He hid from his problems
In a bottle of vodka.
And found relief at the bottom
Of tequila shots.
Sadly he woke up
With all his problems
Plus one.
#ProjectInspiredPoetry
Life’s Real Valuable
They stole his money;
Vandalised his life;
Tore his clothing;
And spat on his honey.
But they couldn’t touch his soul,
They couldn’t touch his soul.
BE
We judge him for he is not one of us!
We mock him for his mind –
He’s actually rare to find.
A raw passion of a child
Trapped in adult form.
Why do we mock him for being him?
Yet preach peace and equality?
What happened to our reflective mirrors?
Did they burn in our hypocrite flames?
Maybe he’s free;
Maybe we’re the ones who cannot see.
Just, just let him
BE.
Haiku of Admiration
We admire you, man
for you stood with us as one;
not above: just one.
Stacked Haikus
Irish blood of strength
running through his sad-mad veins:
Genetic Soldier.
Defender of views,
not a slave to the norms which
fill our ears and screens.
He knows death too well,
yet still he remains fearless
as death is freedom.
Broken Boy
He comes home from school
on the weekends –
to the home he doesn’t really belong in.
He dumps his bag of used clothes on the floor,
throws his case gently into a corner,
removes his dulled shoes,
collapses on the bed
and cries silently into the pillow.
He is woken by screaming:
his mother –
telling him to work harder
and blabbering off a list of weekend duties.
His eyes are red.
His heart is bruised.
His life is not his until he leaves this hell.
Dancing till Death
I have the moves
The purple groves
I feel the beat sink into my fibres
It takes right to the core
I don’t dance to live
I live to dance and dance till death
My body just goes to the flow
Whether fast or slow
I can feel the eyes surmise
I smile and sweat because I dance tonight
I need no drugs, no liquid inspiration, injection
To feel the music’s sweet infection
I tilt towards the floor, drop down
Jump to catch the beat and bounce
Ready to pounce
When they encircle I’m taken away
hallucogenic satisfaction sprints in my pulse
And my eyes close because my body knows
Tonight I’m a winner and I’ve won this fight.
Haiku of Beginnings
Taken too soon – gone.
Nothing left but broken parts,
Nothing – just new starts.
Voting Season
Due to excessive
self-indulgence and misplaced promises,
the content of
this poem has been
removed temporarily.
Please try again later
when the president’s promises are real.
Nobody’s Problem
Not sure why he sits –
like a statue –
he sits.
Still.
The pigeons join him.
He doesn’t look lonely,
but he looks lost.
I can’t help but stare,
each day I stare.
Until I decide to talk to him…
He doesn’t respond –
I think he’s dead – that would explain it.
But nobody has done anything…
Nobody has done anything…
Then I see it: my reflection in his eyes.
A fateful truth I’ve been avoiding:
I am nobody.
Mr Individualist 