Auckland Poetry.com

So close to my end,
Feeling around in my darkness
too escape this nightmare eating at my mind,
slashing me too shreds.

Deep within my lost mind
My whispering angel helps me to open my lock doors,
for which I have never seen before that hides so deep inside of me.

Each door that opens is a new me forming,
Feeling every change take place,
Each time my angel whispers at me.

Pain that I have felt starts to fade,
Memories of hate soon fall away
Too create a new door to be discovered by me.

As I find me, each step taken,
A new part of me grows taking a new shape.
Finally seeing with my own eyes for once
too discover my wings I have spread before me.
Cause of my own whispering angels,
I have discovered what was in me.

A whispering angel,
Who has in time finally found her wings.

The Aliens

The still warm sun and the zephyr is keep
winter at bay, there is sadness in the air, as
a farewell that can’t be delayed and the boy
has run to the outer fields, sits on a stone
pats his dog and learns about the unavoidable.

Dark clouds from the north where nature is
solemn and there’s not a hint of frivolities
in their cities architecture, winter in hearts,
will disperse heartless protestant culture that
does not allow for lofty dreams and passion.

The zephyr is now a chilly wind, new rules
people must work harder, the leaders say,
and the almond tree must stop flowering in
mid winter spreading unseemly thoughts of
May, love and nights of passion.

October Mood.
Clouds are breaking up now and leisurely sailing
north, on the sky a proud rainbow that makes
the mistake of mirroring itself on a shiny cloud and
losses its soul to the image, hazes into a blur of pale
colour and dissipates. You can see the new rainbow
is a fake it’s the wrong way around; and when I tell
it so it hastily hides behind the mountain range trying
to look pretty for people on the other side.
A dead turtle on the road thrown out of a fast car by
someone fed up of having a pet that only ate lettuce
and lived wordlessly under the sink.
As big clouds drift northward, I wonder if fish see
icebergs as we see clouds. “Look, at that amazing,”
cloud!” A poetic cod says. “It’s only chunk of ice,”
the practical cod says, it’s a big fish, has a degree in
marine biology. The poet cod doesn’t answer, rapt it
doesn’t see the net and gets hopelessly stuck in verbs,
commas, full stops and archaic words only found in
the Oxford thesaurus. The big fish swims on, but looks
up and sees cobalt light, as coming from the inside of
an iceberg, it finds that “quite interesting” but refuses to
use words like lovely… and worst of all beautiful.

A Landscape

Here in this landscape of bushes and crippled
trees, silence speaks of the final peace.
Grotesque dead trees, daylight ghosts, stand there
with grey boughs stretching upward appealing
to a fairytale god, “give us today a new life” but
no, there is only one god he is almighty, and hears
not your fearful whispered wishes, those who do
not understand are doomed to a life of an empty
pursuit for pleasures, crowding nightclubs and
casinos trying to avoid being alone with the night
and facing the truth: we are mortal and heaven is
to be remembered for a while by other mortals.
Faces in a black frame seeing you seeing through
you and into a void. Yet I fear not this landscape as
it is shunned by man and no harm can happen to me
here except the inevitable

The Prophecy

The horses that drink water in the shallow river
on the grassland look up spooked by a low flying
plane its enormous wingspan is a shadow of ill
omen, frightened the horses gallop till they are
are tired then begin grazing again.

The far mountain is Canadian blue and hazy, like
there should be a forest fire or another war on its
other side. A lotus swarm of helicopter gunships
appear, cross the flatland and jolt the horses into
gallop again; and the sky darkens.

Then on the far mountain appears a new sun, it
shines bright for a while then dies like a comet,
a storm blows the grass withers and when silence
comes the river is empty, the horses are dead;
and the mountain top is a cold diamond.

Deep within the comfort, deep within the ease
Lies a tangling with a past he’s trying to unleash

Amongst a repertoire of dealings in life’s intricacies
Is a love unrecovered, he recalls and reminisces

A family once strong and jointed
Is torn and tattered like pieces of a jigsaw

Laced with airs of grace and poise is a façade
It crumbles under life’s uncertainties and toils

Faced with a coming of age and disappointment
There is a conflict, a battle with his allocated providence

A world of riches is sought, the ultimate pursuit
He will not tolerate any form of rebuke

There is a furious surge to beat the clock
A mending of what could be lost is stirring

Dealings are made to fulfil the golden dream
Hustling, pushing to satisfy the intensity

Distant memories leave him confused and unsure
An independent nature threatened, he wants to give more

But deep within the comfort, deep within the ease
Lies merely a man; just a boy

In Chains

In the valley where I live there are no elephants
and that’s sad for the children who have to go
indoors and watch a wildlife program on TV to
see one of those magnificent creatures.

My valley is far from Africa and is full of olive,
lemon and almond trees that make the landscape
look like its been painted by Van Gogh, friendly
mules too lend ambience, but sadly no elephants.

Saw an elephant, once, at a fair, it was chained to
rusty iron looked forlorn gloomy eyes that often
cried but it had resigned to its fate, it’s sad to see
an animal robbed of its natural dignity.

The ship set sail
I thought it was her
She didn’t want to know
The plan had hatched
I was a sailor
Rocking as a ship
on the moon tide
I visited port to port
Docking with the veils of the night
Something necessary to society
Something easy for me
After her who could blame
Then along you came
I changed I had my answer
But I still played the game
The Irish theme one
Catholic is my bane
I proved it works
It made my name
I still wonder why you left
Each time it comes up I feel pain
I would beg to make your name
And give up this game
Home I would be again.

The Unseeing

Today in I saw a couple walking hand in hand,
he was forty years older than her, she was blind
and loved her old man dearly. If the world went
blind there would be peace and quiet except for
the screams of the new blind people falling down
elevator shafts until they got the hang of it.

Clever as humanity is we would soon have
remote controlled robots to drive tanks in streets,
shooting hole in houses and planes dropping its
cargo of cluster bombs over kinder gardens, and
frightened people running amok and stumbling
over walls built by those who have most to fear.

Peace conference in Vienna, a thousand blind
delegates with their dogs, that’s a lot of crap in
in the boulevard; mind, no one to see the mess.
Mow back to the point, be a good idea for lonely
old man to get a blind girlfriend, preferable one
who hasn’t learnt to read Braille.

Many words left unspoken,
No one to care to listen to a lost voice.
For one person in need their words of hope go unsaid.

Lost words getting left behind
too build on to more problems,
Emotions left in the cold dark night,
Which adds on to their low self esteem.

Leaving breaking souls walking next to one another,
that dare not share an eye flutter,
Afraid everything will crumble down next to them.

Scared to open up thoughts they leave behind
in which could save them the pain they go through.
Yet no one stops to listen,
No one cares to hear a voice.

Lost words that we leave behind haunts us all,
As we grow older, our words no longer matter.
We hide away that cry for help,
Cause no one is there for us lost ones.
Our words go forever unspoken.

Nostalgia

The rock I used to climb was my mountain,
I had an unlimited view of fields, hedges,
trees and grazing animals;

Mice moved my mountain, too dangerous
for children, the field is full of little houses
and back yards with swimming pools;

Blue uniforms drive slowly around to see
If all is well, in nice streets cars are parked
but where are the kids on bikes?

This is twaddle, I give a shit where they
are as long as they keep off my lawn and
don’t steal my car.

A Landscape

Here in this landscape of bushes and crippled
trees, silence speaks of the final peace.
Grotesque dead trees, daylight ghosts, stand there
with grey boughs stretching upward appealing
to a fairytale god, “give us today a new life” but
no, there is only one god he is almighty, and hears
not your fearful whispered wishes, those who do
not understand are doomed to a life of an empty
pursuit for pleasures, crowding nightclubs and
casinos trying to avoid being alone with the night
and facing the truth: we are mortal and heaven is
to be remembered for a while by other mortals.
Faces in a black frame seeing you seeing through
you and into a void. Yet I fear not this landscape as
it is shunned by man and no harm can happen to me
here except the inevitable