Waiting for the girl in the fire

I have tried to keep my promises

I have tried to keep my vows

I have tried to keep my actions

I have tried to keep my course locked on you

I have held your voice in my head

when will it be my turn to save you instead

you the woman in the flames

on a throne of white light

I am desperate to fight

for the right to hold you in my arms

When will we speak with tongues unguarded

by the rules they have written

we all mean something to one another

Sisters and brothers

you are the word of love in my mouth

the song in my heart

you are the mornings light

the birds dancing mid flight

You told me you’d need me in the future

The flames descend from the sky

I am you and you are me

Yin and yang’s everlasting embrace

I know our soul cannot just die.

Ancestor’s song

These ashes

this dust,

this earth

from where I emerged

this rain

this pain

the blood surges

in my veins

these hands outstretched towards the sky

could be branches of trees

life is better taught when it dances

to music

through bodies through knees

whether we can hear the music or not

we dance to the tunes of our ancestors

their dreams beat in our chests

and bless our minds and souls

sometimes I think their ghosts watch on

or are reincarnated into our songs.

The writer

The clatter of screams
as vulnerable as a photo in time of the ill
looking inward to madness for the pill
looking for scape goats
to coat our sadness in grief
the way out temperature of relief
we are the haunted hungry ghosts
from an island mentality
caught in avarice like animality
the bleeding hearts couldn’t hold back their pack instincts
the writer keeps his thoughts succinct
but the light is where we are all linked
Hope must shine a light to scare the darkness away
we need the goddess to shine her rays
Wisdom is in the creation myth
but lies can’t paint the truth
the artist doesn’t need proof
the scientist his heart speaks louder than the rhythm in his chest
The door way answers the key with a rest.

Tether

A tether

not made of leather

binds us together

electric second sight

an angel wings sings of flight

you have a halo you can’t see

though it burns in my eyes

I spy, it weighs you down

but it makes you beautiful it’s your crown

dutifully fighting for what’s right

Our minds collide and I see into void

between us

but it’s our souls entwined

yours and mine

That make bells chime

stars align

signs I swallow

but I will follow your words Sophia

Goddess of wisdom

light of the soul

you understand my darkness

and my light

I see your face inside my mind.

The damned wait for another day

The damned wait for another day

to bleed all their cares away

we use hope like a light to brighten our path

but the only aftermath is frustration

we rise with the morning sun

ink our phrases on to paper

or write them on peoples Facebook walls

with our psycho babbling scrawl

we wait for the day we feel good

we should seize it all

the bad days and good if only we could

accept life’s miracles and teaching

I could be preaching

to the damned

but all I am

is a soul

burning out of control

like a seraphim

an angel watching in the dark

my soul giving off its divine spark.

Rat

Scurrying this way and that
avoiding the hierarchy of the fat cats
Dirty and free with no real responsibility
there can be no art without chaos
another example of pathos
or happiness
Flip the coin
The sides join
the anagram of rat is art
wouldn’t you like to rip apart
Civilisation and start anew
I turned into a rat my fur grew and grew
my tail burst I shrank and shrank
into dark spaces
surrounded by little faces
In this wasteland world
my appetite for chaos uncurled.

“On Painting Rats, and the Glorification of Them. They exist without permission. They are hated, hunted and persecuted. They live in quiet desperation amongst the filth. And yet they are capable of bringing entire civilizations to their knees. If you are dirty, insignificant, and unloved then rats are the ultimate role model.”
― Banksy, Wall and Piece

Strange child blues

I used to talk to god in the dark wilds of my grans cupboard under the stairs

I used to walk around the playground looking for friends just getting blank glares

I used to think god was a man but it’s probably a goddess I was looking for

I used to think I had the key to heavens door,

I broke into her house looking to talk some more

I used to want to be last messenger of god but the girl with many faces needs someone else

I have walked through the white corridors of mental asylums

I have been a child trying to find her

She left me clues

this is the haunted man once a strange child blues.

The ghost child of the man in the asylum

In side the beaten white walls of an mental institution

where people go to be uprooted from their delusions

Sat a man his hand outstretched as if holding hands with the dark

No spark to light his way, only the tragic marks his way

he used to play childish games by himself

look they say where is his mental health?

has it left him altogether why does his play childish games

he would call a name on the wind

for the child he lost unbeknown to them

Tilly or Matilda the ghost of a child of six

who he held in his arms before he was sick

she swallowed her tongue in an epileptic fit

but before then were eye spy and guessing games

before then were pin the tale on the donkey and blind mans buff

I guess we are all in a way sheltering memories like ghosts

In the places in the heart we hide

which we can never move away from no matter how we stride

or how many steps we take

life is sometimes an evil fate.