She wallowed among the inbread.
Behind the shadows of sameness
She found no comfort, no reason
To refuel the depleted cells of
Vanity. His last touch had felt final,
Like an expectation of finding a
Bargain among the scraps, of
Something long lost; nowRediscovered.
I can write dark poetry
almost any day of the week
It spirals through my veins
It defines my every blink
…
Days that are good
I rarely express
I’m too busy being happy
To compare them to the rest
….
I’m sorry I’m ungrateful
incognizant, at the least
of how good I got it
every time the symptoms cease...
Poem by @fifty-shades-of-apathy
My talent, a lucky charm beneath
Skies of open fire, a solitude of
rain in dissonance with my subtle
Future rage; of powers drained from
Solid State Batteries as if they really
Mattered to meHear me now
Naked I stand before you
Naked I stroll nimbly
Naked talents; underdeveloped mischief.
My lucky charm a
Talent wasted,
My rage against the
Times like these,
The unfounded upsets &
The scores of treacle
Dripping, like the days of us;
Kitchenless children inHibernation
There is no day like the present.
Dancing along the boulevards of
Saké, picking up the leftover dreams
From the ones that crawled before
Us, not needing the scissors to
Cut the ties that bound; that tied and
Limited the life force given.
I accept my destiny as set in stone,
The magical word is --Presence
Ghosts: poems in black and white
I have published my first collection of poetry! I am not suggesting you
go on and buy it, but it is proof that anyone can become a published
writer if they want to. The book is available through all Amazon outlets as well as many other online retailers worldwide.
Update 1 Dec 2020: By popular demand, a Kindle version is now available on Amazon. If you have Kindle Unlimited you can read it for free. Hurrah!?!
There are no answers
To the worry I frequently feel
Of running out of words
Of no longer finding air
To breathe
To fly
To be
AnotherThere are no answers
To the silence behind the white space
Between the tabs and unpunctuated
Patternless drivel of lunacy
La Luna shrouded in
No mysteryThere are no answers
As no questions are really asked
Of you
Of me
Of honest folk
To carry us forward
Beyond the calling of the dark dreams
There is more of us
More of truth —in stories
As the wind of destiny blew the
Curtains wide
I stared down the spinning wheel and
The offering of time
~
In the shallow waters of the ancient well
I saw your truth as you did tell of
The fire, the love, of death once
Mourned
No longer our glue, no longer our
Moment
~
We prayed to gods of parcels
For those waiting to receive
Our minds aligned to the delivery
To the magical — unboxing
~
And so the story ends
With a promise that today
The shipment of stories bound
Is coming your way
I once attempted to write of love
Of the light that shines above
Then the storm came and the
Ship sank
Most of the good words lost at depth
Only the dark and hollowly expressed
Ever resurfaced
Ghosts frequently haunt the places we desire the most in our search for solitude: our memories. Our ghosts are personal, intimate, and often unreasonable foes of days long gone. Over time they become our sparring partners in the eternal ring of unyielding fires, refusing to heed our cries for mercy.
Ghosts is a collection of personal poetry painted in black and white. Poems dealing with past and present ghosts, and with the life and inevitable death of the poet they left behind.
Please be aware: the topics covered herein may be upsetting to some readers. There is explicit content: strong language, references to abuse and scenes of a sexual nature; plus frequent misuse of punctuation, grammar, and the English language.
Available now from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Waterstones, plus many other online book sellers around the world.
Elvis never actually left the building
he turned off the air-con
upped the heating to max
then turned in a pirouette
laughing out loud as the mirrors tumbledI WALK FREE
beneath your shattered dreams
behind your broken backs
beyond your understanding
before the fall of manI am
