~

I need to stand
at the edge of a river
imagining all my

       fears

            and

                anxieties

are passing by.


I would take a step back
  
         and     s
                       i
                         t




Silently

I would let them all

       drift

                g
                  e
                  ­  n
                       t
                         l
                           y

noticing each one

letting
           it
             go

and just observe the distance.

Already they seem
  
   smaller


I can enjoy the

     'here and now'

sitting by the river

      and appreciate a taste
      
             of

                  inner peace

                             ~

Yeah these days they use the fancy term
But for us it didnt exist
Yes we killed and were killed
But who really gave a ****
Our therapy,  lets go and have a fight
With those who were fighting on our right
Yes, strong words were used, hard punches thrown
But they are my brothers, we are one
Our rules were simple
Watch a brother die
Then smack another brother in the eye
By birth or *** a brother not
And yet a brother never forgot
Yes, he gave his life for me
Just as I would have given mine for he
We answered when our country called
Take up arms lest we should fall
And for that my friend did die
But never did he hear the battle cry

(This poem was brought to you by the letter...V!)
She vacuums the worn carpet
Her gaze on the surface vague and vacant
But when you lift the lid
She has been ****** into a vortex
Of whirling cosmic space dust.


She's entered a parallel universe
There her name is Vanessa
And her life's so diverse
By day she announces on
underground trains
  'mind the gap, next stop
Mornington crescent'
Her voice is sweet, virtuous,
clear and efficient
  But by evening her voice has
  more va va voom
She sings sultry jazz
in a smoky back room.
She looks almost the same
Voluptuous lines and a
red haired mane
But gone is any trace of mundane.  

Each verse of song she wraps in a sway of the hips side to side
and a ravishing smile
 And if the audience  try it on
or  become volatile
A valiant handsome trilby wearing
gentleman
Can warn them off  
With a choice few nouns
And vexing verbs
make them run a mile

And after the show
She and the gentleman
Vanish from view
And as their heated passion grows
 They sink down onto A velveteen couch
 exploring her peaks n valleys
With his keen mouth
And she traces his muscles
Vivid veins, v lines
She reaches his peak further south.



Back out of the vortex
And back in the room
She is breathless
And her heart is fast and keen
She has stopped the vacuum
Instead saught solace
In the vibrations of her washing machine

Poetess, rare in contemporary usage
yet, not rare in actuality.
Am I a poet? Or a poetess?
The word "poetry" derives from the Latin feminine noun poetria, meaning not "poetry" but "poetess.
So, confusion reigns in my mind as to what I am
but not what I do, or why I do it.
Do I write because I want recognition? Fame? Accolades? No.
Do I write because I need to? Yes.
Words soothe my soul, whether they be dark words or
words forged in the light.
Poetry allows the poet and the reader to visualise
nay experience all forms of love, hurt, pain, madness,
and suffering, the poet, the poem and the reader become as one.