Stranger

Sometimes you aren't aware how much your own actions can effect someone else. I've recently been in a position of terrible power taking almost everything away from someone who hardly deserved it. 

And the worst of all is being powerless to assist. I'm being vague deliberately but my work at the moment is forcing me to confront a lot of terrible realities and unfortunately at the moment to do something I consider wrong and bad. In this poem I'm trying to imagine how that person might be feeling, so here it is my newest poem "stranger".

Stranger

I took it all away

All away from a stranger

A Vagabond destined to roam in BMWs by the river

I took it all away

I'm the target 

I'm the enemy of your everything stranger

I'll shatter your relationships

Just with pen and paper

Worst of all stranger 

I'll happily take the cheque

Turning over the pages of other lives

Just as briskly and as carelessly

Where to now stranger

There is no compassion here

No remorse to nurse 

No hope

There is only time, stranger

Time and the dollar

What's yours is mine 

What's yours is always mine 

Stranger

I'm the ghoul that haunts your memories

The mistakable shade wandering

The paths you write 

Of your own turmoil

I am that which is called justice

For stranger there is none 

And the man in black has come

The scythe sways to detach 

Each limb each morsel 

Silent shining relentless 

Day and Night

I am the day

You are the night

I am the first hint of morning 

Smiling across at your pillow

The warmth, baking bodies awake

You are the night

Connected to the darkscapes of

Neon and paths woven

Of dancing lights

I am the slow drawl 

The waving sands

The rolling waves

You are elastic, wound tight

Zigzagging dinner tables

Streets, markets

Fire and glass 

And also 

In the dark, in the human

There too are oceans 

There too are waves 

I am the day

exposed 

You are the night

 opaque

Our time is the twilight

Where the whole world bows

In calm repose

The birds pause in flight

To Gaze at the magnificent pink lights

All noise turns dim and stern

Old folk and young all pause

And look upon the explosive wonder

Of the phantasmagoria 

So fleeting

So precious

Wrong

Whether you write, draw, paint, act, make films, animate, weave, knit, forge, craft, compose or otherwise create we've all known the fight within ourselves to keep going. In essence that's what be written this poem about today! Anyway happy reading everyone and never give up no matter how wrong you feel about your craft whatever it be.

Wrong

Write today wrong tomorrow

And the brain ticks over

And the inspiration falls

And the karma engine bombards 

With ricocheting bullets violently spraying mind chews

"I shouldn't" "I can't"

And the devil voice loves to destroy effort and break the bones of motivation

Splintering snapping 

"You shall never achieve that which you seek"

"That which you seek is a torn sad dream, destined to be broken on the wind"

"As spiteful as lost tears, caught, dried and lost in melancholy eyes"