Undead poetry

whispers of poems in every generation

long forgotten

bodies may decay and become rotten

But the words hang in the cold fresh autumnal air.

The undead poet from their grave may save

humanity still

it’s a battle of wills

selling poetry at bookshop tills.

softness and grace left in memories of one’s who knew them the most

although it’s his words live on like ghosts

a gnarled wizard staff

summons the poets craft

summoning words and stanzas

and questions rhymes and answers

Pulling them from sleepy faded ink

to relive times and make us think…

Schizophrenia

This dreaming is dark

But I won’t lose my spark

sanity is a perspective

I don’t stand for the collective

the curtains I sit behind are walls

the fractured voice of someone I love calls

and tells me she hates and berates me

in the darkness of my mind

her unkindness

blinds me.

Binds me to the certainty that life is unfair

will it ever be repaired?

The stigma attached to me lies

the fire in my heart won’t die

and maybe I enlightened or frightened

of this form

since I was a daydreamer, after I was born

the storm of intrusive thoughts

the delusions in which I am caught

and I will argue that the stories I tell myself are yours too

you just aren’t boogie man blue

You think we are different

I am just medicated and irreverent

to this constructed reality

which you think is concrete

but where angels fear to tread I won’t retreat..,

Deep in a forest of fake news

Deep in A forest of fake news

Where headline games are people’s views

where pandemics become plandemics

where anti Vaxxers avoid vaccinations

and billionaires avoid taxation.

The forest of fake news

didn’t just spring up

watered by raining lies

governed by media moguls

and Facebook spies

Google and the internet shows us what we want to see

inverted mirrors of reality

each showing trees

a forest for all

with no clarity

How do see the forest from the trees?

or the trees that are fake?

life is forest full of trees but they are increasingly on the make

or plastic

or diseased

or just tricks in our sight

digital trees born out of spite

then cut down into newspapers

there’s no one to save us

we want to see the truth

that wasn’t always hidden

but we’d rather see the fake that’s not guilt ridden.

Truth the tree of life is now overrun

No one can see it

It’s been over come

and in the dark all trees look the same

it’s you and I who are to blame

We allowed them to plant

there fake news trees

and lies and untruths are a disease.

Television Romance

In scripted dialogue
and camera click bait
is this our love story
or can heaven wait?
in the dreams of writers
will love be fore filled
if we become fighters
Will fate yield?
and will the type writer give us that happy ending
as the stage is set and then completed
Will we kiss and get married and die together or will we pretend
That love is merely written in our stars or will we have retreated
from that notion
that can be grown only come from a story we tell ourselves about each other
and that love and devotion
Is merely a set of complex conditions that come from one emotion.

The cycle

This cell becomes division
an idea a split a incision
a night and a day
Black and white
But in this division
We can see, we can envision
Identity pouring forth
The tiny flame
Of a name…

This tree becomes a seed
It moves it bleeds and breaks
a part of itself to move forward
and yet it is not how it started out
however it doesn’t lose it self to doubt
We branch out wards like this family tree

This fire becomes a spark
It lights another flame
Who could tell it from the fire
and yet it has its own desires

The human becomes a egg
Hatching catching its mothers eyes
One day it will be fully grown
Will it still feel the sting of being alone?

This ocean becomes a drop
A drop that drips from a leaf
A raindrop that settles on the ground
In the cycle of Gaia
Repeating on and on
We are not separate
We move on and on..

Sophia

In the midst of midnight air,
stood a man who didn’t care.
For he was a man who made world’s collide
and every bit of earth bore his stride.
He was the key, the door to realities thick, slick and uncertain
beyond realities curtains
however there was one thing he didn’t have and that was a wife
to free him from his darkness his strife.
He searched in coffee shops and in bars,
he looked for answers in the stars,
until he found his equal a woman beyond others,
Sophia the woman in the fire the object of his desire
her wisdom burned bright forged in fiery Stars of eternal unrest
with a beauty that cant be bested
but his love for her was yet untested.
She told him to win her heart he’d have to become mortal
and so would she for in mortality
you see there are lessons that can be learned.
Her heart burned for him so much in the transition
that it became a birth mark above her chest,
he would have to find her to pass the test.
However when they met for the first time
she had met him in a timeline before,
she warned him of tragedies of a life if he stood alone,
a king with a crown but an empty throne.
Although he hadn’t put it together
what she was meaning that without her he’d be dead
but his mind had a needle but not a thread
and although he had a good heart he was easily led
so at 16 he lost his mind.
Believing in heavenly things rather than science
which all people believed to be true.
Sectioned under the mental health act 1983
Seeing into the distant reality,
he saw a girl lost her mascara ran down her face,
she was a girl who had lost her place in the scheme of life’s dream,
her silence was a scream.
She told him things about his future but as he reached out for her she was taken away
for she was his Sophia and they both were going to pay,
for in making themselves mortal their only way out was to marry or love without doubt.
He had many doubts, that had found their way out and into his life.
While she was trying to save him through many lives lost,he was struggling with his own.
Returning home from the mental hospital he was told his life was a lie
he felt that the only way to heal was to cry
and cry he did amid his friends who lost patience with him in the end.
He could not pretend to be happy, everyday he looked for an answer to his unhappiness,
in fear there is no hope and he became broken.
One day though he was walking down the town he saw a girl she smiled it lit up his day.
So he asked her if it was ok to know her name?
She said it was Grace.
After chatting for awhile she said “you should have a coffee round my place”?
So he said “yes” and popped round there.
Soon after a few weeks he fell in love he felt like it was a answer from the gods of above
but soon doubts crept into his head whether he should settle down or find a career instead or first. He had made his life into a headache a curse
and much more complicated than it should be.
So he broke up with her, it felt like his spur to create the life he dreamed before it was too late.
So he had a car a house but no wife, no spouse.
Meanwhile he missed Grace missed her soft touch her face
after years of working hard, he found a woman crying in a builders yard,
he remembered who she was because of the birthmark above chest
and the smile to which she was blessed.
Grace now old and heartbroken she told him she had many lovers since him but none who could match.
He still loved her so they went to hers.
But that night electrics in the house caught fire there was a fault.
So they both awoke to the smell of burning with a jolt.
He tried to get her out but the place was full of smoke thick and dense.
Now a voice spoke “I am the fire your heart lies with me.
Do you choose to be with Grace and love her avidly or do you choose the path of fear,
to run away and leave her here with me”.
Realising that Grace had passed out,
he lifted her over shoulder as the fire began to get worse he got her out.
But he collapsed a heart attack ripped through his chest,
he died they laid his body to rest.
But as he walked through the white door of heaven .
There stood Grace as Sophia his wife.
Every time you doubted,I lost you,
you see, every time you ran I loved thee,
for you have passed the test.

Image by http://www.nicolecadet.com/goddess-gallery/

It’s an emergency

It’s an emergency
Crack out the poetry.

our hearts are dying
In the drizzle of a mundane day

We need to realise our moment is now
We need to realise poetry is inspiration

We just need to breathe in creativity
and expire the fire of art

Instead of shopping carts
We need words

Instead of paper and plastic sums
We need to take life by the horns

Free our minds
From the blinds of working like slaves

We need to follow our dreams
Our life is our movie

We choose how moved to be
Life is for the taking

Moving,shaking, making, breaking
Reforming, storming, forming, performing

Our art will be our movement
Always seeking improvement.

We are the stories

From the pen that scribbles an idea

To the man who battles fear

To the page that enlightens

To the book that frightens and amazes

From the publisher to the readership

To the peaceful revolution

To the great beyond 

To understanding ourselves better

Building bonds 

Enriching life the universe and the stars

We bear the fruit and the scars

Of a story…