Out of my mind...

I'm finally out of my mind,

I couldn't stay there any longer.

It was driving me mad. 

Memory Loss

I am confused
But I don’t know why.
There is no excuse
So I let out a sigh.
I persevere,
I try to remember.
But my condition is severe,
It has been since last September.
Or maybe it was December?
I really can’t remember.
I try to resume
My daily routine.
Please let me go home,
This place is too clean.
I consumed the tea
It tastes really great.
All the little things
I try to appreciate.
They persuaded me to come
With free biscuits and tea.
They said it would fun
What happened to me?
I haven’t seen my family
Since last December.
Or maybe it was September?
I just can’t remember.

We wrote this three minutes ago for Michael's Year 6 poem project. Hope he gets an A+++++! XD

The Vine

Curling, creeping, strangling-

this feeling is a vine

rooted nowhere, feeding.

This feeling isn’t mine.

Mask, please come and take me,

I’d wear you like a cross,

heavy and unpeeling,

so they won’t see the loss

of innocence and life,

that reassuring pulse.

Where is it now, I wonder?

Now everything is false.

Even me, trusted friend

of me and I alone;

I sing, but now, no answer-

all music overthrown.

Why is this fan so heavy?

This foolishness in lace.

My wrists are weak, I cannot speak,

nor even hide my face.

So please mask, come and take me

and end this wretched road.

Make me believe the lies they see

so I won’t let it show-

that this vine grows inside me

and whispers every day

its rootless words, it mutters-

as all meaning slips away.

The End of the World

The end of the world approaches.
We will go out in style,
luxury and decadence.
The sky will open like prison gates
iron grey, while below we drown
in gold, the manmade kind
that will never have the value
of Old Sunshine.

Oh, misery-!
that this is to be our fate;
burnt from the earth
by rain and fire and drought,
as pestilence is burnt
from a cadavre,
as the mummy
is prepared.

But as the cogs are scoured,
I will sit, grave and still
in the last bar of Old Sunshine
and love as a virgin loves.
I will not see their starving faces,
nor hear their lurid screams;
I will close my eyes as
their architecture falls.

Our bridge of dreams will break,
swamped by golden, swollen seas.
There will be nothing left to give,
but the very last pure heart-
mine, beating.
And everything will cease
but your memory, trapped
in Old Sunshine.

You never realise...

You never realise how big the sky is
Until there are no mountains to share it with...

It's short!
I thought of it whilst being driven around in Normandy. There aren't any mountains, and the sky looks enormous.

War porn has always existed.

With each sensual finger,
War beckoned.
The guns screamed
come!
The tanks groaned
come!
The trenches whispered
come!
The dead men said
no...
But the posters cried
NOW!

And now,
we watch the excitement
on small, grainy screens;
horrified, panting, aroused,
as real people are obliterated.
Because peace is never as seductive
as the pornography of war.

Peace, love and slightly politically incorrect poetry.

Again...

Again, again
I've written your name
in my little book.

Train, train
again, your name
scrawls itself.

Grass, grass
tumbles past.
I write your name.

Keep, keep
your memory, asleep
under my coat

Grey, grey
old motorway.
I write your name.

Eyes, eyes
and billboard lies
grow and shrink.

See, see
Nothing is free
but your name.

I don't usually post poems straight out. I write them up on word, leave them for a few weeks, then come back an fussily change one or two words. If I'm still not happy it will be another few weeks before they make it onto the net. Sometimes I forget that I've written them. But this poem was transcribed straight from a few jotted lines in my notebook. :) Hope it's okay.