Honest Lies


Our capricious grip on truth, a
Tenuous denier entanglement,
Reinforcing our reliance
Of,
Lies and Deceit.

Fiction transcends fact,
Fantasy of the lords of time,
Descends into Lore
Faery tales of forbidden pleasures
Consumed
by the masses.

Legitimate lies,
Expedite the dependence
A hyperbole of,
What?
Grey areas?
A hoagie?
In black and white?

Duplicity, premeditated,
Acknowledged, approved, authorised!
Be anathematised verisimilitude,
Endure exile, [you are]
No longer desired,
In a unscrupulous world.


Pictured


Captured
My Essence
In a high definition lense…..

Compressed
My Mind
In a folder…..

Exposed
My heart
Bathed in light…..

Framed
My character
In still life…..

Pixelated
My Life
In a million pieces…..

Saturated
My sight
Fades to gray…..


Light in the Black


Empty as the cimmerian night,
Hollow, loveless life,
The shell of a former man,
Trying to discover, the light that,
illuminates the black.

A spark ingites the fire,
flames caress my soul,
burning emotions singe,
a doormant desire,
Awakened.

A solitary kiss strips,
bare,
the wound, that
is my heart,
Broken.

Only you, can make me
whole again,
as two, again, become one,
united, in a lovers embrace,
bathed in a light that
illuminates the black.


The Art of Betrayal


Sigh,
this is not how it was meant to be,
I always thought it was down to you
and me,
but somewhere we got lost
The Betrayal was the final cost.

It began with just a cheeky flirt
Just another piece of skirt
the lines flowed fourth, all day long
But then it all went horribly wrong.

Ticking clocks cannot
capture the recollections of our past
Yesterday is always where it resides
Today and tomorrow we can configure, but
History only exists to haunt us.

and so it began.

Harmless fun it is said [ha]
The twinkle sparkled in my eyes [jewels]
my imagination [compulsive]
saw yours sparkle too [mirrors]
thats when I knew
we were hooked,
lined,
sinkered.

CAUGHT.

How can we be lonely?
in a world so full
of chance?
opportunity
racing to embrace us,
offering us
our illusion,
a fantasy, made to fit.

The flame of love flickered
into existence,
to the touch of the match,
surprise taking us
on the ride of a lifetime,
or lifetimes,
until we were too far gone
to ever get off,
the only drug we both craved.

Days turned to weeks,
weeks turned to months,
months turned to years,
those years were the sweetest
of our empty lives,
we grasped them
as though
our survival depended on them.

That flame grew to
a inferno of
lust and desire.

Many times in our dreams,
we whispered our words of love,
we sang
of the joy we furnished each other,
lonliness banished,
forever,
we have each other
momentarily.

But it is still not enough!
I am not yet sated
I crave exploration
of what?
a different drug
that no woman can supply.

Lie built upon lie,
truths twisted
more than words could ever be,
I love you,
but,
that alone is just not enough,
thrill seeker! I have become
one more time.

you are my world
my universe
and yet
I will never hold you in my arms
or look into your eyes and
tell you
I love you.

Betrayal once!
Betrayal twice!
when?
where?
does it end?
only in death?
or we walk
another path
that lies undiscovered,
but we both know
exists.

So concludes this deception.


Forbidden Taboo


Is it so wrong
of me
of you
of anyone
to love
to lust
to cherish?

A man loves a woman
a woman loves a man
a man loves a man
a woman loves a woman
carnal love of a fellow human being
is erroneous?

I have loved
men
women
equally
yet I consider myself
cheated?

Taboos
exist
only to serve
who
me
you
or only the forbidden few?

Will you take
the apple from the tree?


Ruptured Rhapsody


Kaleidoscope thoughts in black and white
no gray here?
Throbbing matter in minds eye
Blind to a Universee of impossibility
Seeing is believing?
inverted outlook would indicate
an alternative existence.

Where am I?

Diarrhetic silence
screams above distant canopies
concrete jungles imprison
freedom of expression
indulgent thoughts decay
concerning only new lives?

Who am I?

Caustic streams of conscience
damn me into comatose rhetoric
delirious insanity snickers
across inanimate lips
smirking their discontent
at life and death.

Do you see me now?


Serendipidous Muse


The radio is playing up a storm,
as is,
Rockanrollah, the choice of the privileged
FEW, being the operative word,
amongst friends and enemies
if it were viable to tell them apart?

NEWS, nations, souls of absent
communications,
Technolgy strangulates the spoken word,
Type, the mode of subsequent generations
Singing for the lonely.

Feared futures, regarded as garbage,
stagnating trailer park wannabes
nothing extraordinary here,
Pull up another sandbag dear friend,
Let them approve another story.

Lives interweave intrinsic patterns,
Love, conceived, in a implausible place,
Ethernets combine to tear apart,
the fallacy of love, in this world
or another.

Place? Plane? Time? cease
to exist within these walls of our love,
Confirming that love can and will endure,
We tear that fallacy apart
Love exists, across
the boundaries of miles
and years.

Our love has lived a thousand lives,
Denial? Absurd
Truth subjugates whatever lies we are told
or tell?
our love shall live again
and prosper!

Serendipity died,
Long live the Muse.

K20.1CMousa


Rubáiyát Madness


Down the pub [d’Verse that is] the form of Ruba’i was introduced to me forthe first time. It looked like a challenge I might try and rise to.

If you know the Beatles song, I am the Walrus and know anything of its origins, then you might understand where I am coming from.

Throw in a question that has often made me sit and ponder for a long time. “Does a crazy man actually know he is crazy”? and you have quite a concoction.

So I dont know, I tried to mix this trio up and come up with something that made sense but didn’t. Is this what its like to be mad? Readers, whoever they may be, will make their own minds up. I know what I set out to do and Ithink I just about got there, but the rubaiyat is most definitely open to debate.

Bullets Blow Minds

In trampoline corner, a breeze softly sighs?
A clock strikes midnight, a new born dies,
Flowerless gardens sat under moons stare,
Long memories scorched into unseeing eyes.

Sleighbells ringing on a midsummers eve?
A cats eye wink as I rise up to leave,
Concrete graveyards hidden from view,
A collage of tricks my mind gaily weaves.

Ears assailed by garage house grunge?
Into the mosh pit skater boys plunge,
Sailing on turbulent ocean crescendos,
Images, lies, only bullets expunge.


The Dogs Bollocks


What a great, decriptive phrase. One of my all time favourites. I have no idea of its origins. There a few stabs online trying to guess where it came from, but nothing conclusive. Heres my own interpretation with a little twist.

The Dogs Bollocks

He thought he were the dogs bollocks,
a primitive cock o’tha’ north,
Never declined an invite,
to multiply as he went fourth,
Shagged around like a dog on heat,
if it moved it was always fair game,
To leave a trail of young mongrels,
was his lifes solitary aim.

Six feet two, with eyes of blue,
maybe he was every girls dream,
Its true when I think about it,
they held him in very high esteem,
Boasting of his animal magnetism,
no women could possibly resist,
A woman who would not lay with him,
in his eyes could never exist.

Each time he looked in the mirror,
often admiring what his eyes saw,
The constant tales of his conquests,
soon became a terrible bore,
The lasses swooned and fell at his feet,
each day as he passed them by,
He always said if he ever ignored them,
they would make such a hue and a cry.

Never one to toot his own horn,
he insisted he was hung like a horse,
One lass mentioned viagra,
said his erection couldn’t stay the course,
He loved all women, but loved himself more,
the man was terribly vain,
There were some found him highly addictive,
moreso than even cocaine.

His name was one of legend he said,
a true craftsman thats what he thought,
His vocation in life was to love women,
alas he would leave many distraught,
We all told him, until blue in the face,
he cant say he wasn’t fore warned,
That betrayal would be his undoing,
hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Mend his ways he could not do,
to change he was willfully averse,
Some would say it was a gift from god,
some would say its more of a curse,
Use an abuse em, treat em mean,
take what you want and then leave,
Thats how to treat women,
or so he would have us believe.

Listen he didn’t so some would say,
he got exactly what he deserved,
He left them trailing in his wake,
his behaviour increasingly absurd,
One evening down town, he met his match,
he had a few drinks with this chick,
Then back to hers for coffee,
where instead she cut off his prick.

Theres a moral to this sad story,
treat women you meet with respect,
Piss em off at your discretion,
not a wise move I suspect,
The dogs bollocks you may possibly be,
cock o’ tha’ north though is no longer true,
No more screwing around each night,
its slippers and a pipe for you!


Climb a Mountain


I stopped writing. I lost my way and the words dried up. I lost what little zest for life I had. But its time to shake off that shroud and reclaim my life and hopefully, writing can again be a part of that.

Close to where I live, a motorway was dug out about 40 years ago and with no alternative arrangement, all the excess ground and soil was just piled up to form 2 small hills. Great in winter when it snows for the kids. For some unknown reason, I had never ventured up either of these ‘hills’.  But recently, we took the plunge and climbed them both. I use the term climbed very loosely. They sit at the north end of the Town Moor and the 360 degree panoramic views took my breath away. Why the hell had we never been here before? Anyway, with backpack, sarnies and a notebook and the bins, we did it and had a great conversation with a little boy flying a kite. No one flies kites these days.

Somehow, I found some inspiration up there and felt an itch coming back. Coupled with a dear friend who is having a very tough time, I felt the urge to write again this am. So here I am, back trying to write something of sense and worth. This is for Sukes in the hope that she can climb her mountain and escape what is her life right now.

Climb A Mountain

Robotic tigers growl their displeasure,
The ebb and flow of mechanized beasts
puncture the delicate silence,
Climb a mountain to behold the maginificent
sea of tranquility, elevated,
from a cacophonous world.

Azure skies imprison my gaze,
Gentle breezes caress my greying temples,
Distant, lowing beasts of burden, coalesce
Skylarks jubliant songs,
could heaven quarter
images so extravagant?

Panoramic landscapes, north, south,
east and west.

East, white horses stampede uninterupted sands,
West, gossamer clouds cap distant fells,
North, The Cheviot holds dominion,
South to the realms of the Prince Bishops.

This concrete jungle of oppression
Crowds its presence,
Blinding the sights of the many,
To the wonders beyond the barricades.

If only they would,
Climb a mountain to,
break their trammels.

MoorsSouthEastLarge

Where it says Town Moor, they are the two ‘hills’ to which I refer. That shot doesn’t show all the land that makes up the Town Moor, theres a lot more to it. In the middle of a city and suburbs, we are damned lucky to have such a haven.


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