Ed Co

September 30, 2019 at 7:29 pm (Poems) (, , , , )

This is the story of a rich director
Who collected a cupboard of prizes
He was a veteran of film
Who had rejoined the industry
At the zenith of possibility

Despite many liquidations
He found success in China
Where a small segment of genius
Went a long way to forge his return

Largely inarticulate, he hired a spokesperson
to accept his nominations
then cut adrift from the timpani of fame

The last I heard, he had become a monk
on a whiskery greek island
But this may be a ruse
to ensure the privacy needed
for the hatching of ultimate imagination.

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Muse

September 29, 2019 at 11:56 am (Poems) (, , , , )

Is it romantic to be a muse?

I found it intolerable:

long-suffering martyrdom

for brief significance;

Broken butterflies

unpin your wings

untethered

eyes raised

fly!

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Beyond Beneath

September 24, 2019 at 6:22 pm (Poems) (, , , )

Beneath the broken bridge, a door
Through every wall, a window
On moaning winds there plays a song
In sorrow, hope to cling to.

A sigh is heard, a tear is kept
No matter whose or why it’s wept,
No puzzled thought is cast aside
A love divided multiplies.

Those yesterdays are never spent
in vain, they are our treasure,
Such wondrous jewels lest we forget,
A worth beyond all measure.

A sigh is heard, a tear is kept
No matter whose or why it’s wept,
No puzzled thought is cast aside
A love divided multiplies.

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Turning Tide

September 21, 2019 at 8:26 pm (Poems) (, , , )

When all you have is broken
And all you loved seems gone
Walk back to nature’s healing
Where human life was born.

Cool rivulets and rocky coves
The motion of moon tides
The swoop of sea birds in the place
Where sea and shore collide.

Walk on her perfect beaches
Feel sand between your toes
Look past the furthest reaches
Of all we’ll ever know.

We’ve come too far away from her
And somehow must return
Forgive and find our feet again
It’s not too late to learn.

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Sleep baby sleep

September 20, 2019 at 8:58 pm (Poems) (, , )

Commemorate, celebrate,
or forget the date,
unload and it let go;
there is nohow I would rather be,
than being me, with you,
here and now, parked,
wind whistling in the dark,
the sound of the sea through
an open window all I want to know.

Sleep deep baby, sleep.

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Youth

September 20, 2019 at 8:13 am (Poems) (, , , )

When you told me it was over
it had only just begun
the clock had ceased its ticking
and we still felt very young

Those everlasting children
in 1942
were taken from their villages
and nothing they could do

While concrete jungle architects
constructed city spaces
we thought we were invincible
in a middle Earth oasis

But history snatched our shoes away
and filled our hearts with fear
so soon our safety set upon
and dragged us out of there.

And now our broken spirits
seek an everlasting home
where innocence is not a crime
and we live (once more) as one.

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Hooded

September 18, 2019 at 7:47 am (Poems) (, )

When she pulled off her grey hood

Revealed her true self:

We were slow to realise…

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Tortoise

September 13, 2019 at 7:57 am (Poems) (, , )

Please turn the heat on, now mum,
The year is growing older
My eyes are tired and I’m hot wired
To know when it gets colder.

Please turn the heat on, now mum
And make me up a bed;
It’s not time yet, but you can bet
I’ll need to rest my head.

Please turn the heat on, now mum
My dear, I would be grateful;
And whilst I wait I’ll meditate
And eat another plateful.

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A Martyr’s Place

September 12, 2019 at 12:45 am (Poems) (, )

I’ve lost count of
the times I got
up on my feet
after falls from grace.

I am kissed and then
stripped again, tied
to crossed bars and then
whipped apace.

I’ll roll stones in the
morning, by evening
those stones will be
back in place.

I confess I am tired
of the words ‘you are hired’
in this martyr’s space.

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Quite Honestly

September 10, 2019 at 6:55 pm (Poems) (, , , )

All those who speak to me
say something bad to me,
Looks pretty bad for me,
Looks pretty bad.

All those who look at me
look pretty sad to me,
Faces look sad to me,
Look pretty sad.

Sometimes life gets to me
Moaning and blasphemy,
Life holds no guarantee –
Just how it is.

Try to remember me
Try to quite honestly
hold faith in destiny
greater than this.

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