A breath of fresh air


There is a strange whisper that today seems awind

A secret tale of youth, told in smiles, told in leaves,

It sings about desire that an archer has twinned,

The words are drops of rain in which warm sunlight weaves,

The notes are those instants where the world is soundless,

Playing along sheets written in gazes hiding

To the beat of footsteps and shadows colliding,

It tales of faithful hearts and devotion endless.

But will it be minor, oh this sweet symphony?

For in time wind calms down and shadows come to pass

In the end even rain will not keep company;

Do beware my young ones for diamond can be glass…


Carpe diem,          

          cave nocte.


Into the fray


Once more into the fray…

Into the last good fight I’ll ever know.

Live and die on this day…

Live and die on this day…

When night is dark and the stars shine

My mind is stone, my heart is clay,

I remember when you were mine

And how strong your smile used to play.

Once more into the grey,

Unto the one good fight that I can throw.

Truth or lie have no sway

And my cry finds its way…

But as dawn rises in the east

And fantasies come to an end

I must be he who shall not bend,

The once more lonely, fearsome beast.

Once more I run astray

As through me dark and light forever flow,

‘Tis good bye and away,

One more die, one more play…

Oh now the day has passed again,

And the river runs cold and red,

My mind wanders between the pain

And the warm comfort of your bed.

Once more into the fray…

Into the last good fight I’ll ever know.

Live and die on this day…

Live and die in the snow…


Guess what movie I watched recently…



Under, over, and then go all around,

Thunder, cover, keep your feet on the ground.

When magic has been cast, there is nowhere to hide,

The future or the past must the wizard abide.

In fire or in storm is reborn

Alone the one without a home,

Sometimes there is hate and sometimes there is scorn

But in this world there is never monochrome.

Always we are changing our ways,

Always we are moving, always,

Where there once was desert

There is music and glee,

Soon will fade the frown

Where rain pours down,

What I mean to say

Is simply this:

Everything is relative,

All first steps are tentative,

But know

And go,

Just be there

And give voice.




Midnight contemplation.

You think


You may think we are who you think we are,

You may think we think you are who you are,

And you may think you think we are who we are,

But do you think we think you are who we are?

Oh do you think we think that we are who you are?

No the truth is, I think, that you think who we are

Is who you think who we are, not who we think who we are

For who we are, we know, and who you are, oh no,

We know not who you are, you know not who we are,

Heavens, you know not even who you are

So how can you presume to know who we are?

Find yourself to find others and in others find yourself,

Find others in yourself and find others to find yourself,

You think it is a simple straight line,

You think you are who you are and we should be too

But we are who we are and we cannot be you;

We are not us, you are you and we are we,

Yet we are all ourselves and in this we are all we.


I am, you are, but are we?

A fun concept I wanted to explore.

A blonde


My head is light,

My step heavy,

I feel my sight

Getting blurry,

Am I not right?

I feel very

Lively and tight,


You wanna fight?

I can carry

My word, my might,

But first: sherry!


Not so trickery, more so tipsy.

The Charge


Shields up and swords at the ready,

Keep your minds cool and breaths steady,

Through this unbreakable formation

Show to the gods our newfound passion!

A beating heart over cold steel

But better death than ever kneel,

We are the proud warriors of O

And we shall let the whole world know

The might of a single one of us,

Should they ever underestimate

Our true power it shall ring checkmate,

As one we stand, our magnum opus.


Reminds me of something, strange…

Not my best work lately, I feel I will definitely have to rework it.



A cold wind through warm colours

In sacred cloth, ancient bells,

Resurrects powerful spells,

History shows our valours,

This has always been our life,

Nature’s expanse is our wife

And we uphold her glory

Through one and a thousand story,

As we tread upon this land

We make ours and yet respect

Our great mother’s helping hand

For prayers are what protect

Old ancestors through ages

And children under the sun,

With great care woven and spun

Through the river that rages,

Under the noble hawk’s eyes

And in the hearts that are ours,

You may laugh at this disguise,

Mock the way we love the stars,

You think you know who we are,

You think that we live so far,

But before pointing at holes

That you view as dug too deep

Should you not question your souls?

For the path is long and steep

For he who is deaf and blind

From never looking behind…


Poem prompt given in class: write a poem from a portrait picture and give it strong voice.

Edit: 16/10/2017 – Changed ‘protect’ to ‘respect’ (what it should have been) in the tenth verse, hadn’t noticed that mistake yesterday.



I don’t know where I am, don’t know where I’m going,

Isn’t that the beauty, the beauty of the thing?

Isn’t it, my dear? Oh isn’t it, my dearest?

The land has wilderness not yet conquered by man,

Not ever treaded on or even gazed upon,

It is truly open both in body and soul

Like a newborn infant or how the river bed

Is gently reflected into its clear blue eyes,

As I am now standing under golden arches

The pathways before me slither along shadows

And I can envision them in my poet heart,

My blood boils once again as I stare into deeps

So distant and so dark not even time comes back,

As I prepare to dive into this sea of ink

With no fear at heart but that of the blank page

Pushing towards the edge. Oh I am not afraid

Yet I am terrified, oh I am not yet dead

For I feel so alive, oh should I hesitate?

Only a single god knows the absolute truth

To this unique riddle and her name is Future.


Dedicated to Tom Petty. Of the importance of the hook.

The one that is the one


So much to say, so little time.


Oh friend there is so much that still needs to be said,

A thousand metaphors which I still long to craft

A hundred unfinished creatures remain in draft

Or a thousand more rhymes that have yet to be wed,

Nonetheless I can feel the end of an epoch,

That which has come to be the golden age of mind,

The purpose of a year, the goal of this long walk,

And a silver-lined tongue which I shall leave behind;

So many failures met, so many lessons taught,

How I feared once before that all might be for naught,

But my dreads have been quelled as over those long hours

I have grown and become a true man, a poet,

– Or at least ’tis my hope – one that never cowers

From sadness and who might somehow grace bestow it.



           Hour 11.

The End.