Autobiography
Why do i write
Why do i write it's a need that i have it's in my soul it's a part of me i close my eyes and see all the diffrent peopel in my head i get pen to paper and write them down
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- 1053 reads
Standing Still
standing here i falling fast nothing to hold on when i think about the past i was there but it went so fast see the date to day and 20 years have past i remember the sunshine the fun we had
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- 653 reads
Online to Bangkok
a true story and cautionary tale
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- 1744 reads
The Apple-Picker
A seasonal poem.
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- 1230 reads
The Canine Rival
We could be alike Our emotions are so similar Staring each other out You look away first Yet it’s obvious Your relationship with him Has already outlasted mine
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- 1456 reads
7. Inside
Tears Down my face they stream Trapped Silently I scream
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- 444 reads
taking the edge off
That's how it starts: a depressive, over-disciplined intellectual, usually not even yet a man You take the edge off of your mind (breaks from the world and its petty grind)
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- 773 reads
Outside the Nelson at Noon
Outside the Nelson at noon a man with his face painted like a tiger and a woman with butterfly wings and a magic wand are having an argument. Their words fight and cuss
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- 424 reads
Cloctober
ramblings - of a sort.
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- 2789 reads
A Reminder of Dancing Days
It was a cold day and a rush hour that packed the train. I'm travelling home, tomorrow's a labouring day. A winter in London, not white snow but a drizzling rain.
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- 1204 reads
Pond Rescue
Teacakes, biscuits, coffee and Kiplings Had been placed on the table to serve our guests. The tea pot, china and porcelain Bearing pictures of Brambley Hedge,
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- 703 reads
All right
It’s all right, It won’t hurt forever. It’s not all right now, But it will be, It will be all right. It’s all right. Smile, Laugh, it will change everything.
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- 437 reads
my muse the monster
My muse is not a lovely lady, but a hulking, monstrous creature, slightly barnacled from his trips across the oceans, his skin red and calloused from long walks through deserts,
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- 697 reads
KEEP FIT MADNESS (IP)
Story that includes 'The teapot had seen better days,' and 'As easy as ABC' for the (IP)
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- 4783 reads
A Letter To You
It's difficult to know where to begin with this.
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seasons of the soul
"The heart has its seasons, its evenings, and songs of its own." - The Grateful Dead Outside, summer is over. At night, the cold autumn wind is blowing through October to November.
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- 1864 reads
Wet Brooks
Rain had fallen, hard and bright, bright, Hollywood rain, Running and splashing through puddles, Sodden socks in sodden shoes squelching every step. Dancing round mud, skating over cobbles,
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- 1390 reads
About me (IP)
Smoke: No. Drugs: No. Alcohol: Yes.
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- 2381 reads
On drawing Horses (I.P)
No idea how many words
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- 5232 reads
Anything about love
You don’t know anything about love, how your heart goes running and gets branding and completes 15 marathons without ever really wanting fitness. You don’t know anything about love,
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- 802 reads
TIDYING UP THE GARDEN
A poem I wrote about my perfect day, working in the garden.
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- 4271 reads
I Remembered
I had stopped trying I had forgotten I felt lost Pessimism gripped me. I had fallen for a wasnt in a long ago. I thought I'd never fall again I stopped trying. I used to smile more
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- 1163 reads
I like to watch the fire engines
and the whole world is a single carriageway with cars indicating and pulling over
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- 989 reads
Cicatrice
It's like when you're in your study, reading
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- 757 reads
Calypso
Calypso is a ty toy that was given to me by a friend's mother after the friend died aged 13.
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- 615 reads
Living in the same town
I wouldn’t want to be you, mostly not even near you. When you’re gone they will curse you, and raise the tide up against you. I no longer care now, for what you said wasn’t fair now.
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- 603 reads
Butterfly breeze
Butterfly theory, I didn't feel the wings were crushed. It's a sweet sip on a summer’s day, Light breeze. Maybe I don't feel the butterfly squeeze.
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- 853 reads
Song of my life! (I.P.)
.
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- 1304 reads
On Birthdays and Other Scary Things
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I hate my birthdays.
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- 3067 reads
The flames of a child
The story of a child's game
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- 400 reads
For The Love Of Paris
As with most major events or mishaps in my life, I like to blame my mother for my love for Paris. Thanks to her and her iron fist of TV censorship...
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- 2570 reads
Lost letter of a champion
My \/ key doesnt work..........
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- 1621 reads
Chip of the old block
He sits there, in 'his' arm chair, Can in his hand and a damp smile I was only small at the time, The thought of passing it on ne\/er crossed my mind,
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- 966 reads
My Life As A Sari ( poem published in 'indigo Journal')
Securely tuck your fears under elastic at the centre of your waist with your left hand, and with your right, hold the remaining metres of spun silk - your future, facing inside.
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- 2160 reads
The Rooms
The purple padded walls provided the solace every time I needed it, they still do. The walls and ceiling and floor went through the same thing I did.
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- 408 reads
Bad Sick Haiku Set
pain and strain, hour on day on weeks; "fight or flight" loses sense. chop wood, take meds the pain is like a waterfall; thoughts can't be seen through its fever mist
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- 494 reads
Fairytales
You put me in a party frock that makes me feel more naked and skinny heels like ice skates, I topple about ungraciously you gave me a handbag full of oil and decorated me with sparkly jewellery
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- 1233 reads
Care
I don't I don't Care what people think. We don't care we don't care We don't care We don't care What people think. Why do we care what Why do we care what Why do we care what
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- 720 reads
If she were on vacation..
If she were on vacation in Florida as a kid and saw a boy drowning in a pool,
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There once was a man from Nantucket
A limerick.
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- 669 reads
Porcelain
At weekends I climb to the top of tall buildings, exit onto the roof and spin dinner plates on wooden poles.
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- 1088 reads
The first date
I tell her I am lonely, that I spend most of my time without any trousers on.
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- 1772 reads
HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS
My Poem on my feelings of home, for National Poetry Day.
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- 3230 reads
I am just this
Everyday, I come here to learn, I walk through the corridors and courtyards just to reach the room that will give me the keys to the future. Like myself, there are many other doing the same.
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- 640 reads
Existence
The meaning behind this poem is quite difficult to pick out. I'd like to know your thoughts, and then I will reveal the meaning afterwards =D
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- 675 reads
I may not be perfect
I may not be a stand up comedian, but I seem to make you laugh. I may not be a supermodel, but you see me as a muse. I may do things that are wild, but it makes you more inspired.
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- 415 reads
Delivery
Yesterday a package appeared at my desk- a padded brown envelope sealed tight with selotape licked yellow by the sun.
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- 646 reads
A Tea Box, A Medal, A Bullet and A Bone
The house when he returned was a foxhole without trees, the soft bed made-up by my grandmother a lazy pool coaxing him to death. He slept on the floor, ate his meals
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Dearest Eliot
But no! – I had to go and fall in love!
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- 752 reads
A sprig of holly
A sprig of holly I was bussing home the other day My journey just begun When a pair of gym shoes passed me With the laces all undone Short trousers on a pair of legs
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- 2734 reads
Dear public figure whose private life is tabloid
Dear public figure whose private life is tabloid I am writing to tell you to have faith in things fading. If what you did is so terrible that you have to punctuate it publicly
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- 864 reads
Death engine
Two cigarette butts grieving idiots, if you asked them anything they would grin death engine, inside organs, dissafected teen addicted to coping image.
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- 717 reads
If you are not moving, its because you need not to
And next door, a woman and her son are sorting out a house, I think, but hope its not because everything got too impossible for the woman that lived there because I might have offered to help
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- 472 reads
Those set texts
Those set texts What were the books that broke us? That street walk where we watched the rain hit the floor and thought of Carter wrapping women in circus silks.
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- 582 reads
Self Portrait
For my Son; Paint your future with the brightest most vibrant colours, that they may bring you unending joy and peace.
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- 1603 reads
Artistic conquest
i am a painter too...romance, relatonships
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- 1108 reads