January 6, 2013

Never let them get to you
let your passion burn.
Even though they shackle you,
it’s what you choose to feel that’s true;
keep your mind away from them
and deep inside, you shall have freedom.

Keep on keeping on,
dance your dance,
sing your song,
move your merry self along.

But resolve grows thin and short
and time is tough and long.

You let them take your soul
so you belong
and never look them in the eye
never yours to reason why
just do as you are told
getting busy growing old.

Get on getting on,
play your game,
sharpen your tongue,
move your wicked self along.

Oh how time has weakened you,
when you were once so strong.


xix. She Sells…

August 25, 2011

like seashells held to your ear
echo foreign lands and happy times
but as we know too well,
the sounds you hear in shells
are only lies we tell ourselves.
Are dreams any different?
But still we dream,
not because of the promises they make
but because of what they represent;
because every lie told
is a glimpse at a truth that could have been
or could be
just like every soul sold
is a reminder
of a world where angels reigned,
when the devil existed only in nightmares
and stories told by mums to naughty kids.
Now, we need these dreams to see those angels
and to believe that the devil isn’t real.

You flow through me;
you dance through my veins
and give my heart its beat.
You live inside me;
you fill my lungs
and give me air to breathe.

You are the pulses
that fire my synapses,
that feed my logic.
You are the magic
that charmed my soul,
that feeds my love.

iv. Prayers

July 11, 2011

My poems
are my prayers
Every time my pen
touches page
my soul lies prostrate
at the feet of my God
for it is God
the almighty creator
that gave me the power of creation
God gave me the vision
to change the world
with my words
and so every time my pen
touches page
I supplicate
I ask for my words to be read,
to be understood
I ask for my readers to be moved
that this world might somehow
come to reflect
my verse
or that my reader might be moved
to improve
for himself or for humanity.

My Poems
are my Prayers
and every time I speak a rhyme
it is a hymn
in honour to my god
for it is God,
commander of the word,
that gave me the power of speech.
God gave me the voice
to command my people –
God’s people.
A voice
to lead a revolution
a voice
to teach a generation
a voice
to sing in veneration
a voice
to show our celebration
of the Universe
we have been given.
Every time I speak a rhyme,
I show the people
how to live
how to love
how to create
for the betterment of man,
woman, child, Earth
and the Universe.

My poems
are my prayers.
Every line I write,
every verse I commit to the page
becomes another installment
to the scriptures of a people
living to understand their god.
Every metaphor
becomes another
name for the creator.
Every metre, every foot
is a prophecy.
Every tear in the eyes of my readers,
every laugh on their lips,
every smile and every frown
is a declaration of faith,
an observation of greatness,
a transcendence,
an ascension.

My Poems
are my prayers.
They are thanks
for the gift
of The Word.


June 25, 2011

Hatred is a parasite.
It burns out from within.
It starts with the soul
of its host –
its carrier –
and slowly turns it black
until the vessel –
because, that is all we are:
vessels to carry souls
around this weed-ridden garden
we call Earth –
until the vessel
is completely overcome.
But, like a cancer,
when the soul has been consumed
hatred does not cease to grow.
It seeps from its host,
affecting all those around,
attacking them
with its vile disposition
until it finds a new soul
weak enough
and it pours inside.
Like this,
hatred spreads,
traverses the world,
and as it becomes bigger,
fewer can combat it.
Like this,
hatred takes over,
becomes our tyrannic master.
Like this,
love is taken out
and shot.


May 25, 2011

He said he did it for the thrill,
The ecstasy it sparked within,
The twisted joy of tasting sin.

He said he simply had to kill,
He claimed his soul was black as coal,
and that he could not fight his will.

I guess that blackness has crept in.
I did it simply for the thrill.

xiv. I Believe

March 23, 2011

I believe in a thing called Time,
I believe in a past I can’t repeat,
I believe in a future I’m
not of the power to cheat.

I believe in a thing called Life,
I believe in here and now,
I believe that we’re alive,
to change the world somehow.

I believe in a thing called I,
I believe in mind and soul,
I believe that one should try,
To maintain self control.

I believe in a thing called Love,
I believe in you and me,
I believe Love is enough,
for two to live life happily.



Inspired by The Darkness’s ‘I Believe in a Thing Called Love’.

x. Sigh

March 18, 2011

Your sigh woke me.
My alarm clock did not ring.
Didn’t ring loud enough
to beckon me from sleep;
didn’t ring loud enough
to call me in from dreams.
But your sigh —
Your sigh was enough.
A thouand miles
across the world,
across the seas,
your sigh was enough
to drag me back to clarity
back to waking reality
back to here and now
and you and me.
My alarm clock didn’t ring
couldn’t ring loud enough
to break the bonds of slumber
but your sigh,
a breath,
a murmur,
no more than a whisper
of longing
and wanting
and needing –
Your sigh was enough.
Your sigh is all it took,
all it ever takes.
From nightmares it saves me;
on bad days it comforts;
when anger strikes it calms me.
This morning it woke me.
Your sigh.
Though no one else
Nowhere in the world
even heard the sound,
My whole body ached;
my soul, it stretched toward you,
tried to leave me
and go after you.
I felt your sigh within me,
felt it welling up,
it filled me
felt it bring you to my side
felt you wrap your arms around me,
pull me close and
hold me tight.
Your sigh said,
I never want to let you go,
and though your arms
were a thousand miles
across the world
across the seas
over mountains and
through the trees
I heard your sigh as if
you were right here.

vi. Please

March 9, 2011

Still this tempered heart, Oh Lord,
Cease its sad, relentless beat,
Rip it from my chest.
The walls I built have done no good,
They kept more in than out.

Exorcise my spirit, Lord.
Sever this tormented soul,
Send it back to whence it came.
Remove it from its mortal cage;
Deliver me to peace.

xxxviii. Time

March 1, 2011

Time came crawling in the room,
It found him lying there in bed.
Speaking to him from the dark:
“I’m here for you”, Time said.

As Time drew nearer to a close,
He felt a creeping desperation,
Silently he prayed for more,
A chance to find salvation.

But Time responded curtly, “No,
I’m here for you.”
He begged that Time slow down,
But knew his was through.

He wished he’d been more wise with Time,
He wished he used it well,
He wished he’d treated people better,
Wishes drowned by tolling bell.

And as the chiming grew,
So loud he could not think,
He felt his body weaken,
Felt his spirit sink.

He felt his soul take one long dive,
Into a never ending fall.
“I’m here for you,” Time said,
“Just as I’ll come for all.”