lift your head
look out of this morbid world
loneliness wrought from hateful words
flung upon you
see the harsh rugged beauty of this life
as the sun hangs low in the sky
a sinking ball of heat
red fire
enticing shifting patterns
deep plums
darkest purples
vibrant oranges
yellows and gold
and even the odd splash of blue
are streaked across the sky
below a sea heaves
the light tints the waves
capping their tips in brillient gold
the sun kissed seas splendor
shatters colour into a thousand shades
dancing playing
do not let the curvature of the earth
rise up to steal this
nor the sunset fade to black
your life is painted in that sky
the sea below, your world
do not let the tide
coldly creep closer
sucking the pebbles from benaeth your feet
the day is here and there is light
enjoy this time before the night awakens
your life is worth nothing
if you do not live it!

8O Wow!

My Pink Elephant

My pink elephant is sick.
I couldn't go on without him, my unique,
wonder. My pink elephant.
You'd think that it's silly
to place so much heart on such a thing,
but my pink elephant never ceases to amaze me.

My pink elephant comes over the hill,
hunched, shuffling his feet.
Almost forlorn...
the cinnamon trees are bold and stretch to the sky
complimenting him as he passes.

I wonder sometimes, what it would be like
to be alone forever with such a wondrous thing...
I realise that pink elephants don't need friends,
they just need people who'll keep them company.
That's all I want to do.

Holding him in my arms would break them.
Singing him a song would scratch my throat.
sliding into bed under him would crush me.
But still, I love my pink elephant, and could not live without him.

bump

*sigh* bump

Yesterday is a memory, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift, which is why it is called the present.

What the caterpillar percieves is the end, to the butterfly is just the beginning.

Everything that has a beginning has an end. Make your peace with all that and all will be well.

(yes Master 8O )

Wish

If I could wish one tiny wish,
I'd wish you back with me.
Not for the sun or moon and stars,
Or for the sparkling sea.

I'd give up everything I own,
Just to have you here,
To see your little face again
And keep you very near.

If God was listening I would pray
For one more day with you
I'd sing to you and hold you close,
Yes, that's what I would do.

So when I see the twinkling stars
Above the shimmering sea,
I think of you and wish so hard
That you were here with me.

beautiful heat....

That's really something, Heat...

Heat, that is a beautifull, sencible poem. It brought tears in my eyes, cause it described exactly what now is going on in my life. Thanks.

This, dear friends, is quite possibly my last statement.


I have come to realise, now,
that life, and love are entirely,
inseperable things.
You may tell me (because you may have been hurt,
or you know someone who has been hurt) that love
does not exist.

This, I cannot believe.
The two most gorgeous things in this existence
are love, and the people who we love.

I have cried tears because the people I love
either don't love me, or will not love me forever.
However, I have also cried when realising that there are people
who will love me forever, and I will love them forever also.

Until you have shed tears because it hurts
that you cannot find fault in someone you desperately want to,
you cannot tell me that I suffer in vain.
You will not trivialise my suffering, my pain,
by proclaiming that the reason I suffer does not exist.

I suffer, because I am born into a world, that is filled
with people who exist for their own sake. I pray to a non-existent god
every day
that I might not have to wake up tomorrow.
The greatest thing in the world to me, is the feeling I will have
when I slip into unconsciousness that last time,
and is some clichéd, hystrionic way, you will be the last thing on my mind.
I cannot think about the future, because it does not exist.
There are reasons we do things,
here are mine:
I am as surely unhappy, as surely the sun must rise and fall.
(People rise and fall, all the time. I hope you realise this.)

Do not, then, tell me that the substance that drives us to murder and
suicide is not real. Do not trivialise the pain of those that cannot bear the weight of rejection and fear and pain and collapse and suffering.
These people are real, they may seem happy
and spoiled, or bitchy, or catty...
but they merely see the world differently.
These people realise that you are not going to survive your life.
These people realise that this life is as utterly irrelevant as everything else,
and that by applying meaning to it you are holding on, desperatly, to a
life that is, in no way, your own.
These people realise that the human condition is boredom, waiting, and suffering.

These people are not dour, meloncholy, or missing the point of life.
Do not say this.
These people are happy and comfortable in their mortality and beckon the death knell with a silent finger.
We fear them because they are not contend with delusions of property and sharing...
People are vile, wretchéd creatures and these people know it.
Life is not what you make it, do not utter such a lie.
Life is a tiresome interlude in the cosmic nothingness that we were always intended to be.

I have decided to kill someone
and that person is you
I think I am going to have fun
because the hate I feel is true

I crave to hear you confess your sins
I want to hear your screams ring
I want to do every thing
To make you writhe in pain.

Im not violent naturally
but i was pushed into the dark
you stole my dreams and now I see
my misery was your lighthearted lark.

You scream as I push the blade deeper
slowly, dragging it idly
at first you thought I was a reaper
as the darkness was all you could see

I like causing you pain
but now I am getting bored
I stab you again and again
but the gun will be mightier than the sword

I raise it to your chest
And I fire three times in a row
close range, makes the pain the best
now the evil in my eyes doth glow

Your final moments are here
And I feel no remorse
Screw you, you son of a bitch
I won this time.

She lies there
enrobed in the night
waiting for the darkness to take her through to a new realm
She wonders if it will make any differrence but she already knows the answer
but shes not telling you.

She thinks of days gone by
of scraped knees and dungarees
of childbirth and worry
of pride and contentment
of ageing and growing old
gracefully? I think not.

It came as a blow
she knows she doesnt deserve this
but it saves another person the suffering
heh...all this tosh about a white light
all she has is the november moonlight glittering off the ornate picture frame next to the bed
she is not afraid anymore
what is life if you hang around and get bored?

Her eyes grow heavy and her pain is gone
she has lived
and she is happy

There was once an old man from the east
who went to his friend's for a feast
he chomped and he gobbled
until out he hobbled
out that old cafe on Jaywick beach!

Are you sleeping?
No, dear child. I am dead.

I wept for hours.
And it occured to my my hands were bloody.
I walked to the sink. Placed my habds on the tap
and turned it.

the water absolved Pilate and could surely absolve me.

Buy me A River

I cannot sleep here.
Not tonight.
No, not tonight.

Conversation seems fleeting and un engaging.
I rock silently.
He seems nice enough. But that's hardly good enough.
For you see, I'm not one to be picky,
but I'd like someone to hold.
Someone sturdy, steadfast and bold.

It's been a long time coming
and nothing seems readier now
than it ever did.

Three years is a long time to be sad.
I'm praying for a day when there's somebody by my side
who thinks of me as the one by his side.

There will come a day, when I will laugh and I will sing
but I won't have to wake up.

There will will come a day, when I don't live for other people
Choking on other peoples feelings.

I will cry, and I will almost die. But I won't have to face it alone.
I will have found my love...and this will be for sure.
Oh, tell me this. Tell me I'm not fantasising, tell me this romantasising
isn't bad for my heart.

Really big girls, with really big hair, come a-strolling down my street,
Really big girls, with really big pearls are rolling down the street
hand in hand with my boys.

Cry, cry if you must. But I'm not happy and I can't pretend.
Oh, cry, why must I cry...

Oh, die for me, would you?
Lies, lies.
I know, a thing or two about love and life and really big things like love life and really big things like that...

bumpity bump

hmmm bumpity bump indeed....


springs new hope.

Springs first snow
So delicately pale
Lies damp
Torn and scuffled
By desperate feet
As humanity hurries by
Churned to mud
By unseen eyes
Sodden and clogged
Rotting
With sickly sweet
Fetid smell
Clinging in the air
And still it comes, this snow
The rain will not wash clean
Springs beautiful tide
Of decaying death
Hopes awakening smile
Long turned sour
As bruised to brown
Discoloured blossoms
Dying
Only fall
Unto the ground

mee

A lot of truth in that Meshurp.

When I exit,
who will remember me,
did I leave a footprint?

somewhere...

In someones heart,
Will I live on,
did I leave a footprint?

somewhere.....

Will they talk of me,
in kindly terms,
did I leave a footprint?

somewhere....

The sands of time,
are running out,
did I leave a footprint?

somewhere...........

I am not happy and I'm not sad.
I'm just a boy who's trained to be bad.

Look around you, what do you see,
A life that has passed you by,
Is this how lifes supposed to be?

The Bench By The Canal, That Overlooks The Valley


The earth beats softly tonight under the soothing hands of the sun.
The gentle breeze lifts the leaves and grasses as paper and makes them dance.
A horizon of opportunity is clouded by the darkest of skies that is my forlorn expression,
like a tablet of stone, immovable in uncertainty.

The humble waterways remain still and everlasting under a humble sky.
Bridges, numbered and forgotten by most, but stand testament to the will of man to ease his suffering.
The trees, stoic in their indifference to mans infintile folly, are content to sway in silent exultation, resigned to an eternity in the sun baked valleys.

A hue of purple and grey cements the heavens to the sky, and the sky to the mountain,
as we watch on from our lonely lives.
The only sound is that of the animals, bleating and crying in their ignorance, and your heartbeat, and mine.

The orange lights of civilisation are little help when understanding the complex beauty of the earth. A tire track in the mud, and a footstep resounding loudly against the stagnant air are all that can be seen on the floor.
If you were to look closely, you would lose sight of the grander picture, that of a beautiful thing, infested with people who can but reflect on why they are there.

Missing Beauty
You rush past me, everyday,
Looking but not seeing,
You miss the beauty I hide
If only once you would look,
Maybe then then my beauty would be seen
For I the window am a doorway into another reality.

I’ll lend you for a little while
a child of mine, he said,
for you to love the while he lives,
and mourn for when he’s gone.

It may be two or seven years,
or twenty-two or three,
but will you, till I call him back,
take care of him for me?

He’ll bring his charms to gladden you,
and should his stay be brief,
you’ll have his lovely memories
as solace for your grief.

I cannot promise he will stay,
since all from earth return,
but there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.

I’ve looked the wide world over
in my search for teachers true,
and from the throngs that crowd this life,
I have selected you.

Now will you give him all your love,
don’t think the labour vain,
nor hate me when I come to call
to take him back again?

I fancied that I heard them say:
Dear Lord, thy will be done.
For all the joy thy child shall bring
the risk of grief well run.

We’ll shelter him with tender care,
we’ll love him while we may,
and for the happiness we have known,
forever grateful stay.

But should the angels call for him
much sooner than we’d planned,
we’ll brave the bitter grief that comes,
and try to understand.


In memory of my great nephew, Fred, 29/04/2005 ~ 10/06/2005