The stream (all workshops)
Hurry hurry rush rush,
Turkey in the oven and cranberry crush.
The dog sitting starring at the food,
Pretending to be good.
Hoping I will drop a single crumb,
C'mon sparky, I'm not that dumb.
Drooling in a puddle on the floor,
Oh my how gross Sparky go outdoors.
It was my fault.
That because of me,
You thought we had love.
That I led you to believe,
That it was fire,
When it was ice.
Maybe I forgave you,
Only to let you keep doing what you did,
Behind my back.
Perhaps you thought that when you were in pain,
I wasn’t.
But I hated that pain.
Because of me,
You tore apart the feeling.
Maybe we had love.
i have a fatal flaw
i'm only inspired
when the darkness attempts to swallow me whole.
Can't write happy cliches,
got to write , full on shit kicking.
And so for me there is no I between
I'm resigned to the dark side
that's where i live,
that is me
The reason I am still living
is ny ability to plough my feelings
on to the page
I'll use any means available,
Even if it's profanity
To keep the poem moving
In the fields of my mind
Odd clouds gather
Mists of uncertainties
Senseless insanities
In the sanctum of my heart
Dark storms growl
Blizzards of bitterness
Senseless unhappiness
About the petals of my body
Thorny vines grow
Deep wounds anew
Senseless unhealed scars
I dread for my soul
Inward uneasiness
The darkness awaken
At this sunrise
Evil, wears the faces that we put on it
The masks that we see are of our own device
Out of the darkness, in the light of the fire
we chisel and paint, bringing to life our fears
Warnings woven in tales handed down
of innocence carried away
in the absence of enlightenment
So we seek to put names and faces on it
What we cannot see frightens us
We need the lamps of understanding
Then we can invent ways of defeating evil
There must be Ying and Yang
I can't remember how this poem was to begin,
so I'll stir up a little agitation,
there's nobody home and nobody's without sin,
thieves are amoung us and steal the pontificating heart
with parochial parody.
Poets, damn them one and damn them all,
damn their inclinations
and exaltations.
Damn their invitations.
Damn their spotted dogs and damn their blind eyes,
damn their truth. Damn their loose lips,
flapping like red sails in the wind.
God has wit
and a sense of humour;
He made politicians
first.
To keep the devils
laughing silly
so He could make
the world in peace.
Then He invented
the feminist movement
when he formed Eve
from a spare rib.
And just to add
a dirty bit to
an already awkward set up,
He left them naked
in a garden patch
with a fruit
and a talking snake.
What a lie
that I can own the moon,
The untruth
Which makes me think
I can hold the sun
It is selfishness
To believe
that someone feels
As I do
Or expect that love
Will return
Just as light arrives
On a brand new day
Seeing the green grass
Grow to only whither
As winters wind
Begins to blow,
The heart felt chilling
Bitter cold
Which steal away
Springs green glow
And our eyes shall see some things
Manifestations of magnificent beings
Riding in immortal splendor down on the sun’s rays
To show off their glitters like our mortal ways
It shall be then that we shall see these odd breeds
With their sacred beads and godly creeds
Finally step on these withered weeds
To play hide and seek with us in Armageddon
Perhaps, again on the ancient plains of Esdraelon
You were on the tip of my tongue
but I had nothing more to say,
and so it is
that poetry is by far the easiest
thing to swallow.
if you think I'm your friend, your lover,
your enemy or your Beloved
you're half-right
only as far as your thinking goes
so here goes a quick assessment
of the blessed rite of passage,
down, down where nobody knows
how far the truth goes
that never has been said
and left you for dead,
alive and kicking into that gaping mouth
that holds the void, opening,
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