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.

To die at sixteen

All your dreams never started

dearly departed

That’s how I felt

Kneeling on a hospital floor praying to you

to save my life

you are my goddess of wisdom

my teeth going rotten

like the dreams I had as a child

it’s heart wrenching

my parents said my psychosis

was a bereavement

the life intended, lost

I had to be mended there would be a cost

goddess of the universe, girl with many faces

I have been through a war with myself

but my mental health

is the thing I can never get back

but sometimes their are cracks of light through the wall

I know the goddess understands us all.

Andover ash tree stream

Andover means ash tree stream

The ash tree was said to be the tree of life

we are born from its ashes.

Andover ash trees

Rising from the Ash trees

we are the dust

from those trees

the first man and woman rose from the ashes

maybe we were born in the fires

of dead worlds

every boy and every girl

are Phoenix souls

The colours that bleed into one

The rainbow becomes white light

All we love we long for and fight with

pages torn, we try to forgive

and live on.

The anger we once held

falls away in the cold light of day

We preach to the pavements

that people walk on,

they point the way

chalk quotations written on and on

can’t you tell?

Love is the only sanity

the only truth we lean upon.

Hope bends like a trees branches

but the light on the river still dances

we flow like water

whether sons or daughters

we catch the light that’s brought us here

pigeon toed we may walk

The road the pavement goes on

Serenaded by destiny’s song

we are the children of the roads

we walk.

But for every rainbow

There is a price

living each day as it comes

and fighting to not be numb

but when all is said done

We are our shades

the river water the blades of grass

heaven has always been here no need to ask

grab my hand feel it’s warmth

in the chill cold air

I know you care

when you clasp my hand in yours

I know life the great teacher will settle the scores

and for all it’s flaws

it still has the power to open jaws.

The narcissist trap

I stare at my phone screen

dreaming, scheming

I need constant attention

what a wonderful invention

I need likes and comments

I can write sonnets

to myself

in my Instagram posts

I can puff my chest and boast

but all my dreams are toast

I am narcissus staring at my reflection

on further inspection

I only love myself

and this phone is an extension of me

I shouldn’t choose to die

but this life is self absorbed lie.

Just thoughts

Thoughts

Thoughts should fill my mind

but I am blind.

my words just hot air

and my tears just water

I sink beneath the autumn leaves

I am just caught here.

my sentiments just cliches

my ideas yesterday views

the true artists leave me

they pick apart my clues

My brain just wreckage

my poems just spoken

all thats left of me is shopping carts

and Tesco’s tokens

My wages are benefits

My unemployed gains

I am picking apart the drains

for my blood stains

everything I do

I haven’t even got a clue…

Her gardner’s hands

Time may pick her locks

moths eat her frocks

and her splendid looks may fade

but she will still hold my heart

like the spark of her voice

hangs like an echo in the Everglades

in Elysium fields her flowers grow

Only the roses know

the gardeners hands

we nurture the voice we want to hear

even if it is the one we fear

we grow all of what we know

I loved her so

but I was fearful of losing

the ghost of her out of my head.

For if I lose her voices dulcet tone

I will be truly left alone…

End of Era

Records and tapes

times that were great

when mobile phones didn’t exist

or were brick like

we went on hikes

long walks

football games in the park

until it got dark

we played board games

and weren’t board

hero quest and chess

Droughts snakes and ladders were the best

Rubiks cubes

Ice pop tubes

frozen lollies

going to the beach

with a brolly

being active roly polys

watching 4 TV channels

going to grans who always had the radio on

feeding the ducks and swans

with my Mum

Dad taught to ride a bike

without stabilisers

play fighting with siblings what could go wrong?

feeling invincibly strong

and a feeling of hope

the future wouldn’t be a joke

and it was the end of era

a 80s child a 90s young man

somethings you have to experience to understand.