For days he had searched for the words, but they would not come

He shouted, ‘Stop mocking me gods, you have had your fun!’

Another sleepless night and the day was here

As the class grew nearer so did the fear

And then he realised the route he had to go

Steal or borrow, no one will ever know

That evening he beamed as he read the stolen creation

And when he finished, he smiled and waited for their adulation

But all he heard was….

‘Oy you ****, I wrote that!!’ as he was swiftly thumped in the face

In my dream

They stole

My soul

When I awoke

I was broken

And alone

Drowning in the Sea of Freedom.

A citizen of nowhere to go

And nothing to do.

Hanging out with Bukowski

And drinking tea.

I should spend more days like this.

In my dream

They stole

My Sole.

When I awoke

I had blisters.

I can’t remember when it started again
But I no longer remember how to smile.

I’ve forgotten the taste of a good meal,
the joy of the morning breeze,
the feeling of waking up with purpose.

I walk, but I have no direction,
I sail, with no wind behind me,
I drive, but my tank is empty,
I run, but I wear bricks for shoes.

There is nothing to console me now,
no road I can walk,
no path I can take
               I am lost
               I am changed
               I am...     gone

I wish I had spent more

Time with them.

That’s what people say

When they are gone.

But whilst they are still here,

For one reason or another

It’s too difficult.

One day

I will probably say

I wish I had spent more

Time with them.

The wine flowed from the bottle  

as the words flowed from my pen.

It was my best ever.  

A match for the greats:  

Kipling, Thomas and Henley.

And one that my favourite, Bukowski

Would be happy to say

You matched me today.

I celebrated my masterpiece

With another glass of wine

Before going to bed, joyous

With the feeling I had created

My Magnum Opus.

In the morning I rose,

Clear headed and happy with

The memory of my creation.

I read it again.

It sounded different.  

This was not the splendid verse I recalled.

It was the ramblings of a drunken mind

Bukowski would say

Try again Man

This is a pile of crap.

Suddenly, I had a hangover.