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My left hand bleeds crimson onto my paper,
As my right hand writes the words.
The brittle yellowed pages quake as they
Turn into a battlefield of my sensations.
Violent waves bury
the rough, course sand in my heart
Each crash pulling me closer
To the tender abyss.
Broken record in my brain
“This will never end. This will never end”
The waves will keep crashing
The pages will remain yellow
And I’ll be left
Forever caught between the ink and the abyss.
I read some poetry
I don’t understand
Haven’t got a clue
So do forgive me if
I do not review.
I would not no if
Poetry is good or bad
No empathy no apathy
I think I’m always sad
I wish to think I must
Not upset
About others poetry
I just don’t get.
Not life
but you who are
the masterpiece:
the human spirit knows no bar
O, Candle!
Warm me so
Tinge the palm with soot
Feel the flame
Embrace ye whole
Flee not – to flirting brook.

Make my gelid
Heart whistle
Like kettle overrun
Stir not
With the Finger
Or you may end up losing some.

Be careful
Not to under
Mine or worse – estimate
The Joy
In Suffering
Is one most intimate.

Let the pain
Consume ye
And be met with greater bliss
For there’s no greater
Pleasure than
To burn as warm as this.
In sleet and rain of Edinburgh
a cathedral rises from the deeps.
The salt of sea and old coal blur
veil her face in grey-cast sheets.

On her western pediment
within tympanum carved of stone
sits Christ triumphant and in judgement
where he calls us all to atone.

I stand before him, my head bowed
as I contemplate our shared guilt,
with mea culpas weighing on my brow
for the follies fallen man has built.

And so we’re burning Eden down
with flaming swords that we still wield
as once vast forests shrink and brown
and fallow lie once verdant fields.

Where trees once stood, smokestacks rear
their heads belching fumes up high
and in the deeps, the oceansphere’s
no more a garden for octopi.

For in this our earthly commonweal
that was a gift that’s given free
we prove that purgatory’s real
because we ourselves have made it be.

A whisper came from the carved face
to walk into this stony womb
where colored light and incense trace
a path to overcome the gloom:

Forgiveness for our many faults
comes when we change our ways.
There in this temple’s holy vault
I vow to fight Eden’s decay.

In Edinburgh I found Eden
in a vision of what can be.
For we are by no means beaten
and we can do it, you and me.
A meditation on COP29 and climate change. Worked in a Beatles reference, too.
Cauliflower glow dances gently so
on window pane as fog billows,
my dreams tucked safely in
nestled embrace of familiar
blanket and pillow.

The rain falling on concrete
like feathers dancing in the wind
soft neon lights reflected on
the puddles as they began to pile
on the busy pulse of the city.

ESCAPE, GET OUT, FREE YOURSELF

splattered across billboards,
a promise of freedom on
sunny beaches and vacation homes -

But what freedom is there
when one is made to return
to their cage.
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