poetry

Life…..

The lines are blurred And faces merged The funniest thing you’ll see Moments in time and space Held close for eternity Just pictures saved by memory Like silent movies played Flickering images passing by Do these belong to me? Or is everything I see From another, not me The colours and the smells The angles lacking symmetry The sounds and sights Images bound in space The inner revelries revealed My life’s tapestry Unraveled Untied Betwixt and between Reality

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Us and Them

Flames Burning us Bullets Tearing us It’s Us and Them you see Words Grinding us Fists Beating us It’s Them to blame if you ask me Bombs Ripping us Feet Stomping us Am I doing this to Them or to me? All is One don’t you see I am hating and killing me Them? Simply shades of me

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Imagineering

Some days, I don’t wish to do anything I would just like to sit and stare A lazybones Awake, but asleep to this world Wakeful dreaming Creating in my head No need for people Me and me alone Crowded by thoughts And memories of times gone by Begging to question why? If I could change it Would it mean anything? Would my now be any different Would I have learned anything? Pondering the future There’s that feeling again So strong, so strange It’s only me this thing No you or them, just me Everything and nothing Cycle, no end nor beginning Eternally now Me Imagineering

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My Heart

This is my heart It is yours Symbol of my love Also yours Please don’t break it Or ever lose it Just let it beat Next to yours From Poems for the Little Room 2012, Lulu

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A Dream

I dreamed a dream that everything was me There was no you because you were me I was a circulating void of energy Carrying a stream of visuals Everything was one And that one was me I felt sadness and joy Sad that you don’t know That you are really me that the you-me fights me Mistreats and abuses me But joy that me is eternal And will not end I am a stream of energy I am a sound I am All there is I am a crowd I am me and me is you

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That Little Face

That little face Impish, childish grace That growing sense of self The words you use The toys you chose To play with Your little hand in mine Those sweet kisses at bedtime The smell of your hair How you ask for me at night And how you hug me tight How you steal my iPad You playing with your dog Sleeping like a log This is true love This is ‘give my life’ for you Can’t be without you love

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My old Socks

Multicolored footwear beset with many holes. But no one else can see the terrible state of my treasured old socks. You see these socks were bought by a very special friend and they hold so many memories within their crushed and worn fabric. When they were new they were the talk of all my friends. Who would dare to wear such socks they said rather shocked. But now my faded foot threads are replete with holes and extruded toes and destined for the trash. Such a shame my treasured old socks will never walk again.

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Dad

Last night I dreamed we played Model airplanes and such I heard your laugh again And felt your company Special, so very special Since you left it’s been a bit harder I guess every son misses his father It’s not the same you see No one to ask now when needing advice No special moments of devilish fun No more beers down the pub No trips full of historical interest Just a dream or two and a face that looks enough like you to warrant a second glance Where did you go? Cos I really miss you you know.

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It’s Not Over

There’s a place in your heart It’s so cold, it breaks me apart what’s the good I know I should But I don’t want it over I don’t want it over No, It’s not over….

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The Fool’s Journey

The last few weeks have seen me return to thoughts about the Way of the Fool. As if by magic, this has been reinforced as I reread a book called The Zelator which outlines the Way of the Fool extremely well. I will post a review of the book when I am finished with it but I can highly recommend it none the less. All this thought took me back to Inner Journeys in which the prologue is a poem I wrote about the Fool’s Journey. Here it is…. If you need some answers Look deep inside your mind For the inside is the outside Where all answers you can find On the Fool’s long journey You must start right at the end And walk your way backwards Imagination –

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