Tag Archives: poet

2/30 – Penny on the pavement

Too busy sipping tea to smell the roses.
Pockets full of pansies, posers
Too busy seeing red to be a Moses.
Ignoring the driftwood while singing Oceans.
Too busy, too focused to be open.
Neglect a catalyst of foreclosure.
Drowning, Emotion, Head up, No One. Head shot, Implosion,
Rest in peace? We don’t know that.

Nice memories, for sure, yeah.
Too busy being me to notice
That’s what it’ll be til it’s over, til it’s over
It is far from over….

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Haiku: Miss Direction

Clouds navigating

Sound of speed grating

I am neutral, in traffic

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5 day Poetry Challenge Day 4 – Making It

This particular poem was written circa October 2004. Having discovered and fully embraced spoken word in 2003, it is one of my earliest spoken word pieces.

Realistic is talent to deal with harshness

Faith when you’re stuck in a camp like Auschwitz

You’re proud when it’s over but then you get a blessing

For you held on to grainy faith

Though you were at your wits end.

You may want to help the world…may never happen

Only way to live your life is like a lantern

Lighting others pathway

Just keep your head high don’t ever be trampled

And be a classic song…not a beat sample

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5 day poetry challenge Day 3 – The Dawn

White sands fell between them

The morning tide kissed their foreheads

New palms bowed and curtsey in turn

Clouds yawned for the first time as the sky opened its eyes

The wind smiled like a new-born after its first feed

Time had walked the shortest distance from their wrist to their hands

Steady as the drizzle of summer rain, they breathed

Whispers tiptoed from their lips into the oxygen

Like hydrogen they ignited as understanding embraced

Good Morning,

Good morning to love said the flame

Finding their soul frequency retinas roared

Detonated heart beats battling soon soothed to an echo

Atlas had become compass in a blink

Yet this was Eden and it would be human to think

So they admired

The apple of their eye was a fruit of their spirit

They’d given lives to acquire the rights to the orchard

Merely breathing was deemed eating of the moment and

Building a city of roses required appetite so apple blossom became staple diet

Welcome,

Welcome to life said the Middle Tree

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Crystal

Is your past a foreign country?

If so how often do you visit?

Is it for business or for pleasure                ?

Is it secluded or touristic?

Do you have a holiday home or no go areas within it?

Does it have monumental cities?

Are your memories memorials or are they living exhibits?

If I’d like to go there…what’s the cost of ticket?

Could I go for moment?

Would I be ready in a minute?

Is it a place of worship, do others go there on pilgrimage?

As a travel destination what star rating would you give it?

If your past was a pack of cards, would you be willing to deal it?

Is it a feted piece of literature that limits your life’s vocabulary.

Is it a path that panders to extinction?

Do you marry your past to your present in tensions?

Is your past the blessing you were cursed with?

Is it the margin of error that makes you live second to second?

Is your past a day of lessons that you’re simply letting slide

Is your past a persistent researcher that you’re simply walking by?

Is your past the death of you or what makes you feel alive

Is your past a foreign country?

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Paper Thin Walls

paper thin walls
Paper thin walls
They keep mixing colours
Blending her out
On those paper thin walls
Paper can’t cover the cracks
On those paper thin walls
A doodle draws a whimper
The thought of making murals musters mournful murmurs from those paper thin walls

Passed around like a guest book at a funeral
The feeling fading as they drive away
The whitewash isn’t cleansing
A broken slate is never wiped clean
She is only 15
Miss Paper Thin Walls

Laying bricks, roofless
All her rocks are demons dancing in the sea of safety
Her will shredded like leaked script pages
She’s an over plucked daisy
On her knees she a dress maker seeking out hope like a lost sequin
Wondering where was God when man destroyed the self she’d believed in

Miss Paper Thin Walls pores over scattered bricks
From the many times her box has been ticked she’s an exam in herself
Exiled from affection, ignoring the laws of attraction.
Hands that reach her are fractured to heal her scars
When she’s fully built she may be chasing cars
For now…..she’s in thrall to the casket of cat calls
These travails are an ailment of which no ointment can heal
When she’s fully built she’ll bruise the serpent’s head and heal
She’ll no longer be Miss Paper Thin Walls

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Sprung (52/10)

daffodils

She handed me Daffodils
Like acid rain curating a rock face
I crumbled
My eyes like barren barrels filled with fatherly fermentation
Her smile could not smell my in sense
If posession is nine tenths of the law, then holding them I was broken
Sometimes silence is the truth unspoken
Yet when she planted those daffodils, my future exploded
I became a golden goal den
Yearning for the day, when daffodils aren’t the only ting I’m holding

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