I Name Thee

Wickedness, I name thee,
For all the pain you cause,
Not once did pity cross your mind,
Nor give you moments pause.

Cruelty, I name thee,
For all the spite revealed,
Giving air to words of hate,
To make me so to kneel.

Jealousy, I name thee,
My happiness you stole,
Forever stay me in the dark,
My misery your goal.

Murderer, I name thee,
You killed the soul of me,
Forever now I roam the world,
You couldn’t let me be.



Yes, it has been a while since my last post. And for that, I sincerely apologise. My latest one here is a dark and moody one, but it’s original at least.

The future’s dark and black and mean,
Coloured by the things I’ve seen,
And in its cruel and vicious way,
Will taint my nights and blight my day.
Choices made filled with regret,
Consequences not seen yet,
Hope, it fades and loses will,
And eyes with tears are swimming still.
Where is the light to bring a smile,
And walk beside me all the while?
Diminished now in gath’ring gloom,
As all about me now is doom.

The Man Who Died Alone

Dear readers…
This came to me this evening. Not sure where from (my muse is obviously in a maudlin mood) but the image I saw was a man who died alone in a dark and dusty room. I hope you like it.

No songs were sung in honour
Of a life spent as a stone,
Hard and cold in penance
For sins he can’t atone,
The clocks are stopped and silent
For the man who died alone.

No faces touched by sorrow
No pain felt to the bone,
He squandered all his chances
And reaped all that was sown,
So now the dust will settle on
The man who died alone.

The doors he closed on friendship
And joy he could have known,
The salting of his garden where
Loves flowers may have grown,
He chose a life so empty
The man who died alone.

Ring not the bells in mourning
Sound not a somber tone,
The mirrors are uncovered
The cawing crows are flown,
He does not merit such a grief
The man who died alone.

Time will dull his memory
His name will be unknown,
The castle of his lonely soul
Will hold an empty throne,
The world will turn and leave behind
The man who died alone.

One Step Forward

When I start to believe
my world is improving,
and my journey through
life is on the right track;
that’s when it hits me
with clarity pure,
it’s one step forward
but two steps back.

When heart feels a healing
and building anew,
no longer just coloured
by misery black;
I’m struck by the notion
pointed out clear,
it’s one step forward
but two steps back.

When changes are made
with a positive bent,
and the day has been seized
with no cause to look back;
I wake to the thought that
this progress is fake,
it’s one step forward
but two steps back.

I don’t ask for much in this
life that I lead,
needs are humble and there’s
not much I lack;
just a change in my fortune
that leads to the chance
of two steps forward
and one step back.

Re-blog : The Devil Appeared

So yet again, my inspiration & muse have wandered off together and are holidaying in some far away place. So, to fill the space, here’s another re-blog of an old poem. Hope you enjoy it. It’s called “The Devil Appeared”

His heart was broken,
filled with regret,
of lessons not learned,
and things to forget.

The tears in his eyes,
gave a watered down look,
the guilt in his mind,
snagged like a hook.

He’d reached the far end,
on the road of his life,
decided to leave,
all the trouble and strife.

The last drink was taken,
the pills all prepared,
but with no expectation,
the devil appeared.

“I can give you relief”,
the horned one explained,
“from all of your agony,
and exquisite pain”.

“Just grant me your soul,
from this moment on,
and all of your troubles,
will forever be gone”.

The eyes of the devil,
he looked into with fear,
and wondered what magic,
had made him appear.

The tempting salvation,
offered here on a plate,
could not help this person,
it had come far too late.

“My soul is not mine”,
the man did reply,
“So save your entreaties,
oh Lord of the Flies”.

“It’s given already,
to the one that I love,
and she’s taken it with her,
to heaven above”.

The devil took pause,
looked into the man,
and saw with frustration,
he was truly damned.

“The pain that you caused,
to this love of your life,
has turned your poor heart,
to naught but black ice”.

“So take your last drink,
and swallow those pills,
but down in my kingdom,
I’ll wait for you still”.

“The punishment owed,
for hurt you did give,
will take an eternity,
through which you must live”.

The man did respond,
with an accepting sigh,
“That seems oh so fitting,
now I’m ready to die”.

“For the love that I took,
and then spurned out of hand,
I deserve nothing less than,
to be eternally damned”.

With a final slow nod,
and an expectant leer,
the devil grew smokey,
and then disappeared.

The man closed his eyes,
and swallowed his drugs,
and thought one last time,
of his neglected love.

Into The Sea

It’s not really a beach – more a crust at the edge of this ‘green and pleasant land’. But here I sit, on the cusp of autumn, as the gulls above me cry for the departing summer and oncoming seasons of cold and desolation.

Autumn was always my favourite time of year. Cold enough to take pleasure in warm drinks and frosty morning walks, the colours in the trees like fireworks frozen in mid-explosion. But now I realize autumn is a time of change, a time of ageing, a time of dying.

Here I sit, watching the grey sea jump and foam, encouraged by the wind that whips across it from way out there, over the expanse of ocean. Although it’s cold, I take bitter pleasure from the way it stings my face and tears up my eyes. It’s still early, the sun not yet risen though infusing the horizon with a soft glow, so I know I won’t be disturbed.

I can feel the dampness from the sand beneath me, making my trousers wet. The salty tang of the wind and spray on my lips and in my nose. These are the sensations I will maybe miss. Pure, un-doctored, nature at its most raw.

I have been sat here a while now, so I can feel the bone-deep cold within. But I can’t blame the inner chill on just my location and the conditions. I’ve been feeling cold inside for a long time now. As I’ve been sitting here, I’ve studied the sand and it’s brought to mind an image. An image of what happens to someone when one thing after another just…hurts. All the time.
Imagine your heart as a powerful glowing vessel, carrying all hope and love and goodness. With each new hurt inflicted, a piece of the vibrant heart falls away, like wet sand. Smaller hurts cause smaller disintegrations, larger ones cause damage that can be felt through the very core of yourself. Eventually, with enough hurt, enough anguish, enough pain, the very heart of you crumbles to nothing, like a coastline eroded by time and the sea. All that was warm and good and abiding is gone, leaving cold, dark, emptiness.
A striking image.
But it’s what my minds eye sees as I think of my life over the past few years. I’ve discovered that you can only carry on for so long, you can only be strong for so long, before the lack of anything good and pure and true within yourself becomes too much.

So now, I sit and wait. I’m waiting for the sun to rise above the horizon, to impart one last glimpse of the magnificence of nature to send me on my way. If I close my eyes, I can picture how it will look. The first spark of orange fire as it breaches the horizon. Firing darts of light across the churning waves, as though touching each and every one with a brush of gold. More time passes and the spark becomes a sliver, then an arch, then a rising dome of roiling fire.
And as the dome becomes a complete sphere, a ball of quickly brightening heat and light hovering just above the sea as though daring the water to try and extinguish it, that will be my cue.

There. There’s the first spark of golden fire. Perspective gives the impression it’s actually rising from the deep, as though each night is spent at the bottom of the ocean until morning calls for it to raise itself like some great leviathan from blackest reaches of the sea. Now I know it won’t be long, I actually feel very peaceful. It’s fitting that I should be here alone, with only the crying gulls and the planets giver of life for company. One of nature’s smaller miracles, a bird in flight, and it’s most awe inspiring, the rising sun.

And now, at last, there it sits, above the turbulent water. Greeting me on this last day, floating there as though I could reach out and pluck it from the firmament just to warm the skin of my hands.

But there will be no more warmth for me. Just the sea.

Swimming In Darkness

Author’s note : I don’t normally explain my work, but this I think needs it. I know this poem makes me sound as though I am at the brink of something self harming and damaging, but I’m not. These are just the words that came to me. I’m not very happy at the moment, I admit, but this piece of work makes it sound as though I am in far more trouble than I actually am. This is a work of fiction!

To swim in darkness;
an ocean of night,
starless and black,
no hope,
no joy.

What creatures lurk;
hands that grab,
suffocating arms,
to hold,
to drown.

No breaching to light;
accepting this fate,
floating in void,
give up,
give in.

No tears to be shed;
self-chosen isolation,
wedded to this life,
I do,
I do.