calm
within the eye
of the storm
joy
vicariously
obtained
warmth
besides
growing fire
clarity
from duty
beyond self
peace
of a riptide’s
pull
focus
alongside
fear
awe
at primal
efficiency
pleasure
in
pain
release
through acceptance
of death
This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
when pain turns to might
the blind gain sight
but try as they might
they can’t handle the light
so accustomed to darkness
truth brings fright …
rodents delight in their self created blight
reluctantly fleeing the cat’s tyrannous bite
unable to fight they turn to flight
returned to the sewers
hiding till night
then forming packs of righteous right
they write of spite and unquenched appetite
they sight the slight and ways to incite
they observe the oversight and offer an invite
then wait
for their revolution
to set the darkness alight
This poem is inspired by the book, ‘How To Write Evocative Poetry’.
You can read some chapters from the book, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
why’d i give up
so much of myself
out of fear
of my own
blossoming
greatness?
This poem is from the book, ‘Poetry from a Dark Night of the Soul’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
let’s go on an excursion
exploring pathology and perversion
where promises conflict with perception
and pleasure is found in aversion
where a moment can stretch into an eon
and an lifetime can vanish into confusion
where attention can dispel the illusion
and uncover the collective delusion
of a world desperate for absolution
yet unable or willing to find a solution
one where corruption and corporate collusion
trump harmony and empathetic inclusion
and the blind acceptance of institution
enables the systematic prosecution
of most every creature of evolution
distracted from their inevitable revolution
by the promise of a shiny substitution
via advertisements of unsustainable consumption
coupled with subliminal thought intrusion
money exchanged for species execution
accept the norm and practice blame diffusion
only to pray as final resolution
desperately hoping to avoid karmic retribution
Watch this poem on YouTube
This poem is inspired by the book, ‘How To Write Evocative Poetry’.
You can read some chapters from the book, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
What is truth,
Other than fiction?
An oil addition,
And political corruption,
From party contributions.
A narrative repeated,
Resources depleted,
Until resistance defeated.
A move to perception change,
From being considered strange,
Into unequivocally deranged.
Think this is a lie?
Look back and histories cry,
And witness those who die.
The best amongst us,
The ones who raised a fuss,
The holy and the righteous.
A bullet to silence
Those in defiance.
Those highlighting the hypocrisy of the violence.
‘But that’s the past’ you say,
‘It no longer happens that way’.
Perhaps, but wait until today is yesterday.
Then today’s leaders
Will be seen to be the cause of the bleeders,
Covert operations and illegal seizures.
But don’t you worry,
There’s nothing to be done,
It’s just how it is,
under our radiant sun.
They will continue taking,
At the barrel of a gun,
With the sign of a pen,
Or a secret bank run.
Knowing that truth is a lie
Won’t help you get by,
At best you’ll cry,
At worst your entire family will die.
Cause if you speak up too loudly,
They’ll come at you proudly,
Exclaiming that you’re dastardly,
And probably bastardly.
Your image will be dragged into the dust,
Your assets left to rust,
Your body buried below the crust.
So,
Open your mouth and swallow the narrative,
The truth is fiction and you will believe their prediction.
Keep quiet if you know what’s good for you,
Cause really, what good could you actually do?
Just a full stop.
Just a conspiracy top.
Just a dead-beat flop,
with nothing more to drop.
Realise that truth you share won’t make it to air. But that air you used to share will be the last you ever dare.
This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
I rush off
Like I’ve got somewhere to be
Something to do
Or someone to see
But that’s a lie
Cause the reality is it’s just gonna be me
Scared and alone and devoid of esprit
Asking the same questions repeatedly
‘Why do I end conversations so quickly?
And why do I flee
When all that I crave is company?’
Daily
I attempt to reconcile this hypocrisy
But the internal enquiry
Just yields me a dark prophecy
It states with nihilistic glee that
‘Happiness is impossible to guarantee’
Oh well
At least my family
Can use this poetry on my obituary
So if you’re reading this
Please ignore the depravity
The dead should be looked upon positively
Their transgressions forgotten to the pasts obscurity
I’m left wondering if this pain a function of my pedigree
If it was meant to be
Or if I brought it upon me
Cursed by fate and my family tree
Or by god and a world that rewards functionality
And profit derived from cruelty
Take what you can and fuck all that disagree
Prosperity if your right as long as you are free
As long as you agree
I’m so angry
And tired
And disproportionately craving insobriety
The only thing keeping me here is my children’s plea
Daddy won’t you come play with me?
This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
The first thing you notice are his bare feet,
Black and dirty.
Lacking a chair, he squats.
Lacking a home, he squats.
The second thing you notice are his eyes,
Sunken and hollow.
Desperate.
You walk.
He sees you seeing him.
You walk faster.
He smiles wide.
His teeth are as broken as the dwelling he guards.
Shattered windows for a shattered soul.
He calls out.
You walk faster still.
His sunken eyes suddenly grow sharp.
He recognises an opportunity.
You wear things of value.
You are something of value.
A second voice joins the first,
And then a third.
They point.
They chuckle.
They stand.
Your wealth represents their high.
Your body represents their high.
You run.
This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
The fear of imperfection.
The fear of not being good enough.
Crippling inaction.
Stuttered words.
No self-worth.
The fear of failure causing failure.
Not inability, talent or a lack of opportunity.
Just fear.
Just anxiety.
Just unattainable standards.
Standards put upon by myself.
Standards forced upon me by the world.
Others can fail.
Others can be imperfect.
Others can have fun.
Just stop.
Please don’t placate me.
I know ‘no one cares about that stuff’.
I know ‘we all make mistakes’.
I know ‘I’m only human’.
Reason doesn’t stop the thoughts.
By definition a phobia is illogical.
My only solace comes from the diagnosis.
Knowing that I am not alone.
Perfectly imperfect, together.
This poem is from the book, ‘Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly’.
Read more from the colleciton, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
Our minds are racing,
Our mood oscillating,
Endlessly contemplating,
Ruminating,
Anxiety,
And insobriety,
Spreading through society,
Bored with no variety,
Stay home and wait
Call your mate,
Think straight,
Commiserate,
Pretend,
Online spend,
Try to comprehend,
How this ever happened,
Presidents be acting competent,
Their faces prominent,
Acting dominant,
Imminent,
Woe,
Moving slow,
Just for show,
Really they don’t know,
Still they continuously interview,
Securing their revenue,
Sweet rendezvous,
Hitherto,
Corruption,
Excess consumption,
Designed to function,
Greed and false assumption,
Pull it all down,
Destroy the crown,
And town,
Drown,
Free,
We be,
Living in glee,
If we just agree,
To act as one,
Make it done,
Leave none,
Outrun.
This poem is inspired by the book, ‘How To Write Evocative Poetry’.
You can read some chapters from the book, download a free copy, or purchase as a Paperback, eBook, Hardcover or Audiobook.
