by the street lamp,
one sees the drugs other
sees the money
Sheep that follow leaders and wear wool,
sadly, often don't live a life that's full
before the part of them that does remain
trades in their wool for cellophane.
Around us the wind moves
not angry,
not broken
just tired of carrying us.
it doesn’t cry out or plead.
it sits in the chest
like a truth we cannot know,
a stone where song should be.
what did we do with beauty?
what did we trade,
for voice,
for sky?
I’d gladly trade technology
For life before A.I.,
When brains and effort were the things
On which we did rely.
When human contact helped to solve
Our problems or our fears,
Without the witch hunts which today
Can sabotage careers.
When children got to play outside
And passwords weren’t used
And many things did not exist
That get me so confused.
When cars had keys and tv stations
Shut down for the night;
When even angry politicians
Fought a civil fight.
The world was never perfect then
But I was more content
When life felt simple and secure,
At least to some extent.
I know you wish for a place to be,
hidden in the mist, silent as the sea.
No fear, no hope, no questions asked.
where the nights are not heavy
and darkness don't last.
could you trade this place
For your favourite song?
the throbbing of your heart
as you run towards the dawn.
The echo of your name cut through the trees
you run out of breath
But your legs still keep,
Running.
You keep running-
and then you run into the night.
past your mother's flowers
the wet clothes in a line.
They brush against your face,
the water slips-
it leaves a cold stain,
enough to melt your lips.
the concrete floor pulls you back
"stop running", it says
take it all in, take all that you have.
I know it overflows, overstays, overloads
but without it, aren't we nothing?
and nothing is what's left.
The Trade Deadline
Every year it seems
sports teams have a trade deadline
I rather be a player not the spectator
so I do not know a lot
but this small thought
of trades made me smile
You see
I just made a trade of my own
I traded 100 acquaintances world wide
in return
I got only one person
with the kindest heart and soul
even her team hat, brought me a smile that glows
My team will always be a team of hearts
red with passion, determination
soft with a caress of kindness
in gardens, where flowers are the only weapons
I am tinged with sadness
at humanities loss
I rather one with a voice of love
so as 1000 babies do not have to cry
His narcissism’s off the charts
Only psychos say he’s got smarts
This china shop bull
Sells shopping carts full
Of shlock from his rear-facing parts
Despite the fear mongering
(phony news) (Socialist Blues)
American's economy is doing
well – not, in a hand-basket,
going to hell. Today's new
jobs report, 228,000 created,
America being resuscitated --
(Sorry for tariffs, no other choice)
(Capitalist’s again have an enterprising
sane voice)
(Despite Socialist Boos, by adopting
Free-trade World Economies will all
prosper~ and not lose!)
Those corrupt closer to home,
The little man is no-longer your
manipulated cash-cow – we had
sense of being ripped off~ Musk,
is only showing us, by who and
how.
I am a soul of a merchant
And I am a spirit of love
My food is red wine and bread
My spirit flies high above
Trade is a peaceful thing
My love is eternal and true
Love is a pair of wings
My heart feels when I look at you
I was an artist of needless art
Nobody wanted to buy
Once I sold well, then it start
To worsen, because I tried
To change the style, in aim
To explore the more risky way
I failed, my pictures unnamed
Then I called it a day
Once I was a bookseller
I sold greatly, but it went boring
So predictable I won’t tell you
Everyone tells the same story
Then I have found my love
Or was it that love has found
Myself, and that biblical dove
Brought a blessing when I was down
I met you, my dearest one
My beloved, my joy and delight
You’ve gone, but I’m still around
Its for you I live night by night.
So now it's official:
there is a trade war
between the U.S. and Canada.
Do we really know what for?
The POTUS claims it's about fentanyl
coming over the border,
but that dangerous chemical ain't exactly plentiful
coming out of my country, a land of law and order.
It's just a flimsy excuse;
a way to heap abuse and utter untruths
about a country that will not bow down
to the whims of a pathetic clown.
Sadly, in this situation
between traditionally friendly nations
there will only be tit-for-tat retaliation,
and the economic devastation
will in no way bring validation
to the asinine machinations
of the current U.S. administration.
The Pumpkinfuhrer only wants to sow devastation.
He is truly an abomination
and is now being confronted without hesitation.
His actions have certainly set a serious tone.
"America First" is about to become "America Alone".
a big fire starts
by some small sparks is it not?
a global trade war
Up your gears
Cheat your fears
Drown your doubts
And move up
Learn a trade
And how to trade
Be a master
In your game
Conceal your cards
Evade the darts
Be smart and wise
And score good
The long lost trading
Barter trade, just exchange goods
No money needed.
I’ve been to the auction house, I go there once a week
But still no luck, I cannot find the rarity I seek
The Chinese urn to one side of my fireplace stands there
Looking kinda lonely as it’s meant to be a pair
My wife is always moaning that it looks so out of place
It dominates the left hand side, but on the right is space
It’s worth a lot of money but an antique dealer reckoned
That they’d be almost priceless if I were to find a second
I thought I’d never find one, it’s been quite a lengthy wait
I can’t believe that I’m about to get my urn a mate
I’ve passed this shop a hundred times; it seems today’s the day
This shop sells pre-loved items and they’ve got one on display
Okay, so they knew their stuff and wouldn’t drop their price
I had to pay them fifty quid but it’ll look real nice
Scooping up a bargain I find well and truly thrilling
And frankly even fifty quid means I just made a killing
I was on cloud nine for urns like these fetch more in pairs
I drove home and I rushed inside, to hear my wife upstairs
Excitedly, I yelled, “You’ll never guess what I just did.”
She said, “Me first… the junk shop bought your urn for seven quid.”
Is it worth it when you travel
But you wind up getting sick?
Seems like Covid and vacations,
In conjunction, somehow click.
After flying home from Paris,
People sneezing on the plane,
I felt tired, but the reason
Could have choices to explain.
Is it jet lag? Is it Covid?
Well, I took a swab-type test
And in fifteen minutes – Voila!
Just confirming what I’d guessed.
So I’m stuck at home with Covid,
But I really do not know,
If this outcome was for certain,
Would I’ve chosen then to go?
Related Poems