To be a poet
Is not to burn the paper with your words
but to be heard
when drifting smoke of love and life is gone
the poet in us carries on
when ink and page and pen are embers
it is the beauty one remembers

Furrow face, deep ruts
savage cuts that only time and years can plough
fertile grain
once waving yellow in your fields
does not remain
chaff blown brittle on the winter wind
will settle now and then on barren land
sadly turned to sand

I don't want to come back
once I leave don't revive me
I'm finished and done with being alive me
you just know when it's your time go
so take off the wire
my choice to decide where & when I expire

Scarlet cinnabar
wanton reds and ***** you pinks
Vermilion is a libertine
a go it alone chancer
who lives free and to hell with the consequence
condemn him if you will
for he is already ******
The devil has his own team colours

Tend to the soul of me
that means the whole of me
feed my mind my heart my head
nourish the part that doesn’t need bread
water me with love, watch me grow
a person will flower before you know

Pansexual
love the person not their gender
surrender to love in huge amounts
because that’s what counts

Petrified people
are often alone
they build themselves a heart of stone
it stops the hurt getting in
and the love getting out