tick-tock, tick-tock,
life goes by, it doesn't stop,
tick-tock, tick-tock,
a second of eternity on universe clock

tick-tock, tick-tack,
grab each moment, it won't come back,
tick-tock, tock-tick,
time runs out, all too quick

Cloak'd in verdant green,
Wrapp'd in royal blue
Finest golden sheen
From crown o' shining hue

Face as burnished prism
Gushing grace aglow
With acts of altruism
Rushing to and fro

Radiating hospitality
Welcome to humanity,
In tender, softness, sympathy
Kindness, good-will 'n charity.

Sweetest music o' rauschpfeife  
Fills a world aswarm
As he sows the seeds of life,
As he breathes sentient form,

Whilst in quietest corner
Soars transparent spirit
Rays o' purple adorn her
Fires of sweetest merit

In a space of nothingness
In centre of sensual emptiness
Yearns for soul of all-thing-ness
Yearns for grace of no-thing-ness

For that hidden Seed of Soul
Who treads unseen in silence
Who is the Whole that fills the hole
The place of spirit subsidence

In the darkness of the night
Far from starkness o' crass light
Wrapped in black, mind aflame,
Takes her leave, takes to flight

So these two opposing sides,
Intransigent as moon divides
Sea from sand in cyclic tides
Each with lords and angel guides

Till He saw that it was good
And so created harmony
Peace between the outer hood
And inner returning fervency.

Speak soft words
Your soul to Soul
Whisper. You're heard.
Your part in Whole.

There's a little bit of G-d in you
That's feeling the pain, the cry in you
Listen to its cry, too,
Feel its pain, and cry too.

There once was a rare flower
A bloom that flourished in shade
Few could see its power
And that's how it might have stayed

For its planter derived pleasure
From floweret's love for obscurity
And as a golden treasure
Delighted in the bud's soft purity

but within the perennial's gene
there was a cancerous spot
a desire to be known as queen
to be recognised and not forgot

so there came a well-meaning person
who beheld the bloom's beauty
and opened it up to light and sun
thinking he was doing his duty

he wished all to benefit from its sweetness
all be blest by its aroma
for he'd not appreciated its discreetness
true secret of its persona

for the secret of its pulchritude
of its grace and its allure
was its modesty in its attitude
which kept it chaste and good and pure

and so the flower that once was
a bloom of rarefied scent
withered because of one faux-pas
and its own malcontent.

many a winter and summer passed
since the flower had stopped blooming
as by-and-by it became overcast
other foliage, it subsuming

but slowly within the darkness again
it awakened and started thriving
this time it'd learnt to contain
detrimental want and driving

to let its nature bloom 'n flourish
while none knew its charm 'n grace
and its concealment would it nourish
in its small secluded place

for there are souls destined 'n made
to act as king or queen or ruler
whilst others must act within the shade
'n thus know their loving Jeweller

As car must have a steering wheel
an axle, brakes and engine
as a person has a heart and a heel
a brain, veins and tendon

so the world of souls contains
the hidden and the visible
and this world has many planes
of Unity indivisible

each soul is perfect and complete,
with radiance incomparable
and no soul need with other compete
for its uniqueness irreplaceable.

though saints there are and holy men too
beware of the priest that bows too low
for his overt servility makes fool of you
as he treads upon unwary foe

for in his eyes, the layman and laic
are way beneath his dignity
just placed there to create mosaic
'gainst which to display his divinity

the bloom of a flower
nine months in coming
in heavenly shower
heavenly stunning

a new life in arms
celestial charms
life elixir
in innocent peer

feel immortality
shake hands with mortality
the ongoing chain
through birth of wee bairn

though memory's failing
red cheek's paling,
youth's gone a-sailing
libido's ailing

this newborn vitality
overrides mortality
its individuality
is G-d's spirituality.

he's there lurking, in the background,
sometimes a woman, sometimes a man
sneering, smirking, i feel drowned
helpless i lie there, a ***** bedpan

the whip cracked across my cheek
back i staggered faint and weak
couldn't answer, couldn't speak
little knew the havoc t'would wreak

as for him, i'm sure
he'd think nothing more
of scar with no cure
i'd for life endure

he thought it didactic,
part of art and tactic,
which made it more tragic
the henceforth prophylactic

against all emotion
a rhinoceros' hide
that he'd set in motion
leaving me inside

raw to to the touch
in constant clutch
aquiver in hutch
a broken crutch

Coat whiter than face of moon
amber eyes of sinister tune
whistling hail and winds of ice
Lord Winter's Paradise

He shook his frosted grisly mane,
clawed the earth and roared,
eyed Queen Autumn with disdain,
barred teeth spat, 'I'm bored'.

'why must i procrastinate,
linger in this state?
days will soon be lengthening
veins of warmth strengthening.'

'there'll be life and trees of different shape,
unevenness abound,
a multi-coloured landscape
and colour on the ground.'

'cut me free and let me rule
i'll paint the vista white,
a multi-faceted diamond jewel
that'll blind you with its light.'

the Queen gave royal chortle
spun round without a qualm
'I am like you immortal
and have eternal charm'.

'i'll keep you tied till last leaf
has fluttered to the ground,
and then your reign will be but brief
for my sister must be crowned.'

'As you'll see, she'll brook no nonsense,
for Queen of Spring is she
so when you spy the purple crocus
and Lily-of-the-Valley

peeping through your nival blanket
you'll know her time has come,
she'll want to share her banquet
with warmth from golden sun.'

'she'll shoo you from her place
no sign of lenity
for though benign in name and grace
she'll show no leniency.'

'but i know i need not tell you,
you know her better than me,
for Lady Spring is your shrew,
your wife for eternity.'

there was fanfare when she came
golden suns whisper'd acclaim
the robin had awoken
and the squirrel from her heim

ladies swirl in pinks and white
leaves unfurl to petals bright
there is music in the air
spring's arrival all declare

not upon the concrete structure
nor in the roar of man
the etiquette of modern culture
or governmental plan

nor in the sound of raw cascade
of rocks or shining water
in mountain hills, 'pon forest glade
nor in the lightening slaughter

of lions 'gainst their weaker prey
of men against each other
in steepled church of moral decay
'midst hugs of strangled brother

but in the breath of sweetest child
that whispers to his God
in humility of person mild
that lets himself be trod

in the vapour of the nothing
in your heart upcurled
there the word of God Who's loving
there the base of world

Will e'er that wave be seen again,
royalty in the flesh,
duty coursing in blue blood vein,
eyes smiling, ever fresh?

did ever loyalty to a nation
better to its god coalesce
than in this woman of higher station,
impeccable manners and dress?

through constant batter from the press
through broadside and invective
never ever gave in to stress
never lost perspective

never bent before harasses
laconic maligning from guys 'n lasses
unkind comments from the masses
as they peered through vergrößern glasses

flagship to her people
a tower and a steeple
stood ramrod straight as maypole
shining love rays from a sun-soul

now the fluttering flag's at half-mast
as she's lowered into ground
as the thousands rally past
as her son is newly crowned

exponent of her christian faith,
substantive, positive hope
now pure essence, elusive wraith,
gone in swift elope

Never again will we see that wave,
so true and fast and pure.
for duty now waves from the grave
on stone for e'ermore.

"it's the swolgamouth", he said,
"and i thought he was dead!
he's clearly gone ahead
and on my swoth he's fed".

"a swolgamouth?", i challenged,
"are you quite unbalanced?"
"You mean a sort of moth
is feeding on your swoth?"

"a moth?", he cried, "why, no!",
giving his nose a blow,
"It's a type of bendigo!
I'm surprised you didn't know."

"A bendigo?", I quoth,
"you mean a type of sloth?
but, I say, in troth,
sloth don't feed on swoth!"

"the bendigo", he said,
with exaggerated composure,
but he seemed to lower his head
as he made the grave disclosure

and his eyes darted left 'n right
that he wasn't overheard
and shrank back in affright
at cry of flying bird

"Why it's", but then was silence,
as he vanished from my view,
it seems the bendigo tyrants
had him taken as their due.

Air, transparent nothingness,
Sustaining life with lovingness,
Shining fairie confronting us,
Embracing us, loving us.

Sweet oxygen and nitrogen,
Carbon dioxide 'n hydrogen,
Awe-inspiring leviathan,
Vitalising Heineken.

"He'd never annex Crimea," said political analysts.
Until the day he did.
"War in the Donbas? Never!" opined the seasoned journalists.
Then there was. Just because.
"He'd never do it to Ukraine,"
said geriatrics sans a brain.
Then flushed their opinion down the drain
Three times burnt,
You'd think they'd learnt
The word 'never' doesn't apply
to the Kremlin's mighty guy
Yet, "He'd never press the button!"
Mouth politicians over their mutton.
While world watches, eyes incredulous
West End movie in slow-motion
As the Monster, persistent, sedulous,
void of feeling and emotion,
presses button, rings the death-knell,
smiles as east and west do flounder
pulls the rope, rings the death-bell
on humanity to fall and founder
to burn in fire with their hater
the world a crisp on incinerator.

a s sweet innocence stares
g host of blackened sin
h aunts the universe
a ttacks the soul within
s oft, gentle tiptoe
t urns to shout and blow

a nd no-one bats an eyelid
g oes to save the kid
h elps the untouched soul
a gainst the gaping hole
s ucking in the piety
t o satiate society

a ghast divinity shivers
g asps for inner light
h ungers for Caregiver
a midst the ghouls of night
s inking in black river
t he tears of human blight

I take a look at the Word of the Day
And I honestly don't know what to say,
Or to put it in another way,
I'm nonplussed about the word today.

But that doesn't mean I can't make a rhyme,
if somewhat crass 'n not too sublime,
and I've kept the beat in this wonderless chime,
So here's my offering, offered in time.

I wondered how i'd got so old
How the time had gone
How my bones had gotten cold
Before my time had come

I wondered why my eyes they flickered
Before the written word
Why it seemed my mind was liquored
And my vision blurred

I wondered why the steps had grown
steeper in incline
why they creak'd, me joints and bones,
and moved like slow bovine

I wondered who that old man was
with grey whiskers and goatee
a venerable Santa Claus
that winked from mirror to me

then i recalled the passing years
i'd left my youth behind
in veil of laughter and of tears
and now decrepit mind

so i'll paint a smile on senility
pretend i'm glad 'n fine
i'll drink to youth's virility
and close eyes to my decline

Silent, grey,
Memories call,
Bodies decay,
Spirits enthral.

Forest of stones,
Soldiers *****,
Markers of bones
Command respect.

Here, a soul,
In shadow, hides,
Tries to console
Young widow-bride.

There, a spirit,
of little merit,
dallies in grit,
whit to inherit.

Sobbing, a child
Kneels by her father,
Lips that once smiled
Buried before her.

Love-blind groom
Aches for his partner
Asleep in her tomb,
Asleep to his ardour.

Sighing tears,
Wind and rain,
Love and fear
Entwine the twain.

And gravel and grass
Watch from afar
as death and life dance
with bid, 'au revoir'.

for posting my suicide attempt
yesterday, on this floor,
someone showered vile contempt
calling me 'attention-*****'

doubtless they thought i'd fabricated
a tale to garner your notice
that i was a guy so frustrated
i'd lost my moral focus

now, though they're incorrect
in disbelieving the story
maybe there's some aspect
of self-seeking glory

in posting any of my rhymes
on this delightful platform
in searching afterwards ofttimes
for likes or comment warm

but here's the point to contemplate
if this site were not here
i'd hardly write or create
my aptitude may disappear

instead of being honed through practice
through seeking to learn new tactics
would i grow, as i should?
would i write, as i could?

on this site, I see art
different style 'n image,
as other poetry writers impart
their tales to envisage

so, though there is veracity
there's some attention-seeking,
it's just possible this site's capacity
to hone our public-speaking

to find like-minded persons,
to delight in others' verse,
may outweigh the divergence
from strictest moral traverse

so for the moment, i'll still be posting
lines of poetry and rhyme
albeit, I own, there's measure of boasting,
in displaying one's art on line.

what is this that grips my senses
its magic grasp inveigling,
the mauves, the reds, as blood of ******,
as fairest ****** beguiling

depths of salmon orange,
the deepest, velvet pinks,
bid me pay them homage
as Pharaoh to his Sphinx

i gaze in heartfelt wonder
and touch her deepest secrets,
scented lightning, silent thunder,
quenching soul with her streamlets

of ever transient virility
of flower of fertility,
her arrows o' Cupidian agility
blushing unashamed fecundity

words cannot paint your beauty,
or describe eternal mystery,
they cannot do their duty
unlock thine vernal divinity

words drip with oil
ooze fat, as spirit dies.
the flow of light
like earthy chunk
smashed out of skies,
wet and weary,
plunges into the sea
in blood of gargoyle
smatter'd 'n spat
o'er crimson splattered highs.

still, the dead fight
o'er trunks empty of thighs,
once a huckster's prize
****** at humanity
now tired 'n bleary
floating as spoil,
a corpse, blinkered by lies,
blind eyes, no longer leer
stare in insanity,
at demise of humanity.

there was an old lady from York
who used to screech and squawk
when asked why
this heinous cry
she answered, 'because i'm a stork'!

now, this strange ol' lady from York
who believed that she was a stork
decided one day
to start eating hay
on a plate with a knife and a fork

when friends offered her some fish
she firmly pushed away the dish
i'm vegetarian
not a barbarian
but i'll eat some eggs if you wish

now i'd like to continue this rhyme
about this bird maritime
or rather this lady
of intelligence shady
but i'm afraid it's reached my bedtime

so, kind reader, as you're still reading
and curious to know where this is leading
feel free to write
something to delight
to give this story the end that it's needing

moving mass morphed myopic
homogeneous heaving humanity
killed 'n culled in catastrophic
hatred, hostile enmity

six million souls pulled together,
stuffed into a devil's mouth
reached out from the nether
to quench unending drouth

red-brick nostrils belched black smoke
blood dripp'd from barbed fangs
in iron fist a throat did croak
emaciated body now lifeless hangs

still the cavern was not filled
still his hellfires burnt and grilled
till there was no man left breathing
save a mound o' skeletons wheezing

and 'neath the pile of thousand shoes,
'neath heaps of bodies, black and bruised,
'neath the filth, the stench'd refuse
earth wept wet for those lost Jews

walk, he said, on tiptoe,
make sure your voice unheard,
leave the body far below,
the soul with wings of bird

fly to place untouched
soft, he said, with tenure,
each space with mind enclutch
spirit on soul adventure

meld unto the substance
step by step the climb
head bent in allegiance
in place that's void of time

Eyes black,
Watching my back,
Gun acock,
Face a rock.

Oh, so gracious,
To friends, loquacious,
Bowing deeply,
Ever so meekly.

Words sebaceous,
Ever vivacious,
Smiling sweetly,
"I am .. uniquely.. "

But, spouse salacious,
Being-mendacious,
Do you not know
What I undergo?

So fallacious,
Power-voracious,
Flirtatious, audacious,
Make us or break us.

'thud', 'thud', ground's a-quakin'
earth around, i see it shakin'
sure the two-leggeds are a-comin'
making ma heart in me a-drummin'

'Ere they com, hoity-toity,
think that they're so high-'n-mighty,
i'll squawk in-face 'n i'll get flighty
show the missus i'm alrighty.

thinks they own the world, they do
they don't own me, lemme tell you,
give a few squawks and they're a-runnin'
doubt they'll be back for a second-comin'!

I see another and think i'm better,
tying my ankles with shackle and fetter,
the pride vile not allowing advance,
for fear of someone looking askance

at what i do, perhaps not perfect
enough to feed my self-respect
or rather my need to be correct
in eyes of the world, in extrospect

the chocolate in jar, the biscuit in tin,
i'm not free o' greed, or lustful sin,
constant hankering after the superfluous,
and hidden darkness i daren't discuss

and when i see a person succeeding
who in my eyes is exceeding
the heights i've reached or attained
it's envy to which i'm sorely chained

enveloped in physicality,
the gluttony that is in me,
venality and carnality
forgetting spirituality,

when awakens the righteous spark
wrath is stirred in seeing the dark
in others that me seduces
though mine own, i've plenty excuses

but sloth is my overriding guilt
that puts a stop to anything built
crowning me in crown of thorns
to decorate those devilish horns

to shrive i yearn, to be assoiled,
to rid me finally of the soiled
raiment of my spirit 'n soul,
to fly unhindered to my goal.

soft upon the earth i crept
and listened with my ear
when all a sudden before me leapt
a man as musketeer

he was not more than a foot
in height from toe to head
and roundabout his body put
a gown of lily-red

the musket was, i do believe,
from grass or stick or ****,
and on his head was placed a leaf
that looked like Harris Tweed

he bade me listen well to him
for words of true import
he looked right earnest, chin so grim,
that i did myself comport

and when i heard of the plight
the things that he foresaw
i do confess of the fright
the horror and the awe

that gripped me as in a vice
made me cold as a cadaver
until he offered some advice
as he ended his palaver

he said we always have a choice
wherever we may be
and we can always use our voice
to change humanity

those words he whispered like the wind
as he told of things to be
and afterwards he bowed and grinned
and vanished as banshee.

ever seen a restless lion,
impatient, antsy, a lion on-edge,
roaring at his bars of iron,
longing for the rocky ledge

yearning for the arid savanna
the sweet smell of savage hunt
the scuffle with the young hyaena,
the vanquished's final grunt

ever seen the tired ape
the depressed orang-outang
lying captive, a worn-out cape
benumbed from all pain or pang

lost all hope of hanging branches
the overgrown Amazon marshes
forgotten the delights of the wild
the call of tribe and his sister's child

ever seen a prisoner's despair
locked away from all society
his loss of self-worth and self-care
his state of mental inebriety

once-gregarious reduced to staring
never hears the music blaring
a listless, languid, brainless zombie
outside world inane cryptography

ever seen your mate in club
your chum-friend at the local pub
smiling, laughing, without a care,
taking part in truth-or-dare

beneath the outer charm and suaveness
calmness of a Greek Adonis
lies a restless, confounded soul,
prisoner with no parole

lies an intelligence rattling the bars
peering out through aged scars,
muffled, muted by cruelest medicine,
fated eternal jail denizen

longs to escape to outside world,
break the bars, flag unfurled,
but as those captives in the zoo
has lost all hope of living like you.

To live,
Or not,
that is the question:

Is it better to suffer,
as rail-car buffer,
the hurt and harrows,
slings and arrows,
of life?

Or to stand akimbo,
the soul, closed window,
by swallowing pills
take arms against kills,
emancipation
through medication,
Is that life?
Or death?

To sleep away the heart-ache that flesh is heir to,
to dull with chemicals, and wear one's heart as Hollywood hairdo,
is that a consummation devoutly to be wish'd?

or to feel the whips of time,
the scorns of human grime,
the blood that's shaken from heart receiving fist?

the unnatural pantomime
of *******, predatory crime,
be pounded into dust as worthless grist?

To live the oppressor's wrong,
but yet to hear heaven's song,
to suffer the spurn of love,
but free to scale the worlds above,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
experience overwhelm of nerves and strife,
but to feel the needle and face it as a man?

To live,
Or not,
Is that a question?

snip-snip go my shears
there's 'motion in the gears
rhythmic music to my ears
let's get rid of hidden fears

here's a tough one to sever
but we shan't give up, no, never
as shears bear fruit of my endeavour
there's innocent joy, innocent pleasure

here's another gaining girth
badly hiding snigger 'n mirth
let's see shears what you're worth
send it toppling to the earth

this treatment is absolutely free
works better than any therapy
so those of you who are like me
give it a go, let yourself free.

****** softness,
Angelic colour,
Gentle to taunt us
Queen of Summer.

Still she rises
Golden wonder,
Shows her prizes
Makes me younger.

Pink's too ordinary,
It's more lavender,
Heaven's emissary,
Beauty's avatar.

Aroma intoxic,
Sweetest optic,
First Rose in Spring,
Thou art everything.

child crafted
thought incumbent
on matter grafted
dross recumbent

child nurtured
by prevailing notions
often kerchered
by doting devotions

child waxes
in social arena
a leaf on axis
as spinning ballerina

child matures
on social mores
as plant secure
on horse manure

when as adult
he follows the cult,
as vogue and fashion
become his passion

or when he supplants
through his advance
incumbent president
or chief resident

and then proceeds to wreck havoc
on age-old values, agent satanic,
it's very difficult to point one finger
on nature or nurture as harbinger

but one things for sure
and that's freewill,
child starts pure,
child won't ****.

there's a step, different to all,
that gives him a chance to rise or to fall,
and that's why, when all's said and done,
a person's responsible for the life he's spun.

Dip your brush in crimson letters,
Add a dab of red-gold blush,
Paint a landscape of upsetters,
Those who need a soul to crush.

Those of hollow form of flesh
Those whose soul has left 'n fled
As they seek out weak to thresh
Till last drop of blood has bled

Here a sphere o' fire setting
'Midst a blood-hued sky,
There the haunting silhouetting
Tree with branches high.

Grasping, scratching air ephemeral,
Swaying to the sounds of death,
Knocking at the gates empyreal,
Clutching at pure babies' breath.

The dead not-living swarm like dusk
Crushing sweetest sprout
Winnowing ripe corn from husk
Winnowing the life-force out

Hear the hunted sheep begetting
Howl and wail and cry,
Watch the darting bats bloodletting
As Lord Life slips by.

Covered by dark guise of nature,
Everlasting bides his time
Safe as no nomenclature
Can guess his pantomime