyond skin

and never get any older.

Pestilence

I am a prison of puppets

muppets who can’t free themselves

Supermarket shelves bare

I am cursed

empty pursed.

lips dry and empty

swept under the Carpet of artificial grass

I can’t be arsed

freedom is too hard a task

I am can’t save myself

for all grasping

rearrange the letters in my name

it spells denial

I can smile

but happiness won’t change a thing

I can’t stop dreaming

scheming

a way out of dread

but pestilence fills my head…

Voiceless child

I was wild and free once upon a time

a child with time and rhymes

but my parents can’t listen

just thought of me being bad

curbing my behaviour

they couldn’t be my saviours

I went quiet wanting to start a riot

It could have gone two different ways

but life strays on to one path

the aftermath of which

made me a background poet

my poetry is the ink I bleed

from wounds I don’t need

My parents need me to be their counsellor

but I can’t

I just can’t…

cycles can be broken

when loves awoken

but sometimes I want to fight back

to see the crack

of light through the walls.

Waking up

Waking up on a cold brown leather sofa

Not knowing who I am

a man and women ask me how I am?

I ask them if they have any children?

they say no

then a child comes in from the voids light

it’s her birthday

she says I will never drive as knight rider plays on tv

then she asks for a sister and two appear

more birthday girls although one older and one younger

Years on I went to that house

a girl not the same one says something terrible happened here to you

because of you

I hear it in the whispers on the telephone

I see visions of the man being arrested

how did I get home?

memories fragmented

this waking dream won’t relent

I am prevented from seeing what happened

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…