They carved a monument out of stone
Made it stand so proud,
Down by the coast,
Fishermen drowned.

They erected a monolith,
In the heart of town.
For local fallen lads,
In bitter conflicts.

They laid a stone flat,
At pit entrance where,
Miners had gone one morn.
Never to return.

A brother worked that boat.
An uncle fell in that war.
A father left down the pit.
A family’s history drawn
By sorrow and tragedy.

© Nick Strong 2014

For every heart broken, a story is gained,
Every hypothetical forever I entertained,
Now merely an anecdote
Of how I used to dote
And I wrote, and I wrote
And I'm so sorry that all you are now
Is just another story I tell

Thank God for hello poetry
I'm more than delighted to be part of it







But aren't we all :)

Today I feel sad,
Not convinced about this life.
Such a strange, strange world.

No this will not be an ode to creativity,
Nor will it be an epithet for emotion.
It will not serve as intellectual *******,
Nor an attempt at pointless immortality.

I write simply cause I do,
Much in the vein of walking, eating, breathing.
It is an instinctive process of nature,
Like a lion hunting a buck.

No I do not strive to write.
I do not search for muse or flavour.
On occasion a bolt from the heavens
Will find its way through my pen
Onto a paper
And like the village *****
Land up discarded on my floor

This is not a love letter to myself
I did earlier confess
I write simply cause I do
Its nothing more than a natural process

An Epithaliamium

So Man, grown vigorous now,
Holds himself ripe to breed,
Daily devises how
To ******* his seed
And boldly fertilize
The black womb of the unconsenting skies.

Some now alive expect
(I am told) to see the large,
Steel member grow *****,
Turgid with the fierce charge
Of our whole planet's skill,
Courage, wealth, knowledge, concentrated will,

Straining with lust to stamp
Our likeness on the abyss-
Bombs, gallows, Belsen camp,
Pox, polio, Thais' kiss
Or Judas, Moloch's fires
And Torquemada's (sons resemble sires).

Shall we, when the grim shape
Roars upward, dance and sing?
Yes: if we honour ****,
If we take pride to Ring
So bountifully on space
The ***** of our long woes, our large disgrace.

Life's your own boomerang
Shoots you forward
Flings you back
Its no wonder with this lurch
That im a crippled insomniac
Its whack
How i take a few steps forward
Only to get smacked
In the head
Maybe i dont have enough street cred
On this path of Life
Its no wonder im a **** head
Cuts the anxiety like a knife
Couldnt wake up from this limbo
Couldnt fall asleep to dream
Only stuck in this middle space
Gotta survive by a solo team
So ill go on shooting forward
remember where i return
Makes the next wound a bit easier
Less strong of a burn
Doesnt mean im going backwards
Just means i must revert
To this origin
This oneness
And my mode of thinking
I must convert.

I decided that, I would like to be a radio woman,
With the accelerator on my foot,
The right,
And mike on my left.
Blaring aloud,
A beetle bug motor-bee,
To sway and jingle over the traffic
Of the whole world
In a Tea’s Daze;
Blaring it aloud, to the supposed society,
The majority,
To it,
To the Together,
Aloud,
With a resurrected rebellion,
Howl all my cramps off,
Sans the punctuality, morality
And ethics.
And, free it all within a session,
A million worth of cramps sediment,
Waiting to sneak into the coffin for my afterbreath,
Just, free ‘em all, Whenever I feel it.
Aloud. Lucid. And, Crisp.