Sentences are words making love.
Filling paper or screen with letters of adoration
Meaning and content overflowing
Descriptions and senses brought together in words.

Yet what is making love?
Can you manufacture love?
What does making love feel like?
Is there a difference between a **** and making love?

Love, that profoundly tender passion
Love wants attention
Love wants commitment
Love wants,and wants and wants.

Love is not just a noun it is a verb to be acted upon
Love is commitment
Love is creation
Writing is creation.

Duality of the soul
good, bad, happy, sad
Loved, unloved
Wanted, unwanted
The malady of morality.
Who would want to live forever today?
Corruption, disease, pain, infection, brutality.
Pop my date of cessation on a notepad,
I'll get around to being, bad looks like the
World already has.

Bewitched by your soul
I crave to know your gift
Your gift of knowing me
Owning me, filling me
Did you glamour me?
Or did I entrance you?
Your leadership of me
Makes it hard to resist
Your charm, your craft
I'm charmed by your knowledge
Enraptured by your mask
What are you?
Should I feel horror?
I feel so at home in your arms
Which of us is the witchery spirit?
Are you a warlock?
One that has locked me in a battle of need,
need of you?
Or am I the enchantress that has hexed you?
We cannot be parted, we are one
I am undone
Sorcerer of me
What is under your cloak?

From the cradle to the grave
We're manhandled and manipulated
Manoeuvred like chess pieces
Arranged in columns, in  statistics, in order
Our worth is determined by skilful orientation
Influenced by others, employed by others, used by others

Faceless, nameless, featureless, utilisers that
Make sure we are kept within our boundaries
Yet, all these words have one thing in common MAN
Unscrupulous influence unfairly deployed
Ensure that our managed manhandling is exploited by the MAN.

To the people that love you
You are perfect
In order for you to see what they see
Takes more than a mirror.
All you see is a reflection
A copy of you caught in time.
You see the flaws
You remember the hateful things you've done
You hear your past crashing down on you
You understand that your face is not the face they see
Your face is an ever changing mask, a lie.

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

Life is a maze.
Life is a phase
Life is a craze.
Life decays
Life can amaze
Life can be full of clichés
Life filled with schooldays, holidays, long delays.
Life is a labyrinth, with a Minotaur in the shades
Life is full of constraints
So leave the maze, untangle your hair and meet me in a different cabaret, I'll be there
I'll show you how life is just one big malaise, we need to fill the maze with a blaze of glory.
After all life is a story. The ending the same, we all die, but in between, we runaways from the maze can drop the chains and create our own tales of the maze.
*And those tales can be quite amazing!

Sober thoughts crowd my mind
Happiness I cannot find
Gloomy weather, gloomy mind

Black bile, one of the archaic humours
Rhyming aptly with tumours
Cancerous thoughts within my mind

Pensively I look for salvation
Maybe a cheery salutation
But my melancholic mind keeps me as a brooder

I vent my spleen, searching for the vaccine
Annoyance acting as a screen for the truth
That all I want to do is scream and scream and scream.

We are all dead.
We are born with one goal: to die.
Waiting to cease completely.
Remember to turn off the light.
Try to go peacefully.
Make sure they spell your name right.
We, none of us get out of this try as we might.

Sunrise, and with it the heat of the day,
I lay beside you watching your eyelashes flutter
your eyes roaming under their lids.
What are you searching for in this sleep so deep?
I'm here if you're looking for me.
Open your eyes and gaze at me, see me, want me.
Sweat rests on your exposed skin, tiny pools of salty water,
like seawater I want to dive into you.
Disappear under your thrusting waves.
The east has woken me, yet still you dream.
Hurry, wake up soon, I want to melt into you and this sunrise.

Traffic speeds past
People go slow.
Days are long
Nights are short.
Silence is deep
People are shallow.
Love is a need
Like water and air.
Food interrupts
A nice interruption.
Dolls for girls
Guns for boys.
Boys now men
Girls now mothers.
A Mothers tears flow faster than traffic
For the boy with a plastic gun, now a dead man,
a dead soldier.

I came so hard I shuddered and deflated
Breathing erratically I noticed the chips in the paint
Old peeling paint, the thought tickled me and I laughed.
That paint was as old as me, it was mid life paint.
I laughed harder and felt the liquid leak from me
Can paint have a crisis?
No.
Why not?
Its bloom is off the rose, so to speak, dull, faded, tired and dull
Ergo, mid life crisis.

Majestic midnight weaves it's spell
requiring us to sit and tell
of stories frightening and beguiling
Of scares and prayers
Of lies and truths
Of pain and happiness
Of fright and nightmares
Of redemption and of damnation.
Midnight feeds on emotion
Drink it's potion and offer devotion.
Silent midnight, stays and listens
Watches your tears as they glisten
running down your drawn face
casting no judgement or illumination
on your midnight tears.

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.

To use a quote that encapsulates my feelings right now,
“I'm tired of this back-slappin' "isn't humanity neat" *******. We're a virus with shoes.”
― Bill Hicks

The Poem

Originally I thought I suffered from irritability,
irritability of the human race.
Then I realised whilst looking at my face, it was hate.
I told the Doctor I'd thought of suicide, then realised
I wanted to commit mass homicide.
Become a hermit.
Mankind, womankind I hate you, people think me nice, fair,
and kind, I know the truth, I am a *******, so you must be too.
We as a race need a cull.
Do I like the human race? No. What's to like?
I even dislike people that purport to be friends.
I intricately step my way through this world of vermin.
We defile what is beautiful and true, hate because we
are taught to. Ruin, start wars, cause pain, then moan about the rain!
We as a race are quite crudely put, a pile of ****,
but even **** has purpose, a role.
What role do we have? To hate one another?
If so please make it equal and adhere to political correctness,
by that I mean, Hate Everyone equally.

Maybe today I can smile even
Under the grey sky
Lit only by a weak sun
Take time to read not to run
Inhale the spring air
Plan a pain free day! plait my hair
Lounge without lethargy
Excite my day by not falling or bawling!

Soak in a bath filled with rose oil
Chop and cook for a meal
Love without the twin of hate
Endevour to finish Ayn Rand
Relay all my feelings in this one day
Only be happy!
Sit without numbness, or nuisance
Instill positive thinking, leave Eeyore behind
S**ay thank you to the day that made me feel human.

Glacier like, she moves slowly
Heavily made up, doll like, Maiko
Moving toward her rite of passage in a
highly colorful kimono with extravagant obi.

Her bright face and silks are an unspoken code
Her parasol offers limited protection from the sun
and less to what's to come.
Although trained, this transaction is not of love.

Do you ever get one of those days.
Where you forget the Fitbit, drop the mobile, turn off social media, disconnect from the connection, slow down on coffee consumption, turn down the traffic of information?
Then looked for a free hotspot?

Money makes the world go around
So the saying goes,
But sorry to burst that bubble
Not even love does that
Dusty, *****, lucky, love
Stalls the world, when it turns sour
Love tuns to hate quickly and
Money mummifies us, wraps our corpses in bills
Beauteous, mellifluous love lets doves fly
Unlucky money make doves cry
Superfluous love, yuppie money
Comely money, plush love
Neither wins.
There is no versus, there is no fight
Both are emotional dynamite.

No bricks, no mortar
Just empty rooms.
Space so large it truly is never ending
Silence, so quiet it screams.
Doors only unlocked at certain times
Windows always looking in - never out.

If we looked out what would we see?
Croquet on the lawn?
A garden party?
A dog chasing its own tail?

Focus on the dog, the ******* dog
It's teeth, the steam of its breath as it pants
It's fur glossy, midnight black
He's padding forward, to you, you at the window

Go back, run, find a room that's unlocked
Unknown, uncared for.
Hide, retreat, leave the black dog outside
You and that dog can never play ball.

You find a room with a checkered floor
Black and white, chess.
You, are the Queen of this chess mansion
You, are not captured, not today
Not by the black monstrous dog.

The tiniest piece of dust
that's us
No more than an iota
"until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law" (Mt 5:18)
Our hopes and dreams become anecdotes.
Glittering, sparkling silver particles
dancing freely with an abandonment
not seen since childhood.
Time elopes freely, either quickly or slowly.
Dependant on our experience with it.
Is there substance to time?
Are we it's substance ?
Us, the spots, flecks, mites and motes of humanity?

Time erodes what once was
Law, pain, pleasure, life
We remember items long turned to dust
A scintilla of us remain along with our one
grain of thought, lest we forget, we are just
sparkling dust floating around waiting to land
to be turned into the sands of time.
Shoals of grandiose people
ignoring the sermon on the mount
The mote and the Beam.
We see others but not ourselves
We see dust but do not clean it
We see sunlit motes dancing
But we do not dance for after all
For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.
—Matthew 7:1-5 KJV

Is it natural to dislike a moth yet like a butterfly?
Mojito flavoured beer helps the spring birds sing
I'm sat yet floating in the last rays of spring sunshine
Remembering when I was yours and you were mine.

Memories gratify, whilst faults grate
Did you love me or the butterfly within?
I hear my scoff at this thought, I'm more moth you see
Butterflies capitalise on their pretty lies.

You fell for the pretty lies
You fell for the pretty wings
You fell for the notoriety being with a butterfly brings
You fell for the purposes of the accident report

So, I guess I dislike myself, since I am more moth
I froth at this revelation, come late this spring sun
Applesauce faults gloss over the fact that I the moth
Will morph into butterfly come summer.

High on the mountain, overlooking the valley,
the valley where I was born, is a wooden bench.
Standing to attention are the bottom of the deep V
are houses, all the same, all in a row.
From the bench the village can be watched
It's comings and goings, the neighbours gossiping
talking about nothing and everything.
Everyone is there down below,
John the butcher, Dai the milk, Mair the bread,
Oliver's shop, where anything and everything was for sale.
A picturesque Welsh valley, where everyone is actually
Psychotic, and where you'll never leave except in a coffin feet first.
Those of us that get out, stay out.
Old feuds still burn, families not talking,
not remembering how it started.
Chocolate box prettiness masks the tension,
the hate, the jealousies, the negativity held
in the ***** of the valley.
How green was my valley?
It wasn't green, it's colour was red, like a hell fire.
Oh, the trees were green, the mountain was glorious
but that valley was poison.

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.

Today ****** came calling
It screamed in the still air
Awoke a community
Startled and scared children
******, came fast
****** came darkly
****** passed over as the crows moved on up ahead.

Snoozing quietly on a sunny day,
with eyes half closed, breathing relaxed,
listening to the sounds the sun brings out.
Children screaming with play, lawn mowers cutting,
bees buzzing and singing birds.

Languidly lost in time bemused at the thoughts
running free in my mind. I start to muse on
ridiculous things:
Why liquid soap?
Why a date of birth but no date of death? (That would be helpful like a use by date on food, fit in that bucket list or miss your deadline)

Why do ice lollies only come in packs of three like condoms?
Why are children so ultimately free?
Why does the sun make us feel so safe?
Why does road rage come out in the sun?
Why do we insist on eating burnt carcasses and underdone chicken?
At barbecues that take forever to organise with people you'd rather flail alive?

We speak a common language
We are friends
We have been friends for over a quarter of a century(1 old 1 new)
We have never met

You and I would never have known each other
But for fate.
Fate turned a postman up my steps
He dropped a letter with a US stamp on the mat

From the first introduction I was smitten with my postal friend
She encompassed all that was red, white and blue.
Pretty, funny, generous and kind
I felt in comparison like an ugly sister to Cinderella

American TV programmes, American music,
John Hughes movies, she lived that life
I was Ally Sheedy to her Molly Ringwald's 'Breakfast Club'
I watched her grow through letters, she I in turn.

We journeyed the 80's the 90's the naughties and now the 1st decade of the 21st century together.
We both married, we both suffered sadness and joy
Highs and lows.

You still have the hair of my memories
You still have the smile of my memories
You still evoke a time of innocence for me
You still evoke my smile

Yet, now we approach our 40's
Born anew, the US is changed, Europe is changed
We remain joined as always through words.
You my American friend.

My core, my essence is bruised
My happy smile is a ruse
So many have fallen for my light
It's time to return to my core
My Centre though bruised is dark
I see no brightness in this world
This world is pain.
Why feign happiness when sadness is stronger?
We enter the world screaming and kicking
We leave whimpering and docile
Agreeable to our fate, our time is up.
Happiness is a construct to convince you that life,
is worth having.
Pain is the truth, darkness is the enveloping comfort,
sleep is the "petit mort" that we succumb to each night.

The lights were dim,
and the noise was loud,
crowds of people all around.
I lost my way in the throng,
bourne along on the beat of the night.
Cigarettes needed, I left the bar
suddenly there you are.
You tried to chat I wanted none of that
just my smokes and a familiar face,
I tried with grace to let you know
move on, just go.
Just then I I knew my mistake,
you grabbed my arm and hissed in my face
“My name is John”
I tried to smile use some guile,
but you were hell bent, and all that I did seemed to provoke.
I choked the fear down, when I realised we were alone,
how did you get me here?
Wedged between the wall and the cigarette machine.
Croaks were all that I could summon as you undid my buttons,
frozen in fear, switched off from here.
Fight or flight?
Neither just fright.
I remember your smell, your touch, your words
I wanted to scream GO TO HELL but nothing came out.
The kisses were the worst,
no matter how hard I tried to move my head away
your lips, your tongue found their target.
Bruising me, pushing me, grabbing me, groping me
As you pinned my hands behind my back, I gave up,
Just like that.

My pane of glass allows me to see the farce that is my life.
Remember that song lyric “I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me”?, well, I’ve never been to paradise and I’ve never been me.

Me, a person is too much to try and describe, let alone the life I’ve lived and hid.

My skin is a skein wrapped tightly over my remains
My brain what of it works is a profane stain, it cheats at life and keeps me looking through that pane at my pain.

My pain makes me stronger, my pain is my armour, my pain is a ball and chain choking me down whilst I try to retain order.

I’m never mundane and always entertain myself with the next charade.I’ve portrayed and played many parts, paid my dues and rued the pain that started in my heart.

Happiness folds in on itself
like a piece of paper.

Can you be jealous of a time?
I can. I am.
Like salt in a wound I sting at being absent at my own life
Pain screams at me and I smile back

You were my rock
But time and feelings have eroded that rock into a pebble -
soon nothing but sand will remain.

We lost the game.
No scores to be had.

Living was copying motions
of same old ways,
from bygone days.

Immolated landscapes
Unconsecrated ground
Land now sand
Silence the only sound.

People as mannequins
shackled to consumerism
now free to be human
humanity is dead
turned to dust and ash.

Charred trees, charred bones
Libraries and ossuaries
Rock, paper, scissors
Sinners, readers, builders
All on bended knees
Pillars of salt blown away on the blast wind.

Flame extinguished.

A
Nights silence
Hides the days noises
A
Nights darkness
Covers the days brightness
A
Nights sky
Yields to days sunrise

Softly swishing on the air, a breeze gets caught in my room.
The gentle air does little to cool the fire ablaze on the bed.
Shallow breathing fans my ear, as I lie across your chest.
The rise and fall of your torso remind me of the rise and
fall of us during, this, our final night alone.
Summer is turning to autumn, soon the leaves will brown
and fall. How quickly a summer's night breeze can cool ardour.
Passion, heat, intensity all have seen the inside of this room.
What happens when they leave? Do they leave on the last breeze?
Tracing your body with my nails, I feel you stir, yet you murmur
her name. You moan and arc your back, a droplet of sweat rolls
down your neck, catches in the hollow, glistening, listening.
I lift my head and dart my tongue to your neck, lick the sweet sweat,
and know that when the weather breaks, and the breeze turns clouds darker with rain, you and I will be here again

I write at night, it seems the best way
to deal with the horror of day.
Quietude, peace and darkness surround me
Clears my mind, focuses my thoughts.
Allows me to demonstrate through words
my understanding, of this, they call living.

Living in the light of day, means a lot of
shadow play, fake smiles, small talk,
neighbourly actions, following the rules
to keep you in your place.
Being friendly, making small talk, pretending to care.
When all you want to do is lock them all in a zoo.

Gossip, malice, neighbourly disputes, cars scratched
Dogs defecating, owners not caring, traffic noise
Kids shouting, parents shouting, horns blaring.
Pretence, grievance, affectation, keeping up appearances.
Front door closed, you realise that you're feigning interest.

Hypocrisy reigns during the day.
Pretension, feigning interest, losing your soul to the classes
the masses, paying lip-service to the day.
When all you want is the night and to be able to say
*******. Leave me to the chill calm of the night, and to write.

No host of golden daffodils do I see when I look around me.
Just the debris of a life, cut short by a knife.
I wandered lonely not over vale, but over my body
Lying prone on the floor, no breath does it host anymore.
My eyes gaze sightless into the distance,
a sphinx upon the waste land of the laminated floor.
My hair limp, not fluttering in the breeze, my blood cooling into a pool
my death scene, gives such chills, that renders even golden daffodils pale
Death does indeed ride a pale horse.
He shows no remorse.
Wilted in a vase, wasted on the floor, I await my light, my open door.

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.

What might have been is no more.
Time to forget, and leave regrets to the past.
Emotional attrition has no place in going forward.
I loved you.
Did you love me?
I'll never know, it was never to be.
I'll remember the way we laughed
I'll remember the way we glanced at each other
I'll never be sorry for loving you
No repentance is needed
We both took different paths.
My regret is that I still see your face in my dreams
I'll be contrite this night, lying by my husband and
Not you