To write is to feel the world
in its essence
every fibre of meaning extracted
to dance across the page,
enveloping the reader
in a languid embrace.
To write is to find oneself
at the core of each word
jostled in turn
by swathes of meaning,
tumbling thought-streams,
sweet rhetoric of wonder.
To write is to walk naked
in the imagination
while closeted unseen,
revealing all for those
who perceive
in lines of poetry
sprouting seedlings of wisdom
disgorged to take flight.

Water monkeys


Monkeys jump on all the rocks
And as the water flows, neither can stop
Because like water, the monkey knows,
That if it stops, it will be gone.
The water would evaporate
And if the monkey slips, it would be too late.


The water monkey is clean at heart.
In deepest rivers it would fall so far,
That it would never see life again;
But in the stream it can happily play all day.


So without fear the monkey leaps!
And into the stream it splashes with a scream.
A yell of delight, under scorching sunlight;
A place to relax, just like,
The hot spring Snow Monkeys do,
Under the moonlight.


Their sauna home in a place so cold,
Is Pleasantville, to the monkey mind.
A place to go and chill,
When you want a place to hide; or you need a place to go.
The hot spring pools over which there falls endless flakes of snow.
It falls down onto their heads and their ears,
But the monkey does not mind,
For they are relaxing in the hot pools,
Like they have done for many a year.


No enemies in this place of peace,
But the river monkey does not know of a peace like this,
So as he splashes in his streams,
He keeps his head above the water,
Listening out for any enemies.


This is a tale about some water monkeys…
The water monkeys I have seen, on my T.V.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Vanished


As I walk through these gates ahead,
I am left, I am left; I am left behind.
In this cold world when there is nothing but regrets,
I fall to my knees to pray, all I can say is why?


As the beauty shines from up above,
I am alone in fields of thorns, waiting on a sign.
In a land of darkness, I am searching for true love,
But there is nothing out there to be found, all the flowers have died.


The roses I carry are wilting away,
The basket I made has holes throughout.
The hope I once had will never find me again
And as I fall I can no longer carry on, there is too much to doubt.


When I look up into the night sky,
All I see is an empty galaxy; we are alone in this life.
A single moon shines down upon me from way up high,
But I am without direction, because I am left broken
And I am without light.


My soul is calling out; wishes are the only words I have left.
I need to find myself a place where only I exist.
This place of humanity is without, all promises, never said.
As the darkness surrounds me I am buried by my regrets.


A haunting voice whispers in the wind
And I can hear the shadows calling my name.
A single whisper that is forever becoming,
Ten thousand voices; echoes remain.


Bones are all I have beneath my skin,
I have ejected all my feelings onto paper.
When the moon disappears behind a black cloud I begin,
To close my eyes, I vanish beneath,
The words that I shouted…into the never.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Empty being


I only exist inside a hole of depression.
There is no light here, so there is no will or feelings to mention.
I am not getting enough sun to make me smile.
Love is invisible; I have no number on speed dial.
No-one to call on, to hold me close,
No partner in life, no hope for my soul,
Only endless nights.
No love in sight, nothing is right,
Keep your polite encouragement and positive words,
I am no longer listening…


I cannot speak to her.
The grand-father clock melts into a puddle of oil.
The plans of adventure continually foiled.
All hope has disappeared, gone with the wind.
I am clock not-working, no key,
No turning, only ever heading down,
Into my self-portrait image;
The tears of a clown.


Some would say it is misfortune;
I would say let’s give it a miss.
Some would say it will get better soon;
I quietly reply, not without her kiss.


This life is a journey into the unknown,
But I already know how my story goes.
If happiness appears, it is immediately gone.
I see a white swan…
The love bug bites me and breaks my arm.
I see a beautiful flower so I reach out to hold it,
The prickles of roses only leave my heart to bleed,
So I quit.
Keep your love, it will never want me.
I will remain the empty being.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

A beautiful nightmare


Holding on to life or letting go.
All the phantoms dream of sleeping away the years.
They now know all that which I know;
I am a braindead dancer, nothing behind my ears.


People sing in groups of three or four,
Beneath the old oak tree; waiting on hidden doors.
Hanging behind them are memories.
Reminders of the shapes they used to be.


Times immortal hand still spins on a clock-face.
Taking their turn in their empty graves.
They have already gone beyond Neverland, to a beautiful place,
Where all is light, with bright blue skies,
Where children run in chase of butterflies.


In youthful good they have all lived well.
A Pleasantville life which remains unstained by sins aplenty.
They are just the chosen few; choices choose Heaven,
But where others may dwell, the hearts are empty.


They have no spirit, nor do they carry their souls;
For their afterlife has already been bought and sold.
They lived beneath the chosen word
And now their screams for salvation are never heard.
They sink into nightmares below the six feet of dirt.


A beautiful nightmare is just a story,
For the faithless people of ****** and adultery.
We began as seeds and Great Oaks we became,
But one day the day will come when we all fade away.


(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.