Iliterate Poet

A dumping ground for my works in progress.

31 Mar 2011

Words Travelling

Words travelling, an intriguing path
Can make you cry, or even laugh
Set the future; record the past.
Words tossed; words designed to last.
To design a World that's good for all
To inspire the young, to provide a cure
All the while, creating: aspirations abound.
Did you know, words are double crowned?
Take a look at what can be found!
It may not delight, but it will certainly astound.
Watch! Don't be a rabbit lost in the round.
Have a look but come back to solid ground.
Keep the best and disregard the rest;
In circular illusions and square memes
Words: the translator of a mind's dreams
The inventors I think, did like their laugh:
If you ask me, this is what, they had to saith
"Now get off your resting place, read my epitaph"
Left their lines of lights, in darkened minds
Words travelling on intriguing paths
Words are bound to us and bound to last .
Because I am you and you are me
We read or write, we lead the fight,
We light the night and embrace the day.
We clasp in joy, everyone, from day one, on.
From the very first time, that the sun shone
Words are mighty, in sword form.
They sometimes mimic, a bird of a feather
Tickling, the nether, nether. . .nether.  .erm?. . .nether :)
A shelter, in a stormy port.
A port in a stormy, weather storm.
Words are oceans, filled with drawn out notions
Words are the potions, that guide our emotions
Words travelling on intriguing paths.
Words can change hearts, do the maths.

It's Not Ideal

Belief in a stream, above all others,
equals, equal eyes; covered!
"It", is only that we aspire to, "it"
An ideology and ideally WE;
Should diverge the direction;
Use inutition, not a rigid goal.
Never one solution, to the whole.
Don't throw your lot, into a hole.
"It", is only that we use a guide;
An ideal chased, then put aside!
For an ideal equal, every side.
Negotiation, skill and intelligence
Empathy; friendship; souls entwined.
No need for weapons, just brilliant minds.
Now walk with me, as we write these lines:
"Humans are humans, so where's the divide."
And where ever lines intersect
We should always, engage our intellect.
Not based in fear, nor in regret
Minds can change, they're not rigid set.

29 Mar 2011

Today We Party

Tired of writing about: Duality; Politics; Science; Mythology; Philosophy; Human emotions; Natural disasters; bankers and all of the other dross. Give me a party today, for I may not live to see tomorrow - Carpe diem. Today will be a fine celebration, of the here and now. We'll drink and frolic, cast off the stolid, let us dance, give me your hand, let's dance i implore you, today we hold the World in our hands. We shall close our eyes - We, will! look towards the starry sky and we will! call this day ours. Let us dress now, in glimmering gowns; shining colours that match the sounds. Bass beats arithmetical, accompanies our wonderfully wilful bliss. Today, my friends: will be a haughty jaunt, of the Ecstasy sort. We'll forget our troubles and sing instead, we'll celebrate that we're living and not zombie dead. Today, the knocks, will not knock us, the pain, will be pleasure and our minds will be treasure. Shall we dance some more? Shall we forget what we saw; what we know; what we were - Hold my hand then and I'll shake your bones. Today we don't do boxes, cages or pens; today, is about, you and me friends. On this glorious love filled day, we shall, be clock kings and queens; able to ignore the dawn: an intrusive moon and the setting sun. Bass keeps on beating when the music's gone, there's only one thing left to do: Party on!

23 Mar 2011

Bubble Pop

Lend me your eyes and I will help you to see.
I come not to shelter, but burst a brutish bubble.
And destroy the stagnant Oxygen, encased within.
Purified by the abundance, of free and fresh air.
Perforated perfection, restores a balance lost.
A mere micro bubble within the Macro bubble - Micro-pop!
And Jim's "Tears of wine", will soon depart.
Surface tension is reversed, subversion dispersed.
Flimsy film with golden hues, in a spherical cap collapses,
Golden bows of droplets, rain down on all around,
That bigger bubble gets to shine, down on hallowed ground.
With Zero curvature mean design, golden hues, travel the line
Equally endowed and all allowed, to taste, a morsel, of freedom.


I swear to your face, I swear in your face
and I swear that you still don't care.
I swear, I swear and I swear, it gets me nowhere.
I swore I wouldn't swear, but it just isn't fair.
I swore I'd try to square your eye, fie upon that lie.
I swear that's how I started out;
Circumference surrounding, have ye no doubt.
I swear by the great unknown, that; by which I stand.
Outside of logic, there's another land.
A place unknown, the enlightenment missed.
Shadow cast, darkened moon; lots of doubt.
Obfuscated, obscured; erased; cast out.
I see a darkened corner, in a room full of light
I see a spark of pre-conscious creation: complex.
Empress, clothed in a dusky dress.
She offers up the answers, through the mess.
No force, no stress; she's less than less.
She's the exquisite tune, in nothingness.

22 Mar 2011

Writer's Curse.

The paradox of a writer's curse
With spacious purse, empty
and a requirement to be reimbursed
for every verse; blood spattered sweat!
An urge for recognition wraps tentacles;
of boa's; tightly grasped onto neck.
Begging opinion: the positive sort at first
and when that doesn't show
Any kind will suffice.
Someone hating, enough to care
Writer's curse laid bare.
And even if it comes, the curse will appear.
Successfully filled that spacious purse
but now I sold that piece of me
and received that recognition
I wish I could go back
And reverse that awful decision.
The curse of networking to prove
Your life's work; your life.
To prove the words weren't
a complete and utter waste.
And then you realise.
What the hell am I doing.
Why am I perpetuating, multiple dream states
upon the biggest dream of all.

Language of Form

Sculpting is the cure: of the requirement to indulge in poetic savagery - A word filled tragedy, of truths that are fantasy. The language of kings can no more say, what it is that I want to portray; than a mouse could convince a feline to relinquish its grip. That thing, that the king; professes the right: born disjointed into the light. King logos arms his troops in a readying rage of war and what for? To protect a division, in the hope of a unifying whole. Language can never deliver this goal, in king logos' realm; it ceases to exist; if it doesn't come complete with an accomplice.

The Sculptor speaks the language of form, in this realm; the whole is the norm, The form speaks a thousand words; in simultaneous harmonious bursts; of poetry; that can cause ones capillaries to explode into a thousand pieces, one for each word of form's, language bursts. The beauty can be likened to musical notes inducing a tear of wonderment; to roll in slow motion, down your blood flushed face. A sense of beauty captured or created by a loving hand. An unexplained flow, that fixates an eye in a semi permanent gaze, awe struck and truly amazed. Polite postures and cheeky curves, sorrowed faces and ones full of glee, this is the language, I can see. The innocence of sleep; the dignity of choice; the power to grow beyond mere existence.

Form, that peasantry queen: I love her language and I create her dream. She begs me to let go; of all that I know, saying things like: "it's all in the flow." So I take her heed and make good speed in leaving king logos' land. I know I'll never find her there, never taste her sweet mysterious charms; her hope inside a gated Kingdom. Become the bird my Prince, she beckoned my call; fly to me on wings of love and faith; in a fragile humanity; outside of a fabled reality, switch from the mind of polarity; to encompass her land with clarity.

Consciousness awakening, free from restraints; but tempered by good will. There you will find me in a land, that speaks a language; that lay deep in my heart. I do my best with words, to shine a torch on this place, but even in form, there has to be space. Oh my wonder, at a glimpse of her; for just one fleeting moment; that seemed to last; for all of time; present and past. The signs are there and all around, but experience is the beast to tame, its hard to explain. It's in the moment, then its gone; replaced by another, perpetually.

Below is one of my sculpture videos; enjoy.

21 Mar 2011

The Attraction of Action

A life weary with a World at odds
Seeks out a sense of familiarity
Yearns it, to divisive destruction
And builds a temple upon quicksand
Next to a boundary, o’er yonder, quicksand
Runs for shelter in a rickety shack
Call it home, a club, a Rome, a dome or a sphere
Its primary cause, is usually fear
Always backed up by a spear, a jagged end
A dagger of death for the other side of a line
A fear that one could think and free their mind
Fear disabling, manifests hate, makes you blind
Don’t be resigned to your blind fate,
Free your mind its never too late, use it to contemplate.
Control the place that feels irate, replace it with action.

Fear breeds fear
Hatred breeds hatred
Mistrust breeds mistrust
Jealousy breeds jealousy
 Contempt breeds contempt

Why aren’t we manifesting:
Love breeds love
Peace breeds peace
Trust breeds trust
Self esteem breeds self esteem
Forgiveness breeds forgiveness

That we may replace:
Fear with love
Hatred with peace
Mistrust with trust
Jealousy with self esteem
Contempt with forgiveness

In action we manifest, in inaction we fester.
We must concentrate on what it is we desire
Then it is guaranteed to manifest in nature
This is the divine law of the cosmos.
The power lies squarely in our hands
Reading the manual however, isn’t enough.
To know a divine law and not participate
In the action of its manifestation
Is to lose control over ones circumstances
When it was entirely unavoidable.

Eastern Promise Sculpture


Twelve gallons of pain
Twelve gallons of petrol,
light the flame
Twelve doves burning
Twelve types of hope yearning
Twelve faces turning
Twelve lost spirits discerning
Twelve grey faced fools
Twelve destructive tools
Twelve purple hearts guiding
Twelve evil souls hiding
Twelve minds blind
Twelve hearts side lined.

The Boy Who Grew

The boy who grew and grew,
he traveled through, an alternate view
And as this little fellow plodded on and on
He grew a little more and every bit of it he shone
Always thought he knew it all
He got so tall, then came the fall,
on one fine day he realised
He knew not one thing, but two to say.
And in knowing not one thing, but two
He realised that he didn't have a clue.
And now that boy, turned into a man.
And how that man still would grow and grow.
Even though, he walked on circular paths.
And spirals were the only maps and a mind that risked
complete collapse, like Cantor, or Nash
Though he found his way back, before the shocks
Avoided the jagged forms of washed up rocks
The boy liked to go into a secret Garden
and pick golden cherries from the tree tops
To come back and communicate what was found
Lay foundations for a future ground,
that are sturdy, safe and sound
Planting seeds in heads and hearts
Organising the core and every ring
Growing leaves and branching out
Don't forget the roots, lying underground.
The boy became a forester in his adulthood
But the man, still longs to connect forest to forest.
Tree to tree is good to see
Tree to tree, is all well and good,
but its still not as sturdy, as solid wood.
So he has a dream daily,
that the forests of the world will become,
one mass of Jungle and a whole lot of fun.
The boy and the man traveled so far
without treading one step or using cars
Reached out and grabbed the stars
He went up and down, round and around
Left and right, planting seeds in open fields
Encouraging them to grow,
feeding the seedlings, 'Nurturing Tales'.
Putting back, on the tracks, fixing broken rails.
The forever growing boy, the forever growing man.
 Traveled where he liked,
disregarding the Status Quo
Like a chef pinches salt: Taking or leaving duality
The garden is a fine principality, it grows a new reality.
One where charity is a byword of sanity, not pedantry.
Not persecution, nor profit pollution, that's hardly a solution.
The boy is a man and the man is the boy
They both treat the World in a united fashion.
See behind the division with complete passion.

20 Mar 2011


19 Mar 2011

Summer Bloom


Life's Gamble

17 Mar 2011


For sorrow born another day;
On sweet meadow torn, set to stay.

Undefined words, cannot say;
Hearts breached, souls washed away.

A dead dog lays beneath his dead master's feet;
Loyal through, right to the end, friends.

A decaying love on bitterly nights.
Children lost in a final frost.

Frozen salted beads; Snow capped hair;
Survivors left out in the cold air.

Homeless in a flash of a retched tidal splash;
Loss beyond compare, A life just isn't fair.

The love lost is the same we share;
Compassion and charity, send it over there.

Triangular burns from invisible flames;
Fifty fearless fighters in Fukushima.

Humanity is prevailing in a World full of tears.

15 Mar 2011

Graham Vivian Sutherland OM

I see a light purple colour
in a fire of pastel flames
Orange flecks of dull hues
O'er head, above the flame
way up high, A bright sky lay
All licked in colour of sun ray beams
now it bursts from the seams
Sutherland's Shadowy friends,
wrapped around forms of a surrealist lens
Where valleys deep and on they roam
Winding, coiling, spiraling, turning 
On paths lighted in the haze
Capturing fields before the war
Owning a landscape in the mind he saw.
Dressing Green blades, in powdery blues,
of fine Pembrokeshire sunny views
Wiped away when peace resigned
A light became a darkened heart.
Though, it did regain, found inspiration
Through all of the pain.
In habitats of nature, it was laying there
on coastal shores, a love was restored.

12 Mar 2011

Its Only A Hand

How a human spirit can be set free, by a kind hand up
To offer up a chance for someone to grow.
And a treasured gift you did bestow, for if you hadn't
Then all of that potential was squashed and repressed
And the World once again was stabbed in the chest
So know that your gift lives on, in a perpetual spin
You made a world well again, you helped with a hand
To heal the pain, so don't ever think that it's all in vein
Circuits of hands, currents of love, powering humanity.

8 Mar 2011

How Why Who

How can I be this strong and yet, be washing my feet
In a basin of my own blood?
Why does a stranger run into a burning house?
And why can't the innocence of a child's eyes,
Continue to view, right through, to adulthood?
Like we somehow, we misunderstood.
Who is brave enough to walk away?
To understand what the others say?
To find common ground in the affray?
How does a difference, Affect a rising sun?
Does it change anything, except killing all the fun?
Why are we still in chains? change C & H for brains,
Reborn from the flames.
Who will take us kicking and screaming;
To a land of broken promises?
And who will lead themselves;
In their own dominion, of temporal kings?

Equinox Dreams

Political strife is critically rife
At what cost is freedom right?
Human life, humanities fight
Forgiveness can heal!
Mercy protector: a bullet reflector.

Global elite drumming their beat.
Propaganda's tune,
The music of a loon.
We will feel the effects, very soon.

One world, one love,
not one world and sell the dove.
Profit last, Humanity first
Corporations driving the Hearse
On faux golden Highways, of the perverse.

Time to reverse or turn around, change direction.
Rid ourselves of this viral infection.
Pay Bridget, with the milk from ewes
Spring festivals and heady revelry
Art, poetry and music, creating carrier waves
to modulate the minds and set us free.

Fun and frolic should be penciled in
Absorbing - feel the love this spring
Bathe in falls of harmony and unity
Rid the World of its perpetual lunacy.
For you and me, I hope you see
What life could really, potentially be.

Lonely Street

White doves with mud on their wings
No bird song sings
Complicity in the silence stings
Peoples worn out slings
Blood red rose buds
Blown to bits with missile scuds
Brave slave
Child's despair
As bodies lay strewn 
on streets that don’t care.

5 Mar 2011

Mocking World

To kill a mocking world
A story of profitable greed
brokers taking the lead
Trying to top the league
Fear is spread and so are bets
Then come the order for fighter jets
And all the time singing out
It's just the way it is - grab yours!
Trees are falling faster than living standards
The lungs are ripped from earth's chest
I do not jest, have we chosen the best?
Addicted like crack to plastic bits of tack
Will the Planet, ever win its respect back?
A tale from old that is told and told.
Civilisations from times gone
didn't believe it could be done
We have the tools to choose
Consumer views, it's big news
World can win or world can lose.
So go ahead, buy that fifty fifth pair of shoes.

3 Mar 2011

It's Elementary

To balance the unbalanced
And provide the wet to the dry
Create with elements rearranged
Not simply arranged on empirical plains
Sometimes disarranged.
The elements were happy in their state
They'd tell you if you'd listen, They'd say:
"We're quite in order, thank you very much!"
Place them in the fiery cup
until they're too hot to touch
Watch their cries entangling
And their impurities cast aside
Mixed up and born a new
Another combination to add to the zoo
The elements number few
They make up me and you.
Perfected in their original state.
A mountain, a flower, or a lake
Because, we, all of us, pretty patterns make
But as I want to create:
I will Arrange, disarrange and rearrange
and if that seems abstract or strange
Happy to explain in a personal exchange.