Remember Remember To Forget Me Not

These walls of stone speak with the brisk words of late summer

Enjoy life, make merry and remember remember to forget me not

A mere moment stitched of the strife of the billowing clouds

And the rustling of the soft grass

Go forth and drink, dance and shout through all the land !

Tell tales of these faraway walls and leave trails of envy in your wake

Your steps are a tapestry in the stairwell of humanity

A leaf in the woodland of dreams and ambitions

Of hipsters, mob folk, seekers, witches, queens and sons alike

Your woes are but the fleeting flutter of a butterfly’s wings

That life and all in it is a symphonic overture waiting for you to write it

And that all that’s well shall surely end well

These walls of stone speak with the clarity of the peeved poet

And the solidity of the blacksmith

They speak to the clerks and clergymen of the landed gentry

And the coal shaft cleaners and sewer men

To all sets of people, there is an end to your miseries and aches

Enjoy life, make merry and remember remember to forget me not




I Saw A Man Neath A Bridge

Inspired by Anda Lucia

I saw a man neath a bridge

Dug in snug in a ditch

A creature full of hope

A man like me

Full of undending dreams

That only he could see

A man with bare blue andalucian sky above him

And a clogged southern stream for his ragged robes

A torn matress for a bed of hopes

And a limp the doctors refused to cover

I met a man of culture

Immersed in the canvas of a dry river bed

Surrounded by walls plastered in sketches Picasso could never conjure

But in nightmares and torrents in some dystopian dream

A man neath a bridge with Michelangelo’s blue before his sandy eyes

A doctorate from the school of life

This mans steps are poetry in the script of life

An unsung Shakespeare neath a bridge

Whose tales will be told two thousand years on

By a generation that baulks at the fallacy of disregarded poets

Left to rot and mould, crumble and fall

Under the fierce Andalucian sun

Under a bridge trampled on by kitsch cats of the social elite

Run ragged by their crisis and their strife

Bent, broken, put to shame by a man under a bridge




Photo : Allan Kortbaek


I am the long – haired steed

A poem about greed


I am the long – haired steed whose hair bristles in the wind

My voice rattles the calm of the dying day

And steadies the winds of the night sky

The fine, fair-told fairytale that bluff threw in


A fair fish amongst the dark reeds

I am the man who would have been King

Reigned supreme over nine domains

The lad reduced to tears now clad in Midas gold

Of humble disposition turned pale


I am the wind the whim and the water

The ghost of an unending darkness

Of hopes and dreams and tattered hearts

Undone by greed, purged by jealousy


I am the the long haired steed whose hair is chiseled in the ages

My aura is spread thin across the barren plains

And my mantras lie ransacked, blood stains in the sand

None left to give, none to take




Wide eyed and weary

I am wide eyed and weary

and the sweat of the day has left me drenched

My heart parched

my soul vacuous

A cavern draped in the blisters of time

Still within this cocoon of hope I sleep

A whispered hush across a breezy field

A ripple in a raging tide

My thoughts mute to the loot

of narcissistic men and unsure women

And of dream-carved nightmares

Dented democracies and catastrophic communists

Self serving kingdoms and self-defacing subjects

Crying forests and injured natives

Jubilant elite and rejoicing taxmen

And scornful heretics of the religiously fanatic

Whose blood and sweat tar the stairwell to Hades

Whose efforts hijacked an idea and mass produced it

To laymen looking for a flickering light

In the valley of the shadow of death

Wide eyed and weary

I shall fear no evil

No whistling thorns and no false hopes

All I see is but brotherly bliss

And camaraderie across difference

I see a small minority of conservative loons

A majority of ardent purveyors

Wide eyed and glaring

Their hearts ablaze

Their souls candlelit embers in the light of life

And in this cocoon of hope we sleep

Wide eyed and weary, searching for an angry fix

Wandering towards a dawn in the black streets of town

A kiss to the lady of life

For all her vanity, the world is the most beautiful place I know. As I depart for my dreams with the sky a weeping shade of orange and yellow in the horizon, and the wind whispering softly to me, my head is held aloft and my heart is at ease. Birds chirp, and my soul ascends into a symphony. My drowsiness is a most pleasant death, a chord of colours and whispers, my love for the world and all its people, my love of my life – my beautiful world. This is my kiss goodnight to you, though vain you may be.


For All I have loved and Lost

I wrote this poem at a point in my life when it felt as if the very ground upon which I stood was molten and unstable beneath my quivering feet. I felt as if I had lost all hope, save for a flicker of optimism somewhere in the corner of my soul. Many months later I can look back and thank all the true friends who have helped me through the process of finding my feet again. Here’s to all we love and invariably eventually lose:

For I have loved and lost

Loved and lost again

And now with the sun high in the sky

My blank thoughts expelled with the clouds

I sit and stare and wonder

How I have loved and lost so much

How my vacant dreams have led me here

To this place cold and bare

How yet another open door has been slammed shut with a thud

I will soar again another day i’m sure

Kiss the lips of the rising easterly sun

And dance with her till the dawn does us part

For I will love and lose

Love and lose again




Let my heart bleed into the morning light

Let my heart bleed into the morning light

And my feet fade before me

The disappointments of my life are but the perils of expectation

Dreaming of equality

In a world plagued with fear

My life, my parents, my dreams

Tanned, tainted visions of illusions of utopia

Where every man, woman and child are equal

In the humble eyes of nationhood.

Let my heart bleed into yours

And take me for a joyride through your centric tantrums

Your waylaid passions, your ingratitude

I once loved an idea, once cherished a passion

Strung from the chords of my bewildered soul

Now all that’s left are red shards of flesh

Hammered against the fading horizon

And you’re happy where you are

Save for a few make-belief regrets

Sympathetic plumes in an inferno of destruction

My thoughts waylaid, my wit purged

Dulce est decorum est

For the wits of the world and the science of inequality


When The Ways of This World Have Run Their Course

When the ways of this world have run their course

And the plumes of the twilight no longer flicker

When there is no wicker left to burn,

No stratosphere to scatter

When my red heart is in a million pieces

Strewn beautifully across the serene earth

When there are no lines left to write

And no lies left to tell

When the stars lie dead and morbid in the blank sky

When evil has run its course, raped robbed and pillaged every last wit

And the pillars of your dreams come crashing down in the wind

Remember remember, that last burning ember, the power, reason and delight

You all once had a shot in this fight

Friends to love, families to adore and yourself to endure

And that there was a time when the ways of this world were meek and mild





With the wind in your face

And the times that we cannot erase

You looked at me from a wonderful place

At the cusp of your midnight haze

The dawn of a futile embrace

The death of a decadent phase



Inspired by the work of Sixto Rodriguez, aka Sugarman and Charles Bradley- who kept up the fight when all was lost and forlorn

Adieu Adagio

Adieu my friend, adieu my heart

You are far away dreaming,

As the sun sets in the withering distance

And I find myself alone

With the wide world of enduring beauty before me

With the stars by my side

And the evening wind on my cheeks

I once loved you and you loved me back

We danced and smiled and cried

Dreamed in a land faraway

Of make-belief plains and grand plans

A serene adagio in the rain

My tears are the only raindrops that dance on this plateau now

Inspired by David Lynch’s “The Elephant Man” A tale of John Merrick