The fits and starts of summer
Tarts
The rain, the rain just falls
And I complain about Ukraine
But nothing else appalls
I walk in hearts and apple carts
Upset in old St Pauls
But don't news dart
Like newts that fart
all about waterfalls
The rain, the rain, the rain
That falls
In buckets from the clouds
And England's island is the size and
I cannot be more proud
I had fallen ill on top of the hill
An ailment faced with scorn
But whether it is time I kill
I did not know when born
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Buy me a rainbow
Pay for it with a pot of gold
I've heard tell, it will rain though
Summer sunshine leaves
Come don't believe all you've been told
Not unless its make-believe
Come on and buy me a rainbow
I just need it for all of my dreams
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Father of the winter
Mother of the summer
Call me to your homeward stack
Like a bee I fly to the hive
Like a gull on the wing
I glide
Cold climes, harsh times
The season's flak
Sway in the bristling pines
I look for my father in the winter
But my mother in the summer time
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
All the bells and the whistles
And the flights taking off
The shoes on the run way, the tarmac
going soft
In the heat that feels like the street
got a cough
and is wheezing and teasing the trees to turn off
But the trees are shy and turn their branches away
As the birdies they fly from the nests where they stay
And the shadows crawl across the hours of the day
As Bodza street wakes in it's inimitable way
The dogs begin their barking and the trucks
begin to rumble and the whole earth shakes
But the foundations do not crumble
And the plane takes off, or a different one lands
As they groan in their descent, like the ascent of man
And there are some neanderthals and some who stand up straight and tall
And there are some cathedrals which ring their bells to cap it all
and then there is the pigeon calls who hum and burble coos
in the leaves of the trees of the capital
And the burgeoning degrees of freedom stand
Like men and women shaking hands in separation April
To Self isolation autumn
The diggers and the straight laced boots of my degradation
And fastening don't get cute
Before seat belts became a regulation
Then car crashes and tobacco stashes,
Lie in the police station
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The Summer's gone
The Autumn comes again
On a song, of falling rains
And if it's not right
Then no matter what you do
It is wrong,
time and time again
Come undone
Come together like the dew
In the morning on the grass blades
When you flew through
The sky, oh you tern or curlew
When you flew time and time again
Come undone
Like the winter time that grew
wind and light
Come apart again
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Autumn rain
Down my window pane
The world is ill, yet it's turning still
Like a stolen photograph
I keep looking back upon the past
And yet the rain fills my palm
And I know I won't come to any harm
Take me back down memory's lane
Take me there though not in vain
Just a place and just a time
When we were free, and we were fine
Out on past the fields of corn
To the haunted woodland torn
Through darkened valley's way
Giving birth to a bright new day
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
What does my building say about me?
A Church, an apartment
Or you might live in a tree
An Italianate, baroque palatial frieze
A facade on the cards or
a post office parquet
You might live in a bank
And call it Art
You might be a river rat
And think that you're smart
Does living in a vault mean you are at fault?
Or down by the green meadows
Not mean you're ever in shadows
For do we choose our homes
Or do they choose us
Each is a road to Rome
It is do it or go bust
But is it all as capricious as the wind
Torn by time and trust
Dumped down by the tempest
Having circumstances thrust upon us
Well wild is the wind
In the corner of the park
Wild winds blow chill in
The foreign country's dark
But run from your home
Or stay still and rust
It's all just a rolling stone
That gathers no moss
And happiness is a home
A home is where the heart is
Comfort and some bliss
On the road to Rome
Look out for your pension
Don't worry about inflation
Negative equity and property booms
On the Road to Rome
House price increase
Mortgage decrease
Only in a blue moon
How about not thinking
doom and gloom?
In the parking lot of common sense
Where the council takes its recompense
And even woodland elves help themselves
To the goodies on the shelves
Greed and self-reliance
Blowing hot air over vipers
Of envy and jealousy
And competing neighbours
And every day seems like a fight
But though I know that don't seem right
It's what makes the winning and the losing
An end in themselves
And so petty rivalries from conclusions
Drawn from some imagined illusions
Of another's backstabbing collusion
Should be vanquished like the night
Yet when truth shines on a light
As I know in my heart it might
Despite all dark forces of might
That bear the shadows of night
I cross my finger and the road
I just keeping carrying this load
Just wish to let go but don't
Because I believe in the light
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.