Wandering near the shore


The storm rages on, 

a new day is visible on the distant horizon, 

but the winds of change seem hostile more than kind, 

Whatever fears that I felt that I had under control, 

Have woken up and threaten to overthrow, 

I don’t know if I have it in me to proceed ,

I know not where I am or who I have become,

I know that I have changed, 


my heart feels two emotions,

the presence of faith and the crushing grip of the unfamiliar,

the world of the old soul contained within me that always comes through,

and the old vulgar hag who uses trickery to craft the real when I stare carelessly at the world,

are there worlds working within ours…?

I am only finding questions more than answers,


I use stories to light my path,

and morals to guide my ways,

but how long can I walk alone…?



A moment of lost faith


Isn’t this a cruel , cruel, world… ?
There is only madness for tears,
and sadness for laughter,
why is there so much sorrow…?
So much hurt and pain…?
Why is there so little light…?
Why is there so little joy…?
Why are lies believed…?
And beauty worshiped…?

Sublime – Old poem


I am a dark wooded forest,
Brief flickers snapping away the thick pulse of haze,
My mind’s eyes delight in observing brief portraits of perfection,
I am my own biggest enemy, but do keep on reading,
Sob tales strangely create boredom and non caring,
I am the king of sorrows and long forgotten humiliations,
That is the intensity of my personal signature,
I am a gypsy wrapped and cloaked in revolutionary mystery,
I wish I knew how to tell my mind to calm down and groove to the constant surge of emotionally dripping rivers that offer serenity,
I am a song somewhat similar to a symphony but not possessed of informal tones,
I am a stranger in my own homeland,
My mind draws close to the aesthetic fancy of a true picture,
I guess I suffer from a poverty of reality syndrome,
A brief shout to all my fellow brethren caught and tackled by the humiliating bar of standard appropriate expressions,
I conceal my own distaste with my own self by escaping away into dreamy characters,
Every moment of regaining strength my mind recedes into gray zones bringing back familiar foes with tales of woe,
Dont you know that true flows hates the domineering irregular beat of grammar…?
I believe that my heart suppresses a lot of its passion for the sake of self preservation,
Thin gray billows of smoke coming from dusty chimneys bringing back memories of Mary Poppins,
With me there are no fixed recipes, I am the original truth of the repressed voice called Joey, he has no sick flows that he seeks to publicise and he hides away whilst flipping scripts silently living life in the extreme like a concealed human experimental plan,
Long vast plains with the most basic of plants and trees seem to annoy me like a randomly impulsive self portrait taken from a straight angle,
I am the modern discontented voice who expresses himself with self conscious subliminal poetry scraped from the bowels of sub conscious imagery,
I have learnt a lot of different lessons about this thing called life, I must tell you in that sad deep way not a lot of them were nice in any manner of experience,
My mind does not feel like home, in the end I seek to hide away from it all for a sheer moment of silence,
For a moment when all the chaos of my heart silences and I feel that grateful echo of empty silence freed from the clutter of my mind’s individual longings and the violent intrusion of human living,
I am so tired of deciphering all the strange mystery of people not speaking, my mind already goes to so many places, I’d much rather be alone
I find something strange about people living in such close quarters,
Perhaps love and dreams are but madness,
Perhaps soulmates and faithful unchanging companions are as rare as the perfect home, rare as a mild summer day, rare as a day spent in not doubting the emptiness of my soul’s heart,
I’m the type of poet who swims more in sublime waters, who confesses more than he speaks, who feels more than he reveals,
Though I dramatize the drama of first impressions often in front of mirrors and trees, I detest artificial characterizations, detest people fake in character, love without realizations, ready for anything free , I hate repeating myself the last moment now sits alongside history,
The moment you feel like getting away, nothing ever feels like home, I am an expert of nothing specific, maybe except disappearing into the comfortable slumber of a lack of memory,
Its been so long since my soul felt fine,
I forget everything the moment it finishes like a hard to remember tune or verb or other functions of memory,
Maybe God gave me imagination to take my soul to places that fate would deny me in the thorns of reality…
Craving all night long until dawn departs me from this body, sweet idleness pale like drifting stars,
I am no fixed nail nailed on a coffin, I am as deep as the shifting blues, as bright as a darkness surrounded waxing candle, I am the madness of love, the loss and battle for innocence, burning undying love , enigmatic in the misty sands of time,
I get deeply uncomfortable with efforts to contain my heart, mind and my soul,
If I the poet were the trees and my heart the root, the soil the eternal soul of all hearts and their memories and longings, perhaps the night sings it soft the whispers of eternity of a land beyond the stars,whispering to us that there is something more unimaginable than anything that we have ever known.

Perhaps someday soon I too shall know and inherit the calm soft peace of the soul and then perhaps I could smile without feeling so terribly alone.