A moment of your time dear friend,
whether you understand or scoff,
for cash is king and if its in your pocket,
then they can't just turn you off?
Dec 28, 2022
Dec 28, 2022 at 2:05 PM UTC
It was a weird thing when aliens landed,
they didn’t present to a head of state.
It was Mike down the road, the one with the bike.
You know, Allen and Steve's mate.
They sat across a table Mike and two aliens,
after settling a few ”coughs” then Mike spoke!
Its an honor to meet you, I’m sure there’s much to share,
from the perspective of an ordinary bloke.
The alien nodded, I'm sure that’s the case.
Closed hands opened showing images of bright light!
But first what are these things?
That go into other humans,
and what are these words **** and “fight!
Mike looked at the images and bullets he saw,
Explained their purpose and sizes therein,
even some a hundred feet high, that fly over cities and ****
In the grand scheme of things classed as a win.
After confusion had passed on how big humans get?
Mike sat patiently while the aliens conferred,
worried of his honesty, for what the aliens called pointy things!
He saw they were worried by all that they’d heard.
After a while the aliens straightened,
With regard to this information, they’d heard enough?
“Mass evacuation! minus those with pointy things!
We’ve washing machines and the like, you don’t need lots of stuff.
Those with pointy things will no doubt blame each other!
We'll return at a later date and clean up the mess.
Inform your world to pack! Our race will come and get you,
for this is a problem we have no choice, but to address.
Fine mike says, I'll tell the missus, they shake hands, nod,
and the aliens are left quietly sitting alone.
An uncomfortable silence now fills the room,
one at ease, the other a face of stone!
Leave them alone I said! We'll come back later.
Why not be content with that?
But oh no! Oh no! They might be intelligent?
I really hope your happy now you prat!
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 4:53 PM UTC
A poppy red for our glorious dead,
a field of sacrifice swaying gently with the wind.
A grateful minute for fallen hearts, oaths defiant,
that none would rescind.
Silent stand the ranks unseen,
of a Sunday solemn of bugle gleam.
Their muster to honor the living,
as far as the eye could see.
Proud ranks in best dress quietly stand,
that died for you and me.
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 4:50 PM UTC
Of all the things a man can say,
the worst is i forgot.
for it is the doom of men that they forget,
and of women they do not.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 4:41 AM UTC
With regard to my belief in god and the devil,
I'd be inclined to say of neither!
I’ve offered my soul on both accounts,
and received no reply from either?
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 7:17 AM UTC
Hot cold
Light dark
Up down
Man woman
Love hate
Solid liquid
Sun moon
Good evil
Open close
Awake asleep
Never.... soon?
All twins everywhere merge with something more,
whether a hospital bed, or an airport lounge,
Terminal, but a door.
Life death
Black white
Day night
Right wrong
Left right
Boy girl
Jan 13, 2019
Jan 13, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
Like a vicious circle you can spiral,
like a wheel within a wheel,
like a odd sock without a purpose,
forgetting how to smile or feel.
Like walking slow but holding scissors,
and ignoring an untied lace,
like being still in moving traffic,
knowing where you are, but out of place.
These are the images and stuff,
when you don't get out enough.
Like a needle stuck on record,
trapped in a carnival balloon,
like drip of a tap becomes your heartbeat,
quenching your sun to cool to moon,
Like pacing blind within a circle,
like the wringing of broken hands,
like a frozen clock face crying,
at frozen grains in hourglass sands.
These are the images and stuff,
if you just don't get out enough.
Like a day as nights not sleeping,
like a limbo forged from choice,
like watching life flash by your window,
screaming warning with no voice.
Like mental weather that can chill you,
with silken "words of truth" you wish not hear,
like in a bag your slowly drowning,
weighted with false strengths, to mask a fear.
These are the images and stuff,
when you just don't get out enough.
Like a circle in a spiral,
like a wheel within a wheel,
like soothing surrogate emotions,
like you must dwell on what you feel.
These are the images and stuff,
if you...just cant...get out enough!
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 10:17 AM UTC
You are brilliant! Amazing!
And so is everyone around you!
People can be a bit”insular”with a personal space,
But at the end of the day what's new?
The world is beautiful, beyond compare,
to the broadest of imaginations,
and a world of light, and love, yes love!
Despite its procrastinations.
Of change I speak, where we all go wow!
All or nothing, double or quits! Clear the air.
We’ve so much to worry about, just as it is?
A dilutive duty to care, yeah.
But we'll crack on regardless you and I,
a penny for a thought in our jar!
Because I thought I'd take the time to remind you,
of just how brilliant and amazing you are.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 9:06 AM UTC
Our skies above us thump with the restless steps of Ahab,
amongst harpoon stumps and lines, to our white whale,
democracy he cried, as he beckon, he beckons!
To take all to watery depth, for we are not fit to sail.
Smashed boat and bone, soon put pay to all legend,
the ropes uncoiled as harpoon cut the air,
how many barrels gained from this ****** task I ask again,
as our white Devil wait, biding time for those that dare.
Row boys row, and sing to beat of drum!
Our cause be just, despite this crimson moan,
our answers long since enemy, we harvest for good of all,
though some return less limbed, now sporting white whales bone.
He beckons, he beckons! Crucified with ropes,
how many barrels shall we harvest from this task,
for cursed is the journey, and mission we now engage,
though make my mark to sail, though where we sail not ask.
Slice the blubber, fetch the cauldron, light the fires,
should we question commerce, and falter all its goals,
we fill the hold of dear old Pequod, for duty wage and Ahab,
till ships profit met, its owners own our souls.
One day we smelled land, where there be no land,
our watch then cried aloft, the games begun,
clung to rigging knuckles white, our captain did take sight,
though scarred of secret battle to be won.
And so he will rise again and beckon, yes beckon,
selfish needs shall curse to devour all those in reach,
scarred souls shall tarnish all, shared fate will now befall,
sanity beyond all method, to impeach.
We light the lamps of life's expansion and requirement,
respected in endeavour fulfilled of needs,
this white fiend shall take us deep, all cursed, no rest nor sleep,
for what we need serves deeper needs, of which now it feeds.
Nantucket is but a memory, as I row,
and who am I to question captain, or as such my part,
needs of world and commerce damns me, damns me to the depths.
For I followed Ahab, and did not seek to see his chart.
Call me Ishmael.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 7:31 AM UTC
A note to all who pass these words,
before they fade or be took down,
its pretense ignored a life is full,
for in hourglass sands we drown.
Heed these words less fade as much,
to mere rumour upon your way,
but warned you were, of days ignored,
by you, of then,.. today.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 9:14 AM UTC