27 Sep 2011
23 Sep 2011
THE HOTHOUSE KID.
You're daddys' big extention.
He'll love you when you're grown.
But knowledge is a dangerous thing
when your mind is not your own.
Run,run,run!Accumulate!
fills the family cash machine.
A life of carrot-chasing
No longer climbing ladders
like you did when you were young,
He'll love you when you're grown.
But knowledge is a dangerous thing
when your mind is not your own.
Run,run,run!Accumulate!
But this he never told you
when forcefed like a foie gras goose
and brainwashed like a soldier.
Pretentious and precocious,
peace of mind is just a dream.
Academic swaggerfills the family cash machine.
A plastic wife and palace,
with no one else above you.A life of carrot-chasing
and he never said he loved you.
like you did when you were young,
your bonsaied brain a child again
and daddy got it wrong.
Thank you for The Perfect Poet Award.
I nominate http://www.blogger.com/profile/04139175719967937843 for the next award.
12 Sep 2011
16 Jun 2011
WHO ARE YOU?
If you take away the people
you are nothing.
Deaf by your own imagination.
No one to react to.
No one to direct routine.
No one to confirm your being.
Who are you?
If you take away the people
you are nothing.
A sea-less shell,defined by objects.
No one to distract you.
No one to aspire to.
No one to remind you.
Who are you?
No one.
you are nothing.
Deaf by your own imagination.
No one to react to.
No one to direct routine.
No one to confirm your being.
Who are you?
If you take away the people
you are nothing.
A sea-less shell,defined by objects.
No one to distract you.
No one to aspire to.
No one to remind you.
Who are you?
No one.
THE CLOUD.
The sky is huge you know,
but not too big to talk.
I know your thoughts
via pictures in the sky.
They're meant for me.
but not too big to talk.
I know your thoughts
via pictures in the sky.
They're meant for me.
31 Jan 2011
BORDERLINE.
She's histrionic,mad,erratic,
the Bertha Rochester of the attic
who feels the words that others cannot hear,
and speaks of torture,passion,truth and fear.
Yet if she's working in the arts,
the audience takes her to their hearts.
So is it genius or insanity
that provokes the sheep humanity?
the Bertha Rochester of the attic
who feels the words that others cannot hear,
and speaks of torture,passion,truth and fear.
Yet if she's working in the arts,
the audience takes her to their hearts.
So is it genius or insanity
that provokes the sheep humanity?
THE GRAVE.
You didn't bring me irises
yet you know damn well I love them.
Instead,you place some tawdry cherub at my head.
NO ONE LIES HERE,it should have read.
Just go away home to your neighbour-cooked pies
and leave me in peace,
listening to rooks and rustling yews,
sleeping in my own bed in my own world.
You know damn well I love irises.
yet you know damn well I love them.
Instead,you place some tawdry cherub at my head.
NO ONE LIES HERE,it should have read.
Just go away home to your neighbour-cooked pies
and leave me in peace,
listening to rooks and rustling yews,
sleeping in my own bed in my own world.
You know damn well I love irises.
MAKING MARKS.
I asked permission from the oak,
to carve my name on his proud side.
For years we stood in wind and rain,
watching grazers come and go,
and climbers grow from boy to man.
When my gnarled fingers met the bark,
I told him I was going home.
He knew I'd loved him all the while,
and he would never be alone.
to carve my name on his proud side.
For years we stood in wind and rain,
watching grazers come and go,
and climbers grow from boy to man.
When my gnarled fingers met the bark,
I told him I was going home.
He knew I'd loved him all the while,
and he would never be alone.
28 Dec 2010
THE SEAGULL(IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER NICK)
Fire meets ice on the road to Christmas.
Seagull hovers above the scene on newborn wings.
Tears meet snow on Christmas day.
Seagull circles my head , like some uncertain halo.
Your distillation in his cry.
Seagull hovers above the scene on newborn wings.
Tears meet snow on Christmas day.
Seagull circles my head , like some uncertain halo.
Your distillation in his cry.
21 Nov 2010
THE LIBRARY.
Sheltering from the rain,
boffins in halfmoon glasses
sniff musky tomes in secret.
Retired fingers search for life
amongst the faded pages of obscurity.
Tight lipped librarian
squeaks across the polished floor
and glares at him who dares to cough.
"Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssh"!
boffins in halfmoon glasses
sniff musky tomes in secret.
Retired fingers search for life
amongst the faded pages of obscurity.
Tight lipped librarian
squeaks across the polished floor
and glares at him who dares to cough.
"Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssh"!
ALZHEIMERS AT CHRISTMAS.
Tinsel dangling from her wrist,
she's screaming.
Tears of joy run down her face,
she's dreaming.
Holding tight a teddy bear
she's prancing.
Slams the lid of the musical box
to stop the girl from dancing.
she's screaming.
Tears of joy run down her face,
she's dreaming.
Holding tight a teddy bear
she's prancing.
Slams the lid of the musical box
to stop the girl from dancing.
THE STALKER
Crouched against your garden wall
wondering if you know at all.
Soaked hair plastered to my head,
and you were fast asleep in bed.
Frozen fingers,chattering teeth,
you above and me beneath.
I dream that you could feel the same.
You do not even know my name.
Tomorrow night I'll strike again
to haunt you in the pouring rain.
The wind has turned my fingers blue.
My only thought to be with you.
wondering if you know at all.
Soaked hair plastered to my head,
and you were fast asleep in bed.
Frozen fingers,chattering teeth,
you above and me beneath.
I dream that you could feel the same.
You do not even know my name.
Tomorrow night I'll strike again
to haunt you in the pouring rain.
The wind has turned my fingers blue.
My only thought to be with you.
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