Almighty Held Back – a poem

Even the makings of the almighty

Bow down to the manmade compounds

Which promise the death of pain

Yet deliver oft surcease transient.


How long can such things manage

To results deliver? Against

The order of divinity made

Flesh, the paradox of unmaking.


What is made by creation can

Rarer reduce what afflicts us

When we struggle with spectres,

Shadows of ourselves on old walls.


Full Circle – a poem

Time brings all things

Round to fullness, complete

Along the lines, progress

Made without consideration

For self, happiness, stations

Met and passed through, around

And down, up, chance meetings

That fire the heart, twitch face,

Bring lines of reality to encircle

Back upon themselves, hurtling

Alpha toward Omega, a crash

Ready to resound, the passenger

A traveller, riding to time’s full circle.

Game of Choices – a poem

Yesterday I wrote about colours

Which might the soul represent

Then stopped it flowering

So that I might my mood relent.


Relaxation bidden is no rest

At all, and an oxymoron too,

Mother of all catches tested

In this time of equivocal boons.


Times and seasons flow, curve,

The winding desert of before

Arid, seeing me tired and wired

And ready for a change, to swerve.


What mean the sudden choices

Now available to me? Luscious

Growth of the soul, of emotion

On offer, if only…I could choose.


Chaotic colours I wrote of before seen

In a strange order, struggles alight

And lancing sharp, that too strong beam

Striding in memory, soulful sights.


Transient surcease in bitter anodynes

Bring little relief in the pressurised mix

When steam rises from broken cups

To mingle with thoughts yet unsaid.


My life marches onward, inch by inch,

A necessity of slow development

Exaggerated by meaningful twitches

That threaten to dilate time down sent.


Choices are a dangerous game

That we all must play, bidden

By the state of the world, of us

And how we want wants hidden…

Truth Of Meeting – a poem

Shards of sharp truth fall

From slightly cloudy skies,

Expected yet unexpected, secrets

Of far off seen skies, scudding…


The glow of late winter rising sun,

Orange orb dwelling low in clouds,

Visible for the weather, a sight

As of a spherical god looking down.


Impromptu and unplanned trips

Out of one’s comfort zone alone…

And delivered unto the cityless land,

Into that breach, for a soul to reach…


A fell journey? Hardly?

Cold more like, kin to the ‘membrances

Of sweet acridity in the laboratory

Where sane jealousy plotted death.


Yet such prospects may be set aside

For the nonce, A hope to spring

And be made real in meeting, synergy

Formed from fractured parts joined whole…

21st Century Gods – a poem

If our beliefs form

The deities of our age

Then our gods are jealous

Gods, much like yours.

Gods oft found dead,

Electric demipowers slumped

And limp in forgotten booths

Where once were made calls to relatives.


Those figureheads of monetary missions

Linger in crevices we barely consider,

A lack of light breeds them in dark

And makes Mammon hailed by many.


Ephemeral communication forms

Are perpetuated by instant gratification,

Likes and dislikes, pictures of newness

Spread about as crops wither and die.


Everyone wants to be a snowflake,

To seek the meaning in indigo

Over-saturation of the self lost

Amidst the drive and dream of all.


Your god is a jealous god

And makes me no money,

He is poor, inadequate & uncharging

And there goes the electricity.

Insect Uprising – a poetic excerpt

This is a world where insects seek

To overthrow their Queen,

Millions in the hundreds

Of years have made fuel

That we burn, the dead

Bones of lost creatures,

Fossilised and Petrified

To make our world of smog.

Hundreds of millions of years

Have made fuel for a few

Hundred, single digit billions

Of people swarms roaming, eating.


We have smoked toads without thought

Of the sins accrued by waste,

Those bright shades swallowed

By the concrete Molochian philosophy…