Dreaming worlds that never were (spoken word poem)

Silence traps daydreams

energy burns

the multi verses yearn

worlds that never were

outstretch themselves in time

The universes machine purrs

and her soul pines

for her lover to set her free

she creates doors for just one key

she speaks through us all

just to speak to me

I seek answers but love is the only answer we need

but in this daydream my healed hand bleeds

and sometimes hurts

she is my reason my soul

I am the messenger of the monad the mind of heaven

the hour is late the end is all ready here

it’s time to let go of all our childish fear.

The history of words

Words have a history

it’s not a mystery

If you do the research

from racist toys

for girls and boys

we have to respect

words have a history

and so do objects

so please have some respect

and acknowledge the implications

we all want to be loved above stereotypes

and life is cannot be lived in present only;

history matters

and leaves us sometimes in tatters

words will often leave us broken

hurting us more than sticks and stones

and broken bones.

The devil on a cross

The whisper of a shadow song

Morning star no glory

just a story

I am just lived backwards

hidden track words

scars like lines across paper

can I save her?

I am not what you think

drinking from a cup of agony

no God can save me

but death won’t enslave me

I am midnight verse

nails won’t surrender to my skin

the truth they told you the lies worn thin.

In the cupboard of lost purposeful poetry

In the yellowed worn out dusty pages

the poetry that had a purpose is not lost

no matter how much the ideas cost

In this cupboard space

like the recesses of my minds eye

Ideas on the page never die

the reader if they thumbed through my poetry

would likely gain a paper cut or two

red ink another happening

mapping the page

the poetic wars we wage

on this desperate stage

between poet and reader

In this cupboard hidden away

will these poems ever see the light of day

like the dead poet lost in time

his reasons and rhymes

still unearth histories

and mysteries of life and of the earth

from birth to the finish

these ideas won’t diminish!

Maybe behind the library rooms and shelves

the poet unpublished poet finds themselves

and their voice

And these poems and half finished ideas

give a voice to voiceless after all these years

will be found and treasured and made into books

that people will treasure read and look

after finding this lost cupboard.

Those who shout the loudest get heard

Those who shout the loudest get heard

Their over inflated words

Squawking like birds

While the wise doubt themselves

books unwritten not sold on shop shelves

I once said that life was made up critics,

Well wishers and such

Life is becoming too much

Your golden platitudes no ones crutch

I cannot eat your words

Drink your well wished prayers

I only appreciate actions

they are my only distraction…

Love in the midst of pain

In the midst of pain

lies love

that shields us

it sustains our hopes and dreams

it doesn’t silence sadness

but let’s us open up

we all drink from a cup of love

even if sometimes feels

like it’s a small fairy cup

we won’t give up our longing

for people and places

faces that smile warmth

even in the darkest of stories

love shines through

it gives us happiness sometimes

and gives us unwavering faith to keep going

the seed of our growth

bitterness and hatred

aren’t the abating of love

they are merely the twisted distortions

of love

and if we understood that

we would once again understand

that love can save us all just reach out your hand.

I realised my truth

Sitting in the darkness of my nan’s cupboard under the stairs talking to god

an odd little boy

Who wanted his dreams to matter

Who wanted them to be true

I needed love but I need my beliefs to be real too.

my life’s foundations aren’t love as they ought to be

but wanting to have a special relationship with the creating force or spiritual entity

or maybe to be special or chosen myself

I am the monster who daydreamed blue skies

but when the light in my eyes dies

who will I be?

the man with tears in his eyes for all he let go

the man with tears in his eyes because he never got to let his heart show

someone that they mattered above all

my heart was always a shield or a wall.,,

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.

Real Men

Real men

Real men know about issues

real men are not afraid to wipe tears with tissues

real men support their partners

real men are in touch with their emotions and mental health

real men strive to succeed

real men live to love and love to live

and they forgive

they have ambitions

and plan with precision

it is their mission

to protect, and nurture their family and friends

real men treat people with respect and know the message it sends.