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A muse in Patron

It don’t matter how many selfies you take.

What matters is if you can accept your own mirror reflection.

No time to flinch.

No time to hesitate.

Free to stride across abundant valleys conjured by a sweeping imagination.

God, when she weeps!

I collect her tears.


Thankful for the martyr,

My patron muse.

Crystallized an abundant array of gifts .

Perhaps it is a silhouette…

Perhaps it is a rainbow’s smile illuminating intrinsic hues…

These words could reveal Science’s stuttering staccato voicing his love for nature.

For all her might

For all her brute

Which one is Beauty?

Which is Art?

What if you believed the sky is indeed blue?

These are my words

She’s must be  a fraud. Disconnected to this world

a caricature of a  human.


An imposter  civilian of society – a living entity to her dismay incapacited  to disappear



always chased  back in this race -the rush

It’s  marathon pace she detests 



Cream crackered

Loafin about


The  First in line to devour   the  despo’s discarded crusts.

Her washed out  hat mirrors

Her bottom lip


Scrutinizing the clouds wafting by.


Human puppets strung up

Wooden  ideals


Stereo types





A woman

A lover

A thinker

A doe-or,

A reason to  carry on the charade?



Compelled by the  hypnotic pull pulsating with a love song  serenading  the humanity of  heart.

Do or Dye

Sitting on the roof top trying to tell myself I’ve not misbehaved.
Blush rose hues creep up my cheeks and I know my hearts desire is unexplained.
I look at the stars — one always stands out brighter than the rest.
I say to myself — there goes my next conquest.
With liberal wings and green peace in my heart ,
I know for the sake of inhabiting my skin-unconfortable feelings will always play a part.
Forgive me for being free spirited and seeking out a bon ami.
If I had testicles would my new gender let me walk free ?
to be me?
It’s a plea.
I love what I desire .
I desire what I love .
I hate it when my sanity decides to imitate a neat whisky on the rocks.
Truth be told – I know I’m getting old .
Disambiguous feelings about the path I tread.
May my daughter’s laugh always bring me round to the sound of present day clocks.
Murmurs of hesitation .
Live my life, have a voice, and sail away
Where else do you think I would choose for a holiday destination?
The one I never have to come back from.
It’s me inside me.
Dare to take a part of me — feel my anticipation.
The specials-the after math.
Told off for my impulsive reaction.
The fact I’m conscious I am typing these words-
I feel inauthentic in how they roll out my mind with a hesitant tense formation
Words rise up ,around me – Jab me and a jeer me to dare say whats on my mind.
I’m not a child and I’m not venerable just yet .
So I swim against the tide of the alphabet soup.
Clarity I seek.
One tidal wave from forcing myself to write these words down;
If only to reinforce I have my own sound.
Sound as a pound
Scared of clowns .
That’s better-Socs — that’s my deal.
My contraband.
How I get from a-z- without reaching out for the plan involving illegally, prescribed Ativan.
Banned from my perception of the elite.
Breached my licence to complete…
Should I hit delete?
This is my beat.
I won’t let me beat me down.
Self is the worst enemy-you know how it ages your reflection
scowling in a frown.
She’s back in business now . Wah da da da da — the song clearly has relevance in my sense of decline.
Fall 8 times — get up again.
Who am I to want merely blend in?
I was born to be a Bengal feline.
Character building — life coach ,I sense my patience won’t let me vote for your reality T.V. yoke.
It makes me sick.
Confession .
Watch one episode and I will mutate into just one more cockroach.
I’m on the down line with a mean upper hook.
Priorities in order.
House work infected by the pox — aren’t you glad you vaccinated your park life children?
Let my demon free to infiltrate the anti’s, confront them with the disease bitten book.
Have a say — what’s the worst that can happen?
Speak your mind — illegal aliens might just descend from that planet called Saturn.
Write to recover. Write to escape.
Shake up your mind , dare to continue —an inner ongoing live debate.
Not for hate — you make your own fate.
Feeling Anxiety. Too worried about what John Sax’s might reveal to his munchie queen.
Know thyself and be true to yourself.
I’m not going to change my character to fit in with society’s latest heart melt.
Superstitious mind – I earned it in walking my path — did you see my black belt?
Stand up for who you are and what you believe in.
Some may consider me strange but have you had a look at your inner heathen?
The entity is back — no wheel-dealing with a bad batch of sugar coated crack.
6 million ways to die — choose one
That came from a song – Who am I to sit around and hide?


If you could see the myriad memories that run across my eyes : you would be driven into a bedlam.Wishing for a forget me sods lot of wild flowers enraged with the promise of eeergh de parfume- dementia.

Naive Rider

Who am I ?

Designated driver left with that old Mad hatter.

The old mercurial adage






If I don’t write, talk or express myself

My beliefs mean nothing

My mind is a personality of multiples

Forgotten words

The story of my life.

Seems obvious

Desonate or disconnect from past traumatic strife.

Moving on automatic

No sense , inebriated , toxic , sober my God has left the pall bearer in charge of my destination.

Music is my only salvation

No! Just my words are the above without hesitation.

Motivation ?

Print ink on my soul

Cast a shadow

A casket made of ornate gold.

Maybe I’m not the oldest of souls

The palm reader knew when my rings didn’t make it up to my elbows

Oh well…

Fate ? destiny?

What does it matter when life is a choice whether you die or break the glass between the two worlds

It may shatter

I’m into cats.

Does it matter.

I’m a riddle of my own inertia.

Looking for Mirth

Contemplating about my guilt.

Flood waters break.


Bursts  in Death’s wake.

Sombre sombreros sway nonchalantly past my weary face.

I see the disguise

Its dressed as the waif.

Inside I try to blossom-

Inside I will myself to wake.

No lovers kiss to make my fate.

I rise and I fall,

fall and rise.

Twisted thoughts convulse my dreams

until I arise in an apathetic state.

Change is inevitable,

Words hold weight worth more than gold ,myrrh or diamonds.

Mere blistered pearls

as shallow as the last tide waving goodbye for a wee break.

My heart is as vast and abundant in potential  as the Congo

Stuck in reverse.

The past holds me motionless

Yet,I fight for her smile.

To hear her laugh.

I don’t  realize that this is all that I wait for.

Simple conversations.

Simple blessings.

To be the queen of mirth in some one else’s hour of need,

will make me stronger.

I will live as I please.

Fulfill my destiny.

Duty is a gift.

Present in this moment

I smile,

These are mere weights.

They hurt

yet my spirits lift.

This is my show.

You are a part of it too .

One chance to realize your dreams

I, you and we.

Signing off with a silver lining;

These are my words.

They define my mood.

Not my girth.

*musings – write to recover

Ghosts floating through the mansion of my mind. It may sound like a great thing to own a mansion as a mind.I can tell you. It is a place that never sees sunshine, there is dust everywhere, the piano remains out of tune. Every room has something magnificent to find.

Dresses in one, jewels in the other, mothers little helpers pills scattered everywhere.There is always a ghost on standby ready to haunt me.

It’s like an old familiar melody.

I find no pleasure in any of these rooms.

There are too many rooms, not enough signs and I am always losing myself in it.Instead of running from my mind. I sit in the creaking rocking chair.

Legs splayed,opening myself up to become possessed by anything .They sit down on my favourite grey chaise longue and puff cigars that smell of lavender and twirl full bodied wine glasses filled with a deep maroon Beaujolais or a chateux neuf de pap.I seem unable to move

. I can’t move. If I could just ask them to leave .One places a daisy chain on my head and tops up my glass of southern comfort. I’m sure I have stopped drinking.

They know this as well as I do.The irony is they are trying to make me live again. Drink if you must- anything to live, they urge….This is their home. How can I cast them out?They drain me, yes it is true, but they have been a part of my life, guarding me when I was still growing in my mothers womb.I let them stay,”SIT DOWN”., I say.

Foreplay remnants stain the sheets on the various four poster beds. There is a new guy in town.Has a bit of a opium habit. He hides away from everyone ,including me.I have become desperate in my misery,I seek him out .He won’t show himself.I beg him to show me how. He can write the directions on a paper……I think he cares. He doesn’t want me to go that far down. I think if I am so far down the dragon’s pit;chasing ,what is a few more inches to the bottom?

Isn’t the bottom or top better than half way neither up or down?I think he hid the ouija board too. He doesn’t want to be summoned because my will will break his……In all honesty I think they all want the best for me.

Oh of course they have their own agenda’s too.They know how down I am but they need to go on outings too. They get bored so I get to be their cruise liner- my eyes are their oval windows ,to peer outof, their mode of transport, that shows them life still carries on even if they can’t be an active part of it.. ..They called me a party pooper today.

Sounds a bit lame.They held a special party pooper party for me.My least favourite party of all times- they all congregated in my drawing room whistling and pulling crackers and the incessant chatter nearly drove me out of the house.Usually, the louder they are the quicker I try to escape – This time they lucked out. They will not help me find Opium boy.I only want to escape with him.I will continue to follow his musky scent until another scent sends my pulse quickening.Another ghost starts to ask:”Why do you want to be dead when your heart still beats?”

“Oh fuck off and cross over – you can live in my mansion of a mind but I will not be questioned – my mind my rules.” I replyIf I had gone would I have lost the scent of Opium boy?Would I have cared?Usually when I chase a boy that needs saving , I get into trouble….

Travel apartheid

The darkest continent claims

Red card racism arrests flight of imaginary motion.

Air control. Trafficking sentient beings.

Venomous vendors plugging PC ( dis) respectful tests

Elevating inflation of people’s final destinations

Lost to incubation .

Ineffectual accusions of discrimation .

A part from hatred , what is the solution?

People are racist – black against a white supremist nation?

Apartheid of resources brought to a halt

Red light district with too many needles to purify our patriotic precious colts.

Threatening ethnic cleansing . A modern day global


no person can stereotype to one culture – bacteria spreads without copulation.



A matriaxy of mistakes

Dividing the world to another war philosophy.

Peace stammers to another halt.

( word prompt ‘travel apartheid) Thank you to my good writer frirnd for being my muse just by a small conversation.

Falling books never lie

Falling ( not fallin) books never lie).
It’s a metaphor not smut.

We did it in the kitchen

We did it on the sofa.

We stood like telescopes looking at opposite ends.

Me at the top He at the bottom of the stairs.

We did it to ‘its a wonderful world ’.

Dancing with our opinions Emotions diluted For we couldn’t stay away , solve our woes… Understand!

11 years..

The geek and the 40 year old welded together by the elements who will die – another day

We did it on the bed. I made the first move
We went to bed intoxicated off lavender Back to back … Is this how intimacy flies ?
divided .
No discussion Diss the content Broken up by genres.
Falling books never Li

e A middle Age Crisis
Buy a car

Leave me alone
Good evening heartache

Alexis knew me well. Might as well get used to MisCommunication banging our sound.

snared by tension Bare trap
array causing a future wrinkled frown
. Tangled in an intricate web of love; An angel brightens up these gloomy days

down , heartache. Walking

the green mile

We’ve invested in this framework

It’s Impossible

To predict we’ll be an over halved statistic

One done day.. Heart ache A roof , Free fall.

Not to diss his holy heart but Wishing I’ll bypass Gods will.

His will Ignores my words anyway…

Confessional poetry

Loss of control
Increased numerical equation
Detract from the value of self-worth.

Mind full


Aspirations snipped loose by an unearthly, scale driven puppet master
Reduces an entire psyche to a chemical embarrassment.

Good mood desires nourishment
the live to eat philosophy
A heavy burden the beast bears herded in.

restricted to forage on cashing out a societal life policy.

A one manned island
to its hunger