Tramp of filth and stir

He walks the streets of filth and stir,
drowned cries borne from nothing,
Piss soaked stain on jeans of old,
No wash, no bath, no water.

His food is sugar and bits of bread,
His drink is alcohol and a sip from the river sludge,
dirty roads are his home,
a park bench is his bed tonight.

Why and what and should it be?
Charity begins no-where,
Christmas-a-coming, nothing for him,
But shit-stained-snow and bloodshot eyes.


His life is over, it never begun,
his story can only be told.
Doorway for a home, a bench for a bed.
Tyre splattered kerb for a grave.

There will be no funeral, no-one knows,
family long lost and gone.
The only mourner a straggly stray dog,
and the crows to whom he fed the crumbs.

So next time you pass him, chuck him some dosh,
Don’t walk on by the beggar you bugger,
back to your telly and leather sofa,
I hope you can sleep in your feather bed.

Nice and warm with your central heating,
In your palace of material wealth,
Look to the other side, flip that coin,
Open your eyes to hell.

I wait

I sit in my room.
I wait.

There is a bed, a lamp and some water.
In this room is a large window.
Once, the window was closed.
But now, it remains open.
Always open.

Sometimes, at night, he visits me.
I tremble in fear when his ghostly cloaked figure fills my room.
My only visitor.
I tremble, for the fear of my own desire for him.

For when he has finished with me, he will leave me.
Leave me empty and alone.
Bereft and silent.
Yet strangely fulfilled, nourished by his consuming of me.

He lays me down.
On the bed.
I cannot see him, only feel him.
‘My Lord, please don’t,’ I whisper to the invisible force.

My cries of protest are in vain as his teeth sink deep into the white flesh of my throat.
And he drinks.
Slowly and hungrily he drinks from the core of my being.
I cry out, with ecstasy.
My legs part involuntarily as I feel his astral desire thrust within.


I then leave my room and he takes me upwards, to the vast heavens beyond.
We pass by planets and stars, entwined together in the universal blanket of the all around us.
My climax is quick and intense.
I arch my back and cry out.
Cry out with a passion and a force like nothing I ever knew before my life in the room.

My female cries of release are felt by all the male elements within the universe.
Some come forward to challenge my Lord to his right of me.
He lifts his glorious dark head from my breast and growls with deathly fury at their approach.
They retreat.


No male force will challenge my Lord for my love.
My desires are only for him and as he drinks from my life-force he is empowered with strength.
He retains his place in the universe.
His lust for me is never ending.

Unlike the mortal male, he will take his pleasure, again and again and again.
When he is finished he lays me back on my bed, back in my room.
‘Don’t leave….’ I cry.
‘I will never leave you, you are mine. I will return.’

So I wait.
In my room.
I drink my water and look out of my window to the vast green trees and lakes beyond.

I sit in my room.
I wait.

Computer generated poem!

Can a computer write a poem as we can?
Here is my computer generated poem...
judge for yourself.


My Love

Your skin glows like the Apple, blossoms smile as the rose in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your drum voice and leaps like a pig at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great parrot wing.
I am comforted by your knickers that I carry into the twilight of chairbeams and hold next to my neck.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of water.
As my leg falls from my trousers, it reminds me of your television.
In the quiet, I listen for the last scream of the day.
My heated toes leaps to my dress.
I wait in the moonlight for your secret table so that we may having as one, toes to toes, in search of the magnificient pink and mystical computer of love.


http://www.links2love.com/poem_generator.htm

To write.

To write.




How does one write, one minute of a vampire,
with his thirst for blood and lust for flesh?
Then speak of angels and faeries in their rainbow coloured existence?
Winged creatures of glory, exuding love and divinity.

The story of the vampire, based on Satan himself, prince of darkness,
all that is evil, dark and cruel.
The faeries from the light are the epitome of heavenly wonder,
surely little friends of Christ, with a direct link to the godhead.

How then, can one writer portray such a dichotomy of characters?
When surely these beings live at opposite ends of the spectrum.
'But you must’ cries our tutor, 'you must, if you want to write,
stretch yourself in all directions my students! Listen now.'

So a man writes as a woman, a woman as a man,
a fifty year old male author writes as a thirteen year old girl,
a twenty five year old female author becomes a seven year old boy.
Some of us write as old Aunt Aggie and her attic of antiques.
Others write stories of a drowning boy, cast aside by his wicked stepmother.

Some favour boats and stories of the stormy seas,
others like writing of horses and the thrill of the ride.
Fast cars, expensive shoes and gourmet meals,
the birth of a child, the loss of a loved one.

Me I write anything obscure, anything weird and wonderful,
I love clowns and angels, mermaids and witches,
a man half goat, half human.
Blood sucking vampires in the dead of night,
the faery realm dancing to the firefly’s light.

Best of all I love my dragons,
those majestic winged beasts exuding power and glory,
and a daffodil white unicorn with her deep blue eyes,
would be a glorious creature to write about.

As long as you 'feel' your character,
be it adult, child, beast or gnome,
then write,
keep writing,
don't stop,
and inspire your readers to find some escape,
from their lives,
into your dreams.


Come fly with me,
to a magical land,
where Karma flows,
on golden sand.

Come fly with me,
on a magic carpet of love,
where the characters you read of,
fit your heart like a glove.

Come fly with me,
up that haunted tree you climb,
where stories delight you,
and poems don't rhyme.

Come fly with me,
fly like the birds,
come enter the world,
and feel the magic of words.

Division

Division.

As I hold your hand,
see your face contorted with pain,
I fervently wish I could do this for you.

You are too young,
just a baby yourself,
how can you do that which is a woman's job?

You surprise me then,
with the strength of your resolve,
no screaming, no tears, just working with your body,
nature takes it's course.

I needn't have worried,
you did it, you did it!
And in that moment I realise,
you are no longer a girl,
but a woman.

I watch in awe as your tiny daughter struggles to make her entrance into this world.
Just as you did...
the circle of life unfolds before me,
daughter gives birth to daughter, mother watches from the midwife's space.

How can I love this precious child as much as my own offspring?
Why is the maternal pull so powerful to that that I did not birth myself?
Because the child I birthed created this young human child,
and the feeling is no different.

The powerful surge of unconditional love washes over me,
it surprises me every time this happens,
I am powerless to resist,
this 6lb 1oz tiny human holds my heart in her hand.

Protectiveness for her life is instant,
love's opposite, fear, also rears it's ugly head.
I push it away and bask in it's nemesis,
the tears fall uncontrolled.

I look up,
I see the child's father's tears fall in time with my own,
we hug, lost in the wordless moment of utter bliss.

This is what we are made for, this is why we are here,
to create,
to recreate,
and recreate again, god's legacy to his children.
To be total universes in ourselves,
dividing and dividing as the universe does.

And I turn,
to this latest division.
I see my child, my girl, my daughter,
the one I bought into the world myself now has a daughter of her own.
Where has the time gone?

Again, I send up a silent prayer,
let me stay on earth long enough to see this child grow....
to be there when she too births her own daughter.

And so the female line continues,
I rush to the house of my grandmother,
still pretty and serene and the picture of health in all her ninety years,
'Nana! You are a great, great grandmother!'

The wonder of life transcends everything,
the mundane, debts, who said what and guess who is going out with who, means nothing.
The bigger picture beckons always to those who see it.

One more person to worry about,
one more person to love.
She looks so young,
my sweet daughter,
with her blonde ponytail and fresh make-up-free face,
and I smile,
as she offers her breast to her hungry babe.

I can leave now,
they will be alright,
I've been fussing and worrying like a mother hen for nine months,
now I can retreat,
back to my own life,
and the blank pages that beckon.

The little one's father takes my daughter's hand,
just children themselves but a moment ago,
now they are parents and have entered the adult world.

My dear girls,
they will be fine.
They will be just fine.
So I turn to my quill, and write.

Welcome to the world Gracie Mae,
these words are for you.
From your loving Nana x

Birth announcement

ANNOUNCING THE BIRTH OF MY GRANDDAUGHTER

GRACIE MAE

BORN 12.02.2006

WEIGHT 6lb 1oz

Mother and baby doing fine.

Proposal

Proposal

I'd like to get married,
but maybe not just yet.
An engagement I would like first,
but it ain't gonna happen I bet.

My boyfriend says he isn't ready,
Doesn’t need to hear that wedding bell,
while I see marriage as the ultimate goal,
he sees it as a living hell.

He says all is fine as it is,
why change something that's already great?
but marriage has been something I've always wanted,
I don't want to have to wait.

My boyfriend is nearly thirty,
we've been together almost three years,
but if we can't agree on taking the next step,
It’s going to end in tears.

I wish he understood,
that he is the one for me.
That's why I want to marry him,
and be a happy family.

I don't believe in pressure,
an engagement should be fun.
Drinking wine in a posh restaurant,
laughing in the sun.

I'm not the only girl,
who seems to have reached this place.
I've read all about it on the internet,
about men who ask for space.

It seems men see marriage as a loss,
of choices and feeling free,
why can't they see it as a compromise.
A pact of love between you and me.

If we were just to get engaged,
if only he would buy that ring.
I know I'd be so ecstatic,
I'd shout and dance and sing.

Valentine's day is coming up,
that brings to my eyes a sob,
Coz loads of couples will be getting engaged,
but that question he won't pop.

I've tried to make him understand,
how very much this means.
Girls play 'weddings' when they are small,
and think about relationships in their teens.

To women it's the greatest thing,
a fairytale dream come true.
Why won't my boyfriend get engaged,
it makes me really blue.

So darling if you are reading this,
please listen hard and see,
how very much I love you
won't you please please marry me?

blog

There is a blog I read,
each and every day,
to the author of this fascinating blog,
I should like to say;

you convey depth of emotion in your writing, more so than most writings I come across, most publishable works.
Do not depair, most of all, do not give up!
But continue dreaming,
continue writing.
Don't stop.
Your raw talent jumps out from the page in abundance, your words speak to the reader with clarity, you were born to write.
You were born to move the reader, everything you feel right now is part of the journey, you must go through this, however painful it may be.
However unfair it may seem,
it is all for a reason,
one day,you will see.
Your writing angel visited you when you were but a child, and now she speaks through you, loud and clear.
You will pass your exams, pass your tests, new challenges will come, you will pass them also.
And you will write words that many shall read.
That I shall read.

There is a blog that I read,
as often as I can,
I love to read this lovely blog,
of this blog I am a fan.

Commitment

When you find the right man to love,
You want to know that it will last.
No matter how wonderful a man may be,
Without a proposal you can never feel complete.

I’ve read this advice on a relationship site,
Is it true, is it right?
I know it is for me, for lots of women.

I know I’ve met the man,
I want to spend my whole life with,
But does he feel the same?
He says he loves me but…..

He knows that I want marriage,
Commitment.
He knew this from the start.
He said that because I was older than he,
I knew what I wanted.

But he hits the big three oh in the summer,
We have been together for three years.
Will he ever propose?
Or accept a proposal from me?

Am I wrong to want this commitment?
I know it’s hard for him,
But is it fair that I should wait for something that means so much?

People say ‘why do you want marriage so much?’
‘What difference will it make?’
‘Concentrate on having a wonderful relationship,
why push for a piece of paper and a ring?’

Well I’ll try to answer this one,
It’s quite simple really.
Marriage is a statement, the wedding is a spiritual ritual.
A couple is joined magically, when they wed in love.
Marriage is the greatest gift, my boyfriend could give to me.

Surely if he loves me,
He’ll give me this one thing?
Marriage to me means unity, togetherness, happiness, completing the circle.
Just mentioning the ‘M’ word to him seems to spark off rage!
Why?
Does he feel,
Trapped?
Pressured?
A loss of personal freedom?
A loss of personal choice?
When I see,
The ultimate security,
The ultimate bond,
Personal freedom enriched,
Personal choice increased.

Why so different, Men and Women?
God’s little joke on us was that!
We are from different planets they say,
Yet Men do marry women,
Every day.

Why?
Won’t my man?
Marry me?

So what do I do?
Give an ultimatum?
That could go either way, that’s taking a big gamble,
When the result one is looking for is ‘a marriage proposal’
And one could end up with ‘never seeing him again’

Could I really live with ‘never seeing him again?’
Up until now the answer has been no.
That’s why I’ve never given that ultimatum.

But what about when he is away?
This changes everything.
We can’t afford to communicate, mobile phones are all we have,
Text messages misunderstood.

Need for security increases tenfold,
Especially when he is living with two other girls and a guy.
Two happy couples.
I know that’s far from the truth,
But it’s a ‘big brother’ scenario
And puts pressure on a couple.

So I’ve decided.
I can wait to get married.
Period
But the promise of marriage one day, an engagement, I would like.
Love.
Really Love.
Now.

If he is around, on a daily basis,
I can wait a bit longer.
Just a bit.
But if he goes away again,
That pushes things further.
I need the security of knowing he has made that commitment.
When he is far away….
It matters not about misunderstandings,
I don’t need to hear ‘I love you’ every day.

I’ll have a ring on my finger,
A never ending circle of gold.
(Well, silver actually, I don’t like gold, that’s another poem!)

And when I look at that ring,
A smile to my face it shall bring,
And my heart shall sing,
Tring a ling
Look at my pretty bling.

But will it happen?
Will he make that promise of marriage?
I don’t know.
I guess it’s 50/50

How much does he want to be with me?
How much does he want me by his side throughout his life?
How sure is he that he can live without me?

I don’t know the answers,
Neither does he.
But one thing’s for sure,
We want different things,
And it can’t go on like this anymore.

I’ve tried to push away my desire for marriage,
Tried to pretend I can live without it.
It’s not that I want marriage more than a good relationship, that’s silly!
It’s that I want the marriage to seal the golden crown on an already wonderful relationship,
So I know, in my heart, he has given me the ultimate commitment.
And commitment, while to a man may mean ‘shackled’
To a woman, it is the greatest gift of love.

So?
Will you marry me?

Or will you leave me?

And if you leave me, will you come back?

And marry me?

Or am I destined for another……?

Unfaithful

Daniel is at the cinema,
He had to get out of the house,
He’d had enough of tipping around,
Quiet as a mouse.

Things were fun at first,
He thought he’d got new mates.
But soon there was noise and rows,
The very things he hates.

Why do people do these things
Make complications of their life?
The other actor has a girl,
Promised to be his wife.




But temptation was put in his path,
In the shape of pretty Kirsty.
If sex were wine he soon discovered
That he was pretty thirsty.

Flirtatious looks, comforting cuddles
Something raunchy in the air.
Conversations spoken loudly
‘shall we have an affair?’

Mobile phone in his pocket,
Accidentally switched on.
Answer phone messages left,
the damage is done.

His girlfriend checked her messages,
her blood ran cold.
Betrayal, lies, unfaithful cheat!
she stared at her band of gold.

Does this ring mean anything?
He promised we’d be wed.
But our dreams are shattered now,
When he took Kirsty to bed.

‘Nothing happened’ he protested!
‘I’m innocent! I swear!’
I thought you loved me, his girl cried,
You don’t love me, you don’t care!

The atmosphere was icy,
To say the very least.
He seems to be a nice chap ,
But his girlfriend called him a beast.

Kirsty runs out of the door,
Goes off in the car..
Feeling panicky, feeling scared,
Oh god where is my bra?

She’d left it in his bedroom,
Now everyone would know.
What should she do? Should she return?
What about the show?

The show must go on folks,
You are professionals I say.
Don’t let your scandalous private life
Interfere with the play.

So Daniel’s at the cinema,
He couldn’t stand it any more.
The atmosphere was terrible,
But Karma is the law.

So I write my little verse,
Better keep it private this time.
I don’t think the others will want to know,
the moral of this rhyme.

Wayward Daughter

Wayward Daughter

By Petra McGuire


Her Father has gone off to Wales,
to visit his son on his birthday.
He should be allowed a weekend off,
that’s what I heard everyone say.

But she makes it so difficult,
she can’t be trusted all alone.
You’d think she’d be more mature,
I mean she is almost grown.

A party she did have,
with alcohol and music loud,
smoking, drinking, living it up
with a real motley crowd.

Gatecrashers arrived as they always do,
the girl was pretty cross.
‘How dare these thugs try and get in my house?’
They didn’t give a toss.

At first her party was a right laugh,
thanks for going away pops,
It wasn’t long before she was in tears
and had to call the cops.

The burly policeman took down notes,
the shindig was truly mad.
Beer on the lawn and egg on the walls,
‘Oh please don’t tell my Dad!’

The next morning she was a sorry sight,
bleary eyed and cranky.
I think I’m getting a bit of a cold,
someone please pass me a hanky.

Her mother and her sister knew
and came over to the house.
What the hell were you doing last night?
‘I swear I was as quiet as a mouse.’

I can’t believe you’ve done this,
Your dad’s gonna hit the roof.
It wasn’t a party it was a gathering,
I promise I’ve got proof.

There were at least thirteen of you,
You’ve swigged back all that beer.
‘I know, I’ve got a headache,
I’ve come over all queer.’

Dad can’t trust you now you know.
You’ve nothing left to gain.
What’s gonna happen next time?
He’s shortly off to Spain.

I’m staying with a friend
I promise I’ll be better.
Do you think Dad will forgive me,
If I write another sorry letter?

The best thing you can do my girl,
Is have a serious think.
Sort out your life, clean up your act,
quit the bloody drink.

If you carry on like this,
when it comes to push and shove.
You are gonna alienate everyone,
especially those you love.

I’m really, really sorry,
I’ll make it up to father,
Is it ok if I go out now?
I really would rather.

But where is your front door key?
Don’t tell me that it’s lost.
How many keys is that now?
Do you realise how much they cost?

You can’t go out without it,
I’m sorry but I’m in shock.
You can’t just leave the house like this,
the front door you must lock!

Anyone could find out,
that the house is open and free.
Your Dad will get back from Wales
and find he’s got no TV.

What am I supposed to do?
I don’t wanna stay in this dump.
I need to be with all my mates
or else they’ll get the hump.

Shove something against the handle,
try to bar the door.
And clean that orange goo up,
It’s all over the floor.

Dad is back tomorrow,
What are you going to say?
Will you tell him what I’ve done?
And ask him not to go away?

Your Father needs to know,
all about the crime.
But perhaps he’ll see the funny side,
When he reads my little rhyme.

Chicken

Chicken

Why did the chicken cross the road?
A thoughtful question indeed.
It is also the name of a delightful play,
Performed to every colour and creed.

Children line up to watch in glee,
The actors command their space.
The talented cast captivate the kids
who think the whole show is ace.

Tammy and Chris are cousins
and for Christmas all they want is a bike.
Characters played well by professionals
who project and don't need a mike.

Teaching those kids of safety
How to cross over the road.
Don't play chicken, stand up for yourself
and so I write this ode.

To my dearest boyfriend Daniel,
Who is an actor, he plays Dad.
He is far away in Stockton,
Good, he drives me bloody mad!

Not really, I don't mean it.
I'm happy he is doing what he loves.
It's no good smothering your boyfriend
Or treating him with kid gloves.

Daniel is an actor,
And at last he has a job.
Otherwise he would only mope
and tell me to shut my gob.

It's weird that he's not here,
Knowing he's so far away.
But he'll be back again on Friday,
When he's finished his play.

I think our relationship is equal,
I'm certainly not the boss.
And he'll be so much happier
In the play where the chicken does cross.

Singing pizza hut, pizza hut
And all manor of crazy things.
A smile to those children's faces
This entertaining performance brings.

Written by Mark Wheeler,
Performed by the Stopwatch Team.
That night of chickens and balloons
Will those children dream.

So if you get chance to see the play,
If there is anyway you can.
Take a look at the guy playing Gary and Dad
Coz that's my boyfriend Dan.



www.danielsaunders.net

Grease

Off to Bournemouth to see the film,
the one I’ve been waiting for.
I’ve read the books, I know the lines,
grab a coat and head out the door.

There is a massive queue,
my mother isn’t pleased.
‘you are so old fashioned, you fuddy duddy’
my sister and I teased.

‘It’s absolute rubbish’ she moaned,
I don’t know why you think it’s so great.
She made me so bloody angry,
embarrassed me in front of my mate.

I managed to button my lip,
just to keep the peace.
This was the happiest day of my life,
finally I get to watch 'Grease!'

Wave Haiku

Could it be a wave?
Maybe it's a particle
Quantum physics now

The Visit

The visit.

Petra McGuire

I give you a gift.
I give you the gift of creativity.
I give you the ability to make music, to transform your body into shapes, to dance,
To make tunes with your voice, to sing,
To become characters and instill emotional responses in your audience, to act.
To take thick colour and transform it into form, to paint.

I give you the gift of stories, of poetry.
I give you the gift of words, to put words on paper or to use the keyboard to produce words on a computer screen.
I give you the gift of writing.

Who am I?
I am your Angel of creativity, your muse.
I am your body and the chemicals within your body.
I am peptides and neuro transmitters,
I am your Quantum physical self,
I am god.

I gift you the gift of writing.
Open your heart to me, open your soul.
Allow me to stream into your consciousness and tell you my secrets.
Tell the world my secrets, tell the world my story.

Every day, find time, to open those receivers.
And let me through.
I have so much to say, so much to tell you.

Each and every one of you has your own writing Angel.
Each writing Angel is related to the next.
We live in a world where telepathic communication is mainstream,
Open your psychic ears and hear me.
Open your psychic eyes and see me.
Open your psychic senses and feel me.
Let me through.

Let me teach you to feel me around you,
Let me tell you the things I know.
I am vast, I am pure,
I am creativity.
I am god.

Share your spirit with mine,
Come Kiss the divine,
I give you a gift.
Don’t waste it.
I give you the gift of writing.