What have you been up to since high school?

I’ve been doing that thing called learning.

Every day I have begun again.

My life is like a candle burning.

In the fires, I have found my Zen.

 

I live in a world filled with anarchy.

I have battled the front lines of darkness.

I have stood with my friends in unity.

I have fought to bring back their sparkle.

 

I have studied Durkheim, Weber and Jung.

Travelled the world with Mr Bryson.

Found Shakespeare in a crowded room

and Chesterton in darkest London.

 

I’ve climbed atop Arthurs Seat (Scotland),

and rode a plastic cart down the Great Wall.

I’ve drunk Champagne on the banks of the Seine

and got lost in a Kowloon mall.

 

I’ve driven along Australian highways

in my beautiful Red Capri,

I’ve swum about Port Phillip Bay

and watched the stars on the drive to Sydney.

 

I’ve felt the emptiness of waiting rooms

and drunk coffee that tastes like piss

I’ve felt the skies roar with thunderous booms

peace and miracles are my Christmas wish.

 

I’ve worn different characters and costumes,

they have called me Chum, Alice and Red.

The weirdest one was in a ballroom,

and like Cinderella, I danced and fled.

 

I have laughed until I’m blinded by tears,

and cried till I couldn’t breath

moments made memories through the years

of my friends, my family and me.

 

What have I been doing since high school?

Well, simply put, it’s just like this

I’ve been playing the game, learning the rules,

creating memories to reminisce.

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Dear …,

You’re bird shit on my window
every day, I don’t see you
but if you left, I’d miss you.
You’re a cloud around my dreams
try as I might, I can’t see
how you could possibly be.
You’re the abstract on my wall
images painting the clues
can’t you see my, your, our truth.
You’re a voice drawn on my phone
speaking words I cannot hear
I just don’t care – that’s my fear.
I’m the unicorn you wanted
I’m creative and I flaunt it
I’m screaming for you… can you hear it!

white noise mornings

I’m a bi-racial unicorn

just living life and going strong.

I got my non-fat-mocha-latte

a pick me up from last nights party.

Morning time is always buzzin’

social media all a fussin’

Way up North the earth is shaking

Way down South they’re all a baking.

Mr Z has spoken honest words

two links up from the dying birds.

Mysteries showed on a foreign shore

but that was it, they say no more.

Sports fans are afraid to boo

just in case the media shoot

no need for questions, no need for why

that’s there story, don’t bother to cry.

It’s all white noise in my ears

propoganda, sensationalist fear.

A Sonnet’s Future

Tomorrow is the not yet travelled road
an invisible step on the cliff edge
reaching with outstretched arms and a blind fold
hanging tight onto today’s window ledge.
Drowning in the fear of not knowing
but knowing the next step could mean drowning
either way it’s almost suffocating
knowing today could be the ending.
But tomorrow holds possibility
a place where dreams and desires could come true
a blank page of an unwritten story
an adventure awaits for me and you.
So take each moment as time keeps moving
the lesson of life to just keep writing.

Another Acrostic: Why did you steal our bin?

why did you act unfavourably

have you the swagger to confess?

your duplicity baffles me

despicable street light antics

illicit ninja left us frantic

demons in urban corporate dress.

you cursed us; judging and doubting

oozing thoughts of unpleasantness

usurped after work, we searched, scouting

sucky little ugly goblins

talk about a suburban problem

exterminate from our address.

apprehensive anonymity

lingers like shadows of stress

out of the cracks of the city

unearth a convoluted game

really though, what you did was lame

back, put it back, this isn’t chess.

in the book, look for trustworthy

note, it’s called being neighbourly.

Journey Limerick

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these small playful characters
are veteran travellers
sounds in every shape
linguistic landscapes
my alphabetic actors

making paper every day
some will go and some will stay
delivered by Sir Snail
a mountain of mail
home after their holiday

they flew by air; sailed by boat
carried by a mountain goat
thrown from bag to bag
“snail mail is a drag”
said the effable e-note’

those small playful characters
conquer cyber barriers
uniting in words
tweeting like the birds
my alphabetic actors.

Written for Writing 201: Poetry. Day 2 – Journey, Limerick, Alliteration.

Inspired by: It was my turn to log the returned mail in the office today. I started to wonder the journey the envelopes had been on… and that’s how interesting logging returned mail is.

Hope you enjoy xxx

What will your legacy be?

What will your legacy be?
Someone fetch me a cup of tea
Vacant eyes in a photograph
a smile with potential to laugh
the voice quiet and unheard
the writer speaks not a word
hidden behind hazel eyes
an ocean of silent cries
make your mark on the page
own your part on the stage
you’re the lead in your story
reach for your inner glory
stretch it to the sky like a tree
what will your legacy be?