Tag Archives: storytelling
In every woman’s face I see her face
In every woman’s face I see her face
and her many ages
In magazine covers
I see her in my minds eye with her lovers
I wanted to be hers
but that train was missed
and its engine purrs as it moves further and further away.
no more to be brighten my day
I am just observer
a poet a writer
Looking for her in everyone woman
I want her to be free and loved
but I miss her like a lost glove needs a hand
I don’t know wether anyone understands
Her smile lights up any room
her absence sets up my gloom.
There’s a monster in my toy box narrated
Please give it a view or two or more maybe even four.
https://www.blurb.co.uk/b/12483736-there-s-a-monster-in-my-toy-box
This poet
This poet isn’t meat and bones
He feels like cold stone
this poet lacks confidence
Walls collapse and collide
with his speech
with wounds you can only teach
hurt
This poet tells ugly truths
with minimal evidence or proof
he holds it like business card in his heart
life unfolds like a shopping cart
til tart solutions
This poet feels full
his heart holds his universe
it’s his curse
All poems tell a tale
dripping ink
Bleeding from the quill
I can’t even imagine life without those words
but like birds
they have flown
To a new throne
cold and alone…
Reality folds
Reality folds
like cold magic
origami of sorts
we play games with people like they are sports
our retorts
litter more than plastic
we get sick
sicker than we are laid in our casket
What happened to the child
in our hearts
We are nothing more than happy shoppers with shopping carts
This reality is an exchange of ideas of money of time
but we can’t see beyond the lines
that take control
take our minds our bodies our souls
we tell our selves they are words
but we aren’t even as free as the birds
which fly free in the sky
we are the prophecies
with our opportunities
we our the sickness we accumulate
we are the best and the worst
the sanguine curses
Hell which lives with hope
but hope is a bird that lives in a cage
singing in its hopeful rage…
Misunderstood
Sometimes I want to be understood
but I know people look at me like dead wood
They might think I am stand offish
that I don’t belong in an office
That I am unsociable
or just plain weird
Someone to be feared
I have walked the corridors in mental institutions
I am reminded that most truths are illusions
that there aren’t many solutions
in this life
and trauma are the wounds that often get reopened by people
who aren’t evil
but are ignorant
and every where people are playing games to gain attention
that’s where identity survives
But I am in the minority because I won’t fit in the racket
of this life’s corrupt core
I barely survive grasping at straws
every day a war
to be heard amongst the shouting words of others
I stand with the misfits
I stand with the misfits
All the ones from broken homes
the ones who are single and left alone
the ones deemed special
and yet not treated as treasure
I stand with the poets and artists observers of life
Picking muses that will never be there wives or partners
I am disheartened
But I will stand with those that give and never receive
those who believe
that giving their hearts and time is important
and worth their reason and rhyme
and weight of time
there’s a special kind of heaven awaiting these people who need healing
I like to believe
May they find their Elysium fields
where they will be met
without any painful regrets
Would you create if no one cared?
Lonely people
Only people
with hidden sparks of divinity
looking into the mirror
getting shivers
and quivers
Looking for love but love doesn’t deliver
another endeavour
feat of the gods
the odds
and ends of messages
we send
The revolving door
of lives
when will hope truly arrive
karma
another charmer
but a bell chimes
and it alarms us
we are living fast food lives
Our souls the only thing
that isn’t disposable
water hoses us down
but we can’t get to the deep
conversations
we permanently seek to leave words
of comfort even if they are lies
and we surrounded by people
with mole like eyes.
Forever lonely only children