Snow

Snow lay heavily around on the ground, 

It crackled with a snapping, cracking sound

the bin men refused to come this day

due to the high hills, along the way

“what is the point in it” they say

“the rats are frozen anyway”

instead they chose to grit the roads

except my cul de sac; it is forbode 

too far away from anywhere that matters

close knit houses with lots of chatters

cars on drives; snow turns to ice

not home for a day but twa or thrice

hand full of bad luck #

I received a letter, just the other day

it told me of fortunes that were coming my way,

of money and wisdom and joys to behold

the glistening treasure buried in gold 

the torture of freedom are promises bold

that leave you so broken and out in the cold

a promise of heaven would be a delight

Yet it leaves a man struggling to put up a fight

A cheque through the door, made me sixty quid rich

the very next letter was oh such a bitch

Fifty nine forty it said on the bill

Sixty pence change, just seemed so unreal 

for the torture of freedom are promises bold

They leave you so broken and out in the cold

a promise of something is such a delight

a wanton feeling of something that might

today was the day that I might win again

to lose all that money would be such a sin

yet when I cashed in yeh feeling so smug

I was mugged in an alley by a  desperate luck thug

for the torture of freedom is money I hold

It could leave one broken and out in the cold 

the promise of something could leave you instead

at home and alone just crying in bed

Yehess I think I’ll just lay in;…and dreeam instead

A questionable existence

As I stand further in the future from the innocuous past; let thy judgement be steadfast and brutally true,

for the kingdom be chosen for the maker of all things;

then the wisdom  begets the reality of my tragedy.

I know of not why the bequest of one’s righteous existence be lost upon the heavenly realm; Thy splendourous iniquity is judgment upon thyself; not I that have revisited a destined mortality, be it of my own choice; thus an end of freedom to choose, yay a choice of gratification from this, my disastrous being. 

a golden harp be venture of which I am coursed for me, it is not, my love is the sound of true cello, my soul cries a violin of an emotional bleed; for which I have no talent to play, though I pass into nothingness, If it be not gods way. then prevail.

Memory of you #

Looking out the window is where I like to be

way up high in the sky looking down at the sea

the claustrophobic pressure is too much to bare

Yet looking out the window, I can see everywhere 

 Yet it’s so true, that I’m feeling blue 

coz the memory in my mind 

always leads me back to you

The clouds are so surreal, the sun shines across

a feeling of peace inside and not one of loss

Oh England is so green and so is Ireland too

most beautiful of landscapes in the sky is a hue 

Yet it’s difficult to see, why you bothered with me

perhaps that’s why I’m feeling so blue

Coz I still have that memory of you

As we descend on the flight path at five hundred feet

the ground pulls us downwards 

We’re back upon our feet

the heat hits me sideways as I step down from the plane 

I turned to grab your hand my love

but your gone away again

yet it’s so true you’re gone and I’m feeling blue 

coz again it leads me back to the memory of you

it leads me back to the memory of you

the memory of you

Scattered pieces

No shadow of turning, look into onward

I shall not be returning 

steadfastness in my wake

forward strident steps I take

yet when the darkness closes in my haunted past is here again

‘O’ where is peace for thy soul to rest
 hungry wolves are at my breast 
  thumping, jumping heartening thud
forgive me lord for there is no rest

 a hatchling sparrow falls from the nest   

with a golden crown upon her crest 

Sadness in my glance, which they judge

quivering tremble of a beaten cub

misattribution of a splintered grudge

besets the future, lays a fragile bludge

fresh running stream that instead

Is a path to the life of a settled trudge 

The world we live in

Would the world we live in be a better place

where corruption were not so commonplace

Londons streets aren’t paved with gold

escaping for a life that’s  bleak and cold

 A place they kill the poor, the weak, the old

Insurgence of a friendly ghoul

trust your vote to a cretinous foe

things would never ever be the same

if blue blood boiling weren’t in the vein

Trust no one with a thumping hand

the kind that falls but never lands

a politicians spew of drunken lips

Look for the stain of piss on zips

rise up from deep then trust your wit

be of strong heart look out of a pit

darkening the rim then pouring shit.

Upon you heads the blood stealing nits 

Never again control your soul

Eradication of money 

a freedom we will know

end of greed a capitalist creed

end of hatred from the people we bleed

feed the hungry abolish the greed

give the world the love it needs 

Pictures of our own

Every memory for some a reminder of once lost

 triggers a a time of joyful emotional cost

pray for the moment your soul is at rest

an extra vacation of forgiveness 

away the anxiety be it a hardened crest

then be still lost, with no caress

The feeling long past can restart justifiable pain

yet, maybe a reminder to never return there again.