And I wonder…
Would death have to live
And take have to give
For us to think of eachother
From a different perspective ?
poetry
Untactful sackful
Attempted humour
Shot from the hip
Becomes invading tumour
On foreign lips.
Advertising slogan
Narrow minded in sense
Is war-hungry Shogun
Commanding offence.
Facebook status or Tweet
Made without thinking
Reds your face, hands and feet
By indelible inking.
The Butterfly
Her smile
Tells a story of it’s own
With a laugh that’s loud and wild
She belongs atop a throne.
I often
Am awestruck by her presence
Creativity and kindness
Intellect and effervescence.
Sometimes
I go frolicking in memories
Her fragments of felicity
Help to vanquish mental enemies.
Bursting
From the cocoon of childhood
I’m reminded – the direction of a
Butterfly
Isn’t always understood.
Uncried teardrops
Time won’t wait it just stands still
What you saved they tried to kill
Feel the pain inside you build
A hollow cave you’ll never fill.
Solace ceases and sorrow starts
Tension teases and tears apart
Frustrated feelings play in the dark
Faith beleaguered leaves mental marks.
Hours fly by can you feel them clock
Surprise at another year lost?
Shame dries and fear mops
Those uncried teardrops.
Fragments of living
Loss
Leaves the winners of the world
Staring deep into the abyss
Wondering where it all went wrong.
Grief
Waits in the wings of your subconscious
A curtain call captivating your entire being
A soliloquy your soul will never forget.
Hope
Is the flicker on the horizon
Of a sunrise which will warm your bones
After a night spent in the icy depths of despair.
Time
Will never fully heal your wounds of anguish
But will give you enough scars
For you to remember the bittersweet nature of life…
…that life is precious and a gift. A gift we should unwrap with care.
That a myriad of emotive experiences; pain and heartache intertwined with joy and love, are in fact, life itself.
Bean Sí
The wailing woman on the Cliffs of Moher
Alarms the locals at Liscannor
Why does she whine so whistfully for?
As the clock strikes, twenty three : fifty four
Fifteen eighty eight supplies the answer
For the neverending necromancer
As the Spanish fleet, wrecked. Disaster
And souls lost at sea can never answer
With cracked complexion Bean Sí keens
As the bay is filled with her selfish screams
Cliff and ocean survey the scenes
For sailors souls and desperate dreams
Her fate is one of a living dread
As red hair shrieks from her raucous head
To outlive the land and ocean-bed
Without mortal coil to make her dead.
Pain
If everything happens for a reason
And life is written in the stars
From the changing of the seasons
To the red eyed glance from Mars
Why don’t we learn from the mistakes?
Why is the pain always fresh?
Why do we go through the heartache
And still demand a pound of flesh?
It’s true in time you realise
It’s all a grand facade, my friend
The facts you learn are built on lies
And your pain it never ends.
Seeing sense
“Blinded by the fights”
Joked the Boxer.
Using the title of a song by The Streets,
As a pun – charming,
To make light of his newly diagnosed
Ocular injury.
And as his friends laughed,
He sighed,
Eyebrows resembling a bowing ring-rope.
He forced a
Bell-like false chuckle and thought
Did it make sense?
Make sense to lose a sense?
Or even lose all sense eventually?
In order to be the best,
To be respected.
And inwardly spoke
The final score card…
“In your minds eye it all depends,
To you, on what makes sense.”
Education
You live and you learn
The world still turns
And life is an awful cliché
In a world torn asunder
It’s no mistake or wonder
That things have turned out this way
Get taught when your young
Watch your manners and tongue
Keep calm and don’t give in to rage
The plants of knowledge they grow
Means the less that we know
From the bias that poisons the Sage
It’s no surprise or mystery
Winners of wars write history
And are painted in favourable light
British Empire’s long gone
Belgian’s out of the Congo
But still hiding in plain sight
They infected Black Panthers
With colonial cancers
Uncover the government’s Klan
Its a fact not a prophecy
That government policy
Kills Black woman and man
Power drunk imbibes ignorance
Sucks the blood from it’s finger tips
The hegemonic hangover lingers
The children of Earth should inherit
A system based upon merit
And it’s what the future could bring us.
But instead it feels like sand slipping through fingers.
Black veil
Black Veil moves mournfully to cover Joy’s face
Joy dies inside as her little voice breaks
Stars scream for her. But no noise in space
Twinkle-less eyes signify destroyed faith
Black Veil surveys and silently speaks
While foreign tears listen on colourless cheeks
And sermon pours slowly; trickling bleak
Dampening spirits in the sorrow they seek.
Black Veil holds back Joy’s fear of woe
Stands guard at Joy’s forehead, Joy’s chin and Joy’s nose
Stiff upper lip quivers. Quelled from below
Joy’s mind aches and suffers full of grief to let go.
Black Veil at home is put back in his box
Until the next time opportunity knocks
In darkness he waits and it’s Death that he mocks
Whispering, “Omnes una manet nox.”
poorman'sdreams 