I am a poet living in manchester who has a great love of poetry and music, a greater love of food and the greatest love of variety in all of the previously mentioned items of interest. I'm a textbook altruist and will treat everyone I come across with only the highest measure of respect. Conversation amongst writers is always something I look forward to as I've found that each writer experiencing another's world of writing is nearly always something profoundly inspirational.
A lack of colour The sky hangs grey over the bleak houses, Pavements that cause one to trip, Their blood the only colour, Recognisable in the slums, All names have lost significance, The uniformity, us, it has undone The grey, it suffocates, The green of trees is all drowned out, As our feet drag our fetid bodies, Through this world, A lack of colour, The result of great plans unfurled The money we’ve used, a bane to ourselves, The money potent enough, Potent enough to heal, Also to help, Children far away, Whose blood sputters from their mouths Ghost Town The crescent moon loomed over the bleak town, All wrapped in a glimmering garment of stars, Over which rumour whispered a shadow, Begrudgingly it let it continue ever on What was it knocking at the door? Knocking, knocking down the door of the public house, At the foot of Vesuvius it lay, And the storm preceding could not be drowned out Where hope and faith are escutcheons so thin, As opposed to states of randomness, we knew it had to go, A great confusion to the children, The ash fell; it fell as thick as snow What went wrong here, once so full of life, Now left of naught but elegies now left unread, The curtain has withdrawn for the final time, And the secrets of this town now rest with the dead The shadow winces once from the sight it beheld, The necropolis before it would know no more dawns, The smell of rot, seeming everywhere, And the enigma of the shadow lay so pale and forlorn This was when the shadow then perceived, That once such proud people should succumb to such a pyre, The wrath of nature is a terror to withstand, To attempt to exempt ourselves would only make the situation more dire. The shadow then disappeared, its ghostly visage gone, It departed seemingly far too soon, For its perception was, to us, but partly parted before it departed, As such the advice given eluded us as swiftly as the moon
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Beyond Doubt (08/09/2014)
Thursday Morning (01/12/2013)
The City (11/06/2013)
Turn of the year (29/01/2013)
The passing of the minute (29/01/2013)
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