are we dead on arrival from birth?

our lives feel like such a burden even
as we receive life's great joys.

am I the only one that feels this way?

the light of the sun shines even when
my own perception creates clouds to
cover the light.

am I truly free or forever pulled back into a slow surrender of indifference?

my apathy has been breaking away, but sometimes it returns to cover me
in darkness.

will love set me free?

My left fights with
the right, as my hands
are idle, as I sleep they
have finger wars, I wake
up with a dead thumb
as the other is on top
locked on the other.

Pins and needles, my hands
spasm and slaps the other. What
is up with my hands, I try to
clap but they never connect
with each other.

I sleep at night, I wake up to
find one tied to the bed, scratches
on the other, my hands have a
mind of there own and I must
keep them busy so no arguing
with each other.

These eyes of mine
Have seen
Beyond the imaginary lines of being,

A broken heart mend over the written word shared by those whose wisdom has surpassed time,

Beautiful sunsets painted over gray lines by poets who know that you'll never know the true meaning of joy without a little pain paving the way.

I have wandered in the caves of those who dare to etch their souls on paper, and shun their thoughts to wondering eyes,

To give meaning to the lives of many, direction to the gypsey, and a mender for the torn,

Walked more than a mile in shoes of so many to find the quintessence of broken glasses, the epitome of troubled souls, and the essence of being,

Beautiful melodies that soothe the soul through the ears of a deaf man,

The rhythm of a heart in love that sickens the soul, invades the thoughts and leaves every inch of the body longing,

A memory of a love so precious, unforgettable that it's fragrance lingers still from a distant memory,

And when all is lost and plundered,
Your words are like a thread that sews patch after patch across my torn silhouette


It's a pleasure
To have read so many inspiring, beautiful and heartfelt poetry in here.

The milkman
let me and Helen
ride on the back
of his horse-drawn

milk wagon
through the Square
stopping here and there
to deliver milk

and eggs
and orange juice
Helen had got caught
in a downpour

of rain
and her thick lens
spectacles
were smeary

where she had wiped them
on her dress
her hair
had been plaited

into two plaits
over her shoulders
soggy looking
ought to

go back home
and change out
of the wet stuff
I said

or you'll catch
yourself a cold
Mum's out
Helen said

gone shopping
up the Cut
with the others
the milk wagon

moved on
the horse trotting
slowly forward
the man with a boxer dog

walked by
and gave us
a stare
sitting there

you could go
to my flat
my mum'll
find you

something dry
I said
I’ll be all right
Helen said

I'll dry out
the milkman
stopped again
and we got off

and walked through
the side
of the flats
and crossed Bath Terrace

and into Jail Park
you sure
you're all right?
I said

your dress
is clinging
to your legs
she pulled the dress

from her legs
I’ll be ok
so we went
into the area

where the swings
and slide were
and got on
the swings

for big kids
and pushed ourselves
high into the air
holding on

to the chains
at the side
our shoes trying
to touch

the grey clouds
then we went
on the slide
but Helen got stuck

half way
because her wet dress
held her there
so she climbed down

and we walked back
to my flat
where my mother
got her some

dry clothes
of my sister's
and put Helen’s clothes
in front of the fire

to dry
and we watched
the steam rise
from them

into the sitting room air
as we sat
on the sofa
with our bemused stare.

Smile.*

Not the stupid
plastic killer clown crap.
Smile like you've just married
the love of your life.

"Why are the poet's eyes always sad?"
A little girl asked me once.
She saw me furrow my brow,
And continued with her question.
"You see,
No matter how big you smile,
Or how hard you laugh,
There's always something there.
It's like you've found
The Great Sadness,
And you have to bear it all alone."

I nodded my head,
Fingers on my chin.

Why is it that the poet's eyes are
Always sad?

I'll answer your question
Like I did hers.

To be a poet,
You have to feel every emotion.

You have to know what it's like
To swim with the sharks
And survive,
And you have to know what it's like
To swim with the sharks
And die.

Poets have to know what it's like
To hear a baby cry for the first time,
And what it's like
To hear a mother sob,
Because her baby came quiet
And left without a fight.

We feel every
Great Happiness
And we find every
Great Sadness.

Why are poet's eyes always sad?

It's because the poet
Is always sad.

Once you find
The Great Sadness,
You can never rid yourself of it.

But if you look closely
In a poet's eyes,
You can always see
Happiness
And you can always see
Joy.

Because a poet
Has to feel every emotion,
He feels them all at once
And they can't be hidden.

In every poets' eyes,
You see happiness,
And you see sadness.
You see joy,
And you see pain.
You see love,
And you see loss.

Why are the poet's eyes always sad?

I think it is better to ask,
Why are the poet's eyes always smiling?

Stop trying to remember his scent, he smelled like summer and reminds you of the time he made you laugh so hard, you snorted out milk on that dead, hazy day.

2. Don't waste your day trying to decipher what colour his eyes were, it'll only remind you of the galaxies and constellations that you once saw in his eyes

3. Stop trying to retrace the shape of his mouth in the middle of the night, you'll choke on your tongue trying to taste the mint he devoured seconds before pulling you in for a kiss

4. Stop reliving the times you clasped hands together, the glass plate will fall off your trembling hands.

5. Burn this list, admit that the galaxies and constellations shining in his eyes were wilted, the one in yours are bursting with fire. Remember on the dead, hazy day his laugh sounded like nails running down a chalkboard. Remember when you kissed, the weeds growing from his mouth entangled the roses blooming in yours.

Realize that one day, another boy is going to come and plant daisies where he left behind thorns.

I looked at you, it was love
at first site, I ate your heart
to show my love for you
was true you tried to fight.

I went to kiss you, as you
chewed off my lips, hungry
for each other I bite a chunk
out of your chest dead meat
went stiff.

You liked me for my brain
as you took a bite,  it was love,
you gave me your finger a ring
was on it as I swallowed it right
back, no need for chewing its
slid right back .

It was zombie love, we both
looked terrible, but they say
its what's on the inside. As I ate
your liver and you ate part
of my  kidney, gurgling as
it slid back. Hands in each
other, god this is zombie love..

She had to lie she couldn't
tell the truth,It was to embarrassing
but he laughed as soon
people would guess, and
just for a second visualise
what happened to you. With
that she did blush and her eye
watered more.

He giggled every time he
saw, he couldn't help it, even
though she told him it was
really sore. That eye was blood
red, she had washed it out but
her eyes just watered more.

She had to go out but she wasn't
very sure, then some friends
popped over, do you think
they'll guess, he sniggered as
he opened the door.

Hi how are you as they came
through the door, as her friend
looked on sheepishly O MY
GOD they said in unison, he shot
in your eye, it was ****** soar.

The lads burst in to laughter
and the ladies they did scorn,
well you asked us to pull out
and it did the long shot 50 points
for the eye, and then every one
laughed as the girls grabbed there
eyes, which were still *** shot soar.

I am trampled upon by
thoughts, they stamped
over me crushing my
reality of what I see

I catch my breath, before
it feels like I am being
pushed to my limits of
thoughts and what is real,
I fight the confusion the
crushing sensation that
like a vice is slowly breaking
my mind.

Thoughts trample me under
foot, I must think slower thoughts
or I will be broken trampled
with confusion of what is really
seen and what I think.