THE CONSTRAINTS OF BEHAVIOUR,
PERHAPS THE FRONT OR IMAGE
THAT ONE HAS SOMETIMES PRECONSTRUCTED
OR MOULDED AS AN INDIVIDUAL
CREATE AN ARTIFICIAL BARRIER WHICH SEPARATES
WHAT WE WANT TO BE
FROM WHAT WE ARE.
LIFE PROMISES SO MUCH
I HAVE AN OBLIGATION
A PROMISE TO MYSELF
TO MAKE SURE LIFE HASN'T GOT ITS
FINGERS CROSSED BEHIND ITS BACK,
TO TAKE LIFE AND PUSH THE BASTARD TO ITS LIMITS
TO TAKE ALL IT HAS TO OFFER
TO SEE THAT PROMISE THROUGH.
The story of one boy and his obsession with his favourite song
Ben likes Insomnia by Faithless
Ben plays Insomnia on his walkman
Ben plays it when he goes to people's houses
Ben plays it in the morning
Ben plays it in the afternoon.
Ben plays it to other people
Whoever is willing
Ben says: 'this is my favourite bit.'
And then plays it to other people.
Ben says: 'I love it when the bass kicks in.'
Ben plays Insomnia on the piano.
I wonder why Ben likes it so much?
The fire cannot burn me,
The ice cannot freeze me,
I drink throughout the drought,
I am without a doubt
The most powerful force
And I'll run my rocky course
Through tears fears fiery hate
To tender sweet soft embrace
I am desired, but enigmatic
I evoke your mind, I'm telepathic
I can be weak, but I am strong
I get confused with right and wrong
I shall strike you take my toll
Then I'll caress your wounded soul.
I am inside you, below and above.
My home is your heart, and my name is
Well, you are correct, how quaint
From the girl who normally 'ain't'
Right. You didn't mean it, did you
Though? Thinking deeply. Don't normally do
That, do you? But you still
Got it right. You wouldn't know until
I explained it. Even then you might
Not understand what I said, wouldn't quite
Realise that your joke, ironically, was
Spot on. Strange, isn't it? Because...
I don't know.... I really do love you and
You helped me realise that. Though you don't understand,
So what difference does it make?
Flow slowly through grooves
Washed in by the sea.
A lazy seagull glides
Slowly over head.
The tide is washed away.
The sun rises slowly,
Sending rays of light out
Across the sea.
It breaks into splinters
And the silence is broken.
Summer at the beach
Squeals of laughter as they run,
Darting gaily down the beach for fun
Sand softly gliding through their toes
How they forget their fears and foes
Reach out for the water so blue
Happily screaming as it's true
The blue cold water at their feet
Experiencing something they cannot keep
Diving in the water so deep
Little children dip in their feet
A world of pure peacefulness
In which they feel such wishfulness
Sweeping through the glittering sea
With every stroke they feel more free.
Playing, talking, feeling, laughing
They cannot help but to keep on dreaming.
Getting cold they hit the beach
Sun-bathing, thinking of all the things they seek
Getting late they head for home
Listening to all the tired children moan
In the car with ice cream in hand
They think of the wonderful time they'd had.
The sea, such a surge of power,
One minute dormant, as calm as can be,
The next a mad wrath, jumping with glee.
Tritan's white horses galloping around,
Charging at rocks, pound after pound.
Wet, on the sea bed
No movement can be found.
The clawing and roaring of the sea above
Is muffled down below,
Where a different, happier life comes on to flow.
The sea is rising to everyone's fears,
Not due to ice caps melting but tears.
The waves crash
Upon the golden granules.
The white foam
Races along, reaching...
The wave pulls back
Into the vast sea.
All the energy is lost,
The power gone.
Until the next wave comes;
And the power returns.
A Day in Autumn
Mist has gathered in the valley.
Early morning dew sprinkled on the cobwebs.
The frost lies on the boughs
Of the Grand Oak Tree.
A wind rustles
Whispering through the leaves,
Cascading to the ground,
Then lying like a multi-coloured carpet that
Scrunches and crunches like a packet of crisps.
Conkers glow in the grass,
The Autumn sun shining on their smooth, glossy shells.
On the bushes in the lanes
There are berries galore.
The butterflies flutter
To feast on the last fruits
Under the wizened apple tree,
And the sun slanting through the trees
In the red of the forest
Casting dancing shadows on the ground.
Little animals scurrying,
Using the crisp Autumn days
To find a cosy corner
In which to sleep away
The cold days ahead.
Squirrels gathering their nuts to hide
For their Winter larder.
A feeling of everything settling down
Hiding away until winter has passed...
The air is full of the scent of bonfires,
And the smoke from them rises up
To the red sky of sunset...
A breeze of sadness sweeps across the sleeping village.
The Comfort Tree
The weeping Willow,
Does not weep for me,
It is my golden green,
Your stretching arms,
Reach up to the clouds,
But your golden leaves,
Fall down to the ground.
As I reach to hug you,
My arms spread around,
Your body is silky,
Silky and brown.
You reach down,
And lift me above,
To your mass of green,
Filtering sun and love.
My own little place,
Just you with me,
A blissful peace, as you
Whisper to me.
I tell you all,
My dreams and fears,
And all the time, you
Comfort me here.
Warm and golden,
But cool with a breeze,
I listen to you,
The soothing tree.
When I'm with you,
I'm not afraid,
You are my protector,
My loving shade.
I'd rather be here,
Than anywhere else,
With my hands holding yours,
Just you and myself.
For me this is heaven,
And when I die,
I hope to come here,
Just you and I.
The weeping Willow,
Does not weep for me,
It is my golden green,
Childhood Memory: The Walnut Tree
When the wind blows through the walnut tree
It reminds me of a happy childhood memory.
A friend and I would sit up there for hours
Talking about life in wind, sun and showers.
That tree seemed so big to us,
High above the ground.
As the summer nights drew on
We grew up out of that tree,
And stopped going down to that place,
Where we had been so happy.
Out of reach,
out of bounds.
but don't touch.
Walk on by,
don't look back.
Never reach out,
but you can't
you can't reach
It remains untouched.
The world revolves around money,
printed bits of paper.
Forged or authentic it all looks the same.
As sad as it sounds we spend all our life earning paper,
yet we all need this printed paper.
But what use has paper when you can't even write on it.
A love poem
I stood and watched the waterfall
On the rocks.
White beads of water
Smooth surface like
Buzzing around a
And in the waterfall I see
Your beauty is
As a dog's bowl
Without the little bits of
Etched on the surface
And I imagine
The sensation of being
Able to pick up a dog
Running the risk of sticking
My finger on a dried
Up piece of
Gelatine. Like your love,
It is an unattainable goal.
The Mirror Has Two Faces
Watching reflections of myself, my soul.
Images that float and drift out of reach,
out of touch.
Forming, mixing, conjuring a patchwork of my being.
No substance, no texture, no insight, just light,
just one step from nothing, just paranoia
Twisting your core, betraying your confidence
They show nothing but yourself.
Everything is at face value.
Everything is in the eye of the beholder.
A bright optimist
Of life. Behold,
My Garden (I'm not possessive)
Litter the ground
Of my design.
Through the grass
Fruitless trees -
Seeds taken by the jackdaws,
Roots strangled by thorns,
Should put netting up.
The foxgloves stand
At the foot
Of my lawn
By the black bees.
I'm not a very good gardener.
Through The Eyes Of A Victim
Pain, rejection, a taste is all I ask,
To be a part of what it's like inside,
Inside of the people who seem to last.
They tear at my clothes, scratch out my eyes.
They've pulled down the curtains,
I can no longer see.
Surrounded by bullies, surrounded by fear,
Hated, singled out.
Please don't jeer.
There's no time for me to get away.
Can't you see,
It's too late, too late,
They've blinded me.
Snow falling on a garden softly,
Like silk on the green grass.
Snowflakes turning and diving like
dust to the floor.
Turning coloured flowers and tall green
trees into white glistening crystals.
The flakes are different shapes
Floating in the cold misty air
Until a white sheet covers all the colours of the garden.
MY FANTASY CASTLE
It's got yellow walls
and it's really quite tall,
6 million feet or so
don't ask me; I don't know.
It's got monkeys on the battlements
And in the bailey are the green elephants.
I feel quite out of place sitting here,
I'm not a purple goat, or a red nose reindeer.
But I like the colours, and the money that grows on trees
but most of all I like the pink honey bees.
No one knows about my castle,
and it's not worth the hassle
Because if I told me mum,
She'd say it was a creation of my imagination;
But there's quite a lot to see,
and it's all just for me.
Deep inside me are a bunch of words,
To be sorted and written down
To form a poem which would slowly emerge,
And be shown to the people around.
But it's not all that easy,
As one could agree.
Maybe for you but not for me.
It's hard to think of words that could easily rhyme,
Even for the longest amount of time.
So you put all your effort and everything you've got,
Until finally at last you've reached the spot.
The spot where you've called the poem to cease,
To be read, and remembered as a
The eye of the beholder
is a tiger's eye,
the gold disc slit in two
by the black chasm.
Behold a judgement.
Seeing me or
seeing through me
I am transparent,
a doll cut from gauze
a butterfly pinned down.
of my own free will
I choose to stay
where I am,
Petrified in amber,
caught in the eye
of the beholder.
LIKE AN EMPTY SHELL SHE SITS,
SLOWLY MOVING HER EYES FROM SIDE TO SIDE.
EVERYTHING SHE SEES AND HEARS, HAS NO MEANING,
JUST OBJECTS AND SOUNDS THAT FILL IN THE
WHETHER SHE HAS FEELINGS I DON'T KNOW,
BUT IF SHE DOES THEY'RE KEPT TO HERSELF DEEP INSIDE.
SHE'S IN HER OWN SMALL WONDER WORLD,
WITH HER BODY LEFT BEHIND.
ALL THE FAMILY CAN DO IS LOVE,
ALTHOUGH THEY CARE, RESPECT AND LOOK AFTER HER
THIS EMPTY SHELL STILL NEEDS LOVE AS A VITAL SOURCE
I despise her,
So utterly beautiful.
I am forever,
In her shadow.
Look at me,
But of course
All anyone looks at
Of swirling droplets
I let them slide,
Down my throat.
Now I know
How she feels
I am beautiful.
I am looked at.
I realised before,
I am ugly
Eating away at me.
When my beauty
I will have nothing left.
The light slowly begins to fade,
And the colours and objects become
A distant blur,
And those past crusades
She once was a part of, were no longer there
In her mind.
She has now left them, far behind.
Her delicate body becomes so frail
And her face shrivels like a dry leaf