Poetry

"Ancient and today's simpler societies define themselves in terms of the world they live in. Modern man defines the world in terms of human values and this foolishness will undoubtedly be our undoing. I believe our demise is a process that is already at quite an advanced stage if not already irreversible."


I have been writing poetry since the age of 15, much of which was not very good, however, I like to think that I have improved with age and practice! My poems can be found in the books Where The Hazel Falls or Through The Cracks In The Concrete The Wilderness Grows (on sale here) and there is a small selection given below. You can also read some poems on DissidentVoice.org

 

Why?
Do we live to earn
Or do we earn to live?
Why must our days be filled
With concrete, plastic packaging
And oven-ready, frozen meals?
Is there no place to run
From the pearly-white smiles
Of advertising dreamland?
If life must be this grey
Just what is the point?
What is the fucking point?
Dreaming
As my body lies deep in slumber
My mind throws sparks and cracks of thunder,
Unshacked in the dead of night
It spreads its wings, breaks into flight
And hurrys away to where it's free,
Far from life's reality;
Where every secret wish is found
And all my hopes and dreams abound.
There is no need for fear or hiding
In this world of my own devising
But, alas, the spell is doomed to break
When morning comes and I awake.
In The City
I sit alone in a room,
As my heart sinks slowly to the floor.
I stare through the greasy window,
Into the dark of night,
The mass of lights shifting, swirling,
With each leaden breath.

I sit in silence and watch the street,
Squirming and writhing with noise and bustle,
Their grim iron faces, chained to joyless lives.
In a furnace of hatred and confusion
They chatter and scuttle like frenzied insects,
Hemmed in by sober blocks of grey, cold steel.

Bastions of the urban life,
We are dulled and smooth at the edges:
Bound to the grime and filfth, that is the city
By an addiction all powerful -
A drug so deadly potent is money.

Butterfly Girl
You flit from flower to branch and back again.
Beautiful and delicate as the winter sun,
You are gone no sooner than you came.
I would offer you comfort and shelter
But you do not linger;
Staying only so long as to remind me
Of why I missed you so.

Time passes and I put down roots
And I will remain here
Through the sun and storms.
But what of you little butterfly?
Where will you go, what will you do?
I hope that one day
Your lonely heart will find rest.
Time And Tide
Like pebbles on a beach
The tide of time washes over us.
Some are swept to far away shores
While others remain,
Slowly dissolving into sand.

A Moonlit Beach
I sat on a beach and waved goodbye
To the glowing gems that touched the sky
And watched a sea awash with light
Swaying gently into the night.
The crisp moon fell into place
And wiped a smile across its face;
From my mind leapt thoughts I couldn't stop
That spun my head like a wooden top,
They slid away far out of reach
Slipping down the silver beach;
Trailing memories snatched from my hand,
Scattered across the pale white sand.

A Dream
Some people talk 'bout
How the white man keeps 'em down
When it aint the white or the black
Or the yellow or the brown
But the rich man, the greedy man,
Who keeps us scrapping
And drugs us all from waking.

Day will come when we won't need
A race, colour or a creed,
We’ll learn to give and not only take
Not always be on the make;
Give a little love, to kill the pain
And teach us how to live again.
For Your Security, Freedom & Democracy
The avenging eagle sweeps down,
No longer napalming or waterboarding;
The white flash of posphorus burns the eyes,
As the flesh crisps and falls away -
An endless feeding frenzy
For an appetite that cannot be sated.
Give us your hearts and minds,
And failing that...
Your oil and your corpses
Will do damn fine.