Fearful of crimson
Clouds emulate blood risen
Uneasy vision

We entertain the idea that it is but a moment of
joyful bliss,
But did you share that sting?
              Was it too much for a whisper of kaleidoscope
                                                    ­                     pleasures.....
There is but one ending to this eclipse of the senses.
                              "Either,
You float on the butterflies of enthral bliss,
                    Or when that needle penetrates
Its like a  bullet to the brain....


                          There is only silence and stillness
and blood lubricates the nasal.
     They say an overdose is like a bullet to the brain
                    but one only some are revived from....

Do you wish to play roulette to see which shot
                                                         ends your life.

We see a road but it never takes us
on the direction we travel upon.

The scenery is what makes the horizon
worthy of the distance to nowhere,

             but a road into our continued wandering.

Your my E=mc2 we collide like
Mu=Mv1+mv2 we become as one.

We are neutron stars that are hearts
Expelling love to each others starts.

We are love expelled in forms of energy
But it never fades only changes forms.

*"I loved you in a millie second, that lasted an eternity,

An appearance from where noises were in twilight
Moving in silence towards the rising horizon.

Moments of life birthed in to a new beginning,
Breaking the waters and new creation risen anew.

Emergence upon a brand new day breathed forth,
Life visualized, smiles at the sight of a new day

Our thoughts are mist
     that in time will clear.

You just need to let the sunrise
      and evaporate the doubt  


that hangs low.

For dewdrops will cling
      on the beauty of positivity,

and life cherished,


knowing there is a new day to live.

I was always moving around,
a step that stops isn't
meant to be moving anymore.
               Well I'm always being told.
So I carry on walking.

But in my line of
work, I'm on the road
more often than I'm not.
                    And some times I'm
in places just mere hours.

Could I stay, would I
want to ever settle down,
don't know really, I sigh.
If I were to quit
            my day job, I laugh..

Go on as you mean
to, tread faster than
the foot behind you.
I'm always on my toes,
          A trail of breadcrumbs.

That's all I leave them.
        Wish you were here's,
wrote in blooded pride.
       Silent but deadly, leaving odours.
A new man walks in pride..

Upon candyfloss clouds
You rest your soft head.

Gurgling, smiling as
Innocence plays out.

Taken from life, only
A breath breathed out.

You are on candyfloss
Clouds, peace in your
mind, eyes look down.

Little one, angelic one,
Taken before your time.

Look down and know, that
You are loved even though
On candyfloss clouds, you
Are and will be in the hearts
And minds of everyone.

She walked through the streets in her shimmering
dress that hugged her skin as if part of her being.
Speaking in tongue misunderstood by thought she
stared not at you but within you as if she was gauging
the purity of your inner grace.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing alone?

"Where did you fall from,

One goaded, smiling she replied,

"I fell a long way down,

"Dii me ridere, [loosely translated]
"The gods are laughing at me?

She smirks at those in plentiful urgency to expel
what time they have on tribal necessities.
Wondering into a alleyway she had a few to choose
from but this one barely lit.

The spider and the fly came to mind, but who
was in the web and who was but a husk waiting to decay?

"Lady you going to have a bad night,

"Bad night, try bad millennium you apes make me laugh,

"Who you calling ape woman?

"Lets see your hairy, you smell, and you scrape your
hand on the ground, no sorry ape is to good for you organisms,

Her dress seems to separate and he hair lengthens to hide modest
of a body of perfection. before there eyes is an angel but her
feathers are as onyx as coal. "See my true from, As screams
bathe the walls and wisps of smoke ascend not to heaven
but fade in the wind. Eyes are charred echoes of where sight
Was blessed now eroded into husks of nothingness.

"Silly little things, when will they learn that there are things
in the night you shouldn't play with,

Walking out of the alley a smile on her face, she hadn't
had that much fun in a while. Scorching a soul wasn't
fun but they weren't worthy of it any way. Now she
was off to see what this nice little black number
would help to get a free drink or two.

My wings are
my ears,
and I will always listen....

In the ageless place where wings greeted the realms of the sky.
A single  rose did blossom, its thorns of clarity transparently
Unseen, to hide the deed that would be beauties hidden snare.

Fallen a single item of purity fell upon this petalled beauty and
From white It was consumed, until it flamed black Till ash
Nourished the rose and petals turned starless black.

She happened on this rose of no thorn, nicking her index it bled
But a drop, and what wasn't was now shown a thorn of red,
As if blood had filled its edges, and with that one knick a petal
Of black did open, no longer closed the door now open.

As upon an exposed moment this petal permeates the purity
Of Innocence, inviting those enticed to obscurity of beauty
hidden is the pollen that infiltrates the air seeding its Influence
upon others self. As all are drawn to the rose that drinks.

Each thorn did consume, all met innocence and each petal now
Turned from purity to onyx of corruption. Where the shades of
White confronted with desires of a thought never felt.

Ever petal had opened, spawned the beast that had slept, but
Now woken as pollen of darkness inhaled by light. Those perfect
features now jagged upon silk torn, blood was not spilt on thorns
But on the white cobbled streets, screams of insanity reeked.

A single rose blossoming beauty of flawed conscience's had
Given birth to unclean emotions, thoughts that took control.
All were nearly tainted only a few were still pure of heart, this
Place of fallen feathers into the clouded thoughts.

There was a rose that blossomed in Calluna, its beauty seduced
Those of purity of heart and seeded a petal that was like a razor
Jagged, upon a soul cutting it apart. With tainted beauty till only the
shards of edges sharp breathed upon a heart. now all was black
Where once there was only shades of white that have fallen apart.

My anger is like a ***** movie,
I bury it after using up it usefulness .

Where no one will find it rotting in delusions,
that it was right to lynch it upon words.

Remember that it was influences of a mind
that birthed the demon upon your thoughts.

It is expelled with demonic virtue and afterwards
you want it expelled so not to remember those words.

A collage of so many  wings blend together
to form a motion of wisps lighter than a feather
unto there colliding forms became illustrations
but these were fake facades of a narration.

Her smiling features fluttered reverberating
All were hypnotized, all were unintentionally baited
With eyes that quivered with each moment passing.
Awe struck at this image that perceived eyes all hung.

Was this beauty that besotted the mind of reality
or was it on the heart and thoughts not to agree.
Which ever smitten were all within her eyes prolonged
gaze that captured all sights that lingered never withdrawn.

Moving towards this illusion that contradicted sight
footsteps lingered towards known oblivions plight
for above a cliff they lingered enticing all to flight
descending to silence, they feed quietly on others plight.

I have clandestine thoughts that were
But an itch needing to be scratched.

I had impulses that like A puppet
Were controlling these incessant urges.

Seduction of the moment willed its way,
I must  now follow thoughts gone astray.

You have been with me from the start soft
Hard, never bothered which one you were
When I was young at heart.

I used to pull you my second brain, little soft
Then long and hard,as I grew, you grew with  
Me a friend that never left. Only in the cold I
Wondered where you are.

The years did pass and hair you grew, where
Once I had pulled, now you just went hard.
Embarrassed I was as always hard around
The girls, some laughed while others played
With it spitting at them when excitedly hard.

Age moved on my friend for life still with me
Still getting hard but when I wanted you no
More embarrassment on my face at random hard.

My second brain, getting wasted each day, never
Unclean as cheesy smell I do not want as girls would
Run a far.

We played in the wetness we have come so far letting
The children out in the damp park. My wife screamed
Harder deeper my god your big I love your hardness
Up me and the children were excited out of the umbrella
They went a bit to far.

You have been with me through the soft and the
Hard, got me in trouble, now three children later
I must end your spitting but you can still go hard.

***** your my friend to the end when we had no
One a palm and a video was are night in, then softly
You went as to sleep in my palm, from the beginning
Through the soft and the hard.

It weeps flakes of time on the
unforgiving floor below....
     like leaves never fading
              stagnant greens linger
deformed by there empty moments

Contorted panels showing the pain
of there absence from the world.
              A glass panel cracked beyond
its sight, distorted reflections collect
fractured rainbows never reaching
                                      there *** of gold.

When the wind cuts upon its shadow,
   this door creaks open, falling to splinters
beyond its creation there is nothing waiting
just an empty space...
           Shut for so long lingering in denial
that beyond it lies nothing of interest..
    it lays on its hinges, a dead tree felled...

Do you remember me
do you remember us,
we were once here another
time we held each other
close.

I remember a time before I was
me when we were us, that was
another time, before this life
we were in love. Strangers in
the now, separated by time are
the two of us.

Are love is the same from the last
last life, different looks but eyes
don't lie. I can see the spark of us
in your eyes.

But that was another life as we walk
on by, only I see your old soul, and
the love and now time has come
in-between us.

We are woeful of echoes
           that seem to come
                             from us.

As when we hear ourselves,
                      its only silence.

Words are like water
                   You can wipe them
Away but there will
            Always be a reminder
An outline of where they
                  Left their  mark.

The arrow of the anti-cupid, a shard of black rose
to linger sullen thoughts that seep within and turning red cold.

Let its petals fall on thoughts of togetherness,
suffocating the light that lingers between each other.

And when the last petal falls it is a tear that descends
that which once was now runs out no longer withheld.

Extinct in a heart that once it did hold, now only silent
As he smiles. another rotten fruit fallen from the heart.

Pains gauging  
           emotions...

Looking across the room

my pain relief...

Her cheeks are still blemished,
smudged makeup leaving
                                 silhouettes
that never fade.

But I will always cover them up,
                                      with my smile.

Antiquities of yesteryear  
locked behind with  
                         no keyhole.

Hallways of possibilities
stretch forth, new doors
                       painted fresh open

Uncluttered, painting new memories inside.

She expelled them all, floating like lifeless
Baubles hanging in airless light.

They glimmered in frozen shimmers,
Silence blessed her being.

A woman scorned, cleansed of ants crawling
Upon her being, now healing once more.

I am a paper boat floating down a
Stream, imagination made me from
Yesterdays sport page, read now
Turned in to this boat floating down
This stream.

Calm waters as I float as I pass a fisherman
On the shore, a hat over his eyes as he
Is sleeping not much biting as no fish
In this river that I can see.

I pass a pub only slightly damp as the
Stones thrown by those drinking at the
Shore, I hear a pint to sinks the boat,
But to tipsy are they to throw straight
Lucky for me.

I float bobbing up an down, a fold slips
And up a sail shoots me forward at speed.
But the faster I go the more splashing on
Me. I get wetter down the stream and
I start to unfold more, till there is no boat
Just soggy news paper floating down the
Stream.

It was fun being a boat, as I wash up on
The side of the river, I was once part of a
Tree then a news paper, I became a boat
With imagination, what will I be used for,
Or we I decompose be one with the
Earth I will have to wait and see.

On a path of buttons she did sew upon her patchwork steps,
like silk they were upon this place each one delicately
thread. In a tale of one woven following the footpath
of seamless memories, but one can became untied from
the trail if not watching there untied thoughts instead.

Before silken steps knew any different, a broken button
did fray her stride. Looking around, she spoke in velvet
wording "Hello is there but a voice to guide my way,
But not a woven word did cross stitch upon the air.
All was not as she knew before, a place not quite fastened right.

Trees were torn, branches were hanging by loose thread, the
embroidered leaves tattered and worn like they had been
handled in wrong manners way to much. The road once sewn
in tasteful stitch, now scratched and broken like it had been discarded
without a pattern to weave a safe path, this wasn't as such.

Luckily for this little lady her silken steps were still fresh behind,
patterned in a way to follow her way back.  Noises she heard of
fabric torn, not seeing it she hurried her motions to where the
buttons were polished woven in form, The trees were trimmed
the leaves elaborately stitched, and she sighed with relief.

She had learnt a lesson that was cross stitched into her thoughts.
That when one is walking always know where those silken steps are woven to the right path. For if a path becomes tattered and a place unknown, one was not taking steps to safety get home. Always weave a
thought from here to there, follow you buttons carefully to home instead.

My soul w
                  i
                   t
                     h
                        e
                         r
                          e
                           ­ d and frail beckoning the
yearnings of  times once passed. Now deceased
the turning of moments beckoning me to the
well, for when I pass death will throw me in
and I will s
                   i
                       n
                          k into oblivion, another token
of moments now lost to the waters I descend within.

We ponder upon the emotions and metaphors
                                    of the meaning of forever.

Is it our wording our voice, is it a single verse sang
                            within tune with out a tune

that holds our meaning to the here after.

What is out contribution,

      do we sing or justly fade.

For we weren't a stepping stone,
               but a pebble that got buried in the sand.

Now but lost in the footsteps that never even felt us.

A story is a motion of words
whispered many times,
each  syllable different for
                         those that hear it..

Pictures are emotions that linger
when others have passed
                                 into the distance.

Every sunset is one that bleeds within
my perception, I don't no why its
just like seeing my syllables dissipate
into a  hue of clarity. I'm a pill away from
ending it, to find its different in my mind.

My collected conciseness that rises luminous,
but then dissolving as its brightness
falls into a void of white stones descending
into the nothingness inside of me.  
I'm close to something beyond my perception.

I'm not linguistically challenged,
but I'm one pill away from ending
it. I've collected my memories upon
this discoloured white, and its just
a button from fading to nullity.

I have called many places home,
Not ever staying long before I have
Moved on. my roots never left taking
Root, these place just a temporally
Place never really a home.

I met people not really friend but we
Always got on, then my roots would
Up lift and then take root not to deep
For this place may not yet water my
Roots for me to stay very long.

I then found you, then a little longer I
Stayed, then as time moved on my roots
Dug in deeper as this slowly felt like home.

I  have now spread my branches out, my
Roots now deep in this place now where
I rest this is my home. I will stay here
My roots now grow, I have moved so much
But now I am not alone, as this is the place
I rest my weary feet and call it home.

A playground of needles
A flower blossoms reward
Addiction to death

My friend of ink has become static...
her words have faded.. still moving
but no words will now feel emotions.
She has moved on to a place more
than any spoken word...

I will read all that was before, we argued
more than a married couple, but were
friends of poetic verse...
She was taken, before her last verses were inked
on the white, the collection on verse.

I will miss my friend of verse, she was the opposite
of my ink, the contradiction of my words...
I cried when I learnt her words were silent.
But in my thoughts she will always make my
poetry better, she was my friend of poetic verse.

Our minds are a
                        maze
while our
                  thoughts
are but a hallway
                  with one door...

Poets love dies
when the last
              syllable dries..

Moving onto their
                     next muse...

My mummy told me not to go near them,
To stay away from those of warmth and
Ebbing with the essence of life.  

"They will consume you my baby,
"Take you within, only a voice they will hear,

They will undo you till all is but an echo,
Searching through the ebbs of their being.
But this can have dire consequences little one.

"Mummy do they see us?
"Can I ever say hello,

They know where near, when the breath turns
White, when we give a feeling of their grave
Yet yearning had been stood upon before death.

"There are things worse than straying into them,
"Beacons are a prison of flesh and bone,
"Are kind are mesmerized by a yearning, captivated then gone,

They wondered through never seen, shadows of
Nothing but real. hand in hand never apart,
They saw a light in the distance drawing mummy in.

Mummy no please its a trick of the light,
"Don't leave is my love not enough,

"My angel your words broke the link,
"If not for you I would be a voice not me,

They watched from a fearful distance as the bag
Of flesh an bone. Beckoning are brethren like
Moths to an open flame and they all burned.

But as he took them in the voices started to birth
Upon his breath, random ramblings would spur
Its anger on the air of mummers not his own.

But there is a limit to a shell, a with a final burst of
Light he took many into his grasp. Confined, excluded
Where all within a now onyx shell of madness.

"Mummy he is of obscurity it is of neither realm,
"Child quieten your tongue it hears us now,

With those whispered words as if a bleak breeze past
By where they were heard. It sensed their presence a
Like night consuming day it was upon another's words.

Silence covered their essence as it seized upon its prey.
With but a touch Unseen fell like fractured reflections upon
The ground, not even a noise until shards descended below.

They swiftly departed as its shadow was left in a crowd of breath,
Fear illuminated on their features as visible momentarily
Then once again into the existence of which they lived.

"Calm your fear baby, our emotion delves us into moral vision,
"Do not fret for we left its essence beyond its senses,

"Mummy they were.....,

As they faded into the realm of apparitions they held
Each other. What was to become of a mother and daughter
In the warmth of the living? Behold the beacons of maddened
Voices that absorb the essence of death and never let go.

"Come child mummy will keep you safe,

*"Mummy I see a light its so pretty,

Placebo desolations were lingering in
far flung reserves of blind
                                             conciseness.

Debilitating truths were a shiny pedestal
that hung high like a noose
                                               tempting
Them to climb upon the branches and
                                                  hang silently.  

Like magpies,
shiny things caught their innocence,
like sheep they were herded by a lie
                                     that tasted bitter sweet

My ink isn't dry,
it just heeds the needing of release,  
   and in this moment it is reserved
                  behind a dam of wowful thinking.

Will I unleash the gates, or stem the tide of
                                                           discontent.
Letting it linger in pools of what I feel deeper
                                       than what others think.

A puddle is an illusion,
for it can linger in minimal space,
                 but beneath it
is a lagoon of sadness
                   that swallowed all I now think.