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Monthly Archives: October 2015

the monster lurks, hidden deep within

silently brooding until it speaks for us

jumbled words, blurred truths

hissed through gaping mouths

in keeping up with the lives of the rich and famous


those whom we elect into official power over us

these are our vicars

they stand for us

on our behalf

speaking words from the Gods within us

the voices of many rushing waters

our name is Democracy

for we are many.


…that’s why I play drums

not to keep the beat

but to play around it

not a hitting thing

it’s more like missing

dancing in between

unspoken poetic colours

words like breath

it’s not the notes alone that count

but the spaces

the gaps in the time signature

there’s more in the spaces than in the notes

the great thing about writing poetry

is that it doesn’t have to be poetic

– it’s what they call poetic license

I’m tired of reading someone else’s script

those lines

penned by writers

the voices of others

who say they themselves are important

the same words everyone else says

because everyone else says them

so as not to feel alone

nobody really hears

unless they hear themselves in the words of others


we speak

only to hear the echoes of our lives bouncing back at us


it roars out there

the deafening silence

slapping back at us

distracting us from our loneliness


the emptiness of our lives


so we shout out

in hope that someone will hear

some scant reflection

a confirmation that we are still alive

or at least we believe so

or so we think


we listen

only to hear our own echoes

hoping that someday it may come

and find us unasleep

in hope that we are not alone



he thought he was

but then he wasn’t

so he thought a whole lot more

in this age of make-believe

no one can ever be sure