Forever Cursed To Sing

Can’t you hear
My silent screams?
Can’t you see
The rope’s sway?

My head is too heavy
To cradle in your arms
I’m loathe
To drive you away

The bridges we
Walked hand in hand
You returned in secret
To burn

Thus my fate
Is bound to yours
Now the mirror’s eye
Has learnt to yearn

I was blinded
By the shine
Of your porcelain
Handshake

Fooled into believing
That nothing
Would ever
Cause us to break 

The memory
Of our time apart
Like the returning
Of a playground swing

Pushing against
Fate itself
Forever cursed
To sing

Oh how
I’ve learnt
To hold onto
All those toxic tears

Created and then
Faced together
You and I
Embodying each other’s fears

The embers of
Last night’s fire
Lie discarded
In their pit

Smouldering
As we dance around
No chairs left
On which to sit

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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For As Long As I Have Eyes

I dream of flowing lines,
Of black and red reeds painted upon canvas,
Dripped into life,
Pulled forth from my mind,
The perfect representation.
The chaos of a moment
Captured for eternity,
Or at least for as long as I have eyes
To see what I’ve made.

But that vision
Is a just as much of a lie
As these words upon a page.
For they never were written,
Merely typed.
A digital expression of an analogy problem.

I am of two ages.
An alien in both worlds,
None his own,
None his hone,
None he wants to return to,
None he wants to live through.

I act and then think.
I act and then justify those actions.
A post hoc self-hypnosis to avoid dissonance.
A way to persist.
A way to function.

But to what end?

The answer comes
Calling out,
‘Daddy let me show you something!’

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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Fleeting

Eyes meet
A fleeting moment
Futures fractal
Possibilities endless

Turn away
A moment passes
Fading memories
What can never be

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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Chaotic Beauty

A chaotic beauty,
A trusting soul,
Mother’s love for all.

She’s seen things,
And survived worse,
Feeling it all.

A chaotic passion,
A new goal,
Abundance for her soul.

She’s taking action,
Making her mark,
Becoming her all.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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blessed with life's baggage

contemplating suicide
is a luxury
i can no longer afford

i am blessed
with life’s baggage
weighed down by love

spurred
by the desire
to prove them wrong

cajoled into action
my inner voice
softly screaming

to be more
than a footnote
of failure

to act
in-spite of doubt
and fear of judgement

to resolve
to do everything
to ensure my legacy

when I die
i will die
having truly lived

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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autumn leaves

the earth sighs
autumn leaves
beautiful in death
fall discarded
left to decay
until the earth
takes another breath

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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An Apology To The Future

As elders
We suffer
The pain
Of our pasts

Niggles become nuisance
Ignorance becomes issue
Beauty becomes blemish

Choices
Made long ago
Become the chains of our present

Back then
I was free
To take any path
Oblivious of consequence

Now
Having walked those paths
Those consequences
Force me to keep walking

An adult
Bound
By the decisions
Of a child

I am
Who I am
Only because
I was
Who I was

Will future me
Resent these words?

Or will I look back
As I do now
With compassion
Knowing I did my best
With what I had?

All I can offer is
An apology
To the future

I am sorry
For the pain
My choices
Will bring you

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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A Requiem For What Could Have Been

Last night
I dreamt
Of my father’s death

The slow pathetic decline
Of a worthless man
Was reformed into
A noble sacrifice
A resilient stand against oppression
An act to be proud of

I knew I was dreaming
Yet I preferred to remain
Bamboozled and blinded
By the beautiful facade

In the dream
I wept freely
For a man
I understood
Cared about
And loved

In my memories
I grew distant
From a man
I didn’t understand
Care about
Or love

I woke conflicted

Are my dreams
Telling me
That my memories
Are fiction?

That the feelings
Felt in the facade
Are more fact
Than the fear
And confusion?

Or perhaps
I’m only questioning
Because
My reality was retched

And that dream
Like others of it’s kind
Are a requiem
For what could have been

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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a waterfall shaping rock

thoughts
relentless
a waterfall shaping rock

each drop
trivial
yet collectively
devastating

time
forms ruts
inescapable

consciousness
relentless
a river scarring land

each choice
trivial
yet collectively
devastating

thinking patterns
guiding future
flow

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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A Page To Listen

My poems are tragic,
So that my life isn’t.

I write to release
the demons
I invented
To protect myself.

When I had nothing else,
I had a pen to speak,
And a page to listen.

---

This poem is from the book, ‘A Requiem For What Could Have Been: Poetry For The Broken’.

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A Moment Fragmented

A moment fragmented
Against a lifetime
Of similar moments

A life shattered
Well before it’s time

Those moments
Replayed, rewound, and reworked

Those moments reconstructed
Into a tolerable shadow

Forever following
Forever protecting
Forever warning

Forever recalling
Those moments
Where life was fragmented

Forever forestalling
Advancement and growth

Forever focusing
Upon the past
And everything it implies
About the future

Another moment
Another fragmentation
Another destruction
Another shadow
Another protection
Another warning
Another follower

Just more weight
To carry into the future
Just more weight
To hold me in place
Just more weight
To remember

Just more
Just another

Just me
Reliving a moment

All those moments
Again

---

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 Point Of Trying

What’s the point of trying,
When my efforts leave me crying?
When my thoughts circle dying?
When I think everyone is lying?

What’s the point of trying,
If my bravest act is complying?
If it’s the deepest truths I’m denying?
If even greatness is unsatisfying?

What’s the point of trying,
When I’m constantly self-denying?
When a simple conversation is terrifying?
When depression is positive identifying?

What’s the point of trying,
If angsty poetry is all that I’m supplying?
If my mental state is all I’m edifying?
If an internet like is the peak of gratifying?

What is the point of trying,
When my legacy will be horrifying?
When my body will be mortifying?
When the result will be mystifying?

Yet I am trying.

Trying to be the one supplying a way to express the horrifying. Cause there is no denying, the thoughts of dying are mortifying, but also mystifying and strangely gratifying when you find that justifying the days spent crying, or self-denying, or complying, was purifying.

When life feels unsatisfying, there is something edifying, in identifying with the terrifying. Processing and magnifying, focussing, and occupying the stupefying underlying processes of the mind.

Perhaps the point of trying,
Is to begin the process of purifying
Is to enable present moment occupying
Is to deny the darkness justifying.

Perhaps the point of trying,
Is to promote hope magnifying.
Is to reveal your truth underlying.
Is to heal from trauma stupefying.

---

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.

What You Could Have Been

She is
What you
Could have been

If only
You could
Get out
Of your own way
Long enough
To embrace
Your potential

Instead
You fall
To your fears
Of yourself
And of others

Twisting reality
Foraging it to fit
Into your pre-existing
Narratives
Thus proving
Why
You can never
Be
What you could have been

---

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.

tomorrow

i’m borrowing
from tomorrow
to pay
for today

---

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.

Uncontainable By The Bondage Of Words

Uncontainable
By the bondage
Of words
Its nature
Is unexplainable

Nameless
And
Formless
Yet more whole than
The even most perfect
Analogy can imply

To say it acts
Is a lie
To say it is
Is a lie
Even to call it ‘it’
Is a lie

Yet it acts
As it is
And as it does
In its way

Unfathomable
And unknowable
To everything
Other than itself
This
Despite its
Impact being
Forever felt
By everything

Or
perhaps not
As its very nature
Invalidates these words
As well as your interpretation of them

---

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 silence between words

i long
for the gap
between thought

the silence
between words

the calm
before action

that moment
when all
the world’s movement
harmonises
with itself

---

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 Artist’s Dilemma

She been dulled
Stupefied and lulled
A painful recognition
Of love confined

Her life defined
Critiques and hard lines
Shrines to inner conflict
Oft spoken in rhyme

Words to pry
Words to satisfy
Words to lie
Words to live by

Dredged from depravity
The page a consul
Her soul’s aspect
Judged

Her life fudged
An act
Hiding truths
Expressed in ink

The artist’s dilemma
To flow or stow
To create or embody
To scratch with pen or knife

To be or not to be
That is the question
A modern problem
Shakespearean to common
Passed down without solution

She seeks absolution
A promise
A freedom
A satirical lyrical empirical miracle

Something
Anything
To break the cycle
To begin again

She comes full circle
Thoughts mulled over
Conclusions culled
Her love is dulled
And she’s confined

---

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.

What is truth, Other than fiction?

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.

The Agnostic’s Plea

Tell me
How your god be
If ‘it’ be a ‘he’
A ‘she’ or a ‘many’

Share with me
Its personality
Should I fear thee
And their ability to bring death upon me?

And what of their decree?
What happens to those who flee?
And how does your god treat sinners
Who kneel and plea?

Show me their impact on society
And on you personally
And on the priests who need a degree
To interpret the words heard internally

Can they foresee
The future of humanity?
Or are we free
To embrace our bestiality?

I want to see
What brings your heart such glee
And feel the emotionality
That seemingly can only be wrought by divinity

---

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.

Verses Like Curses

I’m not feeling good today,
All good feelings gone away,
I don’t think I’ve the energy to play,
All I can do is sit and say:

That,
Words flow through my mind in verses, like curses that highlight the evidence for the nurses writing obituaries for those travelling in hearses. The words disperse paragraphs of mental inverses that coerces when it traverses then immerses. It changes and corrupts into mental cutpurses taking it all as it reimburses. The words are a game, a versus, life and death on the field of internal universes.

The worst is, that this verse is, my only respite from the inner curses. When the pen traverses the page it disperses my universes and reimburses, but only while it immerses.

I can feel it ending now,
The brief respite is gone somehow.
What can I do but allow?
Cause the curse has trapped me in this vow.

---

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.