Random happenings of words
onto the blank page
or screen
do we have enough energy to dream?
I love the clarity of your words
the charity of sounds
that surround us
I wish I could trust
my own heart
But it bleeds like ink
onto the page
I am reading the poems of my own rage
the twisting beauty
of poet trees
is the tree of life too far
to guide us to who we are
Strength unbowed
Savaged by words
but unbowed
and unbroken
I wish I wasn’t bothered
I wish I didn’t care
courage is sometimes acknowledging our fear
using it to drive us on
the art of leaning on adrenaline
sometimes I rattle the cage
the only war I wage is to be heard
above the caterwauling cattle
who prattle on.
but sometimes I know we all need to be heard
so I go silent for days
the only words are prayers
so strength is adaption
and love is peace
feast upon silence
don’t turn it into violence
fight for yourself because no one else will
it’s a bitter pill
that makes me depressed and ill
but I will fight until I can no more
because life is flawed
and we stand alone
Heavens our home
It was at the start
before our hearts
got jaded
My body may fade
but words are sharp as the day they were uttered
may you live a life without the clutter
of weak words.
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.
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 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 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.
If poets continue to circulate their work after death what does an undead poet look and sound like?
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…
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.