Trying to connect
The phone is off the hook
the book has never been opened
it’s pages have been written to cause a word storm
she has been trying to connect
gain your love, respect and attention
her words lost through the airwaves
and echoes in caves
the love that saves you is always the wisest
through generations
and faces she’s been calling through the crowd
her cries,
to reveal the truth through lies
but he loses the plot
through the pain of sadness the madness in his soul…
When the ink drys up
And the writer words go missing
who’s going to talk about the two lovers kissing
in songs and poetry
who’s going to write the sonnets the verses
who’s going to tell tales that are fully immersive
ancient lands of fiction
A thriller that’s addictive
when the ink dries
will we find
the stories in our own time…
This poem was written from the prompt of a Japanese proverb
That we all have three masks
One to the world
One to friends family
One when we are alone
This is one I wear when I am alone
Angry and aggressive
for justice and justification
in this suffocation
In this isolation.
Powerful, beautiful and strong
Among no one
I bleed the some of my cause
and all my flaws
But angel or demon I open doors
locked
Gun cocked
and ready to fire
Let’s go to the wire
and win
I escape into the mask within
that I do not show
I grow into a man with wings
to fly on the winds
of change
I rearrange
The strange flow of my words
the poet grasps at the meaning
he’s dreaming…
I look to myself for management
like a football team
who’s fans scream for their cup dream
I am in the depths of relegation instead
fans dreams are dead.
I fight disturbed sleep
waking up from bad dreams
screaming booing my own game
and the shame of losing
I am bruising
going into battle like a worn out team of veteran players
I am in need of better management and encouragement and prayers
not a self talk that swears
schizophrenia and autism a toxic mix
and sometimes I cannot help but feel like a dick
another penalty going against me
I withdraw to the stands
the best laid plans
of a team with high hopes and dreams
but I keep screwing up my own team.
I am too inconsistent
Middle table in the conference is too high an expectation
when I meet my friends like fans they don’t understand
and give me a frosty reception.
Give me back my dreams
of being a winning football team
putting four past the opposition
That’s my metaphor and my disposition.
We all have it in us to bear a curse
that is worse than playing the victim
You used to be beautiful
now your lips are cold
and full of venom
behind your fangs
are the same hunger pangs
Braided hair now shakes with snakes
which bite and hiss
you used to be a temptress
now you turn people to stone
they leave you all alone
Beautiful woman savage with revenge,
avenge
what was taken away
the sky burns red
what was taken
Can never be given back
your tail snakes a hypnotic rhythm
Beautiful cataclysm
I turn to stone just another victim
In your eyes…
I seem to live at the borders of your life
I don’t have a passport to visit your country
I live at your borders
we both know people and have mutual friends
but we both know love doesn’t hide in your heart for me
it’s protected by metaphorical dogs security guards walls and gates
I would love to see you but we never worked
I wish you well
time will tell
if my decisions were correct
I still pray for you and respect your decisions
you have a family and a bright burning life
I live alone and have no wife
or children
I live in the land of could have been
but with all I have seen
this life passes by like a dream
and all our plans and schemes
can fail
and we flounder in the dark
where we lose our spark
but love is a door without a key
to me.
Strength unbowed
Savaged by words
but unbowed
and unbroken
I wish I wasn’t bothered
I wish I didn’t care
courage is sometimes acknowledging our fear
using it to drive us on
the art of leaning on adrenaline
sometimes I rattle the cage
the only war I wage is to be heard
above the caterwauling cattle
who prattle on.
but sometimes I know we all need to be heard
so I go silent for days
the only words are prayers
so strength is adaption
and love is peace
feast upon silence
don’t turn it into violence
fight for yourself because no one else will
it’s a bitter pill
that makes me depressed and ill
but I will fight until I can no more
because life is flawed
and we stand alone
Heavens our home
It was at the start
before our hearts
got jaded
My body may fade
but words are sharp as the day they were uttered
may you live a life without the clutter
of weak words.
Mr bluesman
Strum those chords
croon that tune
Mr bluesman
you understand the blues
even if in life you didn’t choose
to live those sad times
Life chimes
some times it burns out
like a bouncing fag end
sometimes you can’t pretend
that it’ll work out for the better
we write those letters
those songs
for it’s this life that sometimes goes wrong.
Mr bluesman
play your songs
in pubs and in high street bars
look to the stars
be inspired by your scars
this life plays the blues
just like you
so play your chords
with your fingers
love doesn’t linger
but it burns
all the way down like strong neat whiskey
It’s intoxicating
mr bluesman
sing with confidence and conviction
Singing songs is your addiction.
The heartaches when I am in my home
pretending people are with me
my heart is a icy block a sullen stone
Sometimes in solitudes den
I pretend that I am free when
I am on my own
I am just recovering from life’s traumas
Sometimes I pretend I am jesus in a tomb
in my living room
waiting to roll away the stone
and be free with people who love me
but often people talk over my ideas
and conversation
I know I am alone
but with the voice in my head I never truly am
life is painful but I know I am!
alive and fighting wrestling with life’s gaping questions
and although people won’t agree with me
I am the marks the footprints I have left
I am the ideas that crept into your head from a poem I wrote years ago
my life is art
and it drives my heart
but like paper sometimes I am lost in the bin
of life
sometimes in mundane drudgery we find that life is unkind
but it’s the only one I have…
He sells himself and his soul
for money to the highest bidder
His soul has long since withered
Tells people he believes in god
but believes in the pound and the crown
his love is only a noun
a name for something that lives underground.
He’s a politician
He only cares about money
and his power and authority
he’s in the minority
because he’s rich
Poor people are just opportunities
to him
just tools to use to win
this rat race
which he believes he’s risen above
no love
enters his heart
life is insane and it rips people apart.
This life is inverted dark becomes light
light becomes dark
we’ve lost our spark.
The psychopaths logic runs this world
the devils a lie the popes calling from hell
the president has a direct line
stars align.
We are fated to fall
no one can stand tall
When we follow the system
or we are apathetic
Part of a pathetic resistance
every where we look a false story
told as if we are ordinary
It’s scary.
We are god there is no separation
but power and money are forces of corruption
there is so much disruption.
This life is inverted
As above so below
the good are bad
the happy are sad
the rich are poor
the intelligent are dumb
psychiatric wards are full of story tellers and poets
they know the truth no one else can grow it
we preach to the cracks in the pavement no hearts can grow
grow your own
hide in your home alone
be the change you want to see
or be drowned in a sea
of denial.
which of us can smile
when people in Gaza die?
We have lost our humanity
Life inverted,
upside down
the only people who lead us are clowns
Last laugh
Psychopaths.