Inkless!

A book unopened,
A page unturned,
A pen lying listless,
As the days run past,
An overworked mind,
Chaotic and stressed,
Trying to make sense,
Of a bleak blankness,
Of a poem unwritten,
A thought incomplete,
Of life swishing past,
And of jumbled memories,
Dusted to life,
Of laughter quelled,
Of life unbecoming,
Twisting into a non entity.

Dark Passenger

She pushes harder,
My resistance slips,
I refuse to give in,
She smiles darkly,
A slow sneer,
I slide further down,
Lusting for more,
The craving gnawing,
My insides yearning,
My dark passenger,
Slowly takes over,
Edging me on…
In the dark still,
Of a gloomy night,
As I pursue her dreams.

Dancing with darkness

I stepped into the shadows,
One forward step, one side step,
One back step and started over again,
Closing my feet as I tippled down,
Lock stepping my way deeper into the night,
I danced alone with the darkness…

In the air, a little something

Something in the air reminds me of you,
A tinge of colour from afar,
Paints a familiar picture,
Of days gone by,
Days I spent in the warmth of your arms…

There is a fragrance hanging,
Softly, oh so gently,
Clinging on to the shadows,
Of a memory that was,
Now quickly fading…

Being by your side,
The sense of elation,
I miss the feeling,
Of swinging on your arm,
I miss you…

Break Point!

Mirages, Illusions,
A land of dreams,
Collapsing,
Castles in the air,
Evaporating,
What is real?
Princess or Queen?
Who? When?
A bloody lie,
A messy piece,
Of an old untouched pie,
If it was never so,
Why fake it?
Promises that fade,
Pictures that taint everyday,
No stream or pebbles,
No carpets or stories,
Just a monochromatic monotone,
Of boring reality,
Brutal in its honesty,
Limited in the absence,
Of flights of fancy,
Toying with a mind,
That is losing sanity.

The Epitaph of a Love Song

Lost in collision,
Fading mist in the gathering light,
Rolling down the pillow road,
Bathed in a ghastly gloom,
A few words scattered across the stone,
That marks the head of the tomb,
An epitaph of a love song,
Lost in the deepening doom

Self Sketch

I try sketching a self portrait in words,
Poetry and art,
Sculpting my own statue out of stone,
Critical and analyzing,
I drive my pen a little too hard,
The brush too far and the chisel too deep,
The words distort and the sculpture suffers,
The portrait stall,
Diffusing distress dwells,
Like a silent veil,
Over the pieces of art,
The soul of literature,
The sound of the chisel,
Suddenly silenced,
The paint brush and pen,
Stopped in their strides,
Pushing the lines of existence,
Of art dissolving into death,
Of life and the freedom to live…

Drifting Hues

I’m a biker girl who wears no leather,
I’m a gypsy who lies on heather,
With not a frill, fancy or feather,
I’d live in a dungeon or tower,
Far from the noise in fair weather,
I’d drive on waiting for no breather,
High on life and spirits or either…

Cryin on with the winds and water,
I’ll roll into the earth and matter,
Drillin into deep sea like a mad hatter,
Not frettin bout the thinner or fatter,
Thinkin that can’t there be a falter,
For every once there does come a halter…

Laughin on and spinnin all faster,
Flyin high with a petal of aster,
With ain’t no worry or pester,
Me playin at bein my own master,
As funny as a live livin jester,
London or the far Lancaster…

Dream Crusher

A cracked ceramic cup,
Leaking trickles of tea,
A splintered chip of wood,
Dug into layers skin deep,
A fractured rock,
Split into two,
A mirror shattered,
Reflections in slivers,
A page in tatters,
Words lost to cuts,
A broken wing,
Flight deferred,
A dream crushed,
Life’s labour lost.

Wanton Dreams

Dreams like stray feathers,
Line the window sill,
Drifting with the wafts,
Flying by the wind,
Waiting to drop down,
Softly kissing the ground,
Unbroken, yet incomplete,
Unfulfilled and wanton…