The Beat of the Drum

•October 23, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Seemed to want to go a bit closer to spoken word with this, would have liked a few more verses, but the muse left me.

Empty words
And empty brain
Are all that remain
Since you walked out
They’re all that remain
All that remain

And the beat of my heart
Is the beat of the drum
That keeps me up at night
That keeps me up at night
And the beat of the drum
Is the beat of my heart
With the skin so tight
With the skin so tight
The beat of my heart
Is the beat of the drum
So painful at night
So painful at night

And the whisky stings
As I drink my pain
To pretend I’m sane
With my head held high
As I drink my pain
I drink my pain

And the beat of my heart
Is the beat of the drum
That keeps me up at night
That keeps me up at night
And the beat of the drum
Is the beat of my heart
With the skin so tight
With the skin so tight
The beat of my heart
Is the beat of the drum
So painful at night
So painful at night

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Haunted

•September 24, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Looks like I’m back to writing poetry after a number of years doing other things, and having my min sorted in other methods, but I find my self needing to write again, so it might as well get posted again. Hello.

The hopes and regrets of
A hundred futures
And a hundred pasts
Haunt me tonight
How things
Could have
Would have
Should have?
Been
If only.
If only.
But they weren’t
And they aren’t
And I’m left with just
The hopes and regrets of
A hundred futures
And a hundred pasts.

The Thermos

•July 28, 2015 • 1 Comment

Here’s a (not so good) rendition of an old joke.

I’ll pass you the flask
So you don’t have to ask
What do you mean I’ve done it wrong
it took me so long
It’s not even an hour old
Keeps hot hot and cold cold
So why is the tea ice
And the sorbet melted?

Hope you enjoy, please feel free to comment.
The Lonely Recluse.

Does It Pay To Bleed Between The Lines

•July 23, 2015 • Leave a Comment

A piece of music by Mr Scroobius Pip states that it pays to bleed between the lines, from experience I disagree.

I look back and wonder
Did it pay to bleed between the lines
My poetry flowed so smoothly
When lubricated with my blood
But then I take a reality check
No amount of poetry
Is worth a single drop of blood
Nothing is
Does it hell pay to bleed between the lines
Whoever thought it was a wise idea
To teach such rubbish?

Hope you enjoy, please feel free to comment.
The Lonely Recluse.

A Thousand Fragments

•July 21, 2015 • 2 Comments

I honestly can’t remember if I was writing about the coffee shop I write in, my notepad, or something else entirely, but then what does it matter?

A thousand fragments
Of a million conversations
Fill the leaves of this place
I wonder if any will be heard
Or heard in full
Or if they will forever stay
A million conversations
In a thousand fragments.

Hope you enjoy, please feel free to comment.
The Lonely Recluse.

A White Blank Page

•July 16, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Yes another poem moaning about not being able to write poetry. With thanks to Mumford and sons for the opening line.

A white blank page
And a bitter rage
Made the ink flow
My emotions show
But now I am well
Away from that hell
What can I write
Now I need not fight?

Hope you enjoy, please feel free to comment.
The Lonely Recluse.

Drop by Drop

•July 14, 2015 • Leave a Comment

I’m sure there was something that prompted this, but I can’t for the life of me remember what.

He plots and cheats and schemes and connives
And he stole from me
He plots and cheats and schemes and connives
And he stole from me
This will not do

He stole what is mine
I shall have it back
Drop by drop
Because

He plots and cheats and schemes and connives
And he stole from me
He plots and cheats and schemes and connives
And he stole from me
And it will not do

I took what was mine
Drop by drop
And he watched on
Helpless

He plotted and cheated and schemed and connived
And he stole from me
He plotted and cheated and schemed and connived
And he stole from me
And it would not do

He wept and moaned
As I took it back
Drop by drop
And there was nothing he could do

For all his plotting and cheating and scheming and conniving
And his stealing from me
For all his plotting and cheating and scheming and conniving
And his stealing from me
It could not do

So I took it back
Drop by drop
I took what was mine
My precious wine.

Hope you enjoy, please feel free to comment.
The Lonely Recluse.