put down the pen

most of my poems have some kind of explanation to them. I don’t think this one needs it. Any writers out there who have experienced this will know what it’s all about

 

Put down the pen

Steal all my cash and take all my money.

smash up my phone and tell me it’s funny.

cancel my calm and mess with my zen.

but put down the paper, put down the pen.

The words that I write are magic to me

and you can’t comprehend all the lands that I see.

For an ocean of language is here only when,

I’m staring at paper, I’m holding the pen.

There’s people I know that you’ll never meet

for they are not the kind that you’d see in the street.

They’re locked in my head but now and again

they escape onto paper, they live through the pen.

You can’t understand what these words really mean

and you don’t really look at the pages you’ve seen.

If you did then you’d see I’m myself only when

I’m staring at paper, I’m holding the pen.

So treat me with scorn and laugh at my life.

Fill up my days with hatred and strife.

Giggle with glee but promise me then

you’ll put down the paper, put down the pen.

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The Sick Colleague

I’m sitting at my desk with a serious throat infection and feeling pretty sorry for myself. I’ve started to get some worried looks from my workmates. I wondered how I must look to them and came up with this. Hopefully not too much of this is true.

The Sick Colleague

A dry hacking sludge of sound bursts

from between his putrid lips.

A snot filled tissue edged with scum

from his crusted finger slips.

and whiskey laced hot sweetened tea

from a greasy mug he sips.

The stench of sickness kills the air

whenever he stalks by you.

The shiny pallour of his skin

drips down his face like moist dew.

and his vein filled eyes of scarlett red

he dabs at, with a tissue.

You ask him how he’s feeling now.

He gasps ” I’m getting better “

While the hanky resting on his desk

is slowly getting wetter.

and you wonder what he’s doing here

when you’ve seen his doctors letter.

He’ll spread his germs around to you

until you’re ill in bed.

and now you’ll be the one who’s sick

and wishing you were dead.

you can’t just sit there sweating snot

so you’ll go to work instead.

Scornful derision

 

A stomach of stone that sinks in the river

While the current of laughter flows all around

and the foam and the ripples of insults still linger

long after the moment soaks into the ground.

So sail me away to an island of worry,

where the gulls cry out with mocking and glee

and the crash of the waves is a constant reminder

that from your derision I’ll never be free.

Long have I walked in the glades and the mountains.

Searching for peace when there’s none to be found

and the quiet and the calm doesn’t settle the raging

of cacophonous noise in the absence of sound.

Shall we now wander along through the sand.

Shall we wade through the river and stroll through the glade

and when you have seen what your words have created

will you gaze up in wonder at what you have made?

Let’s start again

so we’re back. after a brief hiatus it made sense that the first thing I wrote in ages was about the fact I haven’t written anything in ages.

The dusty pen comes once more into life.

too long have stories been hidden in ink.

has inspirations ghost returned once more.

is this merely a memory stirred up.

can tales so long forgotten rise again.

the dragon sleeps but one eye flickers now.

time ticks on but the hands are slowing down.

the page is empty but there’s promise there.

So shall the future be written in rhyme?

shal rhythm dictate it’s daily winding.

the dusty pen comes once more into life.

but for how long can the writer hold on?

Stain

the next two I though of were Honour and Stain. You don’t really see Honour around that much these days. There seems to be more of a sense to get what you can. Stain sings this himself. He’s the first to do so but it makes sense with his Character.

Stain

Act your own way, don’t say sorry

give others all your care and worry.

forget the times that you did wrong,

listen to my favourite song.

for I am stain and I am here

to fill your life with joy and cheer.

forget restraints that life bestows.

act as if no one else knows.

sleep around, drink to excess

get yourself in lots of mess.

honours for the foolish and weak

be a true man pity the meek.

go ahead and seize the day

get used to it stain is here to stay.

Chaos

this is the follow on from control. you do need to read that one to understand the last line of each verse. its the refrain i’ve wanted to use since i thought of the character and i’m really glad it was able to fit with the rest.

 

Chaos

like a spider he crawls on the web of the world.

in his hands are shears that he clicks and clacks open.

the raggedy man and his mischievous ways.

snipping at strings, snipping at strings, snipping at strings.

he smells like petroleum with flapjacks and sweat

his clothes are mismatched and the colours are random

and his beard is untrimmed for he’s far too busy

snipping at strings, snipping at strings, snipping at strings.

he knows that hes chased by the angry control,

and the ropes that he cuts will be fixed very soon.

but he’ll keep on going for it’s what he enjoys.

snipping at strings, snipping at strings, snipping at strings.

so when things go wrong and there’s trouble in the air

when chaos reigns supreme and there’s darkness around.

listen for the noise of a trickster hard at work.

snipping at strings, snipping at strings, snipping at strings.

Control

for the next pair of immortals i started thinking about chaos and control. I’ll get to chaos next. I had the idea that the world was held together by strings. individual strands of time and matter that hold everything in its place. Control started of as a lonely repairman travelling the globe. then I though it would be much more fun to make him a little less vagabond and a little more bond. think men in black meets the three fates.

 

Control

When the circuits are down and the lights are all out

there’s panic on the streets with the scream and shout

hear a voice in the dark cutting through the doubt

“relax and take control”

he drives through the night in his DB9

his hair and his suit always looking fine

his confidence making the dark times shine

come on and meet control.

for he sees the bindings holding the world

the balance of life and the way its curled.

did you know that your days could be easily twirled

by the lord of control.

so when a rope snaps, the binding gets frayed

when chaos attacks, the day falls in shade.

when your scared, alone and calling for shade.

remember your control.

for he’ll be there with a comforting word

and your pleas for help will always be heard.

he’ll go when his judgement is once more incurred.

say thank you to control.

Terminus

just like Inspiration and Reality, I wanted time to have a counterpart. The idea struck me of another watcher. unlike time he doesn’t walk amongst us. instead he sits on the outskirts waiting for things to end. he’s called terminus and i’m actually a little scared of him.

 

Terminus

 

On the border he waits

and watches the world.

Reading the story 

as life is unfurled.

 

there’s no hair on his head

or eyes in his face.

of humour or mercy 

he hasn’t a trace.

 

his mouths full of scars

for he chews at his lips.

his hands run with blood

from the dagger he grips.

 

His Brother may walk 

through the bleak history.

But for him there’s no secret

no deep mystery.

 

For he is the ending 

that comes to us all.

time has no meaning

well he comes to call.

 

And he waits for the day 

when all things must end.

for he and he only

can quite comprehend.

 

that a dates set in stone

where we’ll come to the close

and he waits for that time

that only he knows.

old man time

This follows on from the last couple of poems. I thought Time would be a great character to write. not as an old man but a rather fashionable guy that turns heads even though he’s usually unnoticed.

 

Old man time

 

Old man time is a dapper young gent

whose buttons are shiny and bright.

his jacket is pressed, his waistcoat is clean

and his collar is ruffled and white.

 

he walks through the town with a smile on his face

his hands hang low by his side.

he causes a stir with his fashionable dress

and the way his cravat’s loosely tied.

 

through the passing of years he has watched everyday

at our failures, our loves and our joys.

he watches the adults drinking their wine,

the children that play with their toys.

 

he’s there in the corner when life’s gone so dark

and hope seems so far away.

he’s there by your side when your spirits are bright

and you laugh and dance through the day.

 

he’s there through your sorrow, he’s there through your loss

he’s there through your laughter and smiles.

the constant companion travelling down

through the turning and churning of miles.

 

Old man time is a dapper young gent

whose buttons are shiny and bright.

he’s watched through the daytime of sunshine and warmth

and he’s watched through the cold of the night.

inspirations enemy

Yesterdays poem got me thinking about personifications and oppisites. if every ying has it’s yang, every light its dark. then what about inspiration. who would play against my crazed muse.

 

the dark form of reality

She never walks in moonlight

there’s no sunshine in her hair.

When i see her face

Birds aren’t singing everywhere

She has no time for dreaming

and she cannot stand to see

an artist or a writer

show their creativity.

She squashes all my dreams

and the wishes that i had.

she doesn’t care for thoughts

be they happy, be they sad.

she wants the world to stay

as we see it at first glance.

she’ll never give imagining

a fair and even chance.

substance and solidity

are all she longs to find.

she doesn’t like the fantasies

that dance throughout my mind.

so now i stay away from her

and live my life in lies.

I try to fight the madness

 in inspirations eyes.

For he is my salvation

when reality is here.

I know that she cant hurt me

when the mad old muse is near.