Fragments #1

For lack of wench and want of mead
My fingertips to my temple knead
Where upon I hear tick-tocking
Of a most peculiar ring.
The face of time this ring doth bear
But a smile, this face, it doth not wear........

Dark clouds above
Overshadow young love,
Rain pitter patter drips
A meeting of lips
The glowing of hearts
Never to part......

From thy beauty I lend my wit,
To praise thy beauty I use it
Along with aught else I can find
'Mongst books, the skies and muses nine.
Please be kind O daughters of Zeus
Fill me with words that I may use
To warm the heart of my lady
And praise thy gift of inspired poesy.........

This bottle full o' bobs,
(A whisky bottle no less)
Is a symbol of hope
For when times are hard pressed........

BookCrossing.

Be it on the bench in a park
Or on the steps of the town hall,
Openly welcoming readers,
Keeping literature and adventure
Circulating through fresh new minds,
Reminding all of the power of words.
Often forgotten are books, but I
Strive to give them a second chance,
Saving them from dusty shelves
Inside dusty rooms amongst those
New, shiny, fancy gadgets, so
Go now and hunt down a good book.

The Objects I Possess

O how I wish the objects I possess,

The contents of my room, the shirt on my back

Could speak out loud the events I forget,

The gaps in my memory that hinder

Me on my journey towards happiness.

Happiness! Potentially happiness,

Maybe happiness (but probably not).

Miniature flashbacks of words and actions

Of indiscriminate consequences

Hidden inside the objects I possess.

An Unhappy Marriage

Have you ever tried to stop dreaming?
I have.
I needed a break from the screaming.


Do you find ways of staying awake?
I do.
It's a long way up to the lake.


Can you take control of your life?
I can.
I've just gone and drowned my wife.

Failure To Impress

Shall I play a pretty piece for thee
Upon my guitar, plucking strings
That resonate in such sweet harmony
whilst mine novice heart softly sings
Along to a heavenly melody
As pure as fresh water springs?


Or perhaps I'll paint a picture
With each stroke worth a thousand words,
Each word designed to describe a creature
As beauteous and rare as birds
Of paradise, such dazzling features
Which my brush carefully disturbs.


My blistered fingertips stained with hues
Invented to rightly portray she.
She who I've failed to amuse
With my Music, Art and Poetry.
Created as if there's nothing to lose
As she waits for a man that's not me.

Street Lamps

The eyes of the Devil, unnat'ral light,
Glaring through my bedroom window at night,
Disturbing sleep from near by and afar,
Denying me the beauty of the stars.

Falling.

I'm falling, falling, falling, falling fast,
And faster, faster, faster, faster still.
I wonder, how long can this feeling last?
And what will be the price of such a thrill?
A thrill defying logic; how and why
Can I fall with my feet firm on the ground,
Without the fear, I may affix, to die,
Whilst falling faster than the speed of sound?
Perhaps I'm not to question the details
Of my descent? Instead, enjoy the ride;
Providing such a rush when all else fails
To please me, barring the one I espied.
    The one who takes, with ease, my heart aloft,
    But leaves it to meet the ground, hard or soft.