POETRY

Poems which I have written myself. Some may seem very obscure – it’s poetry. I consider poetry to be one of the highest and most artistic forms of writing.

Our Memories

I walk down to the lonely stream –
The water is shining like the sun
And I sit on our big rock.
I feel you sit down next to me.

We used to throw pebbles,
Little pebbles at the fish.
The water reminds me of you –
It still glistens like your soul: clear and pure.

The wind gently rustles the reeds
And I know you’re there –
I can smell it,
Your spirit is in the fresh air.

I walk along the riverside
Feeling the sand under my feet
Remembering memories,
Knowing things happened too quickly.

Our tree still stands tall –
Beautiful and green with life.
I can see you perched in a branch
Right where you felt at peace.

Our little waterfall trickles softly…
I peer over and see my face – for a second –
Then blurred out by my tears…
Tears of joy that you’re happy now.

A slice of cake

Her Louboutins clack on the porcelain tiles.
She peers out of her Versace shades
and continues clacking towards the café.
Her manicured finger points it out
as she is led to a wooden table.
Her massaged hand removes the darkness,
places it alongside the Venetian wine glass.
A sigh escapes her perfectly smeared crimson lips
as a working-class hand places the plate.
She grips the silver-plated spoon,
smears the fluffy cream on top,
puts it down with a sharp click.
Her matching fork is raised
and pierces through the sponge,
sinking to the bottom like her esteem.
Raised up to her mouth,
inserted and lips close.
She completes and places a leopard.
Removes herself and clacks onward like a freight train.

Potentially Exponentially

I have never met someone,
someone quite like you.
With your intelligent ways
I say…
Genius in the finest terms,
retaining everything higher,
comprehending beyond ordinary –
extraordinary!
Gifted – beyond – dark horse
maybe even.
We don’t even know your power
but maybe you do?
Potential locked under key
perhaps planned to prevent something bigger?
Enigma in a way – behind thinking eyes…
Twisting and turning in thought –
you’ve told me you can taste it,
yet your tongue is too short to reach…
But in your presence I can feel it –
something greater…
Potential:

All purpled away
locked deep inside
writhing for chances –
it won’t stay.

Unlock the door,
unbutton old ways,
undo the chain,
unleash true brain!

Misty Dreams

He wanders slowly through the
darkest purples of the forest.
The moon decides to hide behind
an indigo shy cloud.
The leaves beneath his feet
crunch as the filthy rats squeal and squeak.
Little fireflies chase the hidden light
as he chases his desires.
The weary wild wind invades the canopies
of slumbering life
causing an owl to shake its feathers.
He steps onward through the hanging vines,
past the cold shimmering river
shining ultraviolet in the mist of thought.
A howl of the weary wolf wakes
the night air.
He shivers slightly as his foot
is pieced by bones of an unfortunate prey.
His blood mixes with the dirt of his journey
as he slowly veers off nature’s path
right into the heart of his lover’s sight.

Conviction

conviction (n): a belief or opinion that is held firmly

He works for the cause
Knowing fully his potential
To follow in great footsteps.
But what is great?
A shining star
On the Walk of Fame?
To him it is a star
Cemented into
The Sand of Time:
Fossilised.
His works preserved in nature:
Wildlife.
That which we smothered
With our greedy gasses
And our lust for cha-ching.

Convicted by his conviction.
A conviction? – as in sentenced?
A convict?
Perhaps – to the prison of our destruction.
His uniform is stripped lands
Where trees once belonged…
His jail bars are acid rain and rising waters…
But like a Mandela he chooses to use his
Time behind bars for the good of all:

Sacrifice branded into his meatless diet;
He will no longer be prisoner one day,
And neither will his children
Because he had it:
CONVICTION.