Boring Jan/"I'm too cold for this shit!"

Month late, whatever. There will be better stuff up sometime, I promise.


It's like lying in bed with your socks on,
That slight amount of discomfort,
That you could change in an instant,
But the energy required is missing.
It's January.

We all complain about getting back to the 'norm'
But the norm is a boring
Same old, same old
That we can't change because
the energy required is missing.
It's January again.

Time for a new term,
This time the cold that sticks isn't invited
With songs of praise,
Brightly lit houses,
Snowball fights,
But with moans and groans of old
And stuttering voices on the radio,
Hurrying to tell the people "southbound is slow due to the horrible weather"
"...adding another 10 minutes to your journey home"

So enjoy the last of the 31 days,
Looking forward to a short 28,
Another half term holiday to split the dragging months,
Valentine's Day but
The energy required is missing.
It's January.

fin

Seed/The Square Poem

This was one I wrote ages ago, it's boring, basic, clichéd and makes me sick. So here y'are!

If a seed was to fall would you catch it?
Hold on to it and never let go.
Help it, comfort it, be there for it,
Take it in as one of your own.

If the sun was to shine would you let it?
Let it warm you in the cold,
Wrap its rays around your body,
A protector, strong and honourable.

If the sea was to shimmer would you gaze at it?
Gleaming in your eyes,
Deeper than blue oceans,
Higher than the sky.

If a rose was to bud would you water it?
See the excellent red petals explode,
Opening up into the world,
Honest as I know.

If I was to offer you this world would you believe me?
Hold on to me and never let go.
Help me, comfort me, be there for me,
Take me in as one of your own.

fin

Drawing/Knife Splinters

This is a long time coming; there's plenty more like it in other words, but they cannot be put here - this one has at least a slight ambiguity! This is my weird side, so don't try to decipher the code behind the words (like you could be arsed anyway) because they have no meaning and nor am I attempting to 'show off' anything, just read.

If I could see her face,
Half in dark, Half in light,
A tear could fall from a dry duct,
If only.

A primitive madness takes over,
Bitten the straw and tighten the needle,
A reclusive mind is not fit
To bare a burden of depth.

Soft of heart and mind. It turned,
I’m mixed, from one to another,
Flick of a switch,
A bi-polar tenderness.

I put pencil to paper in a rash attempt
To recreate a forgotten face,
Each individual flick mocks her,
Taunts me and intrigues unknowers.

This public mental wound;
I wish I could be forgotten.
If I could share in any way the inside,
I’m doing it now, with this tool.

fin

The Team

Watching the team I saw something,
Something that was better than nothing,
Nothing that I had ever thought,
Thought I dremt a future
That was better than the future before.

For the future is wasted on the 'youth of today',
The youth of the day are on Facebook,
Facebook before family, friends and football,
Football on the top of the mind
Of the dreamers, that is all.

The habitat a lush green,
A sight that should be seen
On the widescreens and HDs and 3D public houses.

Time is ticking we're told,
Too late is never too old
In the minds of the team,
Who dremt a dream,

And how silly it seams,
That most dreams are so mean.