I have been writing poems since I was about 12. I am interested in the intricate beauty of language, it's messages and anger and power to love and inspire. I enjoy playing with language to test its maliability sometimes puns, or sounds or shapes, but always the beauty of the words and their places of humour, anger, comfort, love, loneliness, or hatred, exasperation, justice and injustices, indignation, exageration, exaltation, spirituality and love. These are some of the essences of drama and life carried pumping, pulsing raging with life affirming and murderous lust through poetry, the blood of language.
For the longest time
Random absent reason bore
Irrational heinous deeds,
...
Yes I broke my silly leg
That would account for the crutches!
How did it happen?
...
When all the trees are tall and still
and Sun is shouldered on a hill,
Shadows drench a cooling gully
and nocturnal eyes begin to stir.
...
I must go down in the seas again, the lonely sea and to die,
And all I ask is a better life and a land to set that by,
And the world's kick and the wind's song and the white fists shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and great jaws breaking.
...
Is the selfless heart not most self consumed?
Selfishly conceited by greater goods'
Dimly lit imperfect passage
To intoxication by self-righteous fervour?
...