As I sit with you here

spelling out every tear

Telling mind heart and soul

of the things that I fear

Here we share common ground

breaking down

touching base

All the knowledge we seek 

manifests in this place

As the day falls to night

we submerge to let go 

Any boundaries of mind

soon expand in the flow

Thoughts implode in us now

Running concepts like streams

and expressions of dou...

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Farther than father can be

Don’t call him my father

I don’t have one

Never want one!

Takes more than your indiscretion

Poor judgement

Lack of backbone

Your desolation of hope

To name ‘that’ my father

How could you?

Why would you?

Fathers are a fairy tale

A sick joke

Alive in books

The stuff ‘dreams’ are made of

Delusions, illusions

Like Santa Claus and the tooth fairy

Why are  ...

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I hate what I am doing to you,

trying to get you to hate me.

A map continues to elude my grasp,

bringing us to the same yearned for moment in time.

What I am going to say, rips my still beating heart from my chest.

All air is driven from my lungs, through my lips, as they part, saying,

“You should leave me, find another!”

I feel so depressed and low saying that,

knowing my thoughts ha...

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Is there anything to say?

Is there any point in saying anything?

Does she love me in her own way?

Does she love me strong enough to make me stay?

Is working at it working out?

Would not working at it work out better?

Perhaps

Perhaps

Perhaps

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In front of the stage in the gardens

must have been 50 photographers

with metal cases, rucksacks, shoulder

bags, tripods, spare cameras round

their necks (just in case I suppose)

and holding up one with a huge lens

about 9” long in black, grey and even

one camouflaged in shades of green)

pointing to Phil Woods & Friends

roaring through some standards

from the American Songbook ...

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Adam and Eve lay down in the garden

When a part of him started to harden

Eve said “Not to be graphic,

All my urges are Sapphic

Please forgive me if I beg your pardon”.

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According to many students and writers of poetry Rhyme is Dead... So be it...

Rhyme is Dead!!!!!

Oh my God! Can it be true?
Rhyme is dead, it’s gone, it’s through.
It’s a useless skill, for one to possess
It’s not big it’s not clever, it doesn’t impress.
It’s stupid, pointless, childish word-play
So sterile and so totally passé
And the people who write or read rhymed verse
Should be ignored, or even...

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My little girl, as she was

Riding a pair of shoulders.

Frozen in a shutter lens wink.

Blink and there gone, time runs on.

A snap that caught a snippet of life.

Wrapped, riding hooded in a red blanket,

Shrouded in mystery

Amidst the snowflakes, each one unique.

Looking back at the lens

All innocence and ambivalence.

I don’t know, should I laugh, smile, shout, eyes open, closed

Looking...

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My Father is not superman (simple words of Love)

I’m hoping you can help dad
I rely upon you
Always have.
I recall moments in my youthful recruitment
When you taught me the wicked ways of the world
How a spider injects a fly
The hapless struggle of its paper wings
Its every decreasing bursts
As it zips entangled the web
Dead, we watched that together
In the dim lit garden shed, our classroom
One lesson of man...

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He sits, a painted smile upon his face,

Failing to hide his discomfort in his own skin;

The makeup feels like just another mask,

But the tears are real.

A hat and cane lie, discarded by his feet,

The former crumpled, the latter broken.

He forsakes his act,

The jovial nature,

Ever smiling face,

The bringer of joy.

Forever, finished with the young.

As the wrinkles swallow the mak...

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I see the storms in you

seeking words

in the loch of cloud

sweet air flowers

rain on the horizon

the reborn song

every dawn 

all the moments writing

in the mind

days weeping in shadows

love waits deep in the eyes

bond of feathers on the bouquet of air

I see the storms in you

everyday a battle

within

thoughts a soak

on the winze  

the sky dreamers cloak

beautiful flight

swallow ...

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Perfect City

Its mornings are washed in post-storm sunlight; burnishing slate roofs on sleepy-eyed homes; casting shadows on streets dusted down with a baked bread scent.

Its song is the creak and clunk of a front door that fills the world and shakes the sunrise from its slumber; each dawn a melody and rhythm for footfall to fathom.

Its expression is found beneath the weathered surface of ...

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The house style is imperial, conservative in dress and etiquette,

Vestments and head wear are de rigeur.

Superiors are approached with bowed heads

And addressed as Sir,Your Worship, Mrs or Madam,

Depending on their place in the hierarchy.

The peasants and minor clerks, have long known their place.

Patronage is too generous to jeopardise through flippant challenge...

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She came forth; her eyes etched with the thought of fresh food.  I loved the texture of her nose as it nuzzled and nuzzled.  "Another?" I asked, and so I reached again.

Antlers pushed against my ribs and thanking me she ate her final morsel.

We parted and with a quick glance, she made her way north, as I walked south towards the pier.

By Belinda Johnston - All poems and prose are copyright of t...

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The ingredient’s for the disturbed

Take a couple of parents
Let them sketch violence
Instead of pretty things

Take the vacant father

Children should not be witnesses
To Violence.

Cease the courtship’s of violence
There are children watching
Don’t you realise?

Pressed ears touch floorboard
Don’t kid yourself they are asleep
The selfish rowing couple
The guilty actions reap
The adolescent tearaways
And the anxiety...

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Chaos of dreams
crash into my mind
like violent waves
trying to drown my worries out,
but each day comes
with me struggling to stay
on solid ground.
My dreams have lit the sky,
but still there are cracks
along the pavement.
And if I were to fall again, 
would I keep falling down?
Instead, I drift
upon each moment spent
in writing,
and I wait
in hopes 
of more doors opening.
And then I too can take ...

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                            The
                           dying
                           sailors
                           threw
                            the
                           anchor
                            over
                            the
                            ship.
                           They
                            had
                          chosen
               ...

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Mantra


Its gathering in the storm, and
I gather my weeds, stand facing it.
The force blows through my dreads and
each one lifts in fear,then lies back to cower
in this billowing. I stand weak kneed, small,
terrified to my core but
still standing. For lying, is no option for
the gladiator about to face certain death.
My only weapon is laughter, I throw back my head and
Peal. Even when the wind knocks my mir...

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The next breath

And feel the thump on my chest

but why do I see no one

the light is bright

does that mean I am dead

no its just the paramedics torch

that sound in my ears its so loud it hurts

could it be Gabriel’s horn

calling me to judgement

I don’t understand did I do wrong

to stop them hurting other...

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Singing loud and proud!

It's Saturday's game

we go away on the train

spirits not dampened

by the torrential rain

Arrive on their patch

like lions in a pack

sometimes attacking

sometimes attacked

Moving on together

that tribal mentality

I know its not right

but it is the reality

Finishing our beers

...

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Cousin of the peach

Quite unlike the fuzziness

Velvety smoothness, firm and succulent

And the flesh!

A yellow festering and humid sun!

The nectar of secrecy

Gifted by Mother Nature to my mouth!

I’m panic buying my nectarines

Recession beckons and

I must sink my central incisors into my nectarines

The initial dive into my dearest

Is enough, to wish all other senses away

But the sense...

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I am busy working on the Moon Calendar for next year, and on Wednesdays working at the West Yorkshire Print Workshop, open access for printmaking. This week I etched the copper plate of a drawing of a willow tree that I made many years ago on the bank of the Tyne.

Poetry is a reflection on life. There are lots of skilful ways of turning a piece of writing into something that feels complete, that...

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The tram is full again as I board it to work.
I am standing hip-bone to hip-bone with a woman who marauds her mindless curves to roving eyes that are short of sockets,
They rest now, touch-toe-still in molasses,
And those that didn't make it are trapped behind thick Buddy Holly frames.
I think some of them are going the wrong way to the seaside, and some of them want chips already, some are quite poss...

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7,000 animals they said.

6,000 of them jackdaws, mice

and sparrows getting the best

free handout in Cheshire.

800 were people collecting

the rip off entry charge,

begging for donations on top,

selling over priced, crap souvenirs

and peddling junk food.

One was the tiger sleeping

in his shed.

Blinking through his torpor

at the camera flashes

from the milling horde

excited to s...

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This is what is like to have no words

All my words have been cut from my tongue
and I have been left mute
All words I have ever written have been burnt away like paper
All the words I have thought or thought to say have faded
like mental decay or memory loss
and I am left with nothing
but silence
other peoples words invade my space
turn...

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I am Pavlov, she
is my dog, her phone a bell
she drools when I ring

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See what can happen?

THE BEST LAID PLANS O’ MEN AND TULPAS

Now here’s a tale, of men and mice

(Though which is which I leave to you)

Whose aliases must suffice

(And sadly must their motives too).

It happened one cold winter’s night

When snow lay thick upon the hills,

When Spain is hot and Scotland’s white

And all is quiet around the stills.

But...

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This park is bare to my eyes.

Dirty, grey slide. Absent.

It is without a rackety, clackety roundabout

And with no metal frame to climb-

This park is dangle-free.

I blame government under funding

And probably Health and Safety.

But you don’t care.

It’s a beautiful, frosticle day.

Muffled and duffled, you trip along,

Reindeer nose juxtaposed

With green winter coat,

Bronze curls th...

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Robert was rigid,

the rule book his ruler.

Relations with clients

were sometimes strained.

They didn't know

his panties were pretty

Lacy and small

so tight on his dickie.

His pinstripes were perfect,

his tie straight and trim.

No one would think

of challenging him,

but on Saturday he was Sally.

Robert was cross

when staff were too sloppy.

He could be stern

and terribly stroppy...

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Helpless

Enough hard truths and promises

Hugs and kisses stained with secret regret

And interrupted eye contact

You wobble between parallel worlds

Clutching, afraid to let go

When letting go will send you crashing into fact,

And in your dreams

Weave thin stories

Around the lie of your fabricated life

Paying your way with excuses

Existing in a haze of hope

And despair

When real...

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