Nostalgic
About being lovesick
That treacle poured, sticky toffee pud-sick
A poker hand that ends up in a golden band
And even when the cards are flipped
The hand you’re dealt, you would stick
No matter how much wealth was stripped
You’d maintain the tightest of grips
Because it’s a good fit.
And in time that initial arousal
Becomes a loving house; full.
Boatswain or Bosun?
Both sons of oceans,
flags and masts,
packed bags
and
chequered pasts.
WHAT. SAY. YOU.
As Jolly Roger flies –
skull and cross bones
and hallowed eyes
for the lost, the loners.
Putting the onus
on a prophetic prize
that’s –
to be a Pirate;
swashbuckled but
never broken.
SIGN. YOUR. LIFE. AWAY.
X marks the spot.
All hands on deck
me hearties, me hearties.
AYE. AYE. CAPTAIN.
Crossed t and i’d dot.
Here’s to self respect
on nautical safari.
I’d rather be a Pirate
than a pen pushing slave.
Never clock-in or get fired
by the crest of a wave.
HOIST. THE. MAINSAIL.
I’d sing a sea shanty
from morning to night.
Watch ocean foam
romance glee
in bountiful
candle light.
EARL. Y. IN. THE. MORNING.
So, Ahoy matey!
Don’t walk the plank.
Send Long John Silver
me thanks.
I’ll swab the deck and
grow my beard long
and hair lank.
Sail the seven seas over
so shiver me timbers
‘til peg leg,
parrot and
scallywag
have sank.
DEAD. MEN. TELL. NO. TALES.
That’s the life for me
treasure troves of free-
dom. Far away from lock and key;
roving on the highest seas.
Argh, to be a Pirate,
a buccaneering riot.
No more hypocrisy
from government or tyrant…
CLEAVE. THEM. TO. THE. BRISKET.
But it’s all a dream
and I wake to no change but the climate.
After realisation is gleaned
in my attempts to scream
all that comes forth is a
sigh and
then…
Quiet.
ON. TO. DAVY. JONES’. LOCKER.
What matters the most to you shouldn’t be able to be experienced from your bodily senses. It should come from deep within your inner most depths and be intangible. Far away from the noise of this world and way into the realms of the impossible.
Transforming physical possession and perception into transcendental prosperity.
Despite the wonders of our minds and their ability to perceive so many things, we are taught in a blinkered, binary, positive/negative fashion from a very young age – good/bad, right/wrong, happy/sad.
But, we are all of these things at all times throughout our lives. Think about it;
An evil man can make a just law.
A good man can follow an unjust cause.
Both could be the same man;
of a different sort,
on different days too
and in different lives.
So, before you judge; pause.
Remember;
A journey’s map isn’t always to hand.
True wisdom is always food for thought.
Ignorance within your mind betrays you.
And, your everlasting infinite soul survives…
Always.
Your very existence is an impossible journey and, yet, here you are…
Life is the swelling sea, your mind is the swinging ship and your soul is the ripple of every wave which laps up against both life and mind, sea and ship, on a voyage to the impossible.
In this;
beguiled reality
avarice makes mincemeat of charity
and conceit fucks vanity.
The sick and the needy
die at the hands of the greedy.
Death by hate filled hearts;
scolding via network
scaffolding.
All the while, living in
wholly
indecent matrimony;
wedded by insanity.
“History always repeats itself.
History always repeats itself.”
A war of roses; red and white
without their heads
soon lost sight.
And stem of green then realised;
roses without petals
aren’t needed
nor recognised.
Angry is the blood.
Broken is the bone.
Nothing good can come from
a world wide webbed
throne
where lies are spun from.
And when all is said and done
it seems even odd to; think?
Before your actions
become
the difference between warring factions
and your essence becomes
on the brink
of existing.
Is this;
existence masquerading as extinct?
Or is this,
really;
extinction pretending
to be
in the pink?
Short memories that forsake us
are noxious gas, that pervade us.
They make Masochists of the Sadist –
you’ve beaten yourselves without invaders.
Asylum, refuge, economic migration – those aren’t invasions
or an excuse to hate Africans or Asians.
Your eyes aren’t on the real enemies prize or pages
that have STRIPPED AWAY your HUMAN RIGHTS.
How courageous? No longer able
to protest or demonstrate against governmental changes?
Now, are we; Robin Red Breast
cage-d?
Or Robin Hood expatriated?
Now, every law Power vies to make is
intended to monetise and break us,
manipulate the mush it makes us;
fodder for the rich and famous.
In those jaws – we learn – how greed
is made by profiteering freaks,
who gnarl and gnash their hungry teeth,
fill their stomachs with you, me
– their egos –
and the emptiness they preach.
They prey
on the timid and the weak.
We pray for
a tomorrow that isn’t bleak.
It’s hard to turn the other cheek –
when they’re already swollen, bruised;
and apologétique.
Sucked upon by humungous fucking leeches
until the echo of, ‘Once more unto the breach!!’,
becomes impossible to teach.
A hollow sound.
After all, it’s, “Just another speech.”
“If you can’t beat them join them.”
As a thought – has me – recoiling,
because you can’t actually join in
or even pretend you’re enjoying
¿living?
– surviving is more fitting –
when the whole system’s poison.
Now, we are; Robin Red Breast
cage-d
and Robin Hood expatriated.
What was once our bright and illustrious future – fated
is now a brand called;
‘Faded’,
Founded by
CorporateGreed.co.uk
a.k.a.
Apathy Incorporated ©
Arrogance of present answers
on past tech and advances,
history’s cerebral romances
laid in the dirt asleep,
by far frog-leaped;
and also out-enhanced us.
Commonplace it justly saddens –
common faces become assassins.
As Julius imbibed Manhattans
the death-toll sparked egregious.
The space in between us
became
chasms;
intercontinental planetary spasms.
It all matters; dark and light.
It all matters; wrong or right.
What’s the matter?
Bhagavad Gita? Quoting chapters?
Nuclear war hindsight…
Science, not before but after;
made sure of atomic plight.
You are birth, life and death;
in a universal breath.
An infinite respirator
expressed;
by heavy traffic – stars and planets.
A cosmos complete yet
bereft.
When the eyes are opened
By Pineal once closed
A cerebral token
Of belief takes hold.
When their mouth’s deceitful
Don’t eat from chaos’ hand
Keep your diet peaceful
So that your mind expands.
When the scent overpowers
To cover their tracks
Be aware that some flowers
Set deadly traps.
When your hearing’s confused
Locked down in a prism
Paint thoughts colourful hues
Canvass yourself and listen.
And if you’re feeling out of touch
Take a moment to remember;
Our light burns out
by smothering clutch
And there is no fire
without an ember.
Your mind is the pen.
It’s razor sharp. It’s poignant. It’s a tipped point dipped in poison and from it the words which you write inside your mind stain every nerve with sorrow and despair.
Your body is the paper.
Paper which is cut from the original tree that all knowledge and sense first grew from. From deepest root to budding leaf the cursed, bubbling venom courses through each bodily cell and ruptures and dissolves all that is decent and good.
This is depression.
A poisoned note.
A note which throughout your life becomes volumes of lethargy, melancholy and pain.
And, a note from which you discover the true reality of existence.
And, to think, without this note, would you have ever truly existed at all?
For, it is better to have felt that poisoned ink blemish your body and mind than to have left a blank note.
Your note defines you.
Your note is one worth sharing because we are all noteworthy.
The greatest gift you will ever have is to have written a poisoned note so long and live to tell the tale.
Gules, argent and azure;
Is it really worth fighting for?
A folded flag on your coffin door;
Is it really worth dying for?
If you took the troops & civilians
Who were murdered by war
They’d measure in millions
They rest in peace?! Or at all?!
Cause the peaces don’t match
And the peace is a puzzle
War’s an itch you can’t scratch
A rabid dog you can’t muzzle
They’re inextricably linked
Dead civilian, dead soldier
Both should be extinct
But grow older and older
And younger and younger
There’s no ageism in bloodshed
But the greedy warmonger
Sees £ signs coloured blood-red
War is a game of power
99 percent of us lose in
Don’t choose graveside flowers
Cannon fodder’s not for chews-ing
Gules, argent and azure;
Is it really worth fighting for?
A folded flag on your coffin door;
Is it really worth dying for?
That thawing within the heart
From the hearth of humanity;
Oozing compassion…
Has all but stopped. Can we start
Again? Make sense of this insanity?
Rediscover. Our thoughts & losses.
Instead of perpetually
Using distraction;
In a game of noughts & crosses
Forever played ineffectually.
Make amends with our essence
Without bitterness or shame.
Fusing-futile-factions
Recuperate. Via moral convalescence.
And, make freedom of the tame.
We’ve lost sight of our own being.
Pride cements our eyes wide shut.
Abusive are our actions…
Always looking and never seeing
When the truth lies under foot.
poorman'sdreams 