Poems

Simple People

People, are different
People, are the same
People, are individuals
Some people use their brain
People make us happy
People make us sad
People make the culture
Sometimes people are bad.
People make the world go round
People make it stop
People live in valleys
Sometimes on mountain top.
The point is we’re all people
We all do different things
This world’s rich diversity
That’s what people brings

Powerful men

Illusions of powerful men
Behind smoke and mirror hide
Rampant rhetoric roar!
Delusion by their side
Hidden that they lied.Grasping of powerful men
Tred the innocence under feet
Devious devil’s devour!
Blood stain throne, their seat
Down the innocent beatConscience of powerful men
Absent from their mind
Nothing, nil, nowhere
No moral can they find
Leaders of the blindSilence, still, steady
When the will is ready
To cry injustice loud
The martyrs meet their fate
We were just too late
And go back to watching telly.

Black widow barbie

Black widow barbie

Plastic parasitic predator

Waiting, watching, in snaring

Fake smile, eyes uncaring.

Angelic demeanour

Polymorphic rapport

Killing things of beauty.

A rigor mortise whore.

The Condor

Majestic giants of Peruvian air

Soaring gliding on thermal rise

Carefree canyon kings

Suncast shadows beneath them lies.

Free, untamed, spread their wings

They epitomise better things.

Impossible Friends

Darkness and light
They tried to meet
When light tried to find,
Darkness would retreat
Try as she might
Light searched in vain
This darkness mythical,
Light searched all the same.
As day searched for night,
An enigma apart.
The legend of night
Captivity would depart.
Light never saw darkness
Polar friends
Perpetual quest
It never ends.
One day light went out.
Darkness he stayed.
His life without light
Was how he’s made.
Somethings in life
Can never be.
For where there’s light
No darkness we’ll see.

Paths

Paths we walk them.
Walk them day by day.
Sometimes along the path
We rest for a time and stay.
The gradient can slow us
Or accelerate our pace
Sometimes we’re rained on
Sometimes feel radiance upon our face.
Facing forward, backwards
Up, down, side to side
Reflective, ignorant
Sometimes we hide
The path we take
A choice from A to B.
Sometimes certain,
Other times don’t see.
Your path, may be different
From what others take
But sometimes they cross
Paths our lives do make.

England verses Wales

Twas the eve before the big one

The Dragon verse St George

The men of Battle meet

In the principality forge

Many Don the uniform

For the game of games.

The Scarlet rugby Jersey

And a pint of reverend James.

From Monmouth to St Davids

And Penywaun miner’s club in between

A sea of crimson welshmen

Gathering are seen.

Calon lan and Cwm Rhondda

Sung from gathered crowd

Until the whistle sounds

Hymns and arias oh so loud.

Come you whitened chariots

To the Dragons ground
Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau

Rings proudly,

All around.

All us Welsh folk

Hoping England fails

What ever happens

You’ll know you’ve been to Wales.

Paraphrase

I’d like to say something
But not quite the way I should.
I wanted to say “posture”
Instead said “how they stood”
Words escaped like justice.
Finding the words to say
Not quite what I meant
Saying it a different way.
Expression of my essence
The person who is me
The expressions different
From what others see.

The post modern poet

The silent poet composed words within his head.

Nothing spoken, nothing said.

Observing life, the colours in the grey

Didn’t speak, didn’t say.

Witnessed the moments passed by from other folk.

Didn’t utter, never spoke

Didn’t wish to offend or provoke

Sentences of silence

Uttered outwardly within

Questioned his reality

A post modernity recluse

Attended trendy parties

Wearing a fashionable noose.

They didn’t say anything

Were they even there?

Sat and drank whisky

Into the empty glass did stare.

 

The Submarine Captain

The submarine Captain ordered a standard sub.

There in started his problems, after he set sail.

Twas on his maiden journey

That the systems started to fail.

The crew were utterly petrified

For at 500 fathoms sprung the leaks

The crew were beside themselves

As over tannoy, the Captain speaks.

“Men I’m awfully sorry.

It’s my grammatical error that’s caused out fate

I’m such a foolish Captain

And now it’s far too late!

For when I ordered a standard sub”

To the crew he pandered

” I didn’t write standard sub

Instead I wrote substandard”

Playground

Raindrops patter upon the playground pools.

The gangs of kids like monkeys in the zoo.

Fastinated, encapsulated, imagination unbound.

The boys play army with an armoury of sticks.

Tripping up each other, for thrills and kicks.

Clusters of children with idiosyncratic minds

Each their imagination open to unwind.

Free in the playground, playing out their life.

Where is that playground in our latter times.

Hidden, obscured, amidst the growing rules.

Conforming cajoling rules that prepare us well.

For working to pay the mortgage in the houses that we dwell.

Rember the playground where we left our unbound dreams?

The playground full of hope, potential packed in all its seams.

Stop this silly playing and put on this grey suit.

Forget your ambition, your child thoughts mute!

Join the race of rats and scurry well made runs.

Put down your sticks and pick up the real guns.

Dare you dream? With innocence of mind?

Who knows what future we may find?

Jump in pools of puddles and Muddy that grey suit.

The leaf

The leaf falls from the tree,

When the time is right.

This is the story prior

To its fall from living height.

Twas the spring in sunshine welcome

That its birth and life did start

And breath and living

From its chlorophyll heart.

It gave the air we breathe

As spring sprang forth to summer.

Journey to another season

Before its final slumber.

And long, that summer’s happy days

Basked in such golden light

Then summer to autumn

Ready its fall from height.

In the senescence of life

Oh contemplating leaf

Bid farewell.

Leaving autumn grief.

Laid to rest on earthy ground

Autumn turned to winter

As gently snow was found.

Then as the circle was complete

Winter giving birth to spring

Something miraculous

Again a new born thing.

The new leaf born

At that very height

Welcomed by the new spring sun.

Basking in its light.

Dedicated to Nancy. “There is poetry in everything”

Poetry of every day

The error of Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud

“Oi” said the cloud with abrupt distain

“I don’t wander mate

But do occasionally rain”

The poet taken a back

A talking cloud

Was it in his head?

Or said out loud?

“Oi I spoke to you

Poet chap,

I had to correct your

Erroneous crap”

“we’re shoved around

Like sardines tinned,

Jostled, bunched

By natures wind”

“Pardon” speaketh

The poet perplexed

For that’s how its written

In E Olde texts.

“You heard” said

The not so wondering cloud

“It’s the wind

That determines where we’re found.

Not a choice

that’s mine to make

But predetermined

Where the wind does take!”

“HARDLY A wandering

More a shove

In the atmosphere

Way above.”

“we’re not lonely either!”

The clouds lament

“We’re often together

Where we are sent”

And Wordsworth

Not wanting a cloud to fight

Wrote about daffodils

That came to sight.

For daffodils are less philosophical than clouds.

A much more appreciative crowd.

First Christmas

Clear dark velvet sky

Thousand stars twinkling bright

One shineth intensely brilliant

On that Christmas night.

Shining compass like

To humble lowly place,

To humanity divine,

Upon a new born’s face.

Ox and ass witness bore

The miracle of birth

Hope of hope unveiled

A hope upon the earth.

What shepherds gazed

A story made

Was born

This Christmas night.

Dying isn’t always sad.

The eternal timer finally sounds
The final act of dying.
All alone with self
No tears no crying

It’s not sad to die
When sat upon the chair
Practical dying
The dying of ones hair

Dedicated to Mary

Who was dying alone this evening

The last gun fell silent.

The last gun fell silent,
After 9 million soldiers fell.
The sound of silence
After the rage of hell.
To stand in no man’s land
Your feet in poppy crimson red.
Listen to the silence
Of 9 million Whispering from the dead.
The silent whisper loudly
From graves to be marked in white
With silence we remember
The cost of the great wars fight.
Once each year they speak to us
And quietly silent say..
“Remember this moment”
“11th hour, 11th month 11th day”

Home time

It’s 10 to 4 and almost time to go

10 minutes away from the home time door.

Tick tock tick tock I am counting down.

The Friday feel, to smile from frown.

The clock is passing, what shall I do?

5 minutes more and no more blue.

It’s getting closer and closer still,

3 minutes left and time to kill.

Almost here, with moments to go

1 minute now, before the home time door.

This poem has taken 10 minutes of time.

And I’ve killed and filled by penning rhyme.

Bye bye, now its 4

At the end of this sentence

I’m through the door 🚪

Valley steps

Memories of the old times
Fondness gazing back
Precomplexity moments
Only wisdom did I lack.
Running the valley pathway
Through streets and mountain way.
Chatting on the steps
Until the cease of day.
Random conversations
Accompanied looks of distain
And lacking wisdom
Not thinking with my brain.
Was it distain or teasing
As daylight to dusk did turn.
Not in my youthfulness
Did I ever learn.
But as I grew older,
Along a complex path
I still look back with fondness
At two teens, innocent laugh.
Parallel lives that journey
Connected along the way.
But no longer Precomplexity
As life goes forward
Life’s complications has its way.
Could I change it?
If time travel button press?
If I ask the question?
Would the answer be yes.

Time with a good heart

Gentle wind of change, that whispers like a prayer.

Slowly usher with love filled palm

To a new world, still yet unimagined

Steadily resistant to corrupt ignorant mistakes.

Fortifying the resolve of a good man.

Time tenderly ticks tiredly tenacious.

As the road seems ever long changing quietly without notice..

Standing at the apex of history.

A new imagined place.

Where is the enquiring mind?

Where is the enquiring mind?
Nostalgia baked in the plaice of lies
Packaged served.
Stuck to our eyes.
What do we see?
If we see at all?
Ingested, infested
Make our world small.
Afraid to awake the enquiring mind.
Scared to be open to what we might find.
Unfiltered absorbance of multinarrative.
Unquestioning digestion of 21st manor.
Scofing and gorging
From the media table.
Breathe, step back,
If we are able.
Caught in the tide of information flow.
Tossed along where’er, don’t know.
Throw me the life line of an enquiring mind
Untie the snare that bind,
And let me see the Sun.

Deceptively Spacious

The agent proclaimed when showing buyers around

“it’s deceptively Spacious” for there’s room to be found.

In nocks and in crannies there’s plenty of space

Take a look, take your time, view at your pace!

What is deceptively Spacious? A molecular trick?

To entice the buyer to this house to pick.

Can I squeeze in this cove, a wardrobe so large?

“Of course” says the agent resembling Nigel Farage.

And you buy that small house so deceptively large.

Mansion inside, outside a barge

Full to the rafters piled with your shit

Squashing in furniture to tightly fit.

“Deceptively Spacious” is what the agent said.

The reality “Deceptively Spacious” is the estate agents HEAD!!

Weekend welcome

Friday the gateway to weekend
From Monday foe my Friday friend.
How I longed for your company sweet.
Kick off my shoes, put up my feet.
The comfort of Saturday morn
The lay in bed and yawn.
Sunday the final day of rest
Until Monday and rat race fest

911

A day like no other
two towers in the sky
The day they fell
Left us asking why
Like brothers standing together
Fell at each others side
We never forget
Mothers fathers brothers sisters son and daughters that died.
September 11th
Forget we never will.
Remembering the fallen
In silence standing still.

Welsh homecoming

To be Welsh is to be excited at a bridge.
Homeward bound to play a toll,
Sing to keep a welcome,
As over the seven you roll.
To the welcome of gathered clouds
To the valley rain so near
A few miles to the land,
Land held so dear.
Then arrive apon the hallowed ground.
Your beloved Wales is found.
And sigh of relief expel.
Relax, and know. All is well.

Hope & Despair

Hope and Despair travelled the road,

They walked side by side.

Sometimes Despair rushed along

Hope would appear to hide.

Despair would race

At superhuman pace

Leaving hope without a trace,

Despair arrived in a lonely place.

Despair panicked, Calling out for Hope

Despair gasped for breath, feeling he’d choke.

Hope wasn’t far behind

But Despair in his panic blind

Couldn’t see Hope,

He couldn’t find.

Hope gently touched Despair.

Despair was glad Hope was there.

The Idyllic Man

In a small Idyllic town
Lived a small Idyllic man
Who you saw driving
A small Idyllic van.
And in his van Idyllic
He kept his Idyllic gift
And attend the lost and weary
Offering them a lift.
Enter they would downtrodden
And spill out all their woes
He would lend a listening ear
As they cried and spoke their lows.
Out spilling hearts of trouble
To the Idyllic little man
As they bare their problems
Ridding in the Idyllic little van.
And listening intently
With word of comfort here and there.
The Idyllic little man
Would show a little care.
And when the journey ended
And the destination reached
They knew they’d be listened to
And not patronised or preached.
Some would thank him
As they left the Idyllic van
But all would receive a gift
From the small Idyllic man.
He’d open the back
Pulling out the Idyllic gift.
It was a little box
So heavy, they couldn’t lift.
They’d say “how can it take it?”
To the small Idyllic man
With a smile he’d put it back.
In his small Idyllic van.
“You don’t” he said
“I keep it because I cared”
“it contains all the worries
And problems that you shared”
Slightly lighter they travelled onwards
But more freely they ran
Because of a listening friend.
Who’s your Idyllic little man?

Empathy Road

Empathic travel along life’s Road

Walking in shoes not owned.

All perspective other than own

To allow your mind to feel,

To touch, to know that other

The love of child by mother,

The loyal stance of brother,

The ernest lament of another.

To walk in shoes not my own

The weary heart alone.

Joy filled sunshine of family life

Heartache of family strife.

Ups and downs. Ins and outs.

The raving lunatic that shouts.

Can you step out of life that’s yours

And feel momentarily someone else’s cause.

To dare from insular shell to crawl

To feel for someone else’s fall.

To share happiness with no jealous trait.

To be a solid empathic mate.

This is Empathy Road.

It’s too hot to write a poem

It’s too hot to write a poem

In this heat wave, at this time.

Too lethargic and weary,

To put words to rhyme.

If only I had the energy

To find a creative spurt

In the blistering heat

And dry cracked dirt.

Where are you my energy?

Sapped by prolonged heat!

Unable to write poetry

From my tired seat.

Too hot and bothered

Too finish the next line

I’ll just sit here drinking

My glass of red warm….

Quiet & Loud

Quiet and loud
went on a date
Quiet waited.
Loud was late.
Loud, triumphantly entered
Causing a stir.
Quiet sat there,
Smiling, all demur.
“Sorry I’m late”
Boomed loud all excited
Quiet his charm
Didn’t fight it.
“Can I get you a drink? ”
Loud asked quiet
“May I have coke?
And please may it be diet? ”
“Bar keep a coke!
And make it diet!
For my lovely date!
Wonderful quiet!”
They tried to date,
But it was a disasterous riot.
Because where loud is;
You can’t have quiet!

Social loneliness

We friend request.
We chat and comment,
Any time day or night
A friend on line, in sight.
Unable to put our phone down
Companions to seek
No response, no like
The future very Bleak
Connection electronics
Poking, liking, share
But no touch, no intimacy,
Real human care.
Connected more than ever
Technologies gift.
More loneliness than ever
Technological rift.
Advanced communication
Is no communication at all.
If true relationship communication,
Under the bus,
Does fall.

Conformity!

Enslaved to what I’m told to think
Trapped inside society.
Drunk in conformity,
Unable to find sobriety.
In my mouth from babe in arms
Thrust societies feed
Where’s the Nurturing voice?
To think myself?
From conformity freed?
Schooled and cloned to pass the test.
Congratulations, your done!
Now join the rest.
In box, in square, put in there
Never at the corners tear
Never venture out the box
Putting on the same old socks.
Time onward ticks and tocks.
Building up conformity blocks.
Put down you phone
Switch off TV
Dare open the door?
And see….

Master of the Yard

As the evening sets on Brewery Yard,
With orange yellow glow,
The Master makes his rounds,
Through the terraced row.
He slinks on through
The open doors
As king of the yard
He walks the floors.
Not a care, not a thought,
No approval is sought
The black and white feline frame
Never ever will you tame.
Proud predictory precious paws
Wondering the the open doors.
You may spy him where your sat
The master of the yard! Scooter cat.

Fathers & Dads

Fathers, dads past and present
You will always fill our mind
Unique to our lives
No other to find.
You were and are
Our solid ground
When lost and sad
Your hug was found.
It’s easy to be a father
But I’m eternally glad
You weren’t just father
You are a loving dad.