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Ross Blade Poem
The oxymoron ..
His anger keeps loving you
again and again!
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2016
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Ross Blade Poem
The wicked woman
Says, I can take the kids,
So obey me! Woe man.
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2016
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Ross Blade Poem
Hush! say nothing son.
Suffer his sins silently.
Silence is golden.
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2016
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Ross Blade Poem
Fiercely his tongue lashed.
Head bowed her spirit bleeds out.
Invisible cut.
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2016
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Ross Blade Poem
Much maligned are men.
So mentally mangled that
Many self murder.
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2016
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Ross Blade Poem
Inner child, forever confused?
Puzzled by alcohol misused.
His angry dad when so infused,
Did with hand, belt and bat abused.
Inner child, cruelly accused,
With arms and hips then deeply bruised.
His ‘self’ reduced and made diffused,
Mental pain left talents unused.
Inner child, who was once enthused,
Broken by violence, excused.
Mind distorted by truth refused,
Shrouded by lies mum circumfused.
Inner child is with hope transfused
And, by sound help, self-love infused.
Where visceral doubt, once oozed,
This inner child now disabused.
(Disabuse: To persuade someone that a belief is mistaken)
Dedicated to the Rev. Antony Barraclough, whose spiritual guidance and humanity, enabled me to find hope and peace among the living.
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2016
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Ross Blade Poem
Misogynist cult
pawns, rosy cheeked petals, for
a cold pallid bane.
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2018
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Ross Blade Poem
Alcohol
Social lubricant?
Laughing, falling, fighting.
Three sheets to the wind!
Drunk
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2016
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Ross Blade Poem
Beezy beezy bee ...
Farming flowers just for me.
My sweet honey bee.
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2018
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Ross Blade Poem
Sunday morning's allure peels
Pedophiles click their heels
Sunday School an open door
Fleshy choices on the floor
Parent's trust in Holy God
While evil men sheepskin shod
Eye their apples on the job
Which to tickle poke or bob
The jolly knight's chief desire
Blond hair blue eyes he'd require
The Scotsman chants lyric verse
With boys alone he'd converse
The coat of many colors,
He'd slip between boys covers
In church, at prayers so divine
Poor mums, they receive no sign
Pius pastors' theology
Teaches on Pistology
Their divine career assured
The Sods left un-turned accord
Sing on all in Holy Song
Blind the mothers right or wrong
Move Minister to Bishop
Precious Pawns instead they chop
Alone in Saint Ives to rot
Copyright © Ross Blade | Year Posted 2017
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