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.

An Answer To A Question Posed

As he sits down at the bus stop
and glances at his watch –
a bus pulls up.
He looks: B4.
It’s familiar, he’s seen it before
but he knows it’s not his.
When will the bus come?
Will it?
Waiting… For a bus
that might not come.
Feet start tapping.
Sighs start escaping.
Patience starts flickering.
The wind blows,
papers fly.
A napkin, stained, flitters to his feet
like a butterfly learning to fly.
“Love needs faith”
written in black ink across one corner.
A bus suddenly pulls up.
The doors open.
A hand reaches out.
His smile reaches in.
He takes his hand.
Bus U5.

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Chocolate & Morphine: Satire of Society

The faded white paint peels perniciously
from these haunting hospital hallways…
Wards filled with beds filled with bodies filled with sickness:
a stitch in time saves none.

Disinfectant (the omnipresent ghost)
saunters around like a drunk,
making sure to get noticed by all.
Helium-filled GET WELL SOON! balloons
limply deflating among deflated bodies wearing
weathered blood-stained gowns.

Plump bags filled with clear liquids
stand slumped beside bedsides:
IV transfusions transfusing HIV?
Needles, catheters and antigens
hopelessly fighting these pervasive pathogens.

Death strolls around (cane in hand)
carefree and calm,
handing out chocolate & morphine
(accepted without heed).
He alone gets to laugh last.

Staccato beeps echo like wretched weeps &
hearts murmur their mumbles,
drowning among these malicious maladies.
Society?
Critical but stable.

Butterflies

Sweet creation
flittering above the river &
between the overgrowth,
floating, naïve to these contemplations.
Explosions of noise on those fragile wings;
the air tastes of dark blue misery.
Yet you’re so peaceful
in the Garden of Eden
before the Fall of Man…
Before Man became man.
Come here, sweet beauty!
Stay a while.

No, don’t try escape my clasp!
Here, let me
tear
those wings off!
Let me tear up.
Death begets Life;
Life begets Death.

Fly now, sweet thing, fly now!

my Parents

they raised me not to take
but to give where ever possible
my Parents
gave me everything i needed
i did not have to ask
my Parents
did not raise me with the back of their hands
but with the love in their hearts
my Parents
taught me to be helpful
and loyal to what I do
my Parents
were never inconsistent with their love
so neither am i with mine because
my Parents
taught me to have a mind and heart
before an ego or agenda
my Parents
will never leave me
even when they pass
my Parents
are the reason i will be a good parent
and my children will owe it to
my Parents
have made me into me
and i thank them
my Parents

Splinters

I give my hand
You stare at it
Green eyes meet look away
Nobody is perfect
I know
But I’m here for you
Don’t you see?
You can’t
You’ve turned the
Other way.
I tried to carry
Your cross with you
But you’d rather
Let it fall
And break into

Splinters.

Maybe heroes aren’t real
After all.
Maybe the cross we carry
Will be the last weight
That weighs down our
Hopelessly lost purpled souls.

typing…

Connected?
World Wide Web:
caught where the spider wants us.

trapped

by the tweets about nothing,
Facebook likes, new-age activism.
As if sharing this poem-post changes anything.
Screens filled with snaps and chats;
timelines overflowing with so-called facts.
Where is the connection
when texts replace face-to-face talks
and everyone stalks?
Blue ticks and last seens?
Silent screams behind screens.

Life is out there
but we reply robotically.
Waiting:

typing…

An ellipsis of our lives;
three bullets: mind, heart, soul.
Death of communication,
hashtag RestInPeace
*post*

pretty boy smoke

saw you standing there
in your veil of smoke
a little wisp around your head
like some kinda devilish halo-noose
blowing fumes from those lips
all ruby and full like the moon
pretty boy smoke
that
pretty boy smoke
in those pretty boy lungs
filling me up with pretty boy thoughts
your package came with
no warning
and if it did I don’t care
pretty boy love gonna
die
anyway pretty boy smoke
those
pretty boy smile
james dean
pretty boy style
pretty boy smoke
my pretty boy dream