Triggered Emotions

here at rest weeping from memories of the past

shadows of the ghosts haunting will last

simple pictures in an historical mind

remembering days when things seemed more kind

passing through life as if I were blind

The pie and mash shop, F.W. Cooke’s its name

Kingsland high street, Dalston, no other the same

Sir Thomas Abney, five to thirty-five 

enjoying the moment watching my children play

while caring for others in a kind way

a little glimpse of what once was

carrying emotions of the unworthy cost

fighting the torture, the cost of pain

hoping to never visit it, ever again

I’ll miss my family to my death

my friends that were never there to see

that’s what I hate most about me

one day soon our lives will end

then there will be nothing left to mend

Changes

Facing atrocities,committing expectations 

changes altering your choice of a happy life

not your own doing a merciless decision

stealing your worth as valued person 

downward spiralling, depressive grudge

it will not improve, by an out of control judge

discounting money, irrelevant schemes

make the changes yourself for happier themes

You inner person is not a slave

worth your “weight in gold” they say

be strong, while you live and behave

Yet changes only change

if strength in choices are brave

Richard

Set upon in a car park taking blows to the head

beaten with a blunt weapon until you were dead

your skull smashed into pieces 

Clothes tattered with creases

attacked from all around until your life ceases

They said it could be drink to help the pain

Shoppers in cars thought, ‘this is insane’

parking in town, a horrific disturbance 

should have gone to Derby to watch the races

lots of people watching, shocked looking faces

‘A horse, a horse, my Kingdom for a horse’

they were the last words you spoke of course

an angry Tudor force, suddenly became barmy

men of military brave-hearts from the local army

saw you were King Richard iii juiced up and smarmy

Last day of his life, died at 33

strong as an oak, of the royal family tree

1485 the date of your death

it wasn’t a car park when you drew your last breath

Gilly and Callum, well they go shopping, instead

A Little Green

A time of truth encompassing the winds of change

sometimes it remains the same

there is no help for a dog with mange

laughable it may seem for a teenager with a dream

youth has an expendable strength to rule the world

though in our hearts, we were all a little green

golden summer days exhibiting muscle and rage

spectacles of love arrive with the joys of spring

‘the young don’t know they’re born’ 

the words my nan spoke, I hear myself bring

to be young can seem obscene 

though in our hearts, we are all a little green

If only we could to feel youth again

wake up not feeling sickness and pain

the daily struggle of perpetuating age

being able to turn a new page

the winds of change are hardly ever seen

when they do they are almost never seen

 they can leave one feeling a little green

Sinking low

The hurt in you I cannot undo although,

It is of my making, a horrible person I can be

decisions made for small victory

I weep deeper with a drenched heart

a fail stench of misery is within

failure as the day that should not begin 

but alas the torment goes once more

can I not rest in bed and snore

close eyes and sleep forevermore

hurting you it wounds me deep

to see you cry and never sleep

I am not worthy of forgiveness 

the evil within passes into deep

I want you so much yet, your not mine to keep

The Dark of Day

In my mind I travel

the galaxy here I go

I like to see planets with an orange glow

Stars flicker in a pale moonlight

emblems of the sun shoot out

colliding nebulas have a secret spout 

there are twinkles of mystery all around

possible life in an unknown shroud

covers of blanketed pearly clouds

the light of day has to come 

presentation of our only sun

exploding colour of autumn trees

beautiful sight of bumble bees

not seen often in my shrouded life of dark

unless I am walking in the sun lit park

mostly move through the long hard days

until the clear night shows the stars at bay

I know I am not considered insane

tho’ the struggle in life has always the gain. 

Universally

Little boxes of architectural perfectionism 

Picasso cubism with a mathematical correctionism 

closest to intricacies developed from Marxism

palaces scraping high in the sky as byism 

conglomeration of structurally built colonialism 

colourful spectacle observed as stars by alienism 

reaching creationism of planets in a solar system

rewarding with humanistic caring from planetariums 

saving earth by reaching out to unique worldisms

twinkles of light across planets of spaceism

reaching communities as complete peacefulism

Bitter to the end

The shiver reaches your soul when you are alone

It cuts right through you in the damp crisp air

too long have you felt the icy wind

may you strive on in vain nothing will change

you never wanted anyone 

so no one is what you have 

alone you are until your death

Not so long after, you died alone

broken hearts stand aside to watch your going

lowering your ropes with tears in their eyes

looking into your life as through a bunch of spies

hoping to hear you say “I was wrong”

but like your life it was in vain 

for you died as you lived, all alone

everyone went away shrugging off the pain 

there you still lay in the icy cold day, alone yet again

Baggins from the Shire

Protected from a vest of Mithril, glowing sword warns of orcs so close to you, Sting’ in the hand of a brave warrior to slice the few, never before had a hobbit oh’ so brave, taken a ring of power to rule the slave

a screaming menace grasps the precious so tight

until lost in the mountain on one dark night.

The ring called the bearer in need to be free

it chose its host wisely for a greater need

a master is calling for the power to feed

One ring to rule all; the masters greed

he will look everywhere with his wandering eye

he will send kings thus slaves across the sky

on land to find the ring for the power is nye. 

he feels it and sees it, the hobbit is close

the one true precious he desires the most. 

a goblin or dwarf or twisted from the shire 

Sméagol’ called to him other self G-G-Gollum 

whichever his loss his precious is stolen! 

to follow and have at the end of day, to be with the precious for there is no other way.

He hates the baggings the conniving thief

will strangle and grab the hobbitsies’

dragons breath and fire of gold

accompanied few with adventures told

desire to sneak fore-warned a thief 

Bilbo Baggins, master mischievousness 

takes the precious and gambles stone

gives up the portion that belonged to him

Thorin Dwarf, king under the mountain 

angered to hurt beyond belief

receives a blow, the dragon gone; overthrown 

killed with the black arrow pierced on the patch

he once and for all had met his match

this story ends for now ere’ is born

the future belongs in another mighty yet small.

Happy Teenager

There you are racing happily in your vehicle of two

enjoying what life offers with your friend and you

observing your struggles of health then not

still you are young, enjoying all you have got

compared to others you have not a lot, true

cheerfully happy and often not blue 

Though a smiling teenager with all your life to give

not a care in the world for how long you could live

I have only one prayer for a child that is true

I wish all children that struggle, could be like you

keep cheerful for sad times and a day that’s blue

racing the corridors in your chariot of two. 

Always has a say

Contemplating life, it’s devastating in store

I cannot tell, for I’m not wishing to bore

thinking of a history where hurt shows no bounds

damaged with a heart that is openly found

some say I am at fault, some are correct in thought 

a fragile individual, emotionally caught

on the outside strong yet, do not belong

enough, has been said, it’s time now for bed

to crawl up the stairs, resting a buzzing head

reaction to the words, once or twice said

speak can be bitter, it is a cut like a knife

sticks and stones could take a persons life. 

forging ahead is the only way

depression dredging on, it always has a say