I am, I’m free.
I live my life, can’t flee.
I’ll die. Why?
You tell me.
No. I’ll tell me.
Category Archives: Poetry
Harbour Street
Nose down Harbour Street in beating sun,
See quirky shops and cafes one-by-one
Link arms against the onslaught of the chains,
Who every year set out to stake their claims.
Bars on every corner so it seems,
Though elsewhere publicans give up their dreams.
The trippers trip in traffic as if blind,
I too remember how it was first time,
To smell the chips and touch the oyster shells.
I can’t be mad – this magic overwhelms.
And who can blame them all for liking here?
I came one day and stayed for twenty years.
It’s fresh, it’s free, it’s fun, the people smile,
Look healthy, happy, hippy, seaside-style.
Image by Nigel Wallace
I wanna be
I wanna be like you
Like Jungle Book Louie.
But most of all, you see
I wanna be like me.
To Jim on his birthday
Your cherished Pooh Bear’s dismal friend Eeyore
Said “Birthdays… here today and gone tomorrow.”
So we say feast and party all the more!!
A man so cool celebs just want to know
How to look like him, to look like Jim.
The piercing eyes, the curls of grey, the nose
Just so. M. Roux, Sharif, Houdini sim-
-ply rush to get the latest Jimmy trend,
So baggy trousers, retro Golfs are IN.
At forty-nine he’s nowhere near the end.
Indeed, unlike most other men his age,
He’s on the up, the launch pad, and his friends
Say “Great! There’s more to come from Jim, Hooray!”
More kinks, more piercings, maps and photo shots,
More dungeons, nipple clamps, his life’s not beige.
So here’s to forty-nine more years of not
What you’d expect your average chap to do.
From Essex to the Bubble raise a tot
To Jim, the Happy Birthday Boy, to you!
A Whitstable Bay Story
A jet-skier scuds across the bay’s blue bands
Of waveless water, busting enemy dams.
A propeller plane putters past the sun
And fires his rays at a tangled tamarisk gun.
Sheppey grips her light grey snood of haze,
Pulls it up to hide her frightened face.
The flapping bunting tugs, avoids the advances
Of brown-glass-bottle-reflected lances.
Wooden hearts on ribbons frayed and worn,
Throw disfigured shadows down the lawn.
White, still, windless mills : Ys in the sky.
A seagull glides and shrieks. A child cries.
Brave Jay
The young lad Jay decides to go for good.
How painful, hopeless, has his world become?
A selfish, angry way to scream for some,
For others now must live the pain he couldn’t.
What could we have done to change his mind
How could we have missed the signs of danger?
Could we have stopped the dreadful plan of anger?
What else could we have done to make life shine?
Nothing now, for he would end it this time.
So Jay the lad became that day a man,
He made his dark choice and his dreadful plan.
His pain is finished now, no life to mime.
Still for you he loved and left, yet he gave
Remembrance that your boy, your man, was brave.
Why?
Why did I love him? He’s broken my heart three times.
When will I ever learn, idiot, fool?
He is vulnerable but hides it by faces and mimes
Good looking, big-hearted underneath the cool.
Wants not to be tangled in the past of ice
More than a year he strings along a man,
Me, for whom he meant the world at a price.
Hiding his real love: another sham.
It was pretty one-way I paid for him to live,
For nothing much back from him but talk and bluff,
‘Love you’ he said, but there was none left to give.
A year later he finally braves it enough
To answer my question, (never to fess up straight).
Suggests we could be a three, let’s try and see
So we meet, us three, for a night to stay out late
Which becomes a nightmare due to drink and me.
I am now the devilish bastard whore
To be erased for taking advantage of his pet.
Surprised? He did it to me before and more
Much worse, but the high past we are to forget.
I have to forget my stupid fool’s dream.
I have to forget the laughs and times we had.
I love him still, despite what’s happened I mean.
I delete all the pc images of him the lad,
I love him still, but soulmates, best friends won’t do.
In tears I watch the pixels drain from the screen.
He’s chosen who, we now know both, me and his new.
My love too will drain and so will the pain I’m in.
The woman who never gave up
Inspirational
Thai sonnet
เราจะเปรียบท่านทั้งหลายในวันฤดูร้อน?
พระองค์ทรงเป็นที่น่ารักมากขึ้นและมากขึ้นพอสมควร:
ลมขรุขระทำเขย่าตาที่รักของเดือนพฤษภาคม
และสัญญาเช่าในช่วงฤดูร้อนของทุกทรงสั้นเกินไปวันที่:
บางครั้งร้อนเกินไปสายตาของสวรรค์ส่อง,
และมักจะผิวทองของเขาเป็นสีทึบ
และทุกอย่างเป็นธรรมจากการลดลงบางครั้งยุติธรรม
โดยบังเอิญหรือลักษณะของการเปลี่ยนแปลงตัดหรือเล็มหลักสูตร:
แต่ในช่วงฤดูร้อนนิรันดร์ของเจ้าจะไม่จางหายไป
หรือสูญเสียความครอบครองของยุติธรรมว่าท่านเป็นเจ้าของ
ไม่ต้องโม้ตายเจ้าเดินในที่ร่มของเขา
เมื่ออยู่ในสายนิรันดร์เวลาเจ้าเติบโตขึ้น
ตราบใดที่ผู้ชายสามารถหายใจหรือตาสามารถมองเห็น
ชีวิตตราบนี้และนี้จะช่วยให้ชีวิตแก่เจ้า
The Fixer
The butterfly most wants the open flower
Which brightens life with pretty petals sweet.
He flies in wonderland from hour to hour,
He settles short to taste the nectar treat.
His friends call him The Fixer, helps them grow.
The blooms in need of air from beating wings
Which fan them, light them, teach them how to glow.
They flourish in the happy songs he sings.
His heart is too full up for loving Ginge.
His wings are dusty, shaky, losing lift.
Dust – which keeps him flying – wearing thin.
The hurt, the pain he never meant as gift.
So while he tends his petals’ wild cries
Still he loses loves worth more than life.
dagingadabetta 