Sense and I

I am unnecessary; is sense?
Sense making, not words, but opinions

destroying truths and forging lies, hurtful.
Ease my pain…pain my ease.
Hurtful lies forging, and truths destroying
Opinions but words, not making sense.
Sense is unnecessary; am I?

Extinguishing the Phoney Fire

How do I hear such laughter, humorous
and have no harmony in happy mirth?
False amusements are ever numerous
and having to grimace falsely is not worth
the jaw ache, and my heart’s inner hurting
that hell’s howls extinguish humility.

These false manic smiles are disconcerting,
hiding happiness’ visibility.

Leave your chuckles for the heart to heed
for your hooting lies I find hideous
and is like a popularity plead

- save it is I, being fastidious
and I am a grim humourless killjoy
that hates to see peoples unshared pleasure,

letting the pretentious people annoy
and ignoring my own true happiness.

The wax smiles are melting off your faces
with no one there to see; the candle fails,
extinguishing artificial races

revealing melted distorted details

as I release a flame of hearty laugh,

ostentatious candles have felt my wrath

Bleeding Sun, Healing Moon

The skies subtle change of tone,
the great trees have so quickly grown,

the mix of colours, wind blown
all show me that we’re not alone.

Energising in our bed
we admire how the sun has bled.
Sky’s gentle fade; blue to red
and then to black as day is dead.

All colours begin to run
it feels as though it’s just begun,
the beauty of this does stun;
adieu to the sinking red sun.

The absence of sun does chill
but for last glimmers, high on hill
which, sadly, the shade must kill
and all around me seems so still.

The glisten of dew on grass
gently dripping, as time does pass
whilst birds remain; bold as brass,
rivers reflect beauty none could surpass.

The skies subtle change of tone,
the great trees have so quickly grown,

the mix of colours, wind blown
all show me that we’re not alone.

A Letter to Letters

These bonds grow tighter, gripping
the harder I pull away.
I feel my passion slipping;
patience has been led astray.

I see more letters ripping
for I can’t find words to say.

Tiredly tongue tied, tripping

you are driving me away.

Until my ink is dripping

my words or I cannot stay.

My Distorted Reflection

You are my jailor,
you are my escape.

You are my passion,
you are my hate.
You are my cancer,

you are my cure.
You are perfection.
You are my failure,
you aren’t my shape.

You have no compassion,
you aren’t my fate

You aren’t the answer,
you aren’t so pure;
my distorted reflection.

In the Ring

I dream of an eventual glory
writing a happy ending to a hard earned story.
I cannot be lazy in this craft

so I will continue to work and put in the graft.

An intense battle of skill and will,
the carnage ongoing until
the bell rings to summon the end of war
or the ref pulls me off and says no more.

Some say I am not ready for such a test
but I am confident I can put the doubt to rest

When training gets hard and I can no longer smile
I think of glory to go the extra mile.

It’s going to be tough, and yet so am I,

and all I can ask is that I honestly try

to make all of my hard work pay

so there's no doubt that I will be ready on the day.

A Gathering of Delinquency

Mingling with the dregs of society
feeling their contaminating presence
yet through this we remarkably unite
and could each learn our personal lessons.

All lifestyles together in this riot,

“superior” abandoning pretence,
even the lazy standing up to fight
yet some only come to feed on the tense
atmosphere, drunken liabilities.

My company brings overwhelming shame
for they are moralless and seek trouble
and I could never be classed as the same
whilst their dark undertones are not so subtle.
They are the exodus left to remain,
fearing their diseased plague from the gutter
I was expecting protests to be tame
yet their foul mouthed ways have spread like butter
and so I leave this scene, my thoughts in vain.

Sunday Morning Confusion

Lights flashing in my head
I felt alive, now I feel dead
Last nights events I can’t remember
As my inferno shrinks to an ember
Just what was said? Whose fist swung first?

Whose room is this in which I'm dying of thirst?
What secrets were spilt in my drunken disregard?
Should I have guilt, or did my conscience keep on guard
Did I behave, I need to know what did I do?
It was a rave, that’s for sure, but who the hell are you?

In the Garden

Since the dawning of time, two people stood alone,

one was the slave to the being on the throne,

one was demure, and the other a sinner,

in this epic tale there is only one winner.

Since the followers of the sun, the religious led astray,

atheists and anarchists get their own way,

God fearing people, threatened by hell,

besides, the sinners have more of a story to tell.

There stood a man, bold and stern

to defeat the master he must learn

the ways of a warrior,

the plans of a mastermind

with this he is the saviour of mankind.

There stood a woman, swift and wise

to defeat the master she must rise.

She must learn to seize the day

and to do what’s essential,

only with this she reaches her potential.

Millions of years on, not much has altered;

the strong have remained, while the weak have all faltered.

Driven by their dreams, astray by devotion,

the strong don’t sense, the weak show emotion.

Whipped to the fiery depths of the abyss

the heroes now find them selves wandering.

The struggle within causes great pain

and so life will, sadly, never be the same.

The Season of Ill Will

It’s Christmas eve, and the snow’s falling fast
the gift received will surely (sadly) last
for you achieve, again, to ruin the past
as you now leave, my worst Christmas has passed.

It’s Christmas day, as I indulge too much.
Deadly dismay, dithering double Dutch.
No words to say, for my feelings are such.
Happy songs play, but I’m way out of touch.

Happy new year! Starting season of change
so no more beer for I can’t find my range.
Shed no tear. My new found joy is strange;
as the snow clears its seen I was deranged

They say ‘tis the season to be jolly
so smile and bear your despair and folly.

The Musings of a Senile in Love

Unprepared,

as my blood runs like ink

I’m lost and scared,

in your tears I sink.

I lie alone,

somehow, I know that there’s a missing link

as I’m dazed;

can’t remember how to think

You built me up, but I soared too high
(Got to fall down to earth)
I thought I loved; God knows why
(What love do you deserve?)

Undeterred
as no help comes.
I’m waiting for white light,

little air escapes my lungs.
I cry alone
but the pain never numbs
the end is near
cue the drums

You built me up, but I soared too high
(Got to fall down to earth)
I thought I loved; God knows why
(What love do you deserve?)

I must be senile
(Oldest trick in the book)
I’m not in denial
(Frankly, I now know to trust my luck).
You killed me with your venomous touch,
with death I escape your vice like clutch.
I now laugh at the foolishness from above;
the musings of a senile in love.

Post Violence Silence

Everything done, it was all just too rushed
I just needed some space but I found myself crushed
I tried to escape from your vice like grip
All I wanted was to abandon ship

I put up with your games, and you took on my bluff
Can't you see that I've had more than enough
I was suffering, suffocating by your kiss
Surely you realise there’s something amiss

Through all of this I didn't mean pain
But slowly but surely I’m growing insane
Funnily enough I had no regret
I've killed you now, and I'm not upset

Can't remember much of last night
I tried to finish but you put up a fight
But I ended it all with a stab to the heart
Now I see you finally depart

 Finally got you out of my life
But the blood still won't wash off my knife
I look at it daily with a humoured expression
Guess she’s finally learned her lesson.

Summer's Sounds

The sounds of summer are resonating in my ear;

the cacophonous hum of the lawn mower drawing ever near,

like an unwelcome bee parading in my presence

taunting me with its unpleasant end;

a reminder that our defence can be our downfall.

The aroma of the freshly slashed grass rising up to my casement ajar

whilst I can hear the bell signalling the end of school from afar

replied by the reaction of raucous, unrefrained cheers

of children who have plans of late afternoon merriment,

hoping that my den is still intact from last decade's adventures.

Meanwhile, I am sitting in the sorry shade of my mind,

wanting the freedom of Summer's youth to let me unwind,

and whilst I enjoy the exhorting, endearing fresh sunshine

I can no longer find the juncture, context and company

that once made me feel as light as the flowers that float by my confining cage.

Haunt

A smoky whisper in the deceptive air,

was it your shadow that danced with my reflection?

A slight of sight that filled me with such fright

that I was sure that I would not sleep that night.

I turned on the radio to calm my nerve

but I could hear your voice in the static.

I opened the window to cool my frantic mind

only to feel your breath in the cool night's wind.

I rinsed my face to awaken my eyes

but I could taste your chilled tongue in the flowing water.

And so I resigned myself to sleep,

but as I blew out the candles,

the smoke floated past my eyes

and in the complete darkness, all I could see

was your taunting, haunting face.

I longed to reread your gravestone

to discover if you are real,

and yet I was terrified of reading the words

that hurt me most.

I'll cling to these ghosts to keep me company

until I find sleep to wake me from this dream.

Worries

Idleness, inadequacy,

deadlines,

silence, strains,

solitude,

pressure, pulling,

poverty,

duties, despondency,

dignity,

sensitivity, monotony,

routine.

Rope

A robust length of sturdy bonded rope

is made from weak strands of united thread,

twisted together with mutual hope

to keep all their ties until they are dead.

Some will break away at the sight of rain

but the core threads will always remain strong

for those who stick together through the strain

are the ones you can rely on lifelong.

I have had threads broken beyond repair

but I know that our bonds will always be.

I know I can depend on you to be there

to keep my own weak thread from misery.

Whilst most of the bonds in life break away

I know that ours is far too strong to fray.

Losing my Relation

There are so many plebeians

that clog up my ears

with statements that make me bite down hard

on to my tongue.

I can no longer relate to some people

who I once loved

and instead of causing offense and telling them so,

I get annoyed in silence.

You aren't smart.

You aren't funny.

You aren't attractive.

You aren't original.

You aren't important.

Matches

A flicker,

a spark,

a brief light,

and then darkness again.

Repetitive Routes

This tiring path that I have been taking

is slowly corroding away,

and the shoes in which I walk are breaking

but I know that I will not stray.

I am running out of scenes to admire;

what is beautiful now seems bland,

for the freshest of flowers must expire

and paths don't always go as planned.

I look left and right, but find no resolve,

no direction on which I'm clear,

and whichever factor I may involve

fills me with irressolute fear.

I find myself longing for a brief rest

to stop and take my bearings

and then prepare for the final test

when I can assess my faring.

And so I grit my teeth for the last slog,

wading through uninspiring muck

until I am away from this numbing fog

and I have new scenes on which to look.

Swallowing my Pride

This morning I wrote a list

of all the things about myself

that I hate.

Then I scrunched the note

into a bowl,

put it into my mouth,

chewed it up and swallowed it.

The list read as follows:

1. My pride...

Reforestation

When a seed is planted into my brain

the roots reach out and asphyxiate me,

they strangle my thoughts, render me insane

and blossom into black views that hate me.

When your words branch out deep into my soul

they block out the sunshine and reign my skies,

and a growth of madness makes my skin crawl

until I'm nesting the bird's lamenting sighs.

When my leaves plummet down to the hard ground

I feel each loss just as deep as the last.

Without their shelter I feel the cold wind pound

and I regret growing my trunk so vast.

When my despondency is deforested

I will grow again with thick bark more tested.

An Ode To Rave

Blinding headlights on fast country roads,

the excited youth in buzzing hordes,

fuzzy stereos blasting distorted bass,

the passenger's getting off their face,

cheap shellsuits and overpowering aftershave,

crushed cans, pre-drinking outside the rave,

an empty warehouse with sticky floors,

ostentatious classless girls dancing like whores,

second hand smoke, second hand sweat,

stale ale spilling onto all already wet,

the music is building to a crescendo,

a deafening progression of in vogue electro,

ringing eardrums and close proximity,

pills being swallowed in a life of toxicity,

the crowds are being hyped by the MC's improvised rhymes,

they are all living for these good vibes, these good times.

Road Trip

I've been looking at this map for days

but I'm just as lost as when we embarked
and on the folds I can feel the frays

of where all our favourite places have been marked.

I don't even know to where we are bound

but I have a feeling we'll get there soon,

and of all the routes that we could have found

to journey with you is most opportune.

I will never pull over from this road

because I will not tire of this drive

and when we must finally unload

I can say what it's like to feel alive.

I wish that this was an everlasting ride

for I feel so content with you by my side.

Dawn's Deadline

A storm is brewing in the sky outside

with the clouds struggling to part for daytime,

whilst still under the hills, the Sun does hide;

she aims to rise before the clock's sixth chime.

The squabbling clouds come to brutish blows

creating a rumbling riot of turmoil,

meanwhile, the Sun's panic to rise on time grows

but Father Time must remain ever loyal.

The Sun anxiously attempts to burn

but she stays cold until obligations spark

her desire to share her light and to learn

to overcome the clouds evergrowing dark.

After all that fuss, the day broke early

and so Dawn's deadline went smooth and fairly.

Procrastination

For too long have I broke unuttered promises to myself.

"I will get that done today" I say without conviction,

but my plans soon collect dust on the highest, out of reach shelf

I know that I will one day pay for this dereliction.

For too long have I suffered procrastination

resulting in unproductive, unfruitful late night rushes

for I pick other tasks to carry out for the whole duration

and only do what I am supposed to when the deadline pushes.

And so this poem is just another waste of my time

when I have other documents open, hungrily waiting,

and as my frustration and panic is beginning to climb,

I'll get back to other constructive sources of creating.