Within the cloistered silence, a whisper is heard.
~
I love you.
~
Who spoke those words?
Why did I hear them?
Were they meant for me?
~
I love you.
~
Deep in the silence they ring as loud as a bell.
Calling to those who need to know that they are loved.
~
I whispered those words.
I whispered to my heart.
I whispered and it became a shout.
~
Three words that take a lifetime of forever to understand,and believe.
~
Pious thunderous silence follow those words,when you believe your whisper.

Put your arm around my waist.
Let us share a kiss so chaste
that even sinners will be vouchsafed
by its purity and be graced.

I am debased by its foretaste,
encased in the sin of lust.
Lips interlaced like a corset yet undone,
enslaved by your lascivious tongue.

Come hold my hand and retrace our steps
back to where we first embraced,
unscathed by want, need or disgrace.
Where we raced into each other with haste.

Crazed with passion made brave by fate,
seal my end with this misplaced date.
Ignore my complaint and acquaint yourself with me.
Debase the chaste kiss that started this greedy need in me.

Forgive me for I have strayed, half crazed,
into a kiss that coursed and raced through my soul
like poison not yet sated, straight into craven depravity.
Engraved upon my heart forevermore, is my last kiss.

Its funny that the first four letters of HEART, spells hear.
Because I don't think you heard mine break.

It broke into shards that were hard to piece back together.
No glue or time or cardiologist, could mend or make it whole again.

A delicate ***** that pumps life through our veins, synonymous
with love and strength, as delicate as
an orchid.

If I close my eyes, you're there behind my lids.
If I take a deep breath, you're in my lungs.
If I smell a familiar smell you're in my sense and memory.
If I watch closely, I expect to see you by my side.
If I look at where you walked, I remember the joy.
If I bury my head in the soft silky fur of my other fur babies,
with my eyes squeezed shut and run my hands over their bodies,
I feel you, smell you, and imagine for a fleeting second that it is you.
But, it's not you baby girl.
And whilst my love for my two fur babies here is strong,
I miss the gentle soul that was you.
You alone could make me laugh, cry and taught me pure love.

Alive and kicking, above ground.
At the last gasp, *release

They say that music and maths are the worlds unifier,
its non-barrier standard. All can unite in music and maths.
Yet, they forget the literature form of Poetry.

Poetry its long history, dating back to the Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh. Evolving from folk songs such as the Chinese Shijing, or from a need to retell oral epics, as with the Sanskrit Vedas, Zoroastrian Gathas, and the Homeric epics.

Poetry is the history of mankind. Memorable for its form, rhyme,
meter, subject, symbolism, metaphors, similes, hidden meanings,
Truth, fantasy and fable.

All human emotion, no matter what colour, gender, creed, faith or belief system, is welcome through poetry, gains from poetry, learns from poetry and in return is taught by poetry.

Those lines in a myriad of languages, styles, form and content is mankind's story, a poem can feed your soul 'Invictus' taught humankind through one man's struggle. Not music, not maths.

From a Sonnet to ****
Villanelle toTanka
Haiku to Ode
Ghazal to Narrative poetry
Epic poetry to Dramatic poetry
Satirical poetry to Light poetry
Lyric poetry to an Elegy
Verse fable to Prose poetry.
We write poetry because we are human! filled with passion.
And other pursuits are necessary to sustain human life.
But poetry IS what I stay alive for.

I can feel it in the very air I breathe.
I can see it in the blackest night.
I can touch its coldness shrouding me in silk.
I can hear its suggestive words, constantly whispering.
I can taste its need to feed on my fear.
I can and will ignore this monster.
After all,
Its just my reflection.

Ever thought you had friends you'd know until you die?
I did.
I wish with all my heart that a clock could be rewound,
revisit old mistakes, erase them and rewrite.
Life isn't like that.
Life is a ***** in heat scratching away at mental scabs.
"Friends are the family we choose ourselves"
*******.
It's a fridge magnet quote for a reason.
                        ~
Fickle, feckless,
Replaceable
Idiotic individuals
Endlessly
Needing a
Damn hard
Slap.
* Stepford friends*.

Do you see the child you were? loved? Teased?
Do you see the adult you are? Responsible? Tired?
Do you see today's society? Disintergrating? Not caring?
Do you see the past, and miss what's gone?
Do you see the future? Is it bright, or bleak?
Do you history repeating itself?
Do you see the chasm between the rich and richer?
Do you see the poor?
Do you hear the politicians lies and promises?
Do you fear tomorrow?
Do you watch the world and think why? What's the point?
Do you self medicate? Drink, take drugs just to ease the pain?
Do you sleep peacefully? Fitfully? Not at all?
Do you fear the day that you realise you could be a part of Armageddon?
I DO.

A tie that binds,a sacred bond undone by lust.

Weave a spell with your words,
entwine the words with my heart strings.
Knot them tight so that they never loosen.
Hold fast your words upon my heart,
impart your loving syllables into the chambers of my heart and soul.
Gracefully guide the silver thread through my core.
My heart gracefully guides your hands as you work to bring what is truly your spirit to life, in me.
Teach me that love holds true, braid yourself to me.
Scarred though it may be, my heart belongs to thee

Pay attention to detail, for as they say
"The Devil is in the detail"
Pay heed to that small voice inside,
warning you to an unseen force.
Don't shrug off the feeling of being watched,
don't put a shiver running through you down as a breeze.
Take mind, that sometimes our sixth sense is our
safety sense. Don't shrug off a feeling, be guided by it.
Embrace it, learn from it.
Modern fast living has blinded our senses,
negated our intuition, enfeebled us to spiritual guidance.
Science does not hold all the cards.
Nature revers life and should in turn be revered.
You return to the earth, our first mother.
And mothers can be kind or harsh,
so observe kindness to all creatures, plants and people.
As above so below. Note that magic and religion are akin: both require belief that a miracle will occur.
And, remember when you sup with the Devil;
Use a long spoon.

Indefinite black pervades the air,
a darkened sun casts no shine
luminous black, like concrete surrounds you,
light is absent, Cimmerian shade is all.

Sonorous, sullied, sooty black cloaks all.
Shimmering, in the corner is a jet black,
obsidian hard sparkle, it's just a puddle.
A puddle made to sparkle in the street light.

A joyless sight in the darkness of a Stygian night.
Indistinct figures rush by, oblivious to the sparkling puddle.
Somber souls,mournfully groping homeward in the false electric light.
Home to a comfortless home, having failed to see the sparkle in the dark.

Suddenly, life comes crashing in
calling you to participate or leave.
Run or stay, either way life wins, you die in the end.
Spin that roulette wheel, red or black
place your bets, live or die.
What if living is a form of dying?
And dying a form of living?
Who are we to conform in this beautiful carousel of life?
Why do we have to live by rules?
Who made these rules?
Rules are made to be broken.
Hearts are made to be broken.
Why try? after all no one gets out of death alive.
And no one alive gets out of dying.

My wonderful friend
You blend words like a wizard
Evoke imagery out of syllables and rhyme
Leave us breathless at your unique insight
and jealous of your zeal for being a wordsmith.
Were I able to, my wonderful friend I would knight thee
for services to the beauty of words.

Decaying
Eroding
Composting
Organically
Murdere­d
People
Oxidizing
Souls
Eternally
D**ebauched

A
Desirous
Unfettered
Loose
Trollop
Exhibit­ing
Rampant
Elevated
Sexual
S**trains

Tears of joy
Tears of anger
Tears of irritation
Tears of frustration
Tears of laughter
Tears of grief
Such emotion in a drop of salty water.

Never be ashamed of those tiny droplets
they reflect all emotion in a single fall.
Sensitivity, frustration, anger and hope.
Never hold back, and never stop crying at someone's behest.
Tears clean your soul and releases all unhappiness in you.
Tears are your pearls, of wisdom and experience.
Tears, hot coming out, cold going down.

The oceans are all the saline tears of our earth.
Tears, are all our actions and words in an action.
They are words our heart breaks at hearing,
images our eyes cannot bare to see.
Feelings our mind cannot fathom.
Tears are the truth of a sensitive soul set free.

I lie with the cool moist breeze caressing my skin.
The mossy grass as soft as a feather mattress at my back.
I hear the birds up high in the canopy of leaves.
The sounds of the glade, from the squirrels scurrying to the foxes prowling assail my ears.
Peace pervades this forest, life carries on unhindered, from the ants to the worms, time and existence carry on full circle.
I'm part of that circle of forest life
ever since you took mine with your knife.
Leaving me lying staring up at the sky.
I see you returning every now and then,
do you see and hear and feel what I do?
Or do you just see the rotting me,
lying as still as a mannequin?
My murderer know this, I have been a feast to the beasts,
and I live on in them.
Soon, you'll not come back again, but I will always be with you.
And so will the insects, flies and life that bred from me in this glen.

I was born with curly hair,
a bubbly laugh
and a blue eyed stare.

I was born with freckles on my nose,
always a need to know
and a reason to share.

I was born as part of a vanishing twin,
always preferring to be by myself
and always knowing I wasn't alone.

I reabsorbed my other twin, the
chromosomal abnormality, a blighted ****
if you will.

I put my duality down to this abnormality,
yet, always wanting to know,
my curiosity always on show.

I wonder why I came to be?
With the other me fading away.
I look for others with my freckles, blue eyes and grin.

I've never found her or him.

I was born a half of a whole,
maybe it's why sometimes I'm light, other times dark.
My twin left its mark, but, I think I'm the dark half.

I wish I could see the beauty in the world
one, that is clearly dreary, cynical and cold.
This old planet, home to millions of species
and billions of humans, hanging in orbit,
turning, turning, forever turning.
I want to see the romance of the stars,
without knowing they're dead cold and lifeless.
I want to hear music in the crashing waves,
without knowing the seas are rising, and species are dying.
I want to touch the earth and feel its life beating in sync with mine.
I want everyone to taste clean water, hot food and freedom.
But, I know that this show called life is full of spite,
there's no *** of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Just a huge arch of colours in the sky caused by water droplets.
There's no lollipop or band aid big enough for this broken earth's pain.
Lollipops and rainbows only equal tornadoes, and rain.

When I became yours and you became mine,
did we think we'd stand the test of time?
Did you think we'd last forever?
That we'd weather all storms together?
When we stood reciting our vows,
did you envisage us in our shrouds?

In front of all we took our turn,
repeating words like herds before.
Now, after ten years wed and fifteen together,
have we melded into each other's oppressor?
We love each other, that is true,
but don't you yearn for when we were unconcerned?

The brutal indifference of living is life.
The brutal truth is I will always be your wife.
We were made to stand the test of time.
What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine.
The brutality of this truth is that it extends
to the afterlife.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." - John Keating, Dead Poets Society (1989)

*As a child I loved you Mork, as an adult you taught me the fine line between laughter and despair.

I become more erudite at night.
I feel a sprite within me ignite words,
by candlelight I feel the old masters lift their quills,
place nib in ink and nib to paper.
I invite their words and imagery to suffuse me,
use me in this modern world.
Make new what once was old.

Where nib would glide I touch my screen,
watch avidly as sentences appear,
magic symbols transformed to meaning,
like runic stones of old, or bones thrown for reading.
My words by candlelight enfold and embrace me,
in the knowing language of the poets, bards and storytellers.
Tonight, I delight at my copywrite scribed by candlelight.

Death
is
the
home
of
maggots.
I
am
its
carrion.

In my life I've dealt with grief.
Deaths of family, friendships and innocence.
Still I'd hoped that life and time would make up,
become friends and chime a tolling bell of peace.
Thought ruins dreams.
There is inside us a black so dark we become a void.
Why try searching for the light?
The light has gone aground.
Mankind has ***** this fruitful earth,
despoiled its beauty and its worth.
Money means more than humanity.
Desecration of this fair planet and its inhabitants
justified by the men in suits.
News is just a propaganda tool,
it makes a mockery and a fool of us.
We line up for bargains, forgetting the unfed
We lie to ourselves that good still exists.
Where? When even religion becomes contentious.
Guns, bombs, hate, greed, ****** of the innocents,
who among us opened the seventh seal?
The Seventh Seal was it opened by blood mixed with oil on the altar of greed?
If so, it wasn't done in my name.

Little girl born with auburn curls
Little girl born with freckles and blue eyes
Little girl born with a smile so inviting
Little girl born to be bundled in pink.

Little girl got older
Little girl got bolder
Little girl got colder
Little girl realised she hated pink.

Little girl became a teen
Little girl became a terror
Little girl drove her mama to drink
Little girl drove her daddy to leave.

Little girl was known in town as a bad seed
Little girl decided that suited her fine, carried on drinking her wine
Little girl grew up, now a little woman
Little woman made mistakes, she never baked a cake!

Little woman with the auburn curls and inviting smile
came home early one day, saw you holding her so tight
that she knew what she had to do.
When it was done she spun with glee, caught sight of herself in red.
Smiled, at herself and thought: "if only you hadn't bundled me in pink".

A window, left open for the breeze
A passage for air, sight and sound.
Window originating from the Old Norse 'vindauga', from 'vindr – wind' and 'auga – eye', i.e., wind eye,
and what the wind sees through our many windows
would cause a chill not stopped by the closing of the Window.

Let's take a look at what the wind sees, and hears through our
open, inviting hole in the wall.
The Gothic inviting rainbow of sights,
the sumptuous smells and desirous sounds.
The sound of love, of desire, the moan and groan of fulfilment.
The sound of hate, the dull punch, the whip crack of a slap.

The sight of happiness, contentment and peace.
The sight of sadness in all its forms, bereavement, pain,
beatings, abuse, of riches and poverty.
Drunks, mothers, fathers, children and babes, lovers and haters.
The dying the dead. The hiding the found.
Those filled with dread and not bread.

The wind's oculus is many shaped.
Geometrically placed for a view to be true.
Yet, reflected in that view is an honesty that the wind carries away.
The wind has learnt to howl, to gust and bluster,
and all we do is try and obscure it's view.
We take no heed of it's keening through the lands.

We are all veiled by curtains and blinds,
but, we are not obscured from the wind's all seeing eye.

Within myself I know there's two.
Of who? Of me.
I watch while one takes hold.
One is meek, one is bold.
One is sweet, one is selfish.
One is kind, one is evil.
Which one I am on any given day,
depends in part, on which one I've fed,
and what diet I've served it.
Was it vitriol or humility?
Was it hate or love?
Was it just or unjust?
Was it sweet or sour?
I'll not know until the hour one of two is called.

Please handle with care the man sat in the chair
he's not a millionaire, but priceless to me.
He's not a Saint, he's made mistakes,
he's as stubborn as they come, cantankerous and moody,
but while he's there in your care, please bear in mind,
though, grouchy, argumentative and he's driving you to despair,
he's mine and my siblings dad, he's a husband, a grandfather, brother,
uncle, nephew and once himself a son.
Yes, he's been bad.
Yes, we've made him sad.
Yes, he's a flirt (that's for Mam).
Yes, we're aware of his faults, that makes him human, but, he's ours, and we'd like to be selfish and keep the moody, grouchy,
cantankerous old man a little longer.
So, please just handle him with care.

Those days where cutting off your nose to spite your face
is preferable to the fake smile?
The inane chat?
The constant hum of banality?
The pretence that all in the garden is rosy?
The surrounding of people you would cheerfully ****?

Where the slightest word sends you spiralling?
Where even "friends" drive you screaming for the hills?
Where silence is all you want, need, crave?
Where were it possible you'd scream not talk?
Where you'd get your bucket of regrets, and throw them to the wind?
Today is that day for me.

My words are my armour, my blade, my security.
I use their definitive purpose to strike, to wound, to ****.
I have no need to use an actual knife, my rapier bladed tongue
cuts with an accuracy of a surgeons scalpel.
If you have no parry, or riposte, I'll Épée a thrusting word like the sword.
Your entire being is a valid target, I cannot fight with fists, I cannot crush
you physically, but mentally I will make you my target for words.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones! but words will never hurt me"

Oh, but they will hurt. Long after a scar has healed, a cut has scabbed,
words will linger, haunt and remind your every waking moment of the day you picked a fight, a dalliance if you will with a lexicographer.

Like fairy dust caught in dappled sunlight they dance.
Swirling gracefully like a ballerina pirouetting
on a child's music box.
Graceful specks of fine dirt engrossed in cloaking
surfaces smooth and coarse.
Like petticoats caught in a summer breeze
rippling, and dipping, causing a sneeze.
Dust motes like a kilt swirling,
whirling in the kaleidoscope of daylight,
engross you in devoting a poem to their dance.
Those molecules, atoms of time passed.

I wish for silence
I wish for peace
I want you all to be silent
I don't want to hear you any more.
I feel awashed with voices talking at once.
SHUT UP
I'm begging please just one night of peace.
I don't want to care
I don't want to lay my heart bare
I don't want to bare my soul
SHUT UP
I'm sorry your dead
I'm sorry you left things unsaid
I'm sorry they can't see or hear you
**Just get out of MY HEAD

Every Sunday without fail,
my father would set about getting us on the
family visiting trail.
A picnic was packed, along with our macs,
(Just in case of the rain) and into the car
we were packed.
A beautiful drive through winding roads,
over a bridge that made your tummy lurch,
onwards, to the Pen-y-Fal psychiatric hospital.

The Tudor Gothic style hospital loomed large to a
child in a car. Like a silent waiting beast from afar.
A Charming gathering of gables and chimneys,
disguised the interior of quite simply "the madhouse".
Set in grounds of 75 acres, patients played bowls, cricket,
and croquet. I thought the people and the grounds magical.
There was this secret place with adult children,
smiling, and talking to the trees, knowing of fairies,
I never heard their pleas.

As I grew older, I grew bolder, the same Sunday jaunt,
to our familial haunt, but now I was an explorer.
I was allowed in. In to the centre of the Gothic beast.
Green tiled, with brown heavy doors, antiseptic smell
that clung to every pore and cell of you. Stark walls,
scrubbed nurses, white coated Doctors and thuggish orderlies.
And after your eyes took in those sights, your nose that smell,
the noise crashed into you. Moans, cries, wails and pleas.
The sound of a thousand lost minds.

My aunt was one of the lost.
She never went home again.
She never visited her children.
She never visited her eleven siblings.
She stayed, stayed with her friend Pearl.
Who once told me I had Vivienne Leigh eyes.
She stayed with the randy Italian, the piano player,
the Downs people given to that 'hospital', that smell, that Hell.
She was in the belly of the beast.*

The Grade II Listed Building has been converted into luxury accommodation now, but would you sleep there?

Tonight you left me breathless
You grabbed me by my hair stared,
then kissed me deeply.
You tethered our lips and my soul followed.

As we interlaced our bodies,
I wondered where you'd gone.
My husband, so gentle and caring,
had taken me by surprise.

Your eyes normally closed for a kiss,
blazed and made me crave more.
You broke away from our pleasure
Leaving me altogether undone.

Who was this man? I'd seen you daily
yet here before me was a new being.
I felt a slave to your passion
British men don't kiss like that!!

Night heat, sweat, and alcohol
lifted the veil of lace from my eyes
you, were now my possessor
I your possessed.

Turning forty had made you an aggressor
And, we the transgressors of the night
Breathlessly I managed to stutter
"You don't kiss like this"

As I shuddered you replied
"Yes, I ******* do "
And continued with your displays.
My body, the storyteller of our pleasure.

Bruised like soft ripe fruit,
by your meaty jealous hands.

Slide to unlock you command
I do so with a sleight of hand
Enter passcode you demand
I press four digits, and up pops your brand.

I check my apps, play some games,
Update, mail, and Facebook old names
Shuffle my music, delete and reply
All the while asking myself "why?"

I'm a consumer gone mad.
The world turns and I'm sad
People die every day, in such horrific ways,
Yet I slide and unlock, and do as commanded.

After all I'm a human re-branded.

Do you feel strong now?
Do you feel different?
Do you see him lying by you?
Do you remember his name?
Are you happy now?

Happy, you woke in a different bed?
Do you feel empowered?
Powerful by that lie, forsaking your marriage bed?
Did you find yourself with him in you?
Your nails ripping his back.

Did you find him different to the man who gives you his all?
Or the same as any man?
Any shame? Did you come with love?
Did you scream the right name?
Are you happy now?

Did you remember his vows to you? Yours to him.
Do you remember writhing? Screaming? Scratching?
Pouring with sweat and lust.
Did you see him as you clung to the other?
Did you feel dishonest? Unclean?

Multiple questions go with multiple *******.
You have to answer them in time.
But, for now collect your clothes off the floor, slip quietly out the door, and remember how this started; with a row,
And ask "Are you happy now?"

In this palace of madness reside creatures of fury,
of time, of earth, of light and dark.
A callous canvass upon which to paint such
murderous intent, spite and gleeful joy.
Malice hacks at the door.
Black blankets the beckoning mountain.
Maggots putrefy this palace of decay.
Trackless steps lead to the mountain,
worn away by thousands of pounding feet
over thousands of years.
All stepping into the casket of night.
All stepping into chasms of phantoms.
Enchantments abound this un-hallowed ground
memories, anxious to stay locked behind the door.
Madness clawing, devouring sanity step by step.
Turn back, for insanity inhabits this palace, and,
Here be dragons.