I have spoken with young men,
who were forced to up and run.
Seen the wounds they carry,
from the barrel of someones gun.

I have Spoken with women,
women with tears in eyes that burn.
As they relate what was done,
because they wanted just to learn.

Ive seen teenage girls running,
in fear for their own lives.
Because someone has told them,
they must become someones wives.

I sat with the old men,
whose spirit would not yield.
And heard how rains of bombs,
were dropped upon their field.

I have heard the many stories,
of families torn apart.
Heard of those still missing,
and the pain in fragmented heart.

I've heard of persecutions,
because of the differing of views.
The scores of people disappeared,
without even making evening news.

I met with many others,
and watched and heard them pray.
Running in fear because for them,
it means death to live your life as gay.

I have talked with the children,
all facing life alone.
Parents not seen,
since the houses all got blown.

These most horrible of all things,
most of you will never see.
But someone needs to tell you
these are the lives lived for many a refugee.

Why seek to dream as dreamers do,
when only nightmares are the ones to come true?

Why seek a lover who soon may part,
leaving exposed bare soul and a broken heart?

Why seek to hang on to joy and hope,
when a mind is so tired in can hardly cope?

Why does my soul seek and crave such things,
I don't really know... lets see what tomorrow brings.

My arms would hold you, secure you, protect you.
My lips would cherish you, desire you, worship you.
I would comfort you, hear you, listen to your needs.
I would live for you, breathe for you, be dedicated to you.
My goal would be to feed your smiles and laughter.
Always to respect and honor you, care for and about you.
I would gladly be what you want and what you need.

Who are you? Where are you?

Melodies of my soul in soft dulcet tones,
play through my mind once more in the night,

Emotion vibrating through my very bones,
to keep me company until the mornings light.

Words in the shapes of harmony and verse,
that give voice to my heart in purest sound.

To speak of an empty lonely universe,
and of a love my spirit never found.

How can flesh endure when a soul cries,
in relentless voice, in such a sad refrain.

While lament will pass at suns early rise,
A lonely soul knows, the song will come again.

I envy you who awakes to welcome the birthing of a new day.
Where family, friends, love and hope are the keystones of your way.

Once I too had those things and could welcome each rising sun.
And like you too I did all I could to hold those things hard won.

I never thought of my life in terms of what it had cost.
Never understood the value of having it until it all was lost.

I never even thought that it could all be lost in the way it was.
To end up living life when the sun rises and that my only "because".

To have a life with meaning and where you can have some good.
Yes I still remember it and I would turn my time back if I could.

I hope you can forgive my envy and know I bear no ill will to you.
But hear, please my en-treatment, your world is fragile too.

Do not take for granted that things will always last.
Better those things in your future than only in your past.

I write these words today
in hope that you might find a way
to know what is carved
into my heart.

I've searched for you
my whole life through
in every town or place,
I've been.

I know somewhere you must be there,
a belief my heart and mind both share
and they've reserved,
a place for you.

Though I often dream of you,
dreaming is all that I can do
so I just carry on,
along my lonely way.

Please hear my pleading heart
so that we may start,
to make all those dreams
come true.

With this hearts lament,
I must be content,
to hope, that you
might love me too.

For wherever you are,
no matter near or far,
this lament is sung...
just for you.

Are you raised or seated when you have to wipe your ***?
I feel compelled to ask you as there seems no rule of thumb.
Do you use your left hand or do you use the right?
Do you really scrub it or stroke it nice and light?
Do you scrunch the paper or fold it layered flat?
I hope I haven't intruded or offended by asking you all that?


My apologies but sometimes my brain just wont engage neutral gear.

A heart that craves for loves sweet embrace,
for all joy that such love entails.
A mind that bears the scars and wounds,
of when trust and belief in love yet fails.

A heart that longs for shared joy and warmth,
entwined with the passion of one who cares.
Weighted by all the hurt and sad lonely memories,
in a mind that remembers a love it no longer dares.

To love again hearts and minds war is fought,
and frequently though trust in love yet prevails.
Through mind ever conscious there is no one,
the thought by which it constantly assails.

It is said that the saddest love is of an unrequited kind,
and that it leads a soul to deep despair.
Yet I know this to be false for the saddest love,
is to crave love with all you are and to have no one ...
in love to share.

I thought to write a poem but no subject came to mind
and though I racked my brain not one topic could I find.

My head was full of nothing even though I had a need to rhyme.
But no matter how I strained it was quite simply a waste of time.

I sought to look for inspiration in the reading of a  new book
but I never really found it, despite all the time it took.

Perhaps I could find motivation in some TV and the news,
But that made me feel quite weary and so I took a little snooze.

Mind refreshed from sleep still no thoughts of what to write
and so it has remained through to these small hours of the night.

My desire to write a poem to entertain you as you read
has all come to nothing, so many hours later, I must concede.

Phase one to have the compulsive need to be close to them.
Phase two to share a desire for someone who inspires your passions.
Phase three to know lust and be unrestrained by needs and desires.

More than just a pleasure seeking and the sharing of intimacy... a craving shared by two.... inseparable... entwined... a mating of spirit and soul.

The evidence of true loves power to make two souls rejoice.

From the moment I was born and society taught me how to live.
Expectation was given it's priority and there my energies I did give.

Through culture and my peers I was taught all right from wrong.
And without question or any form of doubt I went right along.

I learnt what I was meant to as society did dictate for me to do.
Becoming fluent and accepted because I shared their social view.

I managed all the toil and trials that was expected of my role.
I gave my every effort to what society said was my goal.

For sure I was born lucky and graced by dint of birth.
Secure, safe and protected from the terrors of this Earth.

I even watched the news each night to have a worldly view.
Despite all I saw, on the morrow, I did as I had been taught to do.

So far from my daily life and not part of my despair.
I got about my life's business and continued on without a care.

I don't know what caused a change, in how I view what life brings.
It seems that luck and randomness determine all varied things.

Through all of this I have come to doubt the culture of my youth.
I see the lives of the majority and doubt my world's so called truth.

I now see the selfish shape of the life that we are taught.
Where looking out for number one is the underlying thought.

My society favours wealth and it has an ingrained need.
To close it's eyes to despair in any form and to service only greed.

My eyes only ever were opened in a very temporary blink.
I feel the guilt and know the shame of how I was shaped to think.

Now without that social purpose that anchored my very sanity.
I feel despair at a world eyes closed, to the value of true humanity.

It isn't something new to science....
It isn't science fiction and a dream to come....

Your heart recalls your past and takes you there when needed.
With your heart you see the future.

Knowing when to use it, when to share it, how far to trust it and when to risk it is the lesson to be learned.

The key to dreams and memories....

I reflect upon the season and memory of Christmas' past,
and I cant help but to wonder if this may be my last.

A thought not born of this season and its promises of joy,
but rather from the pained reflection I am no more a boy.

I think upon friends and family at distance from my day,
who I love so very dearly though they be so far away.

I find this season lonely, with a sadness now become its gift,
yearly every passing nearer to loathing has been my shift.

At an age now to be more a cynic than an optimistic man,
seeing only greed and commerce and not some godly plan.

A Christmas of my childhood, of love, good will and of care,
forever wish I for you all,
never knowing sadness and loneliness' despair.

One previous owner.
Two ears, used... not only capable of hearing but also listening.
Two shoulders to support a weary head... waterproof.
Two arms to carry, support and protect.
A heart that knows both empathy and care. (slight damage)
A mind, complete with experience and blank space to learn anew.
Packaging a little battered but in working order.
Must be willing to take as complete set.
Listing period... indefinite.

Awake or asleep I do not remember my dreams.
Like you I once did dream.
Long since did my dreams abandon me.
Though I know I once dreamt.
I vaguely recall nightmares and I sense I have lived them.
I know the shadows they left and the darkness now, where once dream was possible.
Perhaps it was that I imagined dreams, for my memories recall once believing I was happy.
Or perhaps that is just my dreams reminding me of their death.
I ponder if my dreams... like my memories... are all of my past.
Are they still dreams and is it still dreaming if they are but memories?

Have you seen the mice all running, running in their wheel.
"Knowing" and "believing", what are delusions, to them is "real".
Rarely seeing other mice outside the wheel they're in.
Only time for thinking of keeping their own wheel on spin.
So happy and contented when they are spinning there.
So many trivialities that to them equal despair.
Keep the wheel a spinning, a spinning at a pace.
Never knowing that following circles just takes you to no place.
Mice ask me why I have no wheel and treat me as though I am lost.
I once did tread my wheel my delusions unable to sustain the cost.
Watching countless wheels without sense spinning on and on.
From beyond the wheel my delusions shattered, have now all gone.
Without a wheel there seems no purpose no reason to try and spin.
But once seen outside of wheels there seems no way to get back in.

In thousands they stand to face the demon unseen.
Faceless they are but you know who I mean.

Doctors and nurses, shop keepers and drivers,
that give us yet hope that we may yet be survivors.

Churchill once said "so much to so few"
Now in this time we owe that tribute to you.

Without your brave stand then we all would sure fail,
you give cause for hope that we may yet prevail.

You fight for all that we love and those we hold dear,
Our world owes you so much for facing our fear.

It is a debt that in a lifetime I could never repay
with all of my heart, thank you so much, is all I can say.

I look upon my list of friends arranged out on this page.
And there are people on it from my life's every stage.
There are family in a distant land where I lived once as a boy.
I remember them and love them and they fill my heart with joy.
Family less distant and sometimes close enough to touch.
To my older sisters I love you both so much.
Others there among you from when I was but a kid.
Bonded forever to me because of things once shared we did.
There is one of you who helped in the most practical of ways.
Who provided material things so I could rebuild my future days.
One or two among you who worked right there at my side.
Who stood beside me at times when I struggled on this ride.
Even those among you who only know me through this page.
Who took the time to touch me and helped me face the rage.
One of those among you who passed not so long ago.
As a friend she loved me and as a dear friend I loved her so.
One of you bonded to my heart in the most special of ways.
From memories and then seeing you that has made for better days.
I wanted to thank you all as friends you fill my heart with pride.
I doubt I could have got this far without you standing at my side.

When purpose, hope, dreams and future are gone and you know with certainty that all there is, is a past..... do you still see beauty in a sunrise?
When loathing a new dawn becomes your reality and despair lays as far as you can see, can you forgive those who lead you here?
Can you value your worth or forgive yourself for the mistakes you made along the way?
When all you have touched are gone or have either abandoned or been abandoned.... where does "stupidity" start to become reality? Do you see the sunrise and believe that you have reached the point of ultimate "stupidity"? The sun will always rise... must you avoid "stupidity" forever?
When you reach out a hand and there is none willing to take it how can sunrise hold any joy?
I am burdened by the expectations of those who would have me view endless sunrises.... they hold me back from reality to keep their dreams and hopes at the values they instill them with.
They fear "stupidity".
If you live here then we are neighbors you and I.... we share the same sunrise.

It is not as sad to die alone.... (relief, escape, freedom, end)
As it is to live alone and die the slow lonely death of never giving the love you wish to share and feel.
It is a sadness that only the bearer can know for the witnesses only ever saw loneliness' outer shell if they even noticed at all.

If I give you one more chance to lie to me,
would you tell me you love me one last time,
maybe then I could lie to me too,
and have something to believe and dream once more?

Walls enclose so many things,
and often have no doors,
a mind can have so many rooms,
without obeying spatial laws.

Dark or light the varied rooms,
where thoughts can play at games,
to fill mansions of many floors,
and tenants have unforgotten names.

Nights where faces come and go,
all marching from distant past,
but all were gone so long ago,
from the first face to the last.

Time that ebbs at varied pace,
as memory plays out the parade,
recalling all the ones once lost,
and those who never stayed.

Universe of lonely empty feeling,
all that memory has now become,
No sense of being yet still alive,
just a chill that leaves you numb.

A heart that once yearned for love,
of the promise that it can bring,
but yearnings perished long ago,
to become this sad and lonely thing.

I sometimes take time to write a few lines of verse.
Quite often to express feelings to prevent them getting worse.
Often I express things that are there as thoughts in my own head.
Sometimes its just things that I feel have needed to be said.
I don't always consider the impact or repercussions of things that I may write.
And I don't seek to make it all rhyme as a way for me to seem all bright.
I find it the best way to express how conflicted I can feel.
Inside my head it helps my thoughts focus on what I see as "real".
You may not understand the emotions or maybe share my train of thought.
But I will write how I think and how I feel even if against things we've all been taught.
Its my way of expressing "truths" that I just need others to try and see.
In part an explanation of why I cant be the way others would like for me to be.
I write these lines as often as I am compelled to want to do.
To give understanding and to express the things my mind perceives as true.
Whether challenge or expression of lies life has forced me to be taught.
I use the writing of these words to patch the walls of my emotional fort.
I write the verse as a glimpse beyond my fragile fortress wall.
I do it so all can see my sanity was dented by its fall.
There is little I can do about the glimpses you may choose to see.
Knowing that what you spy beyond the wall is not every part of me.
The words are how I perceive the world not to influence thoughts in your head.
But maybe...you have some understanding of me... from these words that now are read.

I come here to purge my words and thought.
To cast off webs in which my mind is caught.

To mend a soul defeated by life's battles fought.
To understand the lessons that experience has taught.

Where others say that life is much too short.
My mind just asks why I go on multiplying nought.

Lessons learned but so very dearly bought.
Isolated mind my safety and protective fort.

Ideas and frustrations my writings have tried to sort.
And sorted through I conclude I did it all for naught.

Have you looked upon a western sky at a certain time of day?
When the endless turning of the world compels the sun to go away.
Have you looked across an open plain with soil of rust red brown?
And seen the brightest evening star burn bright as jewel in crown?
Have you seen the stands of trees fade into the black of night?
And watched them all but disappear as day makes final rays of light.
Have you seen upon the far horizon the shapes of ancient lands?
And watched the changing light show of radiant, fiery bands.
Have you seen the shades of fire change the western sky?
And marveled at all its beauty until it wets your very eye.
Have you taken time to note every shade in fiery hue?
And marveled at flame red clouds upon a sky of pastel blue.
Have you stood and watched the glory as it slowly fades away?
Dont despair and make the time, as it happens every day.

I am told I see my glass half empty
I should see it half full when I look at it
Empty or full either way I see a glass containing ****

I stood and took my bearings my mind bare of thought.
Into my view came a bear bearing a *******.
The ******* on the bear back was bare.
Barely had I seen them when their bearings altered.
Bearing straight for me I barely had time to bear away.
Beyond me now and bearing for the Bering Strait.
I watched a bare bottom and a bear bottom bearing straight for there.
Re-telling this is barely bearable and certainly more than most can bear.
I know not what became of the bear and the bare ******* but at least Ive got this stuff out of my head.... sorry if its left you bearing the pain.

I could smile then,
I knew joy and laughter,
I dreamt and hoped
Back when love knew me.

I woke with purpose,
I held no regret,
I sought wonder
Back when love knew me.

I joined in this world,
I faced its challenge,
I was resilient then
Back when love knew me.

I was confident,
I held no self doubts,
I had a value
Back when love knew me.

I could trust,
I could be tolerant,
I had patience
Back when love knew me.

I had time,
I had a future,
I had a contentment
Back when love knew me.

Back when love knew me.
I had you

I don't write of things of beauty even though I have seen it.
I don't write of things of joy even though I have felt it.
I don't write of happiness even though I have experienced it.
I don't write of hope even though I once trusted in it.
I don't write of love even though I have witnessed it.
I don't write of sense of purpose even though I once had it.
I don't write of companionship even though I knew it.
I don't write of trust even though I once could do it.
I don't write of belief though faith once made me see it.
I write of despair for once I knew them all.

A thousands spires that whirl and dervish,
high upon the scorching currents in the air.
Across the empty desiccated wastelands,
so long parched without waters soft repair.

Like gyrating embodied souls rotating,
to lay scar deeply carved upon the land,
driving clouds of rock like pelting hail,
headlong until all is shattered into sand.

Flashes of lightening and thunders call,
clouds cast in iron, observers of the scene,
testament in muted light from up on high,
sole recall of still waters that once had been.

Desolate open and forsaken landscape,
where only wind gives motion to the world.
Leaden clouds of rain without a falling,
static charged clouds constantly re-curled.

How long ago it was that life had left,
its own scars and marks upon the soil.
until through life's' own achievements,
a once beautiful world was left to broil.

In that not so distant time when remnants
of the miracle that was life is erased and gone.
not one thing that we have ever seen or know,
nor memory of who we once were shall live on.

Are you strong enough each and every day?
Are you forever strong enough to keep the dark away?
Can you control your mind and remember how it is you're made?
Can you keep the dark at bay even when you are totally afraid?
Do you function in a way so that people cannot see?
Do you operate as the world expects that you are meant to be?
Are things hidden from the eyes of those who love and care?
Are you able to cope when those who matter aren't even aware?
Can you keep enough of you to win the battles that you must?
Can you in-spite of everything remember how to trust?
Do you enter every day just planning to survive?
Do you get to sunset and feel joy or sadness to be alive?
Are you able to carry on through a thick darkness that numbs?
Are you able to face the familiarity of tomorrow when it comes?
Can you see the conception of things that give rise to hope?
Can you maintain focus as you are riding down your *****?
Do you live a life where you ask yourself these things?
Do you feel its all the same no matter what tomorrow brings?
Are you able to support as I deal with things how they seem?
Can I do all I can to face my incessant internal scream?
And......
Do I have the strength to hang on to everything I dream?

Do you think of those who enter into your world every single day?
Do you see the things they do and hear the words they have to say?
Do they influence the way you think and occasionally react?
Are there those among them with-whom you hold a pact?
Have you those you cherish and greet with every kind of joy?
Are there those among them there by the tolerance that you employ?
Do you see them as they really are or as you choose to do?
And when they return the look do they see the real you?
If you changed your path would they follow you on your way?
Or do you know that any change would bring the ending of a day?
Do you see them and in return do they see the real you?
Or do you kid each other to keep the things mutually you give and do?
Would the changing of your step bring something to an end?
And if it did would that be the measure of someone once called friend?
As these people pass and come and go or linger on their way.
Do they really see and hear you and let you influence their day?
Can it all be measured by what we give and take?
And who among them all is there for love and your own sake?
Have these things been tested in the life you choose to live?
Who is there to take from you but will never choose to give?
If you changed your life to take on some new guise.
Would you see friends who stuck with you and witness love with your own eyes?

Can a wise man follow his heart and it not be a contradiction?
Can wisdom come from the heart?
Intelligence is something very different to wisdom... does this also mean it resides somewhere other than the mind?
Can you measure these things of yourself and be either?

You step out into the world and its tendrils seek to entwine.
It takes away my hopes and all the dreams I once held as mine.

You are faced with expectations and choices so not of your own.
You come to think it not so bad when life is both empty and alone.

It becomes just easier to forget about hope and any form of dream.
Responsible to self and away from expectations endless scream.

You close the world outside behind your safeties solid door.
And give up on love and dream like clothes discarded on the floor.

You accept a life of little value and so too the feel it will never end.
All for reassurance outside consequence wont reach in to offend.

I write of being sad and lonely in many of the poems that I write.
But I am conscious, it is I who cast love and hope out into the night.

I have had a little problem for the last four days or so,
of when I go into the toilet I just can't seem to go.

I get myself all seated just as comfortable as I can,
try to make quite certain I am centred on the pan.

I wait for things to happen but nothing seems to start,
no motions seem to occur not even some hint that I might ****.

I decide to try and push it and build pressure by holding breath,
but all that seems to do is put me close to suffocated death.

I grunt and squeak and gasp until an ear popped gasket blows,
all I end up doing is going red and blowing bubbles with my nose.

I tried a change of diet and drank gallon upon gallon of fruit juice,
but still there seems no evidence that anything is coming loose.

I have tried a change of position with my knees against my chin,
but I found it really awkward and ended up falling in.

My belly has gotten very large and feels as tight as a drum,
so much so I contemplate if you can use a crowbar on your ***.

I am sure outside the toilet they are hearing more than mere moans,
Looks I get quite often suggests surprise I've still got any bones.

I know that sometime eventually this thing will have to pass,
I just hope that when it does I can still use paper on my **.

To take a thought or some emotion,
and to convert it to the written word.
To have a voice unspoken,
and to know it yet may be heard.

To place before the audience
some learning or to simply share a view.
To tell of things, of love or pain,
and to give a glimpse of you.

To remove an outer layer,
or remove a mental crutch.
To open up your soul,
and expose it to their touch.

To etch into the mind,
of someone never met.
A hope a dream or some idea,
that they will not forget.

Each and every poet,
writes of what they have lived and feel.
And from their own experience and dreams,
they paint for us unseen worlds to real.

Through conveyance by the written word,
that great poets have oft expressed in rhyme.
Casting forward thoughts of love and wisdom,
to become unforgotten and to be heard for all of time.

Through mist of mind the thoughts again come lurking out of haze,
a time once given to a true love, giving rise to many blessed days.
Before a heart was torn and severed from my body's very soul,
a time where all of me was contented and felt complete and whole.

Seeming so long ago the memory yet not distant or younger past,
fates promise of true happiness, seemingly written in the di as cast.
Soft words yet still haunt me, once again tears run from my eyes,
as mind recalls the horror moment when heart learned all was lies.

Forever scared and left as broken, shards of who I was before,
no trust in love or hope, so never being able to be something more.
I cannot forsake the memories nor can I choose to hold them back,
for they always start at true love felt before launching a fatal attack.

The memory of that love I lost and the echo of mind "was it real?",
a soul will not let go that there was truth in how "true love" did feel.
So to keep the joy of love once known and how it should be still,
I have need for the memories that invade to hurt me at their will.

I write not for my arts sake...
I write for my hearts ache...

I write not to remind myself...
I write to re-mind myself...

Me and the guys were cool and cruising,
in my mate Robin's new car.

The cops had slapped a defect notice on it,
and so it was decided we wouldn't venture far.

With Robin at the wheel and I alongside in front,
we headed via back-roads out to an old dirt track.

There was Dale and Steve and Joe and Andy,
and they were all squashed up in the back.

Six teenage boys intent on adventure,
when we finally found dirt road to suit.

I can't recall whose idea it was but Joe and Andy,
were encouraged to climb out onto the boot.

Robin kicked the throttle the car springing off its mark,
fish tailing and raising clouds of dust as it sped upon its way.

I could hear the sound of Joe and Andy screaming,
but I couldn't make out what they were trying to say.

Now some way down the road yells and laughter,
still coming from the guys riding out on the back.

Robin saw the road had been washed away,
a two foot ravine cutting right across the track.

Robin reacted swiftly and stomped hard upon the brake,
I expected to see a cloud of dust but clear as day instead,

Was the startled face of Andy as he did a springing handstand,
from the hood to a perfect landing twenty yards ahead.

Now Joe was a considerably bigger guy,
and depressed indent of roof gave me several tips.

Until Joe slid out onto the windscreen,
giving a human impression of a daytime partial eclipse.

Two thoughts forever are stuck with me ever since that day,
would we have laughed so hard if Robin missed timed the pedal,

But the other one that really haunts and  plagues my mind,
Could Andy's stunt have won him an Olympic gold medal.