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.

War on myself (reverse poem try number 2)

In the war on myself

Its my dreams that matter

compassion is a choice

I choose to believe or is it that a lie?

In my 30 years or so of life has always been a battle

But my dreams matter

and that “Once upon a time” is a land where my heart exists

But unless I grasp at my ideals I will never reveal

What people think of me

I do love me

In the future I will still take myself to task

It will be clear that I may fail

only fools presume I don’t have the strength to go on.

NOW READ BOTTOM TO TOP.

There are no Hollywood endings

I am sending you my hopes and prayers

but I swear there will be no Hollywood endings

I am sending you my dreams and aspirations

born of perspiration

and tears

But there are no fairy tales here.

Set sail for distant lands

But it’s all just dust and sand

I know there is magic I heard it on the freezing breeze

in the coughs of old men

but life can’t give you a happy ending

you have to find it yourself

and accept it for what it is…

Authors of the great myth

Given the gift

of sight

we fight and wrestle

nestling

in escapism

but it’s a prison.

she is out there

Sophia the goddess of wisdom

she spoke to me when I was 7

now I am nearly 37

I hear her voice

like yin and yang

Speaking her words to me

Am I just hearing things?

Is my mind just broken and in a sling?

Or am I just another author with a gift?

The shadow behind the sword

In the words we say, a shadow longer than midday sun is cast

Beyond the grave the sword that saves us from the axe

Beyond the taxes and tax collectors in this country vast

though we are but mortals

the books we read our portals

to lives we’ve never lead

our blood runs thick and red.

The shadow behind the sword

is the words we said sincerely

they are the nearly

meant songs of another world

A parallel world when utopia was cast

into years that lasted.

My guide

My guide

I know you won’t believe me.

I know you probably won’t see things from my point of view

I know your heart is beating faster than freight train

but I am you.

As the universe divides and fragments

I can see things that were meant and never meant

that were and never were

in your eyes,

the dreaming of starry skies

the Sunday morning rainbows

the sun that glows

the words permeating your story’s pages with ink

the way we sunk and sink

into grasping the everlasting

you by no means are not a failure

you are the sea the ship I sail on and yeah

I know it’s a sea of salty tears

blown by the winds of love and overblown fears

but you are my guide

a force I cannot hide

as I take my strides

you are my power of three

and my truth I long to see.