Monthly Archives: November 2012

My Poetry One Moment of Peace

One Moment of Peace




Every substance is intact

Living through a sequence of peace

Every movement captured

By the raw feelings of self-assurance


I am as calm as the stream

Blessed with beauty and still waters

I shall breathe like a King

Despite the mystery from the grey storm

And trace the pictures of my dreams.


Every seed is intact

Bones that have felt many places

Coloured with stories untold

Freedom is a home and not a prison

With many more songs and voices

Every substance…

Every Moment…

And if you listen carefully

One Moment of Peace





One warm night

Before it rained

My soul felt your body

Then felt the pain

Of cold distant secrets

Floating in the dark

And a subtle flame

That had lost its spark


One warm night

Before today

I discovered a season

Again and again

Of a gentle voice in a naked room

Undressing in silence

But sleeping too soon


One warm night

And many more nights

Thoughts dressed in feelings

A special delight

The season has started

Before the game

My body is aching

To feel the rain




The Void


The Void has been empty for seasons

Lacking in space and colour

The brain has become a desert

Drained by shallow strangers


The music of the day has started

Cold courtesy and patterned conversation

And eyes that shift when you turn your back

Into a new house of secrets


The Void danced around the room

Still lacking in space and colour

It crept into the depths of a forgotten home

And found the picture of its puzzle

The Void found light

The Void found love

The Void found space

The Void found colour

The Void found beauty that sat within the pages of a rainbow

Music that bounced through the mystery of the streets

The Void found Strength, Mystery, Sadness, Joy, Contradictions, Courage and Pain

And when it had found its album

That Void became Poetry


Our Son has come home

Our Son has come home


Our son has come home

From the lost battles in a foreign land

Where the snow has choked the night

Through the bitter streets of loneliness


Our son has lost his head

And forgotten to walk with grace

He paces round the room

Dressed in doomed disgrace


What was fire has now become water

What was rich has now become poor

Our son has forgotten to dance

Like the noble masquerade of the fire forest

Our son has forgotten to dance, and pray and sing

Through troubled moments


He has been poisoned in his sleep

By a group of Gentlemen

Our son has forgotten to be…

An African