Tag: Poetry

Recovery

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This time it didn’t matter if I held you
I guess my heart grew stronger from all the breaks
Like a junky with a kicked addiction
my track marks no longer have aches

I fought through the pain of withdrawal
alone and in despair
Worth nothing more to you, forgotten
in some gutter behind nowhere

Day and night I yearned for another fix
even if it was to be my last
Only it was you who controlled the poison
Stronger than any vial or any glass

I had to kick this dirty habit
I just had to say goodbye
For the therapy of holding on to you
was worse than coming down from the high

Now, my veins are finally clean
suppressed from the urge of you
It took my own rock bottom to discover…
that a drug can be tainted too

Dream A Little Dream Of You

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tell me how I can make a dream come true
like the one I had last night of you
and then there was the night before
and…well, so many many more

it’s the one where you said hello
and the tears suddenly began to flow
we rushed into an embrace and held each other tight
all I wanted to do was hold on with all my might

I tried to stay for as long as one dream could remain
in a place void of the hurt, the loss, the pain
oh please tell me how I can make that dream come true
when I dream a little dream of you

Bum Stories

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a weathered man greets me on a corner
his face, aged ten times and his smile barely cracks
but I know it’s there as his eyes always confirm
for a million moments in passing
he shares with me his story
I read every line trenched in his scaling cheek
and coarse wore out locks
paint for me a daily tragedy
and all I do is keep walking

What’s Staring Back?

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It’s black inside the ocean
especially in the shadows where sharks pretend to sleep
my eyes barely banish their stares
until what lurks finally confronts me
but…
why have they not teethed
on this body that drifts alone
lifeless and willing
could they sense poisoned blood
from just a taste
am I worse


French Island

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surrounded in the francais
schoolboys like I, chase through stone corridors in jest
pass tank topped bread makers and
rum runners filling dark sacks
who was I to speak to the going-ons of this foreign land
take me instead to the countryside
in an hour less a half
share with me tales
let me sip wine
and pretend that I am a man





Can I Ash You A Favour?

This is me having that thought.

Hey all,

I hope everyone’s having a good week, we’ve made it to Hump Day at least. So, I was out running the other day and as you can see from above, it was a pretty nice day. Good thinking weather with the sun shining and downtown buzzing with activity. Along the way, I stopped for a look-around and just before I turned for home, a thought popped up in my head. Something I would love to have your help with. For the last few years, I have been entering my poems into a national poetry contest and I am on the verge of submitting again for 2019. Some of you know that I have my anxieties when it comes to hitting publish on my poetry work, but I’ve learned to post anyway. One of the main reasons for this is because of you fine people, my awesome followers. Your follows, likes, and wonderful comments over the years have given me so much confidence in my writing. In this case, my poetry. You’re a huge part in the evolution of my poem writing and in saying that, it brings me to my special favour.

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