I began writing rhymes and poetry, in May 2000.
For a long time I wandered in a world of delusion believing I was one of only a handful able to write rhymes. I love to waffle and find rhyming an enjoyable pass time. I find an immense pleasure in knowing I am not one of a small handful but in fact a small particle on the hand of poetry.
A drunken man's lament
I stuck my head up my own arse,
and shouted out,” hello".
I thought I'd pop down find out how,
the living was below!
"Shitty mate" a voice called out!
I couldn't catch my breath,
the fact somebody had replied,
about scared me to death!
I thought I'd find a pile or two,
a stretch mark here and there,
some scorch marks and some crappy bits,
and loads of curly hair,
but not a voice, replying to,
an echo seeking word.
A good job I'm just waffling,
and none of this occur'd.
Cos if my arse had spoken out,
as earlier I said,
I know it would have startled me,
and I could now be dead.
I could have snapped my head clean off,
And that's a lump; to pass,
good job; I can't, though I've tried.
Stick my head up my own ass!
Angry
I
am not
angry now
not anymore.
I did used to be,
I was very angry
and immeasurably hurt
but we grow and we overcome.
We learn to lay our burdens away
in the tightest confines of our innards
where with the grace of God, they stay silent
unfortunately they rise in drink
and tend to send us hitting out
with often dire consequences
but, we come to accept
after much remorse
as drink causes.
That anger
destroys
us
Almost
You almost turned me inside out
so I looked like I'm from the deep,
some horrid little monstrous fish
no body wants to keep.
So off I swam in under-life
whilst you swam with cold sharks
scraping flesh from sunken whales,
yet still, my spirit larks.
then bugger me, comes by an other
bigger fish than me
and tries to turn me in some more
to depths of deepest sea.
Until I meet my David A'
and he high-lights my lonesome plea
where I am saved and tucked inside
a sea life by the sea.
then you may swim all you desire
feeding and as bait
whilst I in this forced loneliness,
start feeling free and great.
Poetic dreamer
I watch him roaming room to room,
with all he needs to capture thoughts
he's searching for original
not frogs legs, fools or forts,
or love or lakes or literati
girly girls, or ghoulish ghouls
not something he has seen before,
but rather breaking all the rules.
not dreams or daisies, or dog days
nor climate change nor cheese
just something damned original
to perpetrate and please.
he's looking for those lines so deep,
he'll read and copy, paste and keep.
My fatness
I've had it and lost it, won't have it again,
won't be caught in this struggle to walk on in life,
won't be caught by the grasp, of my own self abuse
and be inches away, from a cosmetic knife.
There are some things a man, to continue a man
must Endeavour to do for himself day to day
and if you are a soul in the raptures of weight
then for you and your losses, know that I pray.
And finally....
save my soul oh Lord
from fruitlessness and wasting
give me direction.