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Yes, this may be the crime of the century,
the solution Watson is elementary.
He did it! You see that's not so very hard,
so be a dear chap and inform Scotland Yard.

I am bored with this detective endeavour,
I am tired of being so ****** clever.
Sod it! And eternal damnation to all
I'll just wait for the House of Usher to fall.

Why? You ask my reference to Mr Poe.
It's this apathy that is starting to grow.
I cannot be bothered with all this tripe,
so Watson please fetch my violin and pipe.
I seem to writing lots of mildly amusing silly poems... hmmm!
when the edge of darkness beckons
and thunderstorms are calling to you
from distant mountains,

fall slow,

so I m falling slow

like rain turning to snowflakes,
like snowflakes turning into rain.

the rain running down my window pane.
an unshaded lamp and a cold bed.

I roll to face the wall

and how cruel the raindrops
to cast teardrop shadows onto the wall.


the poet's dream;
the moth seeking the light of a distant star.

how many dreams forgotten?

I'm searching for
the summer of dreams,
songs, and a voice, and words

floating through clouds like roses,

I'm searching for the distant star,
the mystery of tomorrow
and a pair of eyes to fall into,
the silent touch of raindrops
turning into words.
The time is now
In its pull
In each other's arms

The time is now
Overjoyed and thankful
Brave enough
As brave can be

The time is now
A new beginning
We'll go far

The time is now
We cannot miss
Before the faint hum of big forever
I've heard people are strange
When you're a stranger
A lesson learned
Only as you grow older

Faces look ugly
When you're alone
My past proves
No one pays no mind to what's shown

They say women seem wicked
When you're unwanted
My truth is I've wasted
All the time allotted

Streets are uneven
When you are down
Seemingly impossible
To find solid ground

The strange
Have faces they hide in the rain
It's strange
Couldn't be bothered to remember my name

Are you strange?
Am I strange?
What is straaaaaange?

©2024
Another kiss on the cheek
like a bus it hit me
there is a first time
and a last time
for everything
blood lips after skin
with newfangled revenge
from the age of once to heaven
in a space
where winter gathers momentum
a man such as I
seeks a clean slate
for your kissered-become
are colder than pain
at a point far beyond zero
my heart must melt the blizzard
as my Love for you
muster upward
counting the years
your tears
my rain.
Then heaven I shall enter
albeit waiting on you
are solely in vain.
I stared at the pond for hours
Dipping my index and letting it drip

A rustle here, a rumour there,
Wouldnt stir my pouted lip.

In the green I didn’t note you.
No bark or howl did you insist.

I had defied your mild chirping,
Untill I saw you wearing mist.

Green frog, looking upwards.
Slight, but surely there.

Please stay here, pondside with me,
In this sigh im glad to share.
This poem is about finding love again when you were sure you couldn't
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