PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It seems self evident

that a life is a series

of searchings for joy

intersperesed by such

soul poverties as are

thrust on a person in the

age that oppresses them



These joys are diverese

and spread out like stars

and the poverties are as

the darkness of the night

carrying none of the

richness but all of the

vastness of that endless

morbid shroud



It is the rich velvet of

the witching hours I find

I am increasingly haunting

for joys

in the maudlin landfill

of the age of

Coca - Cola and factories



I believe that in the

times we have lost

beauty and joy were

much loved treasures

and that the intoxicating

light of a good soul

shone through the face

like a television glow



I think that a person

must suffer

in order to measure

their joys

the sufferings of work give

light to the golden hours of

leisure love and communion

I think that

something has gone wrong



A word like beauty

evaporates readily in the

factorial smog

Photoshop happened like

a plastic beggar and stole

the monopoly on perfection



Lives are built up in

industries a child

manufactured in a

laboratory may carry

a warranty like a

splendid motor vehicle



I was frustrated grabbing

at the ethereal of the

imagination now my

longings are ceased

fantastic joys may be

backed up on hard drives

and the real world improved

in the mind of a Playstation



Something has been lost

so I burrow further into

the night into the darkness

where the neon synthesis of

today melds with the natural

rhythms and melodies of mind

where these distinctions blur

and I am once again a part of

the world I inhabit and the

songs I sing are recognised

by the trees



Yet the transformers and dynamos

will pass as the real world dictates

TV light will dim because

Freeview isn't free

a day will come when reality will

refuse to burn for the demands

of electricity and nursemaid

nature will hush the whinings

of sulky motors and screens



And tendrils will embrace the

chimney stacks with gentle

patience we may witness the

marriage of tarmac and dandelions

stark - eyed badgers will pad

the linoleum seeking shelter

in the rusted mouths of

ancient washing machines



From outer space the earth

will no longer seem an

abandoned diamond mine

and every light will go

out but the sun

darkness and fauna will

re - take suburbia and

out from the factories

humanity will crawl in

ther splendours

and reality will be

reclaimed by the

creatures of the night