In the middle of a picture of industries gates
sat a man who just waits
Unemployed from his 30s onwards
looking for an opportunity
in this life of lunacy
photographed as a sign of the times
this life is full of grime and thought crimes
have we stolen a moment
is there any atonement?
for the man who now sits on a corner
from the established systems in place
who like to hide from the despair on his face.
Without the pain of birth
nothing can happen.
And although you may grapple with darkness
light will always shine free
the truth will out eventually
it cannot be hidden
they buried it but it broke free
and blossomed into a tree
for all to see.
Do you think they will ever care?
the rich and powerful and the big banks
own us with their guns and tanks
will they care when we are gone?
they siphon our money through a straw
Just so they can get richer through the profits of war
on everyone including the poor and disabled
the immigrants and working class able
We are slaves to the rich in this so called Christian country
full of those who would spout forth
I speak of my discourse
but wasn’t it Jesus who said
that it is as difficult as a camel to go through the eye of a needle
as a rich person to go to heaven
the hour is getting late it’s way past quarter past eleven
Or is the doomsday clock wrong
we live on knife edge don’t tell us we are strong
In being poor
heaven can wait for our souls
we need to be cared for…
There are days when we toy with innocence
there are days when wear despair as our clothes
days when we truly open our eyes
days when we want to keep them closed.
Days when we have to restrain the pain from our hearts
and there are days when that pain departs.
Days when we feel loved in the morning when we wake
and days when we feel so far away from that love
that we just have to hold on and take the love we are given.
Days when we pretend to be free
and days when we really do hold the key
to doors unopened before.
Days when we feel we can take on the world
and days where we hide in the corner.
Days when we appreciate the flowers and fauna
when we see the beauty of a drop of dew on a rose
and see a new religion being formed
a new baby being born.
Days change what we think and who we are
days where we travel near and days we travel far
drink in the moments and savour the day
because its drifting away
and its all we have!
You cannot find a vending machine for love
you cannot pretend it’s real love
My heart is on fire
is it a liar?
is all love is smoke and mirrors
if so can I forgive her
I check my change
you are everything I desire
my hearts ablaze
but is this only a phase?
love maybe a chase
but not a vending machine case
I haven’t the money to give
to choose the love I need to live
you are a beautiful woman
but I will never have you or own your soul
at least Love is fair in that respect it’s not out of control
I can put my money into the machine
but I will never be your dream.
A man filled to the brim
with importance like a full pint
waiting to have his glass smashed
and the contents on the bar room floor
in a bar room brawl
or drunk or consumed
by time
I unlike have had my confidence dashed
my pint glass gone it’s contents drunk
I skulk in the background
I was only ever a lemonade man
in the shade never seen or scanned
by eyes
my life never pretty lies.
I remember my dad calling me a hobbledehoy
neither man or boy
teen ageing is hard
I became a wild card
bottling up my emotions and becoming unstable
I remember the good days and bad
But at sixteen
in my wild dreams
I broke down in sobs and screams
at eighteen
I was diagnosed schizophrenic
but I realise that madness is a pandemic
and most of us will flounder
in its sea of tears
You never see my pain
behind the cold rain
I hide them all the same
A so called weirdo
I don’t choose to be schizophrenic
it’s God’s epidemic
when the cave man called to the divine
when he spoke to the trees
as gods when he believed
did you think the ones who didn’t believe
tormented him yes they probably did
but without looking outside our shell
we can’t see heaven or hell
and if you don’t look science as well.
In Stories written
I am smitten by hero or heroin
Life is stranger that the art we stare in
fairy tale romances underneath the surface glances
uncovers a setting
But I am betting you couldn’t of picked a better villain from your library book
But look,
and you will see
that there is a reason behind
their evil mentality.
It starts with there parents story
as it recycles on
Unhappiness detachment from love
is a somber song
sometimes played from a harp.
We are not the people who we thought
we are the stories we tell ourselves
the book our character is the one we tell ourselves we ought to play
but in the light of day
and in the night time
we hold onto the person we’ve told ourselves
we are,
whether we are lion king
or scar
we are not the character written on our forehead by god or the stars
we are the character fashioned and shaped by life our parents and ourselves
But do you know we can change our fortunes by changing the way we think
about ourselves in our own head
by burying the past and leaving it for dead.
love Andover poem of the day false hope?
Poem and commentary around the idea of hope formed from a short poem I wrote about a bird singing while being trapped in hell.