A social site for poets in Sydney.
Being of slightly unsound mind, and a bit Irish as well,and not being in possession of an Etymology degree,nor a codebreakers manual, I can never see the pointof poetry that is written in a manner…Continue
Just follow the signposts, on the road to infinity,
one by one they'll rise up to meet you.
In the beginning is Immaturity,
leading you on to Insecurity,
up the hill towards Enlightenment,
where you are trapped behind the
caravan of Disenchantment.
Waiting to overtake you ponder
the Imponderable on this freeway
to Immortality, conveniently
forgetting your bouts of Immorality.
You pull over to the hard…Continue
My pockets stuffed
I'm going in search
past the streets
of recall, and
over the bridge of
hoping to find that
child who was never
going to grow up.
When I find him I'll
how proud I am
and how he never
and never let go of
his inner child,
keeping the two of us
This Thursday morning, bright and warm,
half- past eleven of the clock,
the gardens past their Summer best.
A youngish man of no apparent abode
seeks shelter among the ornamental shrubs.
Not yet mid-day, and his day is done,
he crawls away from the constant path,
to lie hidden and homeless, in the
shadow of that eminent place of
Art and beauty.
He has the sense to hide, to spare our
There is a place, behind the eyes
where calm and quiet waits,
far from cities and suburbs of noise.
I go there, glad to be away from
visual and verbal pollution,
and increasingly massive hysteria.
A closing of the eyes gains entry
to an inner sanctum, a place of happy
memory, of slow motion movement
and lethargic thought.
A place to rest and restore emotions,
and gently patch over the cracks in
the facade of…Continue