Tag Archives: night

Us creatures

That game which is no longer a game

It is known to me

The spirits tell me everything

For they want me to be free

They’ve shown me all your dreams and fears

They’ve shown me all you’ve done

They have promised that someday

You, in my life will come

I won’t judge you for playing

Because I know you’re not playing now

Don’t judge me before you know me

When you know me, anyhow

Yes we’ve known each other

In another life

We’ve known each other in spirit

We’ve see each other’s strife

Our connection is a strong one

Telepathic and its true

Don’t think you have anything to prove to me

Because I know you through and through

All I am doing is waiting

For you to come to me

And talk awhile about what it is

What you want from me

I know it sounds strange right now

But I know what it is you want

And I have always been waiting

For this guy I’ve dreamt of, who haunts

I don’t think you realise

Just how much I know

The question is, will you come

Yes or no?

I can’t do a thing for you

Until you reach out a hand

I have been waiting all my life

And waiting is not grand

It breaks my heart to know things

The darkness has been warm

But my heart is heavy and cold

My heart is scratched and worn

But I know you will heal me

Because you feel it too

You and I share everything

We are one, not two

We live in the shadows

We pretend to kiss the light

But we both know what we really want

We really want the night

So offer me your hand

And I will take it for sure

Because living without you hurts me

And I can’t take it anymore

Saffy is close to falling fast asleep

So close to giving up

She needs her emperor beside her

To wake and shake her up

We are not giving up this easily

We are one you and I

We will fight this battle united

You will no longer cry

We will walk this earth together

And rule it with an iron might

Because together we cannot be vanquished

Us creatures of the night

8:07pm 25th February 2023

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Filed under poetry, spirituality

Are dreams real?

What are dreams?

Safe places to go to each night when you sleep all wrapped up cosy in your warm blankets and allow yourself some peace for the rest of the night.

A place where you can live out all your desires, including or excluding at your pleasure whoever comes and goes within it – it’s a time to play, inside your dreams!

A place where you won’t be judged and a place where you won’t get fat eating that burger or ten pounds of candy floss

But what is a dream when it becomes real and haunts you during the day, teasing you of its presence in reality?

But never really letting you know it’s there…

Hints, signs, cryptic messages, shadows and whispers

Those dreams are real and your life is about to change exponentially! 

What then?

Do we dream no more?

Do we live the dream?

Do we become the dream?

Are we alive?

Are we dead?

Are we real at all?

Were we ever?

02:53am 24th February 2023

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Filed under flash fiction

Writer’s insomnia

Must I write when the world is black and everyone’s lulled to sleep?

May I not sit with muse when the sun ejects his shards of light?

Do I have to be present with my muse at night?

Or is sadism he’s delight?

For I can only ever write

When there is an absence of the light…

Is my muse a demon?

Is my muse so dark?

Is my muse only really having a lark?

For my mind can’t settle to sleep at night

It only thinks and plays

This insomnia a writer has, keeps us in our daze

A tragedy we know so well

We write when he sits and tells

We can’t be free of our muse

We cannot sit and choose

What to do and when and how

We can only sit in the boat he sails

And lose another day

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Filed under poetry

Bats

In the deep subterranean chamber

Dark and murky, slime and stench

Engulfs the atmosphere

Bats line up in the heights

Sleeping to their delight

For nothing could happen here

The cavern of centuries is their home

They do not want to roam

The bats inhabit this very space

Often leave with winged grace

To fly off into the night fresh air

To gobble the moths here and there

On fettered wing they fly

Up into the night sky

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About my poetry

This post is not about bragging.

But to those who will read it, no doubt you will have your suspicions that it is a sort of act of boasting.

However, it should be said.

No poem on this blog has ever been revised or made into second drafts etc. and no poem in this blog was pained over for hours on end.

There, said it.

Most of my poems are done in less than twenty five minutes, first draft, scheduled or published online immediately without a second thought and I can only recite one poem I have ever written.

Food for thought, isn’t it?

It’s one of those reasons why I am not a member of any poetic clubs; I am not welcomed because I can push out three to five poems an hour without aching over the words I should produce.

It just naturally flows.

I was astounded to find some poets online take weeks to finish a piece, I personally couldn’t do that and I think it goes to show who is more dedicated to their craft.  They are – I wouldn’t faff around like that over one poem.

I live for the current emotion, it is the current emotions that drive the poetry I don’t want to hang on most of those emotions for weeks on end, good Lord I really would commit suicide if that was the case and at the moment I am only tiptoeing at the edge of it.

It took me about an hour and a half to write one poem once, the longest ever.

I do delete poems never to share them, this happens about twice a week, so you’re losing around a hundred to a hundred and fifty per year, because I am embarrassed to share the depths of my emotions at times.

Sometimes I preschedule poems for months in advance whilst I think about deleting them – at the moment there are seven whose future is as obscure as mine.

Nobody believes I can write that fast until they see me in action, offline. 

Then they accuse me of boasting.

But they did challenge me!

I will sit there and ask them, pick a subject and I will think about it for two or three minutes, to get my mind into the zone of that subject and how I feel about it and then the words pour out and the poem is done within minutes.

I can write a poem about anything, so long as it doesn’t feel like a lie to my heart.  For example, I couldn’t write a poem which is supposed to be a love song for Hitler – I hate fascists!

So that’s not a poem I could write.

But I could write one about cutting his balls off and feeding them to him, no matter how disgraceful that would be and inelegant.

That’s not an invitation for requests by the way!

I find it hard to write more than three poems a day, though I have been known to do up to ten.

I try to force myself to do at least one per day, if I live to a hundred imagine a future publication of all my poetic works, how many volumes could that possibly be?

Thing is, I haven’t a clue what I am doing poetically.

I have never been formally educated about it, I can’t tell a poem from a rhyme to a sonnet etc. – for all I know they could be the same thing but fancy names!

I do know what a haiku is though and I used to write them.

In fact talking of sonnets, I have been seriously thinking about reading a book to learn about those.

One of my dreams is to be patient enough with my poetry that I could actually write a poem as long as Shakespeare, Christina Rossetti and Edmund Spenser.

I have often thought about creating a large poem which is a story like Edmund Spenser’s Fairy Queen – that would be amazing if I could do something like that.

That would take me months, could I do it on an emotional level? 

I have often thought about challenging myself to do it!

I originally wrote the first chapter of a fantasy story in rhyme, with that very intention; but I couldn’t hold it throughout the story – it’s still in progress after nine years, but I haven’t added a thing to the project since 2015.

It’s about gargoyles protecting the heart of a young maiden who lives in the house they protect.

It’s a dark fantasy and very macabre, it’s sort of like Edgar Allen Poe meets Hans Christian Andersen.

I have a couple of online friends who have made the suggestion that I should go on stage and read my poems out there, but I won’t do that.

Why?

Because hilariously as it sounds, I don’t actually regard myself a poet yet!

Yet this is probably what I am best known for.

At the moment I am having a very poetic night – I am thinking about poetry a lot and I am frustrated that a book I have ordered from EBay is two weeks late in the post and I had to put in a complaint about it.

I want to finish the book and do the essays in it to learn what I am doing.  Unfortunately the library is fed up with me re-borrowing that book, I’ve had it a total nine weeks this last borrowing session and it’s the second time in a year I did that, having it for about eighteen weeks in total for the whole year!

I wish it would come soon!

It’s where some of my poems I’ve posted on here has been inspired by, such as “Grief”, “Brent Cross Shopping Centre” and “Lessons from life”.

Anyway, if that’s bragging I apologise!

Thanks for reading…

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Filed under About my work

I had a little dog and beetle was his name

I had a weird dream last night that I had a little black pug sized dog called Beetle and someone was trying to take him away from me!

He was called beetle because he had hair loss on the top of his head in the shape of a scarab beetle.

Weird dream, I know, but I have had stranger ones.

Thanks for reading.

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Filed under Dreams

I am a devil of the night

My life is like a butterfly

Everything I touch crashes burns and dies

When I try to make things better

Things only get wetter, soaked in the tears of the universe

It’s as though I am cursed

I don’t know why things are this way

I hope I will know some day

But now I am scared to reach out

For my touch feels like a clout

Yet it was meant to sooth

This is the truth

I didn’t mean to curse you with my presence

I guess it’s just my essence

Perhaps mother is right

I am a devil of the night 

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Filed under poetry

I was once

I was once full of snow

I was once aglow

I was once a rocky land

I was once the warm sand

I was once the air you breathe

I was once every tree

I was once the day and night

I was once a beautiful sight

I was once pure and free

I was once all you can see

I was once happy and blithe

I was once every tribe

I was once green and fresh

I was once alive and flesh

I was once every single thing

I was once round but not a ring

I was once hardy and strong

I was once immortal but I was wrong

I was once the Earth so sweet

I was once a live heart beat

I was once

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I regret the scrawls

I’m lost in pain

Drowned in thoughts

Twisted in knots

My heart churns like a sick stomach

Going insane with the loneliness

Swirling in a spell of bad blood

Spitting poisons and toxins till they flood

Because I had a dream

The dream scared me

Told me I can’t be free of being used

Cast away like an old shoe

Nobody can love someone like me

Because I’m ugly, can’t I see?

I’m stupid, immature and broken

Even worse, I’m stupid because I’ve spoken

About my fears though they might be wrong

But I can’t wait till I belong

With someone who loves me true and through

Someone to swim with me in the blue

Or better yet pick me up in a yacht

And sail off with me like a shot

I try to think of better things

But fears like that just ring and ring

Inside my head day and night

It makes me dribble words when I write

Lots of drivel on my blog

Creating a depressing catalogue

Of all my thoughts, hopes and fears

Things I will regret down the years

But I do try to calm myself

And put my feelings on a shelf

But the burden grows intense with weight

So writing this alleviates

Though it’s hard to stomach I know that

I am sorry for all the inner combat

I haven’t slept last night not much at all

Just sat up and regret the scrawls

But I need to get these things out there

Because those dreams did really scare!

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Filed under poetry

Trapped foe

A silvery moonlit path guides my way through the howls of the night to a place that non dares to go

Hunting a shadowy foe, within the mounds of obituaries covered in snow

It sneaks and ducks down and low, trying to hide from me is my foe

But I see him well and I track him down and soon the world shall be safe and sound

From the bite of the night that is my foe

I shall bring an end to woe

He is trapped; there is no place to go

But to deaths door as I bring down my blow

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Filed under poetry, Short Stories