truth of poetry



No Holy water

Blurred into a skyline with a silver lining 

In a glass of red wine 

Sipping on lipstick stains and choking on pick up lines form past lovers

With pictures on the coffee tables

Framed, Incased in copper, silver, and gold.

Incense curls around this scene, Were framed in a smoke screen

No Hell fire or Brimstone

No Holy Water, No Holy Water 


Changing of times

Can you feel it?

there’s a change in the wind

As the white rabbit wanders the tracks and the hobos gather their newspaper beddings

There’s a cold breath of fresh air coming from the north east

Holding something new and becoming of the season Yet letting something die away for a rest and recharge

Now as the morning greets me, Jack frost nipps at my nose and fingers as I enjoy a cigarette with the sunrise

Bottle collectors race to bet the cold and stay warm as they look for gold in trash cans

Its the changing of times

The finds of new art The lingering of  fresh colours

Its the changing of  style for mother earth and the warning bell for father time to start slowing down (well so it seems )

As days drag on like when a victim watch’s their hour glass fade and the work grows slow yet harder

As old man winter crawls towards his chair

just awaking to find her gone with summer and the song



Blog at

Up ↑