MyPoetry: A Sunday Stroll With Loneliness

A Sunday Stroll With Loneliness

---

I’m hollow
but not hungry
My thirst is quenched
But I’m hollow
So I take a walk
With my thoughts
Along empty streets gilded
By the setting sun
Past privet lined
Identikit bungalows
Of homes
Filled with people
closing their curtains
on their neighbours
tuning in
to a celebrity reality
trading their prol lives
for the life of a modern ceaser
ceasing careers
with a thumb movement
across key-pads.
I’m hollow,
Shadow boxing
With my only friend
A fiend
Walking,
Under stark pink clouds
Cast adrift, aimless
In a sea blue sky
Wondering strange streets
Like a wordless scion
like a G+T hobo
Looking for nourishment.
I watch two young girls
Holding hands
One dressed in flowers
The other
In green
Walk past
And I stop and look up from my dusty shoes
And know the only cure
For these autumn-time blues
Is too forget
To forget the summer
Forget the beauty of the impending winter
Forget Saturday night TV
Forget girls
Forget money
Forget books
Forget, forget, forget…

My Poetry: The Snotty Goblin

The Snotty Goblin

---

I felt a little tickle
In my ickle hooter
like the tricky bogey fairy
was climbing up my nose
and up and up and up
it went
with its feather duster
and before I knows
what happening
the sneezy goblin’s
shouting: “Get ready for some snot.”
So I fumble in my pocket
for a little something
to catch the grungy grime
before my blower blows.
But the slimy snot goblin
has got a better plan
he’s going to make me wait
just as long as he can.
So I screw up my eyes
my mouth makes funny shapes
and all the while
the bogey fairy’s smiling
at his fickle japes.
That awful snotty goblin
then tip-toes around my nose
like a tickly general
rallying his gloopy troops
to shoot his bogey cannon
in this hooter war.
Then…..with……..an......aahh….
………......aaaggghhh…….......…..AAAAAAGGGGGHHHH HHH
he let’s his snotty ammunition
fly into my soup.

Grip my blue heart till the moon comes

---

Baby don’t
let the sun
coming up
worry you
just relax
we've got till
the full moon
peaks its nose
o’er the hills
only then
should we break
all our vows
and holy
sacred bonds
with goodbye,
so let your
fingers grip
my blue heart
'till that time
and heed these
three whispered
little words…
I love you.

My Poetry: My Dearest Poppy

My Dearest Poppy

---

This is our last kiss,
my dearest Poppy,
my tolerance
and patience pushed
by the taste
of your metallic lips.

My exotic temptress
velvet mornings
chasing beetles
eastern healing
my heart yielding
days of emptiness.

Days I’ll miss
just wasting
time on our own
surreal and tranquil
tar bliss reverie;
but we’ve grown apart
dear mistress.

So, one last kiss
before my wish
to taste freedom
free of you golden ‘cuffs
that cost so much
more than money.

This is our last kiss
sweet seductive
temptress.
Goodbye.

My Poetry: The Old Wild Sailor

The Old Wild Sailor

---

The old wild sailor
squats on a town centre bench
cursing his luck
and every fcuk
he missed out on
with every swig of his compass
he shouts out at strangers:
Neil,
Neil,
Neil.
You can tell he knows
About every kind of death
by the way he cradles
a bottle of gut rot
like a beaten ship
in an asylum harbour
as he bawls at strangers:
Neil,
Neil,
Neil.
He hails every passer
by way of a hello
his knotted beard
bobs as he speaks
but people just keep on
following their shoes,
so he ignores their strangeness and calls:
Neil,
Neil,
Neil.
He knows every boozer
in every pub within eye shot
where he used to trade
punch-lines for whiskey chasers,
but friends he swapped rounds with
are no better than memories now;
so he just hollers:
Neil,
Neil,
Neil.
I can feel his attention
on the back of my neck
but let his calls
fall like cannonballs round my feet,
I don’t know his cries target
but I hope
someday he finds it .

__________________

My Poetry: This Future Me

This Future Me

 

This Future Me

 

I walk,

the lush hour
upon me,
past corpses
half empty with souls
moving like atoms
along paths
carpeted with gold
leaves, ruddy
and decaying,
in the cold
of autumn’s breath.
I look down -
I see shoes
scuffed at the toe,
cheap fabric woven
to suit my job
by Asian hand,
my adolescent eyes
do not recognise
this man –
this future me.

 

 

 

 

My Poetry: Will I Miss You Forever?

Will I Miss You Forever?

---

Will I miss you forever?
I think so.
No kiss from lips
not yours
could invade my cheek.
No whispered words
from another’s lips
could soil my ears.
No breath
but yours
could revive my heart.
No love
but yours
could warm my day.
No stolen touch
from fingertips unknown
could ease my woes.
Will I miss you forever?
I think so.