The money and the power
fit like hand in glove,
manipulating our lives
with hands soaked in blood.

Like pawns on a chessboard
we follow their commands,
cleverly manipulated
by cold corporate minds.

They reap a tainted harvest
bought with sleeping souls,
their purses bulging
as they play out their roles.

Prancing about in their
huge stately homes,
costumes adorned
with skulls and bones.

Masonic handshakes
get you into their halls,
where horrors unfold
amidst terrified calls.

And way down here
on the creaking boards,
another pawn is lost
to the bloodthirsty hoard.

Their veils are returned
as they cover the loss.

Another family bereft,
must recover the cost.


*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 2nd march 2015.
Revised 2nd October 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

A word on a line
joined with many and more,
a story to tell
from behind a closed door.

A line on a page
and a paragraph to make,
from a thoughtful sage
to the ones who forsake.

A page in a book
telling tales short and tall,
just have a quick look,
hear the whispering call.

A book on a shelf,
many dusty old tomes,
a wealth of words
from across quiet rooms.

A history in words,
telling sad tales of pain;
of battles and bloodshed
and tears shed in vain.

Tyrants and demons
live within the short lines,
telling tales of tomorrow
and the end of our times.

Words of science;
of nature and light;
of suns, stars
and comets so bright.

Pages of magic;
of mystery and prose;
of light and laughter
and faces aglow.

A library of life
in unending rhymes,
of joyous love
and wonderful times.

A letter, a word,
a line or a page,
thoughts laid down
across eons of age.


*
Written by Darren Scanlon, April 2014.
Revised 24th September 2015.
© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

http://www.darrenscanlon.wordpress.com

Somewhere in between
the waking and the dream,
I can feel you close to me.

Just before times hands
reshape the desert sands,
I can feel you reach for me.

In the blink of tear stained eyes,
watching weary to the skies,
I can see you cry for me.

In the breaking of the dawn,
in the dew upon the lawn,
I can see you smile for me.

In the bright rays of the sun,
in the new day just begun,
I can feel you warming me.

In the beating of my heart,
that once was torn apart,
I can feel you healing me.

In the shadow of the past,
from the dawn unto the last,
I can hear you call for me.

As I take my last deep breath,
as I fear the grip of death,
will you please just wait for me?


Written by Darren Scanlon, April 2013.
This revised version written 15th March 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

Gaze into the mirror
at the face behind the mask
and wonder if it's really you,
or don’t you dare to ask?

Who can know what lies beyond
the mirrors fragile face,
reflections of another life;
another time or place?
  
Touch the chill upon the glass
and see a tiny ripple,
was it real or in your mind,
did it really feel so supple?

Gaze into empty eyes
and fall into the depths
of a soul once so full of life,
so youthful and adept.

Look to see what lies beneath,
to feel the piercing pain
of a cold, tired and tortured mind,
so old and now so stained.

Seek the truth, as only one
who dares, could ever see,
touch the glass with hard resolve,
do you want to set it free?

As tears return to trace the tracks
they've travelled so many days.,
to feel a cold and empty heart
as it fades into the haze.

Wrap yourself in a lovers embrace
as it slowly disappears,
until finally you understand
where you've been for all these years
.

A cry escapes from silent lips
as knowledge flows like sand,
your former self now fades from view,
beseeching, held out hands.

As you gaze into the trembling glass,
your thoughts so far away,
who is really watching who
and who can really say.


Written by Darren Scanlon, 12th May 2014.
Revised 17th September 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
http://www.darrenscanlon.wordpress.com

In the deep dark woods
lived a great brown bear,
he was seven feet tall
but the townsfolk didn’t care
for although the bear was huge
and had fangs and long sharp claws,
all the people would make fun of him
and point out his big flaw.


Have you ever met a bear
who had nothing much to say,
who couldn’t even growl
when he came outside to play?
Well, Bob was his name
and no matter how he tried,
when he opened his big mouth
all he managed was a sigh.


Now in a nearby village
lived a little girl called Sal,
she liked the big old bear
and they’d grown to be good pals.
She was never afraid of Bob
for she loved him well and true,
she was sure he’d never hurt her,
he was gentle through and through.


“I going to stop them laughing”,
decided Sal one sunny day,
“They're no longer making fun
of my dear friend that way!”

So she came up with a plan
that was certain to succeed
and when the crowd arrived,
she sneaked up into a tree.


When poor old Bob stood up tall
and he raised his great big paws,
showing to all the people
he had long and dangerous claws,
little Sal gave the loudest roar
from the top of her tiny lungs
as he opened his enormous mouth
showing them fierce looking fangs.



The people jumped and screamed
and then ran for their dear lives,
falling over wooden fences
and some buzzing bee hives.
The bees came out and cried,
“What a terrible thing to do!”
and they chased them even further
with the threat of a sting or two.


Bob and Sal just laughed and laughed
as she dropped down from the tree

landing right upon his back,
how they giggled with such glee.
“I bet they'll all be hiding now
and wondering with a scowl,
where on earth did that silly bear
get his loud and fearsome growl?”


Sal gave Bob a last big hug
and bade her friend goodnight.
“Didn't we both give them
such a terrible old fright?
Lets do it again tomorrow
and watch them scream and run
from a poor old sighing bear,
who is really such good fun”.


Written by Darren Scanlon, 27th May 2014.
Revised 1st September 2015.
Artwork by Angie Caira.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

My friend Terrence
was a little happy sole,
he didn't need a kennel,
nor a house or a hole.

His home was a shell
that he carried on his back,
so that all he had to do
was drop down on the track.

Then he'd pull his head inside,
followed by his legs and feet
and he’d look inside the fridge
for something tasty to eat.

If it started raining
or got too chilly cold,
his friends would run for shelter
beneath trees or in their holes.

But not our little friend,
because he'd climb inside his shell
and have a cup of tea
until the sun chased off the chill.

Wherever he did travel,
he would walk so nice and slow,
well there's no need to rush,
you might trip or stub your toe!

“And all the good things
come to those that wait”,
or so his mother told him
as he headed through the gate.

“If you’re rushing all the time
and your feet don’t want to stop
then you’ll end up getting dizzy
like a whizzing spinning top”.

His mother, how she loved him
and he loved her lots, right back
with her funny little sayings
she would help him stay on track.

So there my tale has ended,
for all you girls and boys,
and now you've met my little friend,
Terence the Tortoise.



*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 25th February 2014.
Revised, 30th August 2015.
Artwork by Angie Caira.
© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

Have you ever heard the tale
about the hedgehog with no spikes,
such a sweet little boy
who all the other’s didn’t like?

A case of alopecia,
there was nothing they could do,
such a sad little hedgehog
who cried and cried, “Boo-Hoo”.

But soon the lad grew older,
he wanted to look more lush
so onto his back he tied himself
a little scrubbing brush.

His friends, well they just laughed at him
and bullied him all the more,
until one day, he'd had enough
and walked out through the door.

For years not much was heard of him,
his mother, she did fret
for she’d heard about the busy roads
and trouble, in which, he could get.

But life had turned out fine for him
and soon he’d found a place
where he could earn a little living
and put smiles on many a face.

Within the railway station
with his brush upon his back,
a jumping and a jiggling till
the queue would start to clap.

People travelled from miles around
just to come and watch the show,
their trips no longer boring
they would leave with faces aglow.

But what’s the hedgehog doing
to make the people come to see?
What makes them laugh and cheer
and fills their hearts with so much glee?

You've never seen a shoe shine stall
with such a special knack,
for the owner was a dancing hedgehog
with a brush upon his back!


*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 3rd January 2014
Revised 26th August 2015.
Artwork by Angie Caira.
© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.