I write of blue, red and green, and sometimes of yellow and grey,
Continue reading “My Poetry”
Sometimes I write of fields and mountains, and sometimes of dried rivers, instead.
Some days I write of battles and wars, and other days of duels raging in my mind,
All shades, and hues, and corners and caves, you will find in the rhymes I penned.
singing birds and lovely sun
Continue reading “I Am Eighty”
dancing flowers, breeze, heaven
outside much much fun
I would like run run run
barring me this lockdown zone
I am eighty and I am alone
Corona doesn’t care if you’re atheist or Anglican,
Continue reading “Ode To A Virus”
Whether you’re a Buddhist or have visited the Vatican.
This pathogen’s not fussy, there’s no discernment in a virus,
Not bothered who you vote for or that you don’t like Miley Cyrus.
Have you ever felt the melodious bird song lifting up your tired wings?
Continue reading “Connect”
Have you ever felt the power of sunbeams healing every aching limb?
Have you ever felt the celestial hymn easing the chaos in your mind?
Have you ever felt the strength of hope replacing despair with a smile?
I live in anger, in hatred, I was born into
Continue reading “Rioteous Rant”
shouting, vile insults and outbursts,
and when I step out into the world
the world spits back just as worse.
The grass is only greener on the planet
where confusion, ammunition, panic,
murder, explosions, execution,
Continue reading “Stay Angry”
Let it drive your actions and deeds
Do not fade gently into old age
You don’t need to drink from puddles to thirst for fresh, clean water,
Continue reading “A Game Of Two Halves”
You don’t have to suffer homelessness to value bricks and mortar.
You must experience bondage to free yourself from slavery,
You must learn to hate addiction to truly love sobriety.
Gazing, into this small window of time,
I see stories unfold on crisp pages,
I see beauty in this window of mine,
Butterflies escaping cocoon cages,
Bright eyed wings uncurl all in a flutter,
on the branch of the tree with the green leaf
Browning, drifting, crinkling, joining clutter.
Dear window, in mind’s eye, such a brief
journey, to glimpse a faraway place
I know not when I shall see once again,
or feel the cold pinch, the hot slither lace
down to the fingers, wrapped around a pen;
In need I am of the window I see,
That gathers dust and is locked with a key.