They don’t need to wage warfare
When you war within
Everyday battles you cannot win
poetry
You Shooting Stars
Feeling hopeless and helpless
Left alone feeling selfless
Aren’t reasons to feel
That your life doesn’t help us.
‘Cause you matter so much
And your matter is such
That nobody can take it
In their own selfish clutch.
When the time comes you’ll know
Just like arrow and bow
That you were meant to shoot
To the stars – ever glow,
You may live to suffer
And if it gets all the tougher
Then please just remember
Together we grow.
Don’t let go.
Death & Taxes
Death and taxes
are for certain –
you spend your life
for the final curtain.
So, what does it matter –
what is the point?
Tiny feet?
The pitter patter?
Success? Career?
Trophy wife?
Or, is there more
than meets the eye?
Burnt candle wax is
time passed by.
And passers by
you learn their faces
on commutes
littered with
sojourned strangers.
Just like the streets
you learn to tread,
learn to steer clear
of some instead.
A forever question
of take and give
of peace and war
of love and hate
of is there more?
Wipe the slate.
Clean the floor.
Swallow a hard pill
for indigestion.
Make your mind
up what you want!
They cannot find
the knowledge fount.
When all is said
and all is done,
when blue is red
and cruel is kind,
you’ll search the times
⁃ a memorial quest
and smile sublime
(once taxed to death)
at not need or want
fulfilled at behest.
But, of those you loved
and those who loved
loving you the best.
Sky Hironies
The chief benefactor of a hospital
raced to save the sick.
They found a new cure using horse DNA
and he said he would pay
but gambled his livelihood and lost it all
to the House made from Carrot and Stick.
A woman who was jilted at the altar
sought to get her retribution.
She ran him down, ran him over
at the docks down in Dover –
now without a fiancé to catapulter,
she’ll run rings round her caged institution.
A fat-cat turned politician
never kept promises only his riches.
He prayed for the big catch,
the day before the big match
and fell from Grace; his boat, while fishing.
Now, he’s a fat-cat nibbled at by the fishes.
Under Covers
It just might
be undercover;
human dust-mites.
Disapproving mother
makes
forbidden lovers
play more like animals
in the heat
under their collars.
Our symbiotic
shapes
feeling – just right.
The feeling smothers
you uptight
– breathing in –
water fountains and lakes
within bed covers.
Horizontally upright.
No bearing grudges
or bearing down upon
the breaks
when the love’s right.
There’s no trust like
it with anyone
else or any others;
this is our
glorious mistake
and this is what
love
really looks like.
We are always
shining bright together,
shining love’s light.
Even into old age,
our last chapter
and our
intertwined fates
remain forever…
We were right
to be undercover;
even after…
human dust-bites.
Human Traffic
Those heavy, haughty, heady lights
Of glass and metal, red and white
Reaching hedonistic heady heights?
Going everywhere but nowhere fast
Going almost always steady, right?
Human traffic to the very last.
Inner city lost and found
Emperor’s no longer gowned
His smile has been bought by frowns
Took a vow no longer sacred
Impeached, disgraced, de-crowned
Returned to soured sender; naked.
Ask that coarse concrete cocoon
“Why is now always too soon?”
Gasped out under crescent moon
Asthma ridden apparition
Let go cele-brat-ion balloon
Burst your bubbled premonition.
Satanic mill lies derelict
Social housing? That’s for heretics.
Look what we’ve inherited!!
Show your neck and wrap the noose
From gallows sprung by rhetoric
10PM displays The News;
A righteous killing of the truth enemy.
Complexities
An unspoken knowledge
speaks
from intergalactic colleges
wreaks
havoc in your inner sanctum.
Would
it matter if you ever thanked some
unknowing entity –
baffled by complexity?
Could
you find the words to comprehend?
Intelligence
that’s beyond the curve and bend
of
space and time and hate and
love.
Ideas of immaculate protection
prophylactic by conception.
Mysteries of universes that expand
can never be grasped by the hand.
For, if they were to be held –
our complexities – like broken shells
would be uncovered in a grain of sand.
Sifting and shifting – beats the drum of time
expanding and expounding – a celestial rhyme,
“What does become
has been departed,
The cycle ends
just where it started…”
Aye, Aye Captain
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.
A Voyage to the Impossible.
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.
Pink.
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?
poorman'sdreams 