A small collection of my favourite poems I’ve written over the last 3 or 4 years. To those who read this, you must be very special and no doubt influenced me in some way. This is for you and for me.

Thank-you.

“My tears are like the quiet drift

Of petals from some magic rose;

And all my grief flows from the rift

Of unremembered skies and snows”

Dylan Thomas.

…And so they escaped the weight of the world,

Back to the cosy lakeside,

The water was navy paper, overlapping itself many times again,

It's origami so vivid in the midnight mass,

"Do you think our souls could work like that one day?

Flowering, free, fading and forever?"

They climbed into the lake- cuts, bruises and all-

Letting the currents slowly fold them back together.

War!

War! You are a criminal!

When loathsome old men tell tales of justice and victory,

And the tragedians are so naive and so ingenuous,

It's a love story fuelled by hate,

A happy ending for lives already tarnished,

When one man's beliefs are another's bane!

And its resolution isn't a revolution,

And its culmination isn't a revelation.

Those who survive didn't really survive,

It wages on until our homes are split in ruin,

And the Earth becomes as poisoned as their minds.

The wishing well harbors wealth of many kinds,

Penny's sunken hopelessly, pleas waning through space,

They'd beckon release from their imperfect lives,

In the inner confines of Chicago.

We all carry suitcases and watches above and below,

Glossed shoes shimmering across mundane pavement,

Those who lost the time bleed deep crimson in isolation,

In the Metropolis of Chicago.

Feuds of ancestors wage unrelenting hate,

Ebony skin deep sweated with condensation,

They hide knives in their belts and money in the dry wall,

In the Southern Suburbs of Chicago.

The bread money is cheaper when you live on Tick Tick's,

Relinquishing the need for an angry fix of up-me's,

Tinging putrid and rancid aroma,

In the Northern Suburbs of Chicago.

Intoxens run through my stagnant veins of old,

Delusioning my mind into overarching truths,

They never thought to check the lonely ponds west of Chicago,

Where the tadpoles relish in unpressured waters.