some older poems...

RIGHT NOW

(for all the dark ones who have loved and lost, or who

are still looking for their soulmates…)

My grave is calling me, blackness coming to claim me,

at last a release from this tortured world, not my world.

I so wish I had loved a dark evil soul, that she was my soulmate

and perished by her own hand, then I could follow her,

end my days, pain, nothingness.

I have no option, have no one to love, to be my soulmate,

my final guardian angel.

So my friends you will have to forgive me

if I end my life and call it a day.

Loneliness is pure, pain is clarity, death absolute.

Maybe my soulmate will find me, save me, someday –

but my days are against that, starting right now…

UNCARING MAN

We, the developed world, we rape

the rain forests for wood for middleclass homes,

we drill for oil in the Arctic wilderness for our own selfish greed.

We trawl the sees and take the fish for our fat bellies,

uncaring and naïve…

A dozen species are killed off every day, extinct

before their time and now no more but recent history.

Our atmosphere chokes on poison smog, ozone destroyed

sending UV rays down like laser bullets, skin cancer rife.

What will be next? Our world is part of us

but only I see that…

taking it for granted is a sin,

arrogant uncaring man raping her

like some two bit whore.

CRITICISE

Criticise this, criticise that – it’s your job.

Criticise me, criticise the world – it’s your shout.

Criticise your mother, criticise your dad, stupid big mouth.

Can you do the ultimate criticism? Criticise yourself,

pull yourself apart and see the inner you to see

your weakness and do an honest criticism?

I don’t think you can.

DUTCH VALENTINE

Dutch Valentine, forever my love –

then who are you to do this to me, tormenting my soul?

Who are you to do this to me, pull my heart apart, to own it?

Of fallen heroes in burning planes from across the ocean, spiralling

to the sea and death.

Release?

Evil girl from the ice land, was once mine, then many others.

To all those evil ones I have loved, we are all the generation

of the damned and lost – so lost.

We wouldn’t have it any other way, would we?

To be the fallen ones. Mental illness, lost love, broken

hearts, black arts, minds collapse.

We are something that we can only be, us, the weird

ones who would die for our cause, nothing else.

Do others fear us or mock us or respect us?

Are they our friends or our enemies?

No one knows.