Rainbow Poetry #1

The Poetry Post #4

Festivity

The festive season has begun
Time for fireworks, feasts and fun;
Relatives and friends come calling home,
Lights and colours, the walls adorn.

Florid wallpapers, the widening cracks disguise,
Dendrite mends the leaking pipes.

Prismatic lamps illumine dreary halls,
Ornate dresses and cashmere shawls;
And if the ripped petticoat within, be seen,
‘The delicate fabric caught the jewelled pin’.

Silver ornaments painted gold,
Bought last month, when the bed was sold.

Treats and sweets, the dinner table overwhelm,
Enticing flavours inhaled with every breath;
Delicacies compete to catch the eye,
Where nothing had been but bread and rye.

Euphoric laughter heralds despairing cries,
Festive splendour, broken homes disguise.

Fatal Addiction

Virtual worlds of perfect lives,
Pouting lips and charcoal eyes,
Photos ‘shared’ and status ‘liked’
He says ‘what’s up’, she says ‘hi’.

Unnoticed, ignored, a wisp of smoke,
Blows in through cracks in the bolted door
Meanwhile, in the background, the first sparks fly,
The woodwork singes, the curtains ignite.

And yet, within the world of dreams,
When happiness is uploaded, all troubles flee;
Smiles and tears, technicolour faces convey,
And charming strangers whisk all troubles away.

Outside the windows, sirens blare,
Cries reverberate, all in a scare;
The sunset hues of lives ablaze,
Tear through the walls, all barriers raze.

All else fades out, when the chat-box beeps,
Dark fumes all round, it’s too late to scream;
With the last breath snuffed out, and vision dimmed,
‘I luv u too’ blinks on the dying screen...

The Poetry Post #3

Pretend

Pretend you’re not here, pretend it’s not me,
Pretend the knife in your back doesn’t bear my fingerprints;
Pretend the red in my hands doesn’t flow from your broken heart,
Pretend we can go back to those forgotten days, that innocent past.

Pretend we’re back to the night you smiled at me,
With every yearning breath I relive that memory;
Your last smile, our last kiss,
Just this once, pretend you can forgive.

I may not apologise,
On that fateful night, I forfeit the right;
It’s a crime I am destined to repeat,
No rest for the wicked, no salvation for my misdeeds.

Pretend I had changed my mind,
Pretend I had returned your smile;
Pretend the kiss was real, didn’t end with a knife through your heart,
Pretend you can sleep tonight, safe in my arms.



Dollhouse

Dazzling lights in rainbow hues,
Music soft, steps right on cue.
Bodies swaying – gentle brushes, halting touches;
A lingering glance, movements in a trance...

Melodies sweet, soft lights enhance,
Painted lips and powdered charm.

Sparkling fabrics adorn anorexic frames,
Vibrant smiles and anonyms;
Alluring words and curtsies disguise,

Shifting glances, lifeless eyes.

Crimson fountains flowing full;
Into blissful oblivion, all senses pull.

Painted dolls in rooms of glass,
Keyed to smile, simper, laugh;
Kaleidoscope beams the shadows chase–
Bodies move in euphoric haze.

But when with dawn, darkness descends,
Nocturnal angels, into the shadows fade.

The Poetry Post #2

The Bright Young Things

Livewire, raging fire,
Sparks flying everywhere;
Come burn in the flames of caustic desire,
Tell a truth, risk a dare.

We’re the Princes of the universe,
Born to rule, born to pave the way;
For the millions that come after,
In our hands shall the sceptre sway.

We’re the future of the race,
Burning brighter than rocket flame;
Racing to the top, masters of the game,
The pinnacle of the food-chain.

We play the music of purgatory,
Dance to the tunes of hellfire;
Fighting tooth and nail to win an unwinnable game,
Come burn to the music of common ire.

We’re the Princes of the universe,
Born to rule, born to save the day;
Drowning in kaleidoscope visions of love and hate,
Our eyes all futures await.

We’re the predators and the prey,
The darkness before first light;
We haunt the dreams of Kings and slaves
Of dark and luminous minds.

We’re the Princes of the universe,
Born to die in glorious wars;
Born of the flicker of a candle that
Obscured the solar mark.



The Beauty of Strange Lives

Strange passions, emotion
Felt through unfeeling eyes,
A vision in dereliction, devastation
A panorama of virtue and vice.
In the throes of catastrophe shines
The beauty of strange lives.

Blood and tears, grasping at straws,
Bullets, dynamites, the fireworks;
Fire-forged friends, cheap drinks, a broken cross–
Blazing trails in their wake leave the Young Turks.
Of darkest nights are born the brightest stars,
Famines birth messiahs; heroes, wars.

Strange lives in strange lands,
Live to die, and in death, reverberate–
In the neon lights of foreign screens
Images excite, enhance, desecrate.
The world watches, and cries and contemplates,
As blood mixes with stale water, and the headlines scream: violence escalates.

The beauty of strange lives,
That in burning, do not singe;
But warm at a distance; strange resistance,
To foreign aid, condescension, advice.
Statues and memorials raised, commemorate,
Strange names that, in passing, thrive.

The Poetry Post #1

The Magazine Girl

There’s this girl in the magazine,
Smiling up through the glossy sheen
Of florid pages in the illustrious publication,
Barely into adulthood, touching the heights of acclamation.

Perfect hair, each strand in place,
Vibrant eyes, through prismatic lenses gaze
Out into a world of lights and stars,
Of dazzling flashes and airbrushed scars.

Designer labels adorn the hourglass frame,
Stiletto heels tread with careless grace,
All eyes transfix – with envy or desire,
In all hearts ignites an unquenchable fire.

Pretty as a picture, devilish perfection;
Inspiring love and hatred, with equal elation...
But in hesitant dreams of a different world,
She’d trade for a private love, all public adoration.


The Best Life

Every morning I wake up
To see colours all around me;
The sight of smiles on beloved faces,
And the scents of baked goods, surround me.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.

Feet torn with broken glass,
The stench of gunpowder all around me;
Pining for a little patch of grass,
The taste of despair surrounds me.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.

As I walk down the street,
Happy faces greet me;
The children race down to school,
And the postman rushes to meet me.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.

A child was crying for its mother,
Who lay bleeding on the floor;
I watched a while till a bullet flew past,
And the little one cried no more.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.

At night when darkness falls,
After supper with the folks;
I crawl into the covers and chase the nightmares away,
With my darling’s gentle strokes.

I don’t know how
Life gets better than this;
In another life I used to dream
Of this safe and sound feeling.