The Drowning

In a flood of compliments he drowns;
all humility is forced out of his being.
The pride floods in
consuming his soul like a black sludge.
He begins to sink slowly
into the darkest depth of confusion
as he loses sight of the light; of himself.

His existence begins to fold in –
he sees images; hallucinations of
his success and nightmarish
rusted merry-go-rounds
of mutated friendships…
He left with none.
His corpse hits the coarse sand
of his truth; his reality.

They search for him…
They search for him…
They search for him
among their words
and find him dead at the
bottom of their compliments.

Even then it continues:
“He was destined for greatness!”
And a black tear rolls slowly…
Still no realisation.

He lives a different life now,
one of his own creation;
one where compliments are few,
as is self-worth.

Sonnet of Thankfulness

She has the special gift of love inside,
giving freely of herself to her blood.
She places her faith with them, to abide.
Her care – simply stated – one great, strong flood.
Those who step into her life will be graced
with her boundless care and compassionate
temperament. She has felt struggle, yet faced
them head on; her morals fast, abstinent.
She offered her hand when I was hit down.
I took it, with thanks in my eyes and heart.
They laugh with hate; in them I used to drown.
But she knew it was special, this, the start.
Her spirit will survive the harsh beatings.
One day, from heaven, she will send greetings.

Unbrick

Unbrick the wall!
Open the door!
Invite them inside,
Deny another war!

Dry up the tears!
And prepare the table!
Welcome new beginnings,
Forever now stable!

Throw away the key!
Open windows wide!
Smile with a reason,
Show our good side!

Unbrick the wall!
Tear down all hate!
Demand true freedoms,
Welcome City of Fate!

M. Jane

She strides into the
greenhouse: confident; calm.
She walks right up to
me and smiles.
I smile back.
I think I love her.
We leave, hand in hand;
my lips will meet hers
and I will suck the
marrow out of life;
delusional beauty.

She makes me happy.
And happiness is what
we all need.
She makes me feel
new, refreshed
and free of my pain.
She rests my mind
and calms
the world’s madness.

She never stays
too long though.
She always leaves.
And I find myself
running after her.

Running to
her highness.

Logarithm

Sitting in a hall of
concreted pain and
precise calculations,
the existence melts
and the clouds of
thought darken…
darken even more.

First the flash
then the ominous rumble
of the emptiness.

It echoes inside the
walls which are hollow,
hollow like the mind
in which the echo
wanders aimlessly.

A simple logarithm
of care:

Minute,
Miniscule,
Negligible.

Different

I. Genesis

Under the microscope;
probed and prodded.
Considered abnormal –
in need of changing –
because in this world
if you’re not ‘normal’
you need fixing.
Put through the various tests
and told not to be
good enough for
Society’s expectations.
Finally diagnosed,
as if a disease:
flesh treated as a virus.

II. Passion

Suffering at the merciless
hands of a pack of wild
collective consciousness;
targeted like a hurt lamb.
Ripped emotionally
and taunted like a
helpless puppy.
Each new sunset filled
not with hope and
new beginnings, but
with the start of renewed
enthusiasm on the part of
the oppressors.
They do not even know
what destruction
they plant in this field…
They do not even know….

III. Revelation

Discovery that all
the scrapes and
emotional scars were
all part of the plan
to make
stronger; braver.
Finally understanding that
potential is unlocked once
darkness has been faced
and struggle has been tasted.
After listening
for so many years to
the metallic screams and taunts
of a system wanting different
to fit its mould,
it is revealed that it
can all be overcome.

IV. Exodus

Surviving the mountainous
hurt and strife;
clawing and gnawing
through swine to get
to a place of self-understanding.
Finally free from
the hurt, the pain, the suffering.
Ready to flee from
the pool of torment
leaving everything,
and everyone,
behind.

Insecurity Security

She stumbles along the corridors
of her life and is slightly ashamed.
She hides, sticks to the walls;
head down, eyes lowered.
Her stride mimics her esteem:
insecure; weak; damaged.

Living in a world where
hate is celebrated
and love is seen as weak.
She is confused, insecure.
Her tears comfort her;
the pain reassures
she is alive.
In absence of tears
she feels dead:
they make her feel like that.

She avoids mirrors;
dodges photos.
Sits at the back, mute,
no attention is good attention,
she says to her teddy bear friend.

But she always believed.

She found an equal.
Her dead spirit was raised
from the grave of
corridors and classrooms.
Her tears dried up;
the clouds began to fade.
She never knew
the sun was so bright and hot.

She was saved.
Saved by self-discovery
of inner beauty
magazines dare not talk of:
saved by her
Insecurity Security.

JUDAS

SHOW YOURSELF!
Show yourself to the world!
Get out of this kingdom
and feel the guilt
that you should!
I do not want you
walking these streets!
Get away from my family
and leave my friends alone!

Go (ab)use someone else!
Take your kisses of betrayed
affection away!
I see right through your
lies!
I see beyond your masks
and I am scarred
by your true form!

I don’t want you to
let me think you care!
The feelings you leave me with
make me angry!
Infuriated!
I cared for you,
I opened up to you,
I helped you,
but YOU BETRAYED MY TRUST!

Yet I always knew!
Once betrayed, I forgave.
Again!
Forgiveness!
Again! And again!

Take the traitor away!
Get out! Get out!
GET OUT, JUDAAAS!

Immortality

Confusing like a Picasso,
twisted like a Dali!
Melting away time,
waiting like
the Thinking Man – frozen.
Tiny dots of confusion
make up the mind;
almost a comical Lichtenstein…
BOOM!
A green coke bottle
on an infinite shelve of
green coke bottles,
but wanting to shine like
a Koons tulip.
A Mysterious Mona yet so
beautiful like a starry night…
Searching for the truth
in a world of lies;
beautiful Banksy
being washed away, lost,
scrubbed by the critics;
cursed by authority
for not being ‘acceptable’!
Yet powerful and brave
Forza e ira:
strength and anger!
A pearl in a shell,
a priceless speculation
of beauty and intellect.
A life of Eschered eternity
and precise confusion
going in mindless circles.
Try, try, try
to interpret the Pollock
colours and chaos…
A silent scream for eternity
as the twisted world
haunts and creates
anguish; despair.
Cut and paste into
a better world, Hamilton!

Hoping to be a Red Vineyard…
Maybe someone will
see worth before
death!

Guitar

Tuned and plucked
until satisfied.
Played and played
over and over.
Frustration and pride;
mixed emotions.
Strings snap.
Metallic pain erupts.
Abandoned for
a while
then found and
relearned.
Feeling like
a melodic
waste of space.

Played by a fool;
the sound is dirty.
Played by a lover;
the sound is pure.

Yet knowing beauty
is made from the string
and sound lights up
the darkness,
it is okay
because a guitarist
will find the guitar.