23. Mean It

23.
Mean It

You're not used to people who mean what they say.
You never do, you know.
If you can't beat them, join them, is your cry, you did, long ago.
Okay, mister pseudy fake, or madam, if you please, I won't tell you to drop dead, you died long ago.
Say what you mean, mean what you say, my father said to me.
I don't agree with you, do you agree with me?

22. When I Write

22.
When I Write

When I write, its fun.
Fun to me, anyway.
Fun and joy and love.
Heaven's above!
Its exciting when I'm writing.
Exciting may not be the right word, it's exciting at the end, I feel as if I've met a friend.
I know its over when I can't improve a single word, comma, full stop or space.
When nothing, I mean nothing, is out of place.
And, guess what?
It's all done by feel.
It's right when it feels right.
Alright.
Uptight and outa sight!
It's alright if it's all night!
When I write.

21. Shingle Beach

21.
Shingle Beach

Each day I bring the chair down slope to the shingle beach;
Know the tides by now, cast weather eyes to the clouds and winds;
Place the chair where the seventh wave washes just below my feet.

I know what happens. I read a bit; have a little nap.
The tide will edge in, lap around my toes, or
The sun will start its shine below the brim of my cap.
Either way, I start awake.

Before I met you, I’d never used an emery board.
But after, before meeting, I would pare and polish each fingertip
So every caress would be as gentle, as tough, as required.

At the mouth of this cove there are rocks.
Low tide, a bit of surf; otherwise, just some swell.
Through centuries, boats, even ships, have sought that mouth
Before a western gale; some rode the high swale, most went down rough.

Jumbled bones lie beyond this beach; some sometimes wash up.
But some lively flesh leapt and swam enough to land
Gasping on this shore just where my feet are now;
Just where I too have come to ground.

On this shingle beach,
Each stone polished smooth as fingertips,
Each wave does its work and
Each tide stirs its pot and
The improbable world spins and
The moon pulls its weight and
The sun starts below my brim and
So, awake… again.

Emery in my right hand;
Your final letter in my left. 
I must dream still, for in the distance 
A mermaid chants "Bereft... bereft..."

Here no one knows what happened.
Here no one knows what history held.
Here is but purgatory, where old bones moan
And cry out "I would not, by choice, have left."

20. Arles

20.

Arles

Sometimes it was painting in the dark.
Not that you were dark, dearest, only sometimes opaque.
Then I would hold you close as secrets
And search your face for the gap 
Where moonlight pierces clouds
That I might see you ungirdled in the garden,
That I might see you as you are, unguarded.

Sometimes, witch, you were wheat fields of Arles
With summer smearing honey on your lips.
I could smell earth;
And what I could not smell, I tasted
And what I could not taste my eyes drank in
And what remained seeped through my skin,
And when I heard your little gasp, I also heard
Three sisters dark at the back door,
Stepping in.

They brook no argument; no time for that.
Autumns come. Moons set.

We were at the Cafe Terrace
when a woman next table said,
“Je ne vais rien regretter, même pas toi.”
Our eyes met; we knew she did not mean it.

Autumns come. Moons set.

19. Mister Just In Time

19.
Mister Just In Time

I have to laugh, Mister Just In Time.
I write, I rhyme.
Whenever I need help, there you are.
You are my star.
Here comes the cavalry, once again.
All is not lost, nor or then.
I never give up hope.
Give me some rope.
What can I say, Mister Good Time?
When I need you, there you are, bells chime.
We rhyme.
Every time.

18. Two Eyes

18.

Two Eyes

Two eyes are still closed tightly

To the beauty of this earth,

A face still glistens brightly

From the miracle of birth.

Two eyes, a flickered movement

As a new life is unfurled

But the wonder of this moment

Is just wasted on this world.

Two eyes begin to open

And in wonder gaze around,

Youth’s bud begins to ripen

As those eyes grow big and round.

Two eyes born out of innocence

See the world with rosy hue,

Still blind to all the violence

And the evil that men do.

Two eyes are filled with anger

As they open to the truth,

The mirror holds a stranger

Something missing from their youth.

Two eyes now disillusioned

And ashamed of their own kind,

In a torment of confusion

Now they wish they were still blind.

Two eyes have now grown cynical

Against this world of pain,

They’ve reached and passed life’s pinnacle

And soon will close again.

Two eyes are quickly dimming

And their light is fading fast,

The world about is swimming

As they look into the past.

Two eyes now close forever

At their owner’s final breath

In that face like wrinkled leather

Lying peacefully in death.

17. Pulvis et Umbra Sumus

17.

Pulvis et Umbra Sumus

A numbness fills this earthly shell

As darkness fills my mind,

My eyes are open wide and yet

These mortal orbs are blind.

A distant rhythm, soft and slow,

Its echoes gliding past,

The future slowly fades into

Old memories that don’t last.

That fading but persistent beat,

Not easily ignored,

Attempts to bind pure thought inside

This shell that never soared.

The echoes slowly fade away,

Forgotten for a time,

The silence settles like a shroud

As chains of thought unwind.

A key turns in a hidden lock,

A darkness shrouded door

Now opens bleeding golden light,

The shadow starts to soar.

Then suddenly that distant beat,

The pile of dust it calls;

A shadow beckoned back to pain

And walking dusty halls.

16. Mountains And Hills

16.
Mountains And Hills


There are no mountains in Ireland, only hills.
When people die, why leave wills?
Do we go to a better place?
Am I in a state of grace?
Would I know a mountain if I saw one, would I fall off the top?
Climbing, climbing, climbing, does it never stop?
When I get to the top will I find the answer?
Yours sincerely, chancer.

15. Absolute Freedom

15.
Absolute Freedom

How to make a bomb,
love one another,
porn, kiddie style,
suffer little children to come to me,
make a cupcake,
hate a Jew,
it's all there for me and you.
Where? a click away,
have a nice day.
Don't forget to steal and rob,
why should a musician have a job?
Hate and love have equal time,
the choice is yours, name your crime.
I speak metaphorically to you,
for Jew read nigger, kike and wop,
will name calling never stop?
Muslims, should they all be dead?
You bet your life, someone said.
Why not shoot a schoolgirl in the head or throw acid in her face?
Turn a blind eye, human race.
Blind to love, blinded by hate,
self love knows no laws,
appears to be the primal cause.
Hating right, loving wrong.
Here I end my sad, sad song.
I guess my poems will not win,
it always seems, first place to sin.
The Rolling Stones were better but the Beatles made the grade.
Oh well, in every life, sunshine and shade.
In art, most deeply felt is best,
give me Van Gogh, you keep the rest.
In life, what do you think?
Who rules the world? Those who think.
They wear a bomb to blow us and them apart.
Feeling, good old feeling, speaks to and from the heart.
When the haters call you mad,
be glad.
Laugh, don't cry.
You are as I.

14. A Metaphor

14.
A Metaphor



I met a metaphor today
It said. I haven't much to say,
you see. I mean two things at once
and might be taken for a dunce.

13. Alone

13. 
Alone

as usual
by the falls
in spring

as usual
walking mirror
to mirror

to the applause
of water,
cut banks,

stone
striking stone
better

than I 
ever played
piano

this moss
may well
have heard

it all before,
might share
echoes

when one
cares enough
to listen

12. To A Saint

12.
To A Saint

You have seen finer winters
though none have been as fine
as this the way pastel
skies frame bold blue trees
at dawn monotone serene

life must be like that for you now
what can surprise you
the “age of destruction” begins
but around You
bright laughter like singing

your days are like a magic show
you pull doves
from our dark small places
and before our eyes
free our hardbound chains and locks
we feel the miracle in our hearts
that you are complete

every sunset is the same
what always was remains
you leave us and we hear
the tolling of solemn bells
birth baptism death
the night images remind us
of who we are without love

11. Magdalena

11. 
Magdalena



I never seem to see you now,
how is your finger, anyhow?

You sprite, you spirit, insubstantial thing.
You are not summer, you are the breath of spring.

10. Snowdrop

10. 
Snowdrop

Poking your lovely head above the ground.
Loveliness, without a sound.

Has winter gone, is springtime here?
Not yet, it’s coming soon, don’t fear.

Gentle as a snowflake, linger on.
For a while you’re here, then gone.

How glad I am to see you when you show,
whisper this to me, I come, I go.

9. To Touch the Universe

9. 
To Touch the Universe

Let the wind blow my hair
let my spirit reach the sky...
My arms stretched out
I want to touch the Universe
sense his caresses
along my face
as the Sun wraps me
with his golden rays;
happy that I am alive.

Let me run down the field,
the tall prairie’s flowers
brushing along my legs,
my breathing rushing,
my heart beating,
with energy all the way
down to the creek
the running waters
gushing, rolling, splashing.

I sit on a boulder
listening to Nature;
birds building their nests,
squirrels jumping tree to tree,
a rabbit rushing under brush,
a country dog on his own
sniffing the freshness of Spring.
Time for a nap in a shaded spot,
present ignored 
to dream pastorale thoughts.

8. Stupid People

8. 
Stupid People


A stupid person is a person who is more stupid than me.
Do you see?
Do you feel the same?
Is that your game?
Ain't that a shame!

7. Chaotic war

7.
Chaotic War


The war in Syria, what is it for?
A million refugees, on their knees.
The good guys are the bad guys and the bad guys are the good.
There are no good guys, in my eyes.
When devils are at war, which side do you take?
Love is dead. There are many mourners at the wake.
That's how it seems from here.
This year.
Peace beats war.
Love defeats hate.
Oh beating heart, must we wait?
All want power, in this hour.
The meek, the mild must die and cry.
Why?
What have we learned, as the world turned?
Oh, holy hour.
Flower.
A rose, a thorn.
Why were we born?
From love, to love, with love, for love.
Heaven's above!
Treat a rose gently, enjoy its scent.
These words are Heaven meant.
Free us from Hell.
I wish you well.
Time will tell.
In love I dwell.
I am as old as Father Time.
Do you enjoy my rhyme?

6. In Synch

6.

In Synch

Get out of your own way.

Your obstacles

are oddly special.

The correct direction

is any direction.

Any direction is

perfect and correct.

Cultivate a good attitude

about your bad attitude.

Ask what you are

doing right

now.

The only way out is you.

Your way is your only out.

Remember to forget

all but what you can use.

Except or accept.

The search is what you seek.

The quest is the relief.

Worry is unnecessary.

Everything is temporary.

Move slowly, quickly.

Move quickly, slowly.

Say yes joy, yes gain.

Every day is every way.

You’re getting better

at getting there.

People, places, ideas, things –

ask and you will receive.

Receive and you will ask.

Um or om?

Woe or wow?

Sinking or in synch?

Contemplate contentment.

5. Tasting

5. 
Tasting

Our only way out
is in
love with a medium

whose dory hopping,
planet
to planet, sees all.

Our world’s not all!
If
we could spell

amino oarsmen
casting
gingerbread ripples,

drying in dazzling
sugar
clothing we speak

of not knowing
what
is behind the clouds

or who is drawing
shapes
we are assuming

4. Ordinary People

4.
Ordinary People


Enjoy words.
Enjoy life.
Sister, brother.
Husband, wife.
Each other.
Music, song and dance, entrance.
Remember, now and then.
Remember when.
Now is forever.
Never say never.
Enjoy forever.

3. Dashboard drawing board

3.
Dashboard drawing board

I do my best writing while driving
using a dashboard drawing board
and rolled down window arm rest
with a stolen bank ink pen
attached to nothing by
a few remaining links of chain
I write crooked words on the pages
of a drug store spiral pocket notebook
and just as I would clean up
before hospital visits to you
I neatly rewrite these thoughts
onto parchment with a quill pen
purchased by a childhood me
at the Liberty Bell gift shop
and now during solo trips to
the market or movies or cemetery
and before feather meets inkwell
these pages reside between
sun visor and pickup ceiling
until enough thoughts are collected to
assemble them on the hood of a truck
which is just ten feet forward of
our teen aged flesh pressed in
brick wall humidity
and like a reservation dealer
I shuffle these wounded heart love notes
discarding the jokers
and then I deal from the bottom
to ghosts of yesterday’s us
and doubling down across a
world weary paint job
where they end up
in a logical order or not
like a Papier-mâché timeline or
a never complete jigsaw puzzle
whose lost piece looks like you

2. Elder care

2.
Elder care

The first money I stole
from mom was the hardest
I felt real bad even guilty but
I had rent and that job thing

She was 91 and out of it
didn’t know where she was
I enjoyed power of attorney
atms, no eyes, slippery slope

Put her in a cheaper place
when her savings neared bottom
once she wanted dreams for me
with her spare change, I drink

1. At the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall

1.
At the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall

Haunted for years I went to the Wall 
a war resister facing soldiers who died 
looking at the Wall, my crying eyes 
reflected with all those forgone lives 
they made the sacrifice I refused 
what sacrifice should I have made? 
if it was right why do I feel guilty? 

I stood there a long time looking
all those names, some guys I knew
someone crying, my eyes are dry
coming home was worse than the war
lifelong friends, tho I have nightmares
greatest time of my life and the worst
may never know if it was worth it

Never knew what hit me (land mine)
never knew what I died for (politics)
drafted out of my life into death
I owed my country and what a payback
flown back in a box, saw the parade
my sacrifice a memory no one wants
my country sent me to die for nothing

The People's Poetry Competition

Announcing the start of the first People's Poetry Competition.

The People's Poetry Competition is another way for the People's Poetry Network to provide poets with a platform for their work. There will be no 'appointed experts' judging entries - the winners will be decided by the People.

Your poetry...
Your choice...
Your Competition...

The Competition is open to any-one aged 16 years or older, any-where in the world. 

All entries must be submitted via the Enrty Form accompanied by the £3.00 entry fee and all entrants are instructed to read the Terms & Conditions in full before submitting their entry.

As they are received each entry will be published to this Competition Page and to the People's Poetry Competition Facebook page for public view. Any-one can register their vote for as many poems as they wish via Facebook 'likes' and Twitter 'shares'. At the close of the Competition the 10 most popular entries, as judged by Social Media interaction, shall be presented for public vote. The result of this vote will determine the Competition winner and runners up.

The combined entry fees will determine the prize pool from which the cash prizes will be drawn. The breakdown of prizes will be as follows:

• 1st  Prize              50% of the Prize Pool
• 2nd Prize             25% of the Prize Pool
• 3rd Prize              10% of the Prize Pool

If the prize pool grows large enough there will be 3 additional runners up prizes equalling 5% of the prize pool. All prizes will be paid direct to the winners via PayPal after the winners have been announced.

After the Competition closes and the prizes have been awarded the entries will be compiled into a People's Poetry Competition anthology that will be available in both digital and print copies. Entry into the Competition implies unqualified acceptance of all the Competition Rules and this acceptance must be indicated on the Entry Form.