Under a sign of neon loneliness

Under a sign of neon loneliness

We are all drifting

shifting uncertainty.

If you don’t say what you mean clearly

it falls apart!

Like the shifting sands of a man’s heart.

I love yous repeated like rhetorical questions

a quest never to be won

a word we lean upon

but who really knows what it means

we can only dream

of being narcissistic kings or Queens

with enough love for ourselves

the magazines sit on the shop shelves

Do they dream of being read?

Loneliness the killer of lives

love the flip side of the coin

but they join…

They call me the bravest man in the world

but I just want to be held

and kept in her cage

admired at her whim.

We are gathered here today

We are gathered here today

To bear witness

to pray for the best of ourselves

we buried

so we could fill our food shelves

and work jobs we hate

but not abbreviate

our own sadness

madness caves us in

we are lost

in depraved cravings

as another migrants ship sinks

where is our humanity

we are on the brink

of degrading and hating our own species

or has that ship sailed on its own sea of faeces

I don’t know so say a prayer

for the people we could have been

if life wasn’t so mean

and we hadn’t of adopted

and been co-opted

into ideologies of hate

as we masterbate

over our own tribal race

and forget that we supposed to love every face.

Love music and wealth

In the space that moves in our hearts

in the words that rule them

a fools language called love

sent to quell.

A heart is made in heaven

doused in the lustful flames of hell

In the dawn the morning star

in the night sky the sun

if you chose the right beat

we’d all be one!

but the drumbeat has a silence

and an off beat out of kilter vibe

The scribe is not a musician

but he is at least alive

the changing of the patterns

the flow of electrons

introspection of personality

the tonal chords of brains with clarity

We dance to words without reasons

we give chords bass and beats flow

the movements we know grow into routines

routines that we form and sow

We drift into daydreams

sing of far off lands we yet to visit

and we gather the images we envisage

We look for our dreams

and measure them in gold

and diamonds sold

yet they are our wealth even in cold

wintery days where love is the only language

it maybe a fools language

but that’s all we have

don’t let our innocence be nabbed.

Honesty

People don’t want truth

delusions and illusions

are more loved

more accepted

more respected

Honesty, a fools game

people douse you in shame

a repulsive mix

stick and stones

may break my bones

but words will dethrone

a king from his own throne

and people will turn away

and leave him alone

the mirror of truth is always distorted

we want to keep it that way

we aren’t objective

we want to be respected

but our public relations feed on Facebook

would bleed away if ever we showed who really are

Our fragility and our fragile ego

Break like a dropped model of Lego.

It’s all in your head

It’s all in your head

the schizophrenia

the uncertainty

behind the curtains of your mind

to be special,

to be magic is to be tragic

to be alone

than one of your drones

is your superhero ability or curse

left in the storm of denial

we are all crazy here

with broken smiles

token, broken people

who believe in science and logic

So pluck your theories from the air

and prove you care

you make the meaning

even if your dreaming

It’s all in your head

so drive yourself mad

and stand alone

even the devils throne

is not comfortable but it’s home

The erosion of empathy

You play hero I will play villain

though shades of grey exist and the truth not always willing

to rear it’s ugly head

filled with the expectation of being cancelled

and being heard

or Amber Heard

is different from being adept

or Johnny Depp.

we are divided down many lines and labels

and what we are being told merely a fable

when we can’t take it with a pinch of salt

and we halt

and can’t show a sign of empathy

How did life and judgement get so unjust

and all cards we hold are bust

because we no longer care just lust over celebrities

while our empathy is eroded and no treaty

or thought police AI can save us

from not understanding the people we see before us.

Is anything really new anyway?

Beat box

Sounds the same

dubstep bass sound gains

the themes of songs will they run out

recycled like words of revolution

films and their titles

characters and dance recitals

books and villains

psychosis and chilling vendettas

is anything really new?

colours and musical spectrums

songs on the radio, a selection

the human condition and reality

dragging out themes

daydreams scream

they generate our generations dreams

can we be different

can we be new

can ideas be lost

can they grow inside of you?

You look at me with eyes that don’t remember

In your eyes the tragic reminder

that memories fade

into the void

and get destroyed

I loved you more than my heart conveyed

though time is a blade

it cuts out the good and bad

memories or leaves scars

the stars that aligned

now fate has mined

and we with left separated when we should have been entwined.

A National scandal

A National scandal

that’s hard to handle

Eton boys

with powerful people used as toys

the ploys

of system

billionaires with their terror wrists write cheques

disabled people die with no respect

media moguls cry wolf

when they are predators

preying on our petty fears

making us cry fetish tears

we are the children who have no power

soured by the failing democracy

an autocratic dictatorial government

of hypocrisy

who no longer view as people

an evil view of us as merely slaves

to a system

which will make us redundant

which AI and robots will make abundantly clear

through a narrow lens.

The Emergency Poet

The feel of the pen

on the paper

the poet grabs a verse.

the dripping of morphine

the flow of endorphins

flow of electronic lines

across the monitor

let’s hope we don’t flatline

this mere mortal

needs a portal to the stars

this mere mortal needs

defibrillation to the heart

the way the poetry forms

in the lungs and the mind

the way life needs beauty

is sometimes unkind

I am the blood transfusion

the illusion

of poems

bells chime

Electrons flow

Radioactive X-rays know

Poetry opens doors

I am the emergency poet

I will take flight

in flames

never shall I be tamed

But I will make that heart beat

and get you out of your seat

And on the road to recovery

and discovery

Because poetry heals

and steals back our songs

what could go wrong?