Tag Archives: personal
Grumpa spoken word poem about a grumpy grandpa
Trying to save the girl in the fire
Angels are just messengers
I know the world cries out for a saviour
I have been fighting for good behaviour
in amongst demons and nay sayers
no one heralded me
no angels,no wise men and shepherds
every woman whispered “am I your Sophia?”
I carried it as a riddle
god was on the fiddle
They said I was the escape artist
of this life
this prison
a schizophrenic
but they didn’t know I was brave enough to think beyond
that stereotype
I know I am right
delusion sometimes is the only solution
love the illusion of separation
everywhere everyone is in chains
just fighting for scraps
a poet kept under raps
and speeches
I fight to teach
I just want to save the girl in the fire 🔥
but it could go to the wire.
The poem I want my loved one to hear
You are more radiant than the sun
my words lean upon
you like gravity pushes us down
but in those sounds
are the meanings that ground
my very existence
and life
if anything relates to you
it tends to send me into a dreaming state
Scheming late
to win you at all costs
in this game of life
which trees survive frosts
to bear fruit
like actions
you are more than a distraction
you are my everything
and yet I keep coming back
and I am taken
my heart is awakened not bored
I live aboard your wishes
which dance like dandelion seeds
on the wind
I love you I love you I love you lots.
Welfare cuts
A poverty trap
now a map
for the after life
If there is even one
work work work
in this god forsaken land
until you drop down dead
Because the retirement age has gone up
drink from a cup of black coffee
If you can afford it
cut back your life
until you’re a skeleton on the doll
lose your independence until your just a ghost of a soul
Go to the dentist get fleeced
be told to live within your means
and be told your disabled and unclean
til all of humanity are hard and mean
and there’s no kindness in this world
in any boy or girl
we live in a vicious Victorianesque country
where productivity and making more billions and billionaires is the only reason for living
and poverty is unforgiving
As we eat the scraps and take the meds
of a capitalist world view
that doesn’t care about anything but making more profit.
In the beginning there was Mind
In the beginning
There’s was mind
then there were thoughts
written in time
We were twin flames
I was your first word
you are my soul
I come from you
as we all do
Soul spirit and happenings
became time
you Alice Sophia holiest of spirits
are my reason and rhyme
thoughts and souls entwined
We are one torn in two
I love you more than you think I do
I want to take you home
where we can roam free
But the fire waits for you and me
One last test to be free…
Facing Mortality
Facing Mortality
Facing dreary days
Death is a book read
the ending said outloud
I might have 20 good years left
schizophrenics die sooner than Neurotypicals
I believe our consciousness lives on
after this skin fails
A skeleton flails in the dark gasping for air in its lungs
while its soul breaks free
of the old carcass or chrysalis
in a way I have been searching for a exit
no need to hex it
let’s go
this life a daydreaming visage
a stage we barge through
Without any dialogue
only what we choose
My circumstances bruise
what can life do but promise a lot
then end
I love you all message click send
Ode to baked beans
I used to eat baked beans as a child
I found comfort in their tomatoey taste mild
I used to dip in my chips and fish fingers
as a sauce to tickle my tongue and linger on
now I have them with a cheesy baked potato
or mix in some chilli powder
the taste still comforts me I am not much of a chef but I am prouder
of my efforts when the beans taste different or better than their original taste
I try not to waste
any of the beans
I remember my friend eating them cold
but I wasn’t impressed or sold
on this idea
I think they need to be at least warm
I suppose they are still edible my friends way
but maybe in habits we cannot stray
even though our tastes may change
I like to think I am not that strange!
Don’t believe the hype?
Don’t believe the hype
it’s all tripe
I fight to be heard
with powerful words
but sometimes I fall short
a butterfly caught
in agonising self expression
another session
of writing does it yield results?
heart felt words
and worlds I have built
love and blood I have spilt
my flowers wilt
I try to water and nourish them
but they break at the stem
but I need them
I am my confidence
my ego defined
yet I mine
for excellence
for written talent
But I fall
sometimes short
another poet who’s caught in the block
a rock stopping my river from flowing
I live in knowing that I want to be a success
and in this I can never rest.
The Throwaway poet
A Throwaway poet
With throwaway poems
trying to sow seeds of change
to rearrange
Your thoughts and life
My rhymes are tight
but like paper I recycle ideas
put them in new ways
to pave the roads to futures unseen
where we can dream
I am a poet put my poetry in the bin
read once but change within
come back and memorise my verse.
I am the vessel for my pen
even when
you can’t see me I am philosophising
comprising
of revolutionary action
but maybe I am too much of a distraction
to make you do any action
or you are too distracted
with your contract
your job
To bother with Dan
I am just a man
who thinks he can write poetry
so throw my digital poems in your recycling bin
and letter the paper burn
or compost
I am you and all you have lost
I am the pages
the war you wage
from this desperate stage
In this level of the game
you can throw me away but you will know my name.