To stand by me in my time of need,
Is worth all the chaos she brings in my life.
18/8/2024

And after it happens,I'll fall through the air,
Braced for the impact that will not be there.
Form tightened and strained
Expecting the blow,
But I'll tumble forever
To what happens below.

every morning when we wake up to a brand new day
we just never know what will come our way
will be a good day full of happiness
filled with lots of joy free from any stress

will it change around when its halfway through
change your day around leave you feeling blue
we never really know we have to wait and see
then we will get to know how the day will be

There’s a hole at my feet
that I know I must fill
and as long as it’s there
I cannot be still
Don’t know where it comes from
or how it appears
But it may be how
I cope with my fears
I work to cover
an unpaid bill
that was handed to me
against my will
But, for the most part
I think I’ll survive
As long as I don’t bury
myself alive

Bill Baley bought the bank down on Boulder street
He rode the bus to work
years for every week

He always sat his
orbed *** down
upon the same old seat
The one you know with a view that was always so oblique

He liked the way the wind would swirl and
blow the trash around
It was a poor man's cheap ballet
but without the sound

If threatened . . .  with change . . . then he'd begin to fret
Just considering the consequences always made him sick

(Sometimes he'd get so riled he'd became a ****)


No one robs a bank these days
nor steals a railroad train
They'd illegally transfer digital money
and that's how they've named the game

If you stroke or tap the key
you'll become a millionaire
Join the frequent flyers club and go mostly anywhere  

Well Bill's bank on Blouder street
had all of its money drained
They took out everything
turning his blood icy in the vein

Bill then lost his everything . . .
His bank his house his cat
Even had to give up the blue Siberian Yak

He became a homeless man
and drifted with the wind
He never knew tomorrow or the troubles it would send

Someone stole the shoes
he wore
while he was drunken sleep
and he became another refugee begging on the street

As far as survival skills
he was worse than even lame
Most people avoided looking
thinking he was all to blame

Poor Bill Baley froze to death
On one of those freaking polar nìghts
The frigid northwest winds made sure he was frozen white

They took his remains
down
to the mortuary
The city had contracted them to dispose of indigents
with their crematory

He was torched by flames
that rose above the city
Now at this point and time I say purely it's a pity

For after all crime does pay  
yet it kills , ruins lives
and slanders
And we are the goose looking on stretching necks to gander


Now-a-days no one sits
on the bus
that Bill would use to take
The bus route run there was decided that they'd eliminate


Now nothing but black faces blankly stare when you're staring back
Those are the people who were born with no claim to either side of track

And as for Bill no one remembers now except those who lived aback
And not too many live that long
When you're tied down to the track

There is no moral to this story
No bands or whistles or
parades of glory

For what little we have will be taken away
. . .
when they open up the gateway

He doesn't remember anything.

The dotted boats on the sea,
birds peeking from the bush,
a smiling ******* a valley,
a couple with a baby in the bus..

The places, years, situations
he looks at with a snug vagueness.

But he revisits them calmly
happy in the bliss of not straining
to remember.

The spaceship he boarded with them
is now cosmic dust.

Let them be left in that capsule of time.

The writing on the wall is not graffiti.
It was not put there by rebel hands.
It’s written in an obscure language
Few will take the time to learn
And even fewer heed its warning.

The writing lists the reasons
For the coming of the Horsemen.
The steeds that carry avenging riders
Wearing mantles made of
Fire and flood, earthquake and war.

The writing on the wall is flaming
With incendiary anger at the people
Who will not read what’s written there,
Having armed themselves in black chain mail
Forged from avarice and greed.

They shed no thought for fellow man
Or for the world that holds them all.
They lust for power that money brings
And dollars are the only God they worship.
They’ll never read what’s written on the wall.

There is a whinny on the rising breeze
That carries smoke from nearby fires,
And subtle poundings on the ground
Foretell the coming of the herd with
Flaming brands that match the wall
ljm

Not allowed to be part of her life
Only a casual bystander
Feeding on the crumbs of her
Tossed to me by others
ljm

When the sun is down
The moon comes around to try & hug her
Night & day are lovers
Forever chasing each other
An endless endeavour like no other
They are meant for one another
Hiding their feelings behind the Earth's cover
During dusk & dawn, they blend their colours
It's their love they utter
The moon adores the sun more during summer
In awe of her in her element
Surrounded by stars, he stays celibate
Astounded by her being above par
Far above, yet still with benevolence
No one comes close, they're irrelevant
Shines so bright, she must be heaven sent