Heh, still not feeling that festive guys.

Cold

Electric colours filter through window panes old
to dance upon the sober faces of those now cold,
and so the radiator improves it's defence,
as another shift ends, so another can commence.

Outside the pale blue sky stands,
almost mocking in it's defiance,
as if to say that dreams of snow white lands,
belong to the realms of elves and giants.

And as last minute shoppers scavenge that not yet sold out,
they march to the beat of corporate drums,
that serve to drown out the fading shout,
that the spirit of Christmas can be neither bought, nor won.

And whilst another Christmas Eve draws to a close,
another day of work begins for those sat by windows,
as the radiators improve their defence,
for another shift ends, so another can commence.

Some other stuff.

- that was written at school, during the (even more) boring parts.

The talking from the back,
And the humming from the fan,
Drown out the calls,
From lethargic, raised hands.

AND

"You're here to get a good qualification,
Not here to have a good time,
So that one day you might better our nation,
With worthwhile pursuits of the mind.

Now good luck with that."

And now for something completely different.

Silhouette
Rain tapping, oh so gently, upon the window pane,
A small hub of light amidst the dark of night,
A dimly lit computer desk, holding up the screen,
An orange hue flashing, oh so discreetly, upon the window's name,

Words cheapened by abundancy,
Supply, and demand,
The night still in its infancy,
And words still in excess,
From a sullen frame against a quicksand chair,
The keys await reply,
Lethargic hands that are almost there,
A silhouette,
Against a blue screen sky.

Something.

More along the lines of what I usually write.

Unspoken

I always said that what mattered,
Was that, that is not said,
Because when your thoughts are scattered,
All sorts of thoughts come into your head,

And those that escape your lips,
That were intentionally, supposed to,
Can ocassionally eclipse,
The meaningful things that we all do,

It's the small twitch in the politican's face,
That promise he kept before he left,
The way that guy's so quick to the race,
Without a chance of beating his personal best,

It's the loving look inside her eyes,
That says more than words ever could,
It's the way we never realise,
How lucky we are, when we should,

It's the way we act like to share is to bleed,
Far too concerned about ensuring that others agree,
It's the way that I always feel the need,
To put these thoughts into poetry,

It's the way that I know I'll never give up,
Because if you do, then what are you living for?
And perhaps it's time for the world to wakeup,
To the fact that seeing the person inside should never be a chore.

It's been a while.

Since I last posted anything. So here's something totally different to everything else I've posted. - But just as cheery xD

Traffic

I'm stuck in the car,
It feels like an oven,
And the radio's bust,
But it's not very far to go, they say.

I'm looking outside,
Through oven doors,
And my head throbs,
Thanks to this car ride, I'd say.

I'm sick and tired,
Almost literally,
The traffic's relentless,
But this is his reality, he'd say.

Him staring forward,
Now straight ahead,
Greasy hands held tight,
"It's a stepping stone", he'd said.

With such confidence,
Almost convincing,
Sat in the hamster wheel,
Seeking what is missing, some day.

Car drifting round,
The same old circuit,
Never ceases, never stops,
He's better than this town, he'd say.

Better than this,
Built for a purpose,
Not the same old routine,
Without a single moment of bliss, all day.

Glued to his car,
With a sweaty determination,
That says to himself over and over,
"It's not very far to go, I'd say."

One.

Verse. I wrote it a while ago and never developed it into anything else, so meh, here it is.

Stage

Many of us have written 'heartfelt poetry',

That has flown well from ink to the page,

But how many - including me,

Have truly made their heart the stage?

Mhm.

Never judge a book by it's cover.

Books

When we see a book,

We like to shoot a quick glance,

And unless we mistook,

Few will get a second chance,

Did we know what lies within?

Forever cast against pages of white,

Tales of mischevious sin?

Or tales of a most valiant knight?

Of course most will have had no clue,

And will still have just walked on,

No knowing how it might have changed you,

Now that the moment is long gone.

Bored.

Light

Morning light shows us what we are,
Illuminates the true us,
The afternoon light is but a car,
Compared to the evening light bus,

Which tends to linger in the air,
Heavy like perfume,
Not quite night, but almost there,
And the midnight light forever looms,

Quelling the chorus of bird song,
The sun now rests,
Night reigns now, but it’s never too long,
Before again, another day’s contests.

Heeeeeeey.

Heeeey. 

Headache

Talking, shouting, it's all noise to me,

The teacher tries to fill the room with silence instead,

The class, chaotic in it's simplicity,

Creating claps of thunder inside my head,

Try to focus on the task at hand,

Block out all of the noise around you,

It wasn't exactly planned,

There's nothing that you could do,

More flashes of lightening inside my mind,

Dutifully trailed and followed,

By the thunder, just slightly behind,

Leaving my mind hollowed,

I need to escape, I need to be free,

To recieve some kind of break,

From this dreaded cacophony,

And all of the trouble that it'll make.

Back again.

Not the best, but eh, it's something.

Haven't posted on here for a little while.

Plan

Step one: Get out of bed,

Step two: Get dressed,

Step three: Sort out your head,

So you don't look a mess,

Step four: Have cereal,

Step Five: Try and look smart,

Step six: Curse how you didn't sleep at all,

And how you'd like to start,

Step seven: Walk out your door,

Step eight: Go get the car,

Step nine: Put the pedal to the floor,

You've already come this far,

Step ten: Pull up outside work,

Step eleven: Ready your tired wrists,

Step Twelve: Ignore supposed perks,

You've got to finish writing thi

Woaaah.Tired.

So..Accidentally started work today.

There's a first. XD

Moments

You see her walking past,

And you see her standing there,

But the moment goes so fast,

All you can do is stare,

Words stuck on your tongue,

Declaring hidden feelings,

But you're not the only one,

Finding it hard to say things,

Like those three words,

That carry so much meaning,

Break it into thirds,

And take it slowly, speaking,

Because you can't let is pass,

It wont leave without a fight,

That moment will last,

If you hold it tight.

On request :D

Sculptures

I see each person as a window,

To who they really are,

The form behind the shadow,

That hides behind the facade,

Yet for all of those that are there,

One element always remains,

Every single one I see bares,

A sky with black and grey stains,

This dark shroud can encompass you,

And drain your spirit,

With everything thing that you do,

But you don't have to let it,

You shouldn't let things get you down,

You've so much to look forward to,

Even if in this dreary town,

These thoughts are hard to get through,

So tomorrow when you awake,

See this as a fresh chance,

Your world is a sculpture you make,

Make it good and make it last.

Hey hey.

Writing

Spilling my mind onto the page,

All of my thoughts and feelings,

Of the world's peace, love and rage,

It's my own spiritual healing,

See, when I write, I don't fight,

To keep my emotions locked in,

I fight to see the light,

Through the opening,

Because we're trained to bottle up emotions inside,

Into the deepest of deep regions,

Where almost anything could hide,

From the most powerful of legions,

So for me writing is an outlet,

A true way to express,

The most effective that I've met,

For describing this world's mess.

Hm.

Candlejack

Seeking, slowly seeking,

The answers to all questions,

My skin, slowly creeping,

As his name is mentioned,

"You fool," I cry,

"Where are the brains you seem to lack?"

"You're doomed to die,"

"Right thanks to Candlejack..."

But I had said the word,

"Oh no I'm out of luck,"

Now, it might seem absurd,

But I cursed his name, "Oh f

Music.

The Musician

I never knew quite what she was saying,

But a part of me did from the start,

Yet none of that mattered, for while she was playing,

I understood the beating of my heart,

I'm not sure if it was the notes she played,

Or the beauty of the sound from her lips,

But something about it, inside laid,

Something like love, upon my heart it sits,

I'd travel to each venue,

And follow every tour,

Even if just to hear you,

For only a second more,

But with time music must fade,

No sound came from her lips,

No longer, inside laid,

Something like love, upon my heart sits.

Your Majesty.

Your Majesty

How are you today? Your Royal Majesty,

I hope everything is to your liking,

And if not, I hope not because of me,

It's why I'm so carefull when I'm writing,

For you are your kindgom's queen,

Even if you weren't elected,

Somethings you cannot choose, especially once it's been,

But thanks to your followers, you'll always be protected,

And I'm not sure if you always know,

Or properly appreciate,

Just how far some of them would go,

Because they consider your Highness a true 'mate',

Yet there will be times when you don't know what to do,

When you think you'll never live to see the sky again,

But I have confidence that you'll pull through,

For whoever's in your kindgom then,

And despite your best attempt,

At your defiant pessimism,

About this I wont relent,

You've earned some optimisim,

You can decline and shake your head,

As you have in the past,

But I really wish that you would instead,

Realise that good times can indeed, (start and) last.

Roulette.

Is it me, or are my poems slowly getting longer?

Roulette

Well I wake up in the morning,

And search for some inspiration,

As the sun is slowly dawning,

Bringing light across the nation,

Then I drag myself out of bed,

And attempt to awake my mind,

I'd rather be asleep instead,

Of participating in the daily grind,

But I've got some obligations,

That I'd rather aim to fill,

If just to avoid the accusations,

Even if they'll be made still,

So I push myself down the stairs,

Take a moment or two to recover,

And avoid the questioning glares,

From an overly concerned mother,

Who likes to ask me about my day,

While usually I would have no objection,

It feels like the world is going out of it's way,

To distract me from my direction,

Already, I'm five minutes late,

As the clock is counting down,

I just know the bus wont wait,

And I'll end up waiting around,

I make a quick dash for the door,

But of course,

I get called back inside once more,

And with no remorse,

It seems I forgot to pack a book,

Which in my frenzied hurry,

Had been so easy to overlook,

Now I really start to worry,

Finally, I step onto the street,

And curse how today feels the same,

As will the next day that I meet,

Unless I can find some money or some fame,

As is the nature of this life,

It's just like playing roulette,

You can just hope that for you it's rife,

With matches of your hopes getting met.

Quiet.

A poem I wrote for a story I was writing a while ago now. The story was essentially another 'disease wipes out most of the population' scenario, the poem was to be the introduction, one of the main characters was going to be a poet. I might write a variation of the plot actually, eh, anyways:

Quiet

Rain now falls,

On streets of grey,

In church halls,

None now pray,

These lonely streets,

Now lay torn,

It's past defeats,

We few mourn,

We wait for them,

Each and every day,

We few condemned,

In a world of decay,

Out of the frying pan,

Now into the fire,

Alone, I once ran,

As the flames grew higher,

The streets seem so lonesome,

My body aches with pain,’

"Hmm...What rhymes with lonesome?"

...

"Damn it."

Wonderful.

Continuing the trend of one word titles..

Wonderful

I look out through my window,

And enjoy the beauty of the world,

Of the gentle swaying in the meadow,

Or the bed in which I curled,

I leave the house with a smile upon my face,

And greet those that I meet,

Leaving a sense of joy amongst my trace,

Which I hope the day will keep,

I arrive at school and with a laugh I make,

My entrance to my form room and -

That's when I awake,

Damn my dreams are bland.

Clocks.

Clocks

Listening to the tick, tick, tock,

As the minute hand flies by,

On the eternal clock,

That resides in each blue sky,

Listening to the tock, tock, tick,

As the minute hand slowly passes by,

On the eternal clock,

That resides in each grey sky,

Listening to the tick, tock, tick,

As the minute hand goes by,

On the eternal clock,

That resides in each and every sky.

gramar init.

i thnked it wud b funy 2 rite lol

gramar init

my teechers said tht gramar maters bear looaads

i wish hed jst go away

cuz u see, i reckon tht gramar blows

i go witout it evryday

ppl can tel wht im saying

it dnt mater how i spel it

just lik it dnt mater about payin,

if u can jst nick it

so i say tht teacher can go 2 hel

i dnt nede him to tel me wht 2 do

i can tlk perfectally wel

lng b4 he tort me or u

Inspired.

Inspired by Chloe's 'The Storm'.

Moments

There are moments in my life,

When I get no peace or rest,

Where I just try to ride out out the strife,

And simply do my best,

But these moments just echo the life I have led,

Just reminds me of the harsh reality,

That when it feels like there's a storm inside of my head,

It only serves to drive me away from my family.

Life never used to be this way,

There was a time that we were strong,

Before every minute of every day,

Seemed to me an hour long,

But time takes it's toll on everyone,

Wearing them down like ice,

Under the sun,

Or a block of wood in an ever tighter vice,

So I really feel that I need an outlet,

To explain the real me behind me,

And now I think that I've found it,

In a simple artform, poetry.

Once Again.

POETRY :D

Revision (or the Value of Revising)

Your test may now begin,

He says his hand upon his face,

hiding his wide grin,

As the pupils' pens fall into place,

He smirks at those that seem confused,

While pacing the room,

He could have been a pilot, but he refused,

Because he loves the gloom,

More and more look from their table,

To try and discern an answer,

But many are unable,

As a quiet voice calls out for 'sir',

He looks forever forward,

Ignoring the desperate plea,

Having the odd stern word,

With those sitting noisily,

And as for me?

Sitting at the back of the room,

And I know I can see,

Through all of the doom and gloom,

For whilst most others are perfectly able,

This test came as a suprise

But I looked at the time table,

And actually had time to revise,

So when I hand my paper in,

To the suited teacher at the front of the bunch,

I'll be sure to have a grin,

As I head off to lunch.

Second.

I'll start using more imaginative names for my blogs after this, I promise. Here's a poem I wrote before I started using titles with one word only.

Never Told

What matters most, is what's left unsaid,

For even when the flame grows cold,

And the time has long been dead,

It's one more thing you never told.

One more 'I love you',

One more 'Goodbye',

One more 'I do',

Or just one more 'why?'.

For I do love you,

And I never got to say goodbye,

For I wish you'd say 'I do',

And not have to ask why,

For while the memories may fade,

And my body may slowly perish,

I'll wish that I might have stayed,

For these untold moments, I would cherish.

First.

Heyy, you have Dale to thank if you do (or don't) like my poetry.

I'll start with one of the shorter poems I've written:

Clay

I've had alot of nothing on my mind,

For each and every day,

And life seems like such a grind,

In each and every way,

It seems my life has lost it's sheen,

And dulled into a grey,

It seems to be somewhere in between,

So unwilling to stay,

On any given heading,

On any kind of setting,

Into something more than clay.