Richard Is a teenager in his twenties, studying tv and radio at Salford University. He has always had a love for writing short stories and films and his interest in Bob Dylan and more surreal storylines led him into the world of poetry. He was searching his family tree to see if he came from a parallel world when he stumbled across this website! Influences vary quite alot from blues and folk music, Jim Morrison, The Smiths, Oscar Wilde, and Metaphysical poets. My interest in writing poetry came from my love of music so I don't consider myself to be a Poetry Scholar just yet! Everyone and everything is an influence. You'll find some of my poetry quite dark, some surreal, some comedic and others Romantic. I just like to write what ever I'm feeling at the time, which I guess is probobly the same for everyone who has dared call themself a poet!
The Poet and His Muse A poet walks across the shore, Shoeless, reciting a song The beach is empty, the sea Crashing against the rocks, Washes up a beautiful woman She’s naked Golden hair, white skin, An English rose He hair covers her soft breasts He gives her mouth to mouth She coughs, chokes, Sea water leaves her lungs. She gasps and falls into his arms. Angel eyes look into his, His hands run down her face. They kiss. For a second time. They make love. Finally. The poet opens up a crumpled piece of paper, He rests it on her breasts, He writes her a poem, A masterpiece, His finest yet, The poet has met his muse Finally. On the beach they live, Time has stopped for them. They feed on what they catch, Their loneliness is bliss. They are the only two people in the world. Life loves them, They love life. Magnificent moon, Secret sun, Curious clouds, Omnipotent oxygen, Pure potency, Virility her virtue. Sex is sacred, Another climax, he needs her neck, It’s perfect. Months pass, Still she doesn’t know his name, Neither does he, Amnesia stole it And his past. His future lies in her fertile soul. And her womb. She bathes him in the calm sea, Under the skies watchful eye, He is baptised, The Poet. Finally. Lizard King Last night I shared a bottle of whiskey with Jim Morrison he brought acid to the table we may have been surrounded by indians his soul jumped into mine I had a vision of an ancient burial ground I saw chaeos He showed me a planet "They have yet to find this" he said He called it "Intemperance" "We bring no wealth here" He said "Wealth is good for one thing only. Dissipation." He introduced me to a world of impurity Events of debauchery Women sacrificing their chastity We danced around with creatures half human half inhuman I witnessed his death I couldn't watch He gave me a watch it had a snakeskin strap He said "It will give you any time you wish" another room faces the faces stared They said "Nothing is what it seems. The bus is waiting." My watch said it wasn't time The bus crashed into me He said "It is impossible to live in a world in which I cannot breathe" I told him he was alive Another room naked women sexually entertained they saw to my every wim they saw to his every wim We stopped at the morrison hotel its walls adorned with the painting he could not get out of his mind Napolian in exile A serpent at the desk Told me he was my eternal friend I had a vision of a vast dessert Ruled by a lizard who would be king gentle screams of passion souls over indulging in vices A staircase made of a a material not known to man Guards at the top dancing around on payote a poem by William Blake The door has been opened The end Memories A large room immaculately clean a single chair an imprint of someone who used to sit there The empty book case still the faint musky smell of old pages a loose bracket with a screw missing the unstained patch on the wall where a framed photo once glistened Flowered curtains stained by cigarrette smoke the room is silent, quiet you can hear the faint memory of unconditional laughter impressions on the carpet from where the table once stood nostalgic rings decorate the oak wood A cleared room still keeps it possessions a cleared room still has its memories intact a cleared room never empty with platonic love written on the walls invisible hand prints from when the child first crawled I wonder who will live here next? what colourful memories will they paint? what music and sounds will fill the silence? one last look, gently close its soft cotton eye-lids Welcome to the city part2 Welcome to the city city of angels of demons of men and women rapists, killers, con artists, scheming fraudsters and intelligent drug dealers they all share a secret they were once innocent as was the city before its beauty was discoloured her purity stolen by thieves of the night I want to see the city in all its grace in her naked form showing all stripped of its costume theres beauty in her madness like a lady killer in a white virgin dress and perfect breasts you would give up your soul for her to make love to her and the city there's lust hidden under her dress tucked away inside her gorgeous gates you want to plant your sultry seed in the palace and watch your love child grow but the city is a whore and her child a bastard the city has pointless acts like constantly running at a brick wall with your forehead in the hope you will smash through the straight jacket inflicts emotional self harm her streets and its dwellers the homeless man was once considered a child genious his broken home broke the fragments of his soul he found his calling beside the cigarretes in his local offl licence Can you distinguish between the smells of a quiet night and a night of restless ruin? wander her streets alone with your eyes closed see her trueness underneath the night sky the day quietly tucks away the truth under the curtains of her stage at night the stage comes alive a theatre for the insane do you know the script? scene 1 a prostitute falls in love with the night scene 2 the night is unfaithful scene 3 rescue the damsel in distress Intermission refreshments are available behind the door with a secret knock smell of sex in its toilets vomit on its dance floor a playground for the nymphos outside the smell of stale urine the clubber leaves her mini skirt in the alleyay and leaves for school Behind the city's cleansed walls lies the plot of a holy war their own streets will become the battle field defensless in battle her own soldiers waging war mutiny amongst the ranks The memory of a lost child looms like the black death people leave people return buildings stand like giants frowning at the machines who destroy the earths shield the doting mother sees her children to the school gates leaving for her part time job, her body pays the bills her sex puts food on the table who are her heroes? who are her villains? you have seen the beauty of its art the architecture that touches you as you walk past you have seen the used condom lying next to the take away carton you have seen the blood stains from last nights arrest you have seen the true britishness of the taxi driver helping the old lady to her front door you have seen her attacked by her own people restless city run from your captors and reclaim your territory bathe in your beauty the streets are yours to own do not allow the straight jacket and padded walls to cause you harm lie beside freedom, faithful freedom, lie with her in your untouched corners
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Its only race man (22/12/2008)
Are We Forever? (09/09/2008)
Welcome to the city Pt 2 (21/08/2008)
Life's Question (15/08/2008)
Painful Words (15/08/2008)
Welcome to the City (15/08/2008)
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