Category Archives: Poems

Pilchard Paul

Pilchard Paul washes his wellies in the rushing river.
The skies sadden as the wintery wind keeps coming.
The sodden soil is certainly saturated this stormy stroll.
The loud lion roars raucously as the gloomy grey clouds close in.
A clap and a crack as frightening fracturous light lands on the loam.
Lion licks his colossal coat, wringing wet from the ridiculous rain.
Suclulent scent sniffed by the Lion’s lust for fantastic food.
Pilchard Paul runs and rushes toward the car on the corner.
Crafty clever cogs Lion lives not far the pride in from the periphery.
Low lionesses spring sporadically seemingly out of nowhere now.
RIP Pilchard Paul. Fishermen. Father of 2 bonny boys. Tim and Todd.

Living With My Cat

Things aren’t all bad.
Things are mostly bad with some good.
Nothing is absolute.
Everything can change.

Relativity and uncertainty.
Are how I understand.
Focusing on the process.
Not the result.

I remember things I do.
I forget things I’ve done.
Improving without knowing.
Happening by it’s own accord.

Seeing with my eyes open.
Doesn’t halt my dreams.
Holding you with warm regard.
I am living with my cat.

The Valkyrie

It was raining in Fishguard for what seemed like an age.
She lived in an old wooden hut that had been built in days.
From a distant land, she was a raider from afar.
Settled down with a lobsterman she met at the bar.
In an outpost quite ancient – it had it’s own ways.
Their calender would deal celebrations on different days.
Blue rocks lined the valley – significant this stone.
Used to build henges and circles unknown.
She knew of this tradition but was a warrior by trade.
Settled dispute without force, with the wit that she made.
The lobsterman was abusive – he took her by force.
So one day she killed him – self defence of course.
The next day the sun shined and flowers did bloom.
Yet she was put in a prison to face her ultimate doom.

Happy

The shadows of the leaves
keep moving
as my face feels the breeze

The sky is as blue as it gets
My face is flush and warm
Momentum carries me along
Breath feeds my lungs

The rustle of the trees
keep sounding
as the birds do what they please

One foot then the other
I’m feeling light and free
Bounding across a stream
Happiness heals the past

A poem written on the bus home from counselling

Dreamlike imagination stems not from a wilderness, but the void. All ideas come from this same source. Ideas may arise from each other yet can remain separate concepts.

Memories exist like lucid footprints in the snow. The fall of expectations meets the pressure of a successful outcome, covering past happiness in a lack of nowness.*

In the present I’m a star seer looking out through the window at the night sky. Enjoying the moment for what it gives. Sadly, this will change, but I must accept it. Acceptance is the root of all self improvement.

*I apologise for this monstrous sentence of pretentious twaddle in particular.

Winter

Sitting at my table drawing because I don’t want to pay my TV licence.
Everyone’s overdrawn. I’m lacking inspiration. I’m losing patience.

Draw the curtains because the night is closing in.
It’s too cold to go out. I’m sick of living in my own skin.

People are being encouraged to do it for themselves.
Where has the community gone? Where do I belong?

Not knowing what is going on in the age of information.
This is the new normal. Caring is becoming informal.

Pandas

Pandas are solitary creatures,
who sit around and think until it hurts.
They feel stress more than most,
as they ponder over problems and worries.

There is a place where pandas gather.
Together stronger, not facing the world alone.
Sharing hope, helping each other recover.
They keep in touch and give one another hugs.

Attempting to heal can be simple.
Support can be the smallest thing.
In their minds, they begin to thrive.
In their hearts, ever closer they come.

Pandas are solitary creatures,
who sit around and think until it hurts.
Never will they suffer alone,
For all pandas help those in need.

Seabear Tree Arms

An old bear paw, sitting in a jar.
Under a tree that never grew any leaves.

A light blinking through the branches.
A clouded mind clawing at the calm.
Wandered towards the timber,
bent and twisted.
Sanity falls.

Laying there in a daze.
Next to chlorophyll
functioning in the grass.
Every blade as important as the next.
Together creating a habitat.

Storing hope for new roots.
Sparking aspiration to be well again.
You can really find yourself, in losing your mind.

Pencils and Pens

I like pencils and pens,
writing materials and paper.
Lions and tigers,
cheetahs and leopards.
I like jumping and puddles,
getting muddled and confused.
Plants and flowers,
flour and bread.
I like eyes and ears,
sensing life and feelings.
Thinking and reversing,
negative photos and drawings.

Someone

I saw a photo of someone and I want to smoke a cigarette with her,

just her, just because…

Well because… She looked lonely as me, she was a pea in a bowl trapped under cling film, I was a glimpse – an image, a moment in time, seemingly screaming alone in an unspent void!

I don’t even smoke anymore.

Take a seat, I’ll be your chair for this evening.
Tired, it won’t be long before you’re leaving.
Take some heat, I’m highly strung tonight.
Giving off warmth, you might, just might, just might pluck my branches until tomorrow afternoon. So let’s fight!

****

Tomorrow afternoon, we can play and have a sight of the sea, draw the rocks on the beach, weigh up options, how much balance does it take to say thanks for being a snapshot.

Lass, you move differently to how I guessed, but you leave me shaking, dissecting truth from my words, you are everything I need. Of course you might never know if the mirrors aren’t set up well. If the angles are wrong and the camera isn’t set.

Depression

*inaudible scream*

The place is cold and empty.
Lying on the floor with six white bowls, in them remnants of rice or a partial crust of toast. I can’t speak. I have no intention to. All the complements I give are thoughts. Instead I give you a shiver or a tear.

Cat

The first time I saw you. Your face said bring down the monarchy. It said we could live in a world of equality where we need not worry about war. It said disarm all nuclear weapons and spread joy to the disadvantaged. It said meow. You were a cat.

Spinning

My mind was spun.
Faster and faster it was pushed, a mad oscillation. It learnt too young, too quickly. Turning anti clockwise, a jarring, silent tick.
Too soon this top did wobble, like an unstable blur. As life became clearer. I became thick.
Slowing, unsynchronised and spiralling from it’s source. You’ve won a window. Why not take your pick?

****

Do you ever notice that people paint their problems on others they desperately want to relate to?

Light Hearted

Every time I let out a sigh,

I begin to see little birds fly.

Yet, I can catch one if I move quick.

Or is it about choosing one to pick?

Too late! My chance has gone.

Now there is night where the sun shone.

If they were dozing by day and sleeping at nightfall…

I’d just pick one up and then I’d walk tall.

But no, awake, and with wings they fly.

Every time I let out a sigh.

Behind a stare

What goes on behind a stare?

I don’t know but it’s hardly fair,

To blame me for your lousy mood.

I just can’t help looking at you.

What can I do to cheer you up?

Should I smile at you as I look?

It occurs to me that you are free.

So help me see what puzzles thee.

Once I knew a girl whose hair was curled.

Kind and smiled like she owned the world.

But she only made me bitter and twisted.

Like an ale mixed with lemons or something…

Write: Wrong or Left

Write: wrong or left.

Wrong or left. I wrote.

The ramblings of a so called addled brain.

Controlled by medication not to go insane.

You have good looks and knowledge deep.

Counts for nothing when you’re asleep.

Certain that there’s no perfection. Things seem mundane.

In the absence of this, there’s a aroma so sweet. These things from the void light up his face. The light, the everlasting glow. The love, the fountain of original gifts.

So remember Miss, when he approaches the lamppost, he cannot decide which way to walk around. He’s stood, just waiting.