Shocked wide awake.

A dream that has unsettled my well being, my state.

Thoughts now anchored firmly in my mind.

Unable to shake them off i try to unwind.

Darkness overwhelms me, doubled with dreams.

My thoughts are racing, my heart bursting at the seams.

Talk myself in to a quite smoke.

Thoughts lost in stars with every toke.

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Cocoon me in your warm embrace

Envelop me in love

Adore me, be my saving grace

My angel from above.

Allow your wings to guide me

Give comfort deep within

Show me true serenity

Release me, let me in.

Calm my fears, appease my soul

Escort me from this land

Carve my name upon your scroll

Protect me, take my hand.

Call time upon this life of mine

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Hasta la pasta?
Annoying filament knots
of spaghetti spools.

The squeals of delight
flow from all fishing children
with uncontained joy.

Sounds of spinning spools
always brings me much comfort,
for I'm not at work.

Floating down the stream?
Not a dream, after dropping...
A bag of bobbers.

In early morning
anxious fish are awaiting
the autumn school bells.

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My vanity has slipped the leash.
I’ve fallen for the lie again
that, if my work is lauded, talent
tips my lightly guided pen.
I realise I'm wrong. I think
opinion and taste are much
mistaken for objective truth and
neither should be seen as such.

I wonder then quite what I seek
and why I share what I produce.
Circling my shifty ego
ultimately I reduce
myself to cells and ganglia
and...

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When the sale fell through,
Carl Side put his yoke and pike up for auction
At the place with the green gable
on the longside of the High Street. 
"Let's start on ten," said the auctioneer, a little man. 
"Five", said the grey friar.
"Too low, pike alone is worth eight," said the auctioneer. 
"I'll raise you twenty," said an old man. 
That's a high raise thought Carl.
"I'll raise another...

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Your smile,

     Is unwittingly bearded compassionate as it wilts to grey, Just below maleficent eyes that sparkle fear into employee's but they're never filled with hatred, For thy arms deny every motion of threatening before a heart that's raging with commitment, To see through the identity of dreams that is forever... To be continued.

In earnest anticipation of,

A's Smile...

A...

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Fluttering slowly past
A flicker of light, of technicolour
Paradise through a rainbow lens
Dust floats still in the eye of the sun
The laughing, trickling waterfall
In the corner - the fountain, the wine and food
Spinning slowly in a dream
That became reality
These flowers, these patterns, swirl upon memory
Strung out throughout the mind
A show of lights inside our heads
The fabric soft...

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There's nothing wrong
With me 
He said
I'm just enjoying 
The view
That man is
Swinging 
Not hanging 
He said
And I feel the pain 
And suffering 
Of the whole world
There is no bother
Here though
He said
No more than 
Any place else
And the more you 
Fight 
The more you lose
He said
Keep the beat
Or skip it
It's all the same 
To me
No one is going any place
Any sooner 
T...

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It is dark out there,

Where did the light go?

I can't see a thing,

But can feel the snow.

And the temperature is dropping,

Twenty below.

And my sister stopped moving,

And mother is slow.

Father has gone,

To where, I don't know.

And it is dark out there,

And still the wind blows.

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TILF

They parade down the catwalk
outside of number ten
it’s David’s new TILF army
taking over from the men
cause he’s not likely to be a winner
at next years general election
and if it doesn’t work for him
well, he’ll still have the erection
as he brings some lovely ladies
into the cabinet
because the wrinkly bastards
were as bad as it could get
so here are some ideas Dave
that ...

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This poem was written with the Waitrose food poems in mind.  I thought I'd invite WOL to tea!!!

......................................................................

When Rock Bun first saw Cherry Tart

It was plain she sweetened his hard heart

The other cakes upon their shelves

Decided to amuse themselves

Competing with him for their fun

Made poor Rock a hot cross bun!

......

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Beyond the light
we invoke demons
above the air
behind the wind
below the rain
I dispel the humming bird
Heavy, the heat is fleeing
colourful the spirits Beware!
The Knave never ends
translucent defiant
lost in broad daylight
an unreliable map
In whose eyes
the face in your mirror
grow old
while the world changed
We breathe glowing snakes
beside the spirits cold
I conjure the chi...

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But one single bullet, from barrel to throat,
Choked and opened the wounds of the world,
Unfurled in the seat of a phaeton,
Played on like the most tragic of tragedies,
Greek in essence but eastern in substance,
As Sophie wilts in the lap of Austria,
A single shot through the heart of a continent,
The blood racing fast to the carriage beneath,
Signals the start of relentless war lines,
It...

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I've tried to be a saviour one too many times

Tied myself in knots, pacing parking lots

Trying to find reasons to their rhymes

But now I realise it's not something that people crave -

To be savioured in some random stranger's way

People want to save their own damn day.

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Her ivory skin I ne’er saw nor touched

She being very real appeared to me

On a screen of black and white sound;

A mere photograph moving

Coerced by the lightest of dark magic

I have seen her as many characters

I have seen her and grown old

When I was a child her thin limbs and black hair

Attracted me in each role

Against her I am but a disgrace to my gender

...

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In a dull old place a dead old face

Reads the regional news

Tells you it'd be better

If it weren't for the weather

And the Pakis and the Jews

You're bored to tears with your rent arrears

And general lack of money

Though when you asked for a job

Some greasy old slob

Said there's no work round here sonny

Well you take a drag at a badly rolled fag

And try to...

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AUNTIE ROSE

Auntie Rose
lived next door to us
here in Southwick.
Twenties flapper hat
Twenties clothes
Twenties shoes
...it was 1964.
Faded, but still glamourous.
Retired buyer
for Debenhams of Brighton.
Never married.
Every Tuesday
after primary school
I'd go round for tea.
Tinned herring roes on toast
Cheese and onion crisps
a game of snap
then home to bed.
Every Tuesday
I'...

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Life - like the sound of a bell

Bold at first but fades to a whisper

Who would be the one to tell

Perhaps a mother brother or sister,

Past your peak and gone to seed

Your realisation is sudden it would seem

Most of life sat in thought

Just idle dreams of what could have been,

The recognition of this phase of being

Propells you forward with purposeful meaning

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NB. There maybe more of these but i am busy for a bit now.. These were wrote for Heatons Twaiku (https://twitter.com/heatonstwaiku/)

1 - 9 were done on 26 July 2014

10 - 15 were done on 27 July 2014 (Blog updated) 

I

Buried in borrowed light 
You're glad you are wearing glasses 
walking home in the darkness

II

Catching dreams 
You reflect on your youth
Writing songs...

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I remember his name and features

from my brief matchbox phase

that sparked up and fizzled out

like so many others. Phillumeny,

yes, that’s the word. Cutting out the labels, 

I glued them to homemade charts.

When Bryant and May raised his profile

he couldn’t have been more famous,

if he had stared from banknotes.

On a cheap box of lucifers

– the white cliffs at hi...

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If you're a musician

Then you probably

Have issues with your parents.

If you're a poet

Then you probably

Like musicians.

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Sometimes on a sunny day, early, 

earlier than the busses,

before the traffic around my house

has time to make me reach

for the radio news, and

look day straight in its face.

Sometimes I search out from under

the debri of tasks ahead that have me sighing-

at folders of forms and issues to confront.

Sometimes with the back door open,

accepting the light to pool on the ...

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I have just released my third collection of poetry entitled "From A to Believe"

http://www.lulu.com/shop/paul-sands/from-a-to-believe/paperback/product-21727929.html

It can only be purchased via Lulu at the moment but will become available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble over the next few weeks

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Alone in this room as the paper falls from the walls,

i shout, i scream but not a soul hears my call,

won't someone come save me, no-one at all??,

Bound by disillusion and fear, my body goes numb,

stomping of feet stops at the door, has someone really come??,

i'm begging, i'm praying, i'm hoping for dad or mum,

will i ever see my family again, will i ever return??.

Right there...

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Oh wondrous River Avon

Gurgling gently and so free

Dissecting Bradford-upon-Avon

On through Wiltshire to the sea

See the lanterns, hear the children

Watch their parents smile with glee

Once the festival has started

Please do not look for me

I'll be in the —anal Tavern

Hoping they've replaced the 'C'!

There is less than a week to go if you want to enter.

...

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Swept away by these waves of confusion,

Iam now stranded in the island of chaos.

Just yesterday I was dreamily looking into the horizon;

Peacefully sailing in my boat of bliss.

I didn't see that big wave coming,

I didn't hear the roar of thunder,

I couldn't smell the storm.

Whoosh,wham,slam,wreck...

And now Iam all alone in this strange wilderness;

I see no light,I can f...

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..

I gave you the pearls in bed
and you counted them all one by one
thread breaking sending them curving
across your skin beneath the cotton sheet
between your thighs.
And again one by one like prisoners
rounded up from the cold forest I
escort them back threatening each
with solitude should their careless display
have confused my gift with threat
of shallow desire.

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An Apathetic State of Being

We’re all here,

Complaining of life love

The Gaza Strip and Syria,

But we’re not compelled to

React the way some

Still have the balls to express,

And I guess,

It’s not for want

Of compassion,

It’s just that,

We’re tired,

We’re not the makings

Of epic feelings or

Playing to the gallery

On any particular crusade,

 ...

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Poetry comes from the heart and soul.

Whether it be serious or comic,

a short poem can speak volumes.

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Bless me Father, for I have sinned...
Its been a hell of a long time since my last confession here!

As always with blog posts, it bes a while between them. I call them my "confessions" as it normally sums up what I have been doing in the while before them.



So, for the past year, we have had a number of poetry readings in Tullamore and thereabouts with theTullamore Rhymers Club that I am...

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Remember

The sea with fury

Beating waves upon the shore

The birds - soaring high

But now the horror falls

Upon the blind man

Upon the dog who howls to the once blue sky

A child - who wonders if this is life

Crawls beneath the debris of his time

Seven times I heard their scream

Once I heard their death

Is this a dream ?

As I stumble in the mist

I try...

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You switch me off

You turn me on

You tell me I am the light of your life

But you switch me off

And you turn me on

Sometimes I feel so dirty and abused

I have got the fingerprints that prove

And still I let you touch me

You switch me off

And you turn me on

You push, you shove, you ram

You turn me on

You crash , you burn, you shout enough

And when you...

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(A modern tale)

Strange, the way their love disintegrated:

Spats and small disloyalties-petty spites-

Were for the most part causes. No reasons, really,

But squabble enough for their small hearts

And feeble loves. And though, at first,

There was an ache around the hollowness,

It was of small consequence – soon gone.

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(In a rather dark humour so I thought to re-post this.  I do forewarn audiences this is a little shocking but they are always shocked)

The mission’s not impossible; it is not even hard;

I just enact the script for Him - a player, nothing more;

It’s happened in the future once it’s become His Word,

Which is to purge creation of the Babylonian Whore.

She worms her way throug...

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The generators thunder on

Churning up the air like a thick furrowed plough

Relentless in sound

 A backbone to the field

which tastes like gasoline

Rumbling the undergrowth

The size of home is the thickness of this noise

And the area with which they spread their hold

Engine meeting engine black grimed

young men with dreadlocks bunched up like tree stumps

 long hair and...

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Something that you said
'He can't come with us, he's dead'
Stuck with me for decades
It still does.

Your Sister hoiked you shoulder high
Slapped you on her back
We chattered to the local shop
Bought Number 6 for old time's sake.

You mocked my endless misery
And told me 'don't wear black'
In our retro table football game
Played Norman Wisdom at left back

Forced me to dance to...

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i thought i was broke:

http://www.poetedwinkuria.blogspot.com
I dragged my feet slowly to 'e bank,
pushed glass the door nd walked in ,
upto "e plump man at the reception ,
then handed in my account number ,
the bank balance was as ever is nil,
these figures made my heart sink,
i was breathing, walking i thought ,
fit healthwise for which i never pay,
enjoying 'ese services each seco...

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Palaces of words.

We search for truth in thought, build palaces of words and pyramids of philosophy,  but how often do these palaces become crystal unclear prisons and our pyramids lead us to be encapsulated in our own sarcophagus.

How often is all this philosophising an exercise in futility, the seeds of idealistic theorising sown on council estate pavements that only seem to hold...

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Since the bloody Battle of Hastings
When 'Arold got killed by French Bill
We've seen an endless invasion of French
And I've just about had my fill
 
Don't we have enough words of our own
In this wonderful language of ours?
- To seek and find le mot juste
Dunt take much linguistic power

It seems using French has been with us forever
Passed down as a fait accompli
Have we ever really tr...

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Life is a wonderful but hard mix of confusing emotions and your mind at times becomes full of guilt that makes you want to runaway but also stay. Then the world has its interference with you and your decisions become unbearable.  You cant think straight , you feel like your in a love triangle, all confused then you realize you cannot be in love if you do not love yourself.

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After Southerndown Storm

These shores are my medicine,
a coastal playground,
for
the spaces
in my mind.
Not tangible,
constantly changing.

This last storm
has
altered them
forever.

Yellow ochre clay
lies
sticky,
exposed,
where
Atlantic weather has shaped
the waves
to clear
the limestone fossilised pebbles,
hurling them
on the
cracked
tarmac
carpark
at Dunraven Bay.

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ELAINE DE ROPP
Who loved to thwart children
and was sacrificed to a polecat-god

A woman named ELAINE DE ROPP
Believed in knowing when to stop;
In being careful to be quite
Respectable and Good and Right,
And Decent, Upright, Free from Sin,
Unlike her cousin Conradin.
He rarely did as he was told.
For Conradin was ten years old,
And as is good for girls and boys
Was fond of Laughter, ...

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Let us pretend 

that we haven’t been this way before

too recently and too often

that this is the way forward

that it is the road to the peace

which eluded you when you sent 

planes and tanks and men 

into Lebanon, Ramallah, Jenin,

Gaza, Gaza, Gaza.

Let us pretend

that this time will be different 

that this time will be worth it

that you can tot up the lives...

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Blood on flashing dancefloors;

towards the courts of monochrome

our killer slouches home.

Time is running out, I'm suddenly aware

and the poetry flows -

and so it goes...

The beauty of grit is retrospective.

Strawberry juice on chin

swallowed in one breath

over a mis-shaped tattoo

Tattoos last longer than love;

ink is the blue kiss of death...

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I know it's not poetry, but I have performed it once, so I hope that makes it okay. My short story The Last Meal of the Condemned is available to read online at Litro:

http://www.litro.co.uk/2014/07/the-last-meal-of-the-condemned

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Heavy hearted I walk

Into the unknown 

As familiar turns unfamiliar

I lay helpless

Waiting for whom I thought would save me

As I watch them betray me.

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Flags Jousting

The plain song moves 

Drifting on the wind

Flags riffle

At its passing

A nervous horse

Prances and kicks

Death pauses

Wipes his plate 

For rich feeding 

Combat approaches

Flags

They are weaving flags

Long silk threads

Twined and intertwined

Shrouds for the dead

For the not yet dead in truth

For the battle is yet to start

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It's not death that comes

its life that passes.

And all that’s left

must turn to ashes.

The sun will rise

and the moon will pass,

and the next day comes

when the night slips past.

So death cannot come

and make a claim,

for time moves on

and soothes the pain.

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