If I told you
my secrets
would you
hold them close?
Or would you
careless
scatter them wide?

I keep your secrets
please keep mine

February
take back your gloom
I am worth more
than sombre hours
and blue stained thoughts

I don’t need a Romeo or Casanova.  If I need anyone, then I need someone who I can talk to.  Someone to share real life.   Someone who’s present, here, and not over there.  Someone who can be honest with me, and I with them.  Someone who’s got words worth listening to.  Someone, who’s interested in what I have to say.

Is it too much to ask for friendship first?  Does that sound unrealistic or old fashioned?  And why does the expectation of new relationships have to start out like a **** movie?  Why can’t men be friends with women instead of wanting pieces of their body first?  I’m a person, with feelings, hopes and plans, not an item of lust.

Why do women fall in the trap of wanting to find a man who'll provide everything, make them happier than they've ever been before?   A man like that can't be found.  A man is human, not a mystic angel.  He doesn’t exist to make a woman find happiness.

On the day she finds he contains no magic to elevate her emotions into happy ever after, and he discovers she not got much to lust for, the only thing left will be - friendship.  So what is left if friendship can't be found?  

If love can grow from a friend, and lust grow from love - then I might be interested.  Friendship is what matters, anything less, can go to hell...

Truth
is not always welcome

but....

I'll say it anyway
I'll say it how it is

I write of spring in autumn
of summer in winter
I like to be where I'm not
to cheat on time
fantasy
is so much better

Euphoria said “drink me”
I drained the bottle
got lost on cloud nine
heavy head
sorry heart but...
sober again
never again

She led him piece by piece down to her water of life,
and even though he knew she was possibly quite crazy,
he didn't mind at all,
because sanity was never his anyway.

She fed him tea and poetry,
and the wonders of her endless thought,
sweeter than honey,
a different kind of bliss,
an ecstasy, a loving bed of like minds and theology.

They drifted on ripples of euphoria,
with a kind of nakedness that opens eyes to the unknown,
and teaches the independent heart
how not to recover from the blending of souls.

In the passing of time, even the most ancient memory
won't fail to recall her living water,
the loving bed,
the poetry infused with tea
and her beautiful crazy mind.

Grey skies
hanging heavy
winter calls
as the wind howls
through secret gaps
in the window frames

The day has become
like our passing years
not bright enough
a little harsh
and willing to leave us cold

Life has not been kind
we deserve so much more
but still
we hang in there
wounded soldiers
learning to lay our weapons low
time teaching us
there is more to life
than waging war

This day
this beautiful moment
is all that matters
to be sitting here with you
a glowing fire
warm soup
loving food
while we talk and laugh
of the days gone
days to come
grand illusions of the world
and all those things
we now understand

Sympathy
is all that matters
revealing
knowing
sharing
serving each other
with simplicity
our souls nourished
by the healing soup of life

No post
no Valentine
no kisses
I love you's
I want you's...

Who cares
nomnom
mmm...
chocolate is my lover

She had wrestled with many a serpent that had wrapped its slinky body around hers, tightening its grip for death, squeezing every drop of life from her.   And each time escape had appeared to her by a slim chance, luck was there in the moment.   And there were wolves too, with voices oozing charm, dressed in style, in the woolly warmness of sheep, but hungry dogs, dribbling, waiting impatiently to devour a good meal.   She had run from them all, breathless, wide-eyed, heart pounding within the chase.

They wanted life....her life, desiring those beautiful things.   Needing to be full of all the good that was in her, to enable them to shine, as she did.

But things have changed, she scans the world with new eyes, in these untrustworthy days.   And now the living dead can only afford to hiss and growl in the darkness.   Not once will they get close enough, to lick the salt, and taste how delicious she is.   Not close enough, to hold on and wring her dry, not any more.

She sees them coming now, even before the day dawns.   She hears their mischievous desires, moan and rumble like distant thunder on a cool breeze.   It is always the same, as each one approaches; a cheesy grin, the freak in disguise, with its deep inhale of breath, ready to spin the hallucinogenic tale of their lives.

Their blatant nakedness wants to make her break out in a girlie giggle.   But she holds it in, stops it with a little finger against her lip.  Shines a sophisticated womanly smile, and asks quietly, "Who are you?"    Then turns her back, walks far away.   Never looking behind, not even a thought of it.  No fighting, no running.   And her heart remains quiet within.

Three words....and they are nothing.   Ignored, to complete disintegration.   Those mutants who prowl, to destroy her beautiful world.   Slain with a question they can never answer.   For even they do not know who they are.

Her light shines, just a little brighter.   Life goes on – life lives in her.

So many things
I could say
I don't
won't
can't
so many things
the world will never know
silence writes in poetry

you are here again
you drift in and out
my tiresome wilting nightmare

you are the endless haunt
of my darkest nights
the sleeping hours
soaked with raw unease

what was the point
in lusting and loving
piercing the depth of our souls
why bind ourselves
in a luscious nest
if it was waiting to fall

i lie on our barren bed
fragments of who i was
splayed on the floor
waiting for a good day
the strength to gather them all
and rebuild myself

please remove your essence
don't play me with your jangling ghost
break the chains
cast my desire to black
let my eyes
never fall on you again

leave me
in this abandoned home
to live my days in cold blood
close the unwritten chapters
let this haunting end

This is great website, and I've met some lovely writers, and I hope to I meet even more - but *** are all these preaching comments???

I've never met a writing place with so many unofficial spammy preachers!!!

I don't need ******* preaching at!!!

How do you know I need salvation - maybe I'm already saved - have you thought about that?  Or maybe I'm just a blind idiot in your opinion.  But either way your pointless unfriendly and ungodly manner has zero effect. You've never met me - you know nothing about me.  From now on anyone who spam comments and preaches on my work gets instantly blocked - use your energy elsewhere.

And here's another thought: what if what I write is called creative writing - heard of that before have you?  Not everything I write is about me, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who does that.

Apologies to all the kindly beautiful writers on here - it takes a lot make me have a swearing rant, I guess I've just ruined my kind reputation.  Just had enough of the spam ****, and in my real life I NEVER tolerate idiots, and I won't here either.

I don't mind the mention of God as a personal view, I'm not God phobic, no problem with that, but just don't leave messages as though I know nothing and I need saving - I **** well don't.

Your sincerely
One very ******* writer

When you are silent
when you are mind hunting
I too shall be silent
and help you hold back the wolves

She has nothing to say
not one simple word
to explain
how she arrived
at this complication

Sometimes all we need
is silence in our head
and the sound of rain

It fails me
why I persist in using the word
hope

It hangs in the background
waiting
for my inevitable bad luck
ready
for the opportunity
to be of service

It promises much
yet grants so little

I hope for rain
then hope it won’t
I hope we’ll meet
and hope we don’t

I hope for love
then wish it gone
I hope for the future
but fear
there might not be one

I hope there’s a God
and all my fears of him
being a legend
are so not true

I look around
look up and beyond
I don’t see or feel a **** thing
but a heavy sky
and the rotten company
of my desolate heart

Hope is like
blowing out candles
ignoring the obvious
taking a stab in the dark
on a childish wish

Who started this hope thing?
Who taught me this?

When I get to the point
of being sure
there is no God
that hope is
essentially hopeless
I think it’s time to let go
but again
I refuse the path
towards the end is nigh
and precede
down the curved lane of hope
forever the seeker
that one of these days
I’ll discover genuine desire
the sweet fruit of faith
and hope
that becomes substance

Hope sticks
hope is going nowhere
simply because
without it
I would be nothing