November 1, 2014

 

 

So much was said

that was not real;

such pitter-patter,

such crazy spiel.

 

Oh, judge them not,

you higher power,

that sees them

in their final hour.

 

So much was said

that was not true,

in an effort to shine

and others outdo.

 

Now all their actions

in total counted:

In the end, not a fortune,

was there amounted.

 

So much was said

in loud voices spoken,

but then without choice;

a promise broken,

 

before hands bound,

with no escape,

and no lea-way out

of old red tape.

 

So much was said,

at the offset,

when ‘possibility’,

the onside bet.

 

Oh judge them not,

you higher power.

Let their souls know peace

in their final hour.

 

 

 

 

 

And guiding muddy

footsteps laid at noon,

that would have been

the only night-time compass,

lit by a crescent moon,

will disappear, unless that

by a blessing, comes a frost,

and keeps intact a trail,

that now seems all but lost.

 

 

 

August 28, 2014

 

 

When always on the

back foot relying;

a retreat in place;

a safety net.

 

When always ready;

a dash implying.

A repeat of pace,

where freedom met.

 

 

July 20, 2014

 

 

Pause for awhile.

Let your thoughts

branch off at the

next roundabout.

Escape briefly

into the unknown.

except, there is no unknown.

Only familiar ground,

constantly coming around.

 

It’s just a trick

that the mind plays

with ones emotions;

a calming balm,

a soothing lotion.

There’ll always be

a next roundabout.

Whether to take it or not,

well, that choice is yours alone.

 

 

 

 

June 18, 2014

 

 

A life lived out on centre stage,

where exposed nerves in anger rage.

He who stoops to conquer shall be slain;

what agony, the hellish pain.

 

The lack of trust so evident;

a life snuffed out, a sad lament.

The procrastinators now deceased;

the final scene, the applause increased.

 

The raucous cheers, the standing ovation,

the dying seconds, the jubilation.

A life lived out on centre stage;

originality expressed for a paupers wage.

 

The war-paint removed, the Dressers all gone.

Once more, as ever, it’s back to one.

The sound of triumph, no bills will pay.

The cold emptiness, at close of play!

 

 

 

June 5, 2014

 

 

and all the others

in between

were cast out

by a demon gene,

that threads it’s way

back into play,

in another form,

in a different way.

 

and then they mock

and say they knew;

time changes not

the damaged few,

who aren’t repentant,

who aren’t ever free

of the stigma left

from the Judas tree.

 

 

 

 

At one with you,

at two with her;

needing companionship

with an hour to spare.

 

At three with you;

an hours sleep to share.

The gaming table’s fixed

or so you swear!

 

At four with you;

no time to spare.

A lost sock left

under a hotel chair.

 

At five with her,

in daylight’s glare.

A quick farewell;

the day to prepare.

 

At six with her;

part of a pair.

A phone call home;

love waiting there.

 

At seven with you,

on the road to where

groundhog day begins,

on a wing and a prayer.

 

 

 

May 24, 2014

 

 

Always fighting for survival

in a world of feral beasts.

Like wolves devouring crumbs

from inedible phantom feasts.

 

Just like age-old lemmings,

forward, blindingly they leap,

at speed, clear off the edge,

without first, a single peep.

 

Putting all their trust in others,

who they scarcely know.

All lonesome, helpless souls,

with raw emotions laid on show.

 

Forced on by sheer necessity;

heartache, the common trait.

They cling on to the faintest hope

each new horizon may create.

 

 

April 27, 2014

 

 

The branches creaking on the mighty oak

after a tailored life, that was bespoke.

With sap now seeping out of its solid trunk

as alarm bells say ‘time to debunk’.

And all the knowledge, that therein lay

chopped into logs; a hideous price to pay,

when the unexplained deluge took our yield,

killing off our livelihood field by field.

And when not even the steel, of the mighty oak

could escape disaster from this untimely soak.

 

 

April 18, 2014

 

 

The news so sudden;

The shock so deep;

The stain indelible

where footsteps creep.

 

The timing terrible;

The wasteland gone;

The gas lamps on view

from where once light shone.

 

The blinkered past;

The smoke-filled days;

The chimneys now demolished

but overhead, still skies of grey.

 

 

 

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