He wrote line after line
Filling pages with words of ink
Storms alive in his eyes
Pen grasping paper, barely breathing from letter to letter

Ideas swarm his mind
Like sharks in an ocean
Preying on anything they can find
Growing from a sea filled with life

He couldn't sleep at night
Because the same sheep he counted
Told him stories ever beautiful
Stories that needed to be shared
Captured in the fleeting moments they're spoken
Or lost to slumber for eternity

As his journal filled, he was humbled
Thirst quenched by words that didn't get away
With his words archived securely
He could finally close his eyes

The biggest fear that I have as a writer,
Is that I will inevitable recycle old ideas.
Whether this is done consciously or not,
I fear of the complications it may bring.

Does it represent an evolution of past thoughts,
Or is it a compromise and the death of innovation.

Inspiration strikes invariably, but there is novelty.
Yet, this feeling looms, that I'm near the end.

I'd like to believe that I will forever spark creativity.
That as I have always done, new flames will blaze.

But there is too much doubt that a good thing,
Won't keep going for long, and its been long.

Admitting that feels good, and until that time comes,
If it comes at all, I'll have to trust the words in me.

“Do you love me”
I question myself.
Thinking of you,
It doesn't makes sense.

As many poets come and go,
I am but one;
When I’ve imparted what I know,
My work is done.

I am here just to say “Hello…”,
This niche in time;
To watch the world, to note its flow…
Put it in rhyme.

Whate’er people may think of me –
Good, bad or mad,
At heart I am vibrant and free;
For that I’m glad.

I bid you farewell now, my friend,
Tho’ we may meet
In distant worlds, should this one end –
As old friends greet…

Testing patience is never-
ever a good idea
no matter how great you know a person
you don't really know them
until they snap

And when they snap
their true emotion-
not the fake answers they always give
are shown and feelings are hurt

But can you really blame them?
No, I think not- not when
you are the antagonizer
and this is their self-defense

Come on, you’ve had that thought, that where do I fit in life
I have these crazy dreams, I’m not me but watching through somebody else’s eye
You’re on a bridge in Bristol looking over yonder at a place of make believe
It could be anywhere in your mind and then pops up your mate Steve (hi dream Steve, what you are doing here?)

Yes, you dream all sorts of mad cap ideas which even you don’t understand
But somewhere, in that messed up head of yours, is an idea, so impulsive, so magnificent, so world changing and yet so grand
Dig it out, you know you can, its hiding around a corner just waiting to be unleashed
If it escapes, capture it, feed it, calm it and this my friend will help you on your own two feet

You think I’m crazy? Yeah, probably
But you’re only here once, don’t put it off, this is that lost cog
McCartney dreamt up Let it Be and look what happened to him
Multi-millionaire, annoying as hell, married a one-legged ex *******, no sorry, don’t be like him

But they come, flittering and fluttering whilst disappearing in a jiffy
Those thoughts of ideas, you could change the world, just one of them a gimme
The wheel, the thread, the wind-up radio
Pull it out of that deep dark hole in your brain and there you have it, sold

Now don’t read the rest of this, you’ve got ideas to ignite
Hand that notice in, bye-bye awful boss, its time for me to take flight

As I am that lost cog

JJB

A take on violence

The exiling waves of life
Battered a Syrian child
Swept ashore. We scrolled.
We shrugged this violence.

Eyes glued to a simulacrum of love
Expecting the controlled dominance
Of a filthy rich fictional character
We said: “It’s vanilla.”

Violence as an idea is sweetened
You gulp down the pill
But violence as a means is condemned
You still gulp down the pill.

March 6, 2018
Lyon 1 University

Sea levels rise
And the cruel frigid waters
May one day flood the island of my mind