The Latest Poetry…

Desert Floor

Desert Floor



Heaven take my insides and scoop them out,
Leave them on a desert plain,
For vultures to feed on

Pecking at my insides,
Drawing blood with every lunge,
A visceral tug at my heart strings,
As they are torn away

My soul is on the sandy floor,
Resting in the dust,
And soon to be at one with all,
An all embracing loss

This Winter Morning

This Winter Morning

Bird song serenades the night,
As darkness breaks to dawn,
And the evening’s frost glistens softly,
On a rich and rolling lawn,

The windows misted around the edge,
In a vignette to the view,
And behind the glass there’s warmth inside,
A home for me and you

As cold as the winter is outside,
The cottage is warm and toasty,
With open fires and blankets thick,
Perfect mornings and cups of tea



The feeling of emptiness,
Of a heart hollowed out,
Of missing something,
Of a puzzle piece lost

Before knowing if its existence,
It’s hard to feel its loss,
Impossible to know what you have,
Before it’s in the dust

Ignored, forgotten,
By all but me,
A symphony of hopelessness,
A tapestry of despair

And whilst I watered and tended to it,
The garden never grew,
It lay there barren,
For all to see,
No flowers poking through

It’s my dream to see the borders,
Burst with coloured life,
And smell the scent of spring,
Of hope and delight

My garden cannot be watered,
By me and me alone,
It takes another’s tending hand,
To bloom and surely grow

But without another’s watchful eye,
Their attentive care so deep,
A muddy patch it shall remain,
Watered as I weep



I’m singing this song to sooth your soul,
For sooth your soul it shall,
And it’ll take the fear away,
And hold you in its power.

And as my fingers touch the keys,
Caressing every note,
You’ll feel the warmth of my embrace,
In every line I’ve wrote

A kind of magic this is now,
Which we can only hold,
As melodies cascade over you,
Our story to be told

In Time

In Time

Dream a dream of a winter scene,
Of snow and frosted panes,
Days are short and the sun hides,
Til it wakes late the next day

Time is but an instrument,
We play by ear each night,
And slow the tempo down to nil,
And watch the stars shine bright

A clearer night has not been seen,
For many a moon or star,
Show brightly in your mirror eyes,
A galaxy very far

In Time,
We have found our love,
In Time,
With the stars above,
In Time,
A river of glowing wonder,
Carrying us along and lifting us yonder

This Pen

This Pen

This pen,
A shining river of silver and ink,
Pouring from my soul onto the page,
Leaving the well dry

This page,
A spiderweb of thoughts,
Of rumination and consideration,
Adding to this journal of consciousness

This journal,
Well-thumbed and well read,
Illegible in places and incomprehensible to others,
Tells the tale of my life

This life,
With purpose so well hid,
Though with an anchor deep ingrained,
In the nature of its binding

Follow One Year Of Poetry

One Year Of Poetry

Though I’m a man without a face,
Without a name,
Without a history,
I have a story.

I live a normal life,
I work,
I play,
I smile,
I cry,
I write…

From the 1st January to 31st December I will be committing the most honest expression of my innermost feelings on this site…

Some days may be good days,
Others may be bad,
Some may be happy,
Some sad,
Through poetry – as one man’s gift,
To make his feelings known,
Behind the curtains of this digital abode

So come with me,
Take my hand,
Let’s see where it will go,
For you and I shall not know,
How high the highs and low the lows,
Until we ride this lyrical ship to the end of the year…

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