Category: 1. Poetry

Ambition for the rich

When all’s obtained, nothing left to receive,
when the last box in the list has been crossed,
what is left of life, what’s more to achieve?
What now holds our sprightly spirits aloft?
Been everywhere, seen it all, done it all,
no place on Earth where the slate will wipe clean.
Now into empty sleep you start to fall,
for now there’s nothing left for you to dream.
Time after time tedium fills your glass,
and gambles away your endless supply.
Savour young memories of games on the grass
because under it is now where you lie,
learning this lesson, on your heart it’s stitched:
there can be no ambition for the rich.


Peaceful disturbance

A cold air of paranoia hallucinates outside,
as the trees give a shiver, shaking off flies,
the shadowy streets goad the morning to rise
and a dusty light fails in the far-away sky.

A slow, soundless and sinister breeze
strokes fear gently behind the ears.
But, somewhere within this murderous scene,
an essence of peace appears

for no sunlight scorches the soil
or burns the lightless eyes.
No creature disturbs the dew,
or spoils the air with a cry.

The dark velvet above, protects us all
from yesterday’s recall.
Engraved in the heart of a cool pre-dawn
is the wording that states: a new day is born.

Plead for paradise

Don’t settle for less when you are worth more
than your possessor gives you credit for.
I want you to be loved with the greatest affection,
and be content with nothing shy of perfection.

You mustn’t be blinded by the comforts of now,
be immune to the touch, nor deaf to the sound.
You cannot ignore your desires, believe them;
hitchhike with me to the Garden of Eden.

Giving way

Eyes on the prize,
but blind to all other;
to think the prize in the eye of another!
Too determined to see,
too unwilling to believe,
that two seek the path that leads.

But I saw the light,
and my conscience grew.
I took a step back,
let the other one through.

The trusting fool

You used to call my name.
I’d laugh and joke with you.
You used to call my name,
but now our gaming’s through.

You used to walk with me.
We’d talk about life’s truths.
You used to walk with me,
but now our soles are bruised.

You used to love me so.
We watched our passion grow.
You used to love me so,
now loss is all I know.

How could I be so gullible
to think it were to be?
For now I am invisible
to all who used to see.

Brown grass in the meadow

Like the elderly cross the road,
I mope through my province,
remembering the times when I out-sped the light.

It’s not age that decays my life,
but acknowledgement;
where I get nothing from my work
no matter how I try.

I sold my soul to no demon.
I’m no killer of a man.
So I live this dull existence,
and die forgotten.

Whilst my heart only beats the once,
yours may find time for two.
I mope through my lonely province,
cursing the design.

Who am I? I will introduce:
I’m the keeper of keys
with all of the potential, yet
I cannot find the door.

Won’t someone push me forward
to the place I want to stand?
I’ve combed through and through my meadow;
searching for who I am.