The Crows Ate Well That Day

’twas dawn that called,
In all its fire,
To start the raging battle,
Such armour shone,
And voices raised,
All swords were set to rattle.
The sweeping armies
Formed their lines,
With strength to hold their sway,
And though the tales
A victory told,
The crows ate well that day.

Their champions strode,
With hero’s deeds,
All enemies cast asunder,
The rank and file
With pike and staff,
Caused noise to rival thunder.
The charges and their
Counter moves,
Unlucky ones to slay,
The blood that bloomed
Like roses red,
The crows ate well that day.

As smoke retreats,
The fires die,
Cruel fate has picked its winners,
There lay the dead,
All equal now,
The holy and the sinners.
This battle may have
Turned the tide,
Could have the final say,
But all is known of
Bloody war,
The crows ate well that day.

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Asking

Asking once more for an awkward assertion,
Begging for blindness, borrowing time,
Calmly you call me, craving coercion,
Dwelling on distance where damage is mine.

Everything evil, you expect subversion,
Forecast the future though falling apart,
Grateful for nothing, a gift to be certain,
Harrowing history colours your heart.

Injured and ignorant, empty inversion,
Justice for no-one, a jury will judge,
Killing me slowly, a kind of corruption,
Loving me never, a looseness of lust.

Maybe a miracle, magic uncertain,
Nothing for nothing, hoping for nought,
Offering peace with an obvious option,
Promising all but policing all thought.

Questions unanswered with quiet emotion,
Rough the response to reality roared,
Softly you sing to me, songs of seduction,
Tunes for the tuneless, talent so flawed.

Uselessly begging for utter immersion,
Vanquish the self via being unkind,
Wearing the badge of my wounded condition,
X-rated thoughts in an X-rated mind.

You are the cause and yes you are the reason,
Zealot I call you, the zeitgeist of mine,
You are the problem and you the solution,
Zero my hope of a calm zen-like mind.

Mist Coloured Room

It’s cool and removed,
With a scent of the past,
Successes and failures,
Colour the mast,
And where I must stay
For my beauty to bloom,
Forever alone
In my mist coloured room.

It’s quiet and still,
A place to be heard,
The shouts of the world,
Take flight like a bird,
And where I must dwell,
And be gone none too soon,
Forever at peace
In my mist coloured room.

It’s locked and withdrawn,
A secret retreat,
The keys are all mine,
Kept private and neat,
And where I will live,
From midnight ’til noon,
Forever as one
In my mist coloured room.

We Danced Around Our Shadows

I wanted to come up with something new for National Poetry Day. I hope you like it.
Much love,
Simon.

We danced around our shadows, the music calling forth,
With care our feet made patterned shapes,
The dark we skipped for fear of fate,
And though the hour grew so late,
Still we danced some more.

We danced around our shadows, our bodies ‘cross the floor,
To lose ourselves within the tune,
Your eyes on mine and showing doom,
Our mirror ball the shining moon,
Still we danced some more.

We danced around our shadows, stuck forever on our course,
The never ending drummer’s beat,
Forgetting what it is to sleep,
All the while not quite complete,
Still we danced some more.

We danced around our shadows, not what we bargained for,
To never now assume our rest,
We move as one at tune’s behest,
Eternity spent chest to chest,
Still we danced some more.

Black Lake

Black lake, with shores of shattered bone,
An evil place, so cold like stone,
Where carrion hangs and bodies rot,
Where wounded souls are soon forgot.

Black lake, with waves that rock the boat,
All prayers are lost though said by rote,
Where mists conceal the waiting eyes,
Where calling voices spread their lies.

Black lake, where chilling wind does blow,
With white caps forming, just as snow,
Where ‘neath the water creatures wait,
Where careless hands will hang like bait.

Black lake, the place where I am bound,
No more to step on solid ground,
Where I will lay and rest my head,
Where ever now I’ll hold the dead.

Wait For Me

I saw this news story today, http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-41310591
and it inspired me to write this. I hope you like it…

As darkness comes, your eyes to dim,
The endless sleep set to begin,
Wait for me, dear, wait for me.
As now your show comes to its end,
The winding path you’re set to wend,
Wait for me, dear, wait for me.
As slowly now your heart does cease,
And finally you find your peace,
Wait for me, dear, wait for me.
For how can I still stand a life,
Without my ever loving wife,
When years we’ve spent as two not one,
My glowing moon, my shining sun,
I will not carry on alone,
Wait for me, dear, wait for me.

Snapshot 7

I want to find a door, a door that no one has opened.
It will be hidden behind leaves of the deepest, truest green, through which the sun cannot penetrate.
Old, weathered, warped by years of neglect.
Written on the door will be the words “for you”, and I will know that it doesn’t mean for me, but in fact for you.
So I will bring you to that door. Hand in hand, we’ll walk toward it and I will admonish you to be careful, to be mindful of the dark shadows and the unseen trips and traps.
We will pull apart those leaves, branch by branch, and scatter them to the wind so that it snows green.
And then, with the door before us, it will be you who opens it. I do not have the knack of it.
Behind the door… what will you see?
Clouds, ball bearings, rivers on Mars? Fantastic animals or a million tiny flowers?

I just know that for years, the door will have been unseen, and will now only open to your touch. Behind it’s aged wood, such dreams and nightmares and untold stories will be seen, and if I promise to look after you, maybe you’ll walk through that door into a brand new world.