The Darkest Hour

Silence the nightingale, its song annoys.
Lock away the peacock, its frivolous display offends
Strip the leaves from the trees so their rustle is silenced forever.
Discard all the fruit, the taste is bitter to me.
Close all the buds, Send the bees home.

Let the rivers run dry, they no longer have purpose.
The mountains are but obstacles. Fell the proud oak
Take down the signs, for all paths lead nowhere
Disperse the passing cloud, the sky enthrals me not.
It is but empty space, mirroring my heart.

Turn off the breeze, it chills my bones
Dismiss the memory of rain on upturned face.
Dismantle the pyramids, they bore me now.
Burn all the books and scorn the poet.
Turn off the music and scold the laughing child.

Discharge the sun, its warmth cannot penetrate my soul
Do not offer comfort or try to understand.
There is no salve for this despair
And seek not my company.
The world is dead to me.


Let tears flow, or laughter reign.
Depending on your whim.
Accept no judgement of your manner.
The pain is yours alone.

Lash out with blame, for the situation is unjust,
Or look to yourself and seek solace within. 
Either is correct.
Broadcast fury from the heights or let silence be your guide.
Comfort lies in both.

Do not coach, or be coached.
For no tutor holds the answer.
Well meaning words offer balm,
Yet will not bring return.

Show deepest angst or wildly sing, your heart will lead the way
And dismiss the critic thereafter, for they hold no sway over owned memories.
Your grief takes primacy.
This hurting soul is yours.

But when the day is done and the shadows pass.
Allow again the sun to shine.
Remember the smile,
Not the furrowed brow.

Recall the song, not the scold.
And the gentle kiss, that conveyed their love.
Let the words, ‘Remember when…’ start the conversation
And smile at the recollection.

The grief is yours and does not demand comprehension.
Yet those who have passed need no account.
For they are the ones that made you cry, and they are the ones that made you laugh.
You answer to them only, for on this day, they alone know the trueness of your soul.

Those who sleep will understand.

The Dawn.

Lift up your head, and face the dawn.
It’s what they would have said.
The words are done, the tears are cried
Now think of life instead.

Wipe the moisture from your cheek
And ease the furrowed brow
Lift your hope, discard the past
The future beckons now

Deepen breath and renew trust
And face the morning well
Embrace the wound, the ache will ease.
For Solace, time will tell

Move on from pain, discard the hurt
Dismiss the cutting knife
Quicken heart, let spirits soar
Renew your love of life

The days will warm, the rain refresh
You’ll cast aside the pain
Each day will ease. Each sunrise help,
To start your life again

Yet as you go, a moment’s pause
The memories still are there
Not cold and hurt, but warmth and love
For those, for whom you care

Their smiling face will ease your load
Their memory is your friend
They’re always there, will always be
This journey has no end.

They would not want your soul to hurt
The time for grief is done.
Embrace their love, forget them not,
And face the rising sun


Man in the mirror

Looking at me
Seeing the anger
That no one should see
Knowing my secrets
Drawing me near
Sharing emotion 
feeling my fear

Man in the mirror

With crosses to bear
Emotionless statue
With glassy eyed stare
Society’s outcast
distant from grace
Heart cold as ice
in a devil’s embrace

Man in the mirror

Of dwindling light
Humanity’s exile
A creature of night
cold blooded vessel
Empty inside
craving compassion
With access denied

Man in the mirror

Staring at me
Time for redemption
Time to be free
No more will I suffer
No more will I run
The time is upon us

………I reach for the gun………

The Price of Freedom

I never was a soldier,
so have no tale to tell
of cloying mud and seas of blood
and trenches into hell.

I didn't get the call up,
so how am I to know
of ghosts who stand on scarlet sand
where angels fear to go?

I didn't serve my country,
so missed the pained goodbyes
of men who cried as brothers died
beneath those leaden skies.

I never fought for freedom,
so couldn't understand
the metal rain of searing pain
that ripped across the sand.

I didn't have the calling,
so where do I begin
to understand exploding land
that tears them limb from limb?

I never had to comprehend
the pain of mothers' cries.
The tragic price of devil’s dice
when rolled to see who dies.

So why should I remember?
How could it ever be
that gallant dead, spilled poppy red
and gave their lives for me?

I never was a soldier,
and never went away
like those who tried, and cried, and died,
and marched so I could stay.

For my Wife on her birthday

I wish I was a wealthy man,
a multi-millionaire.
With cars and gems and wads of cash 
and houses everywhere.

My windows would be diamonds,
my floorboards would be gold.
My ceilings lined with dollar bills,
a wonder to behold

I’d pay my bills with rubies,
my paintings would be rare.
The only mess you’d ever see
are sapphires everywhere.

But even if my life should change
and all my dreams come true.
The money would mean nothing if
the cost was losing you.

So when I am a millionaire
The richest in the land
I’ll bin it in an instant,
to forever hold your hand.


For my wife on Valentines day

I read it to a blind man for only he could see
the honesty within me and what you mean to me.
He sent me to a wise man and asked him to explain
the meaning of the way I feel, the rapture and the pain.

We sang it to the oceans and waited for reply
but silence was their only gift beneath the weeping sky
I shouted in the moonlight berating stars above
why won’t you give me answers to questions of my love?

But no one eased my burden for no one really knows
the truth behind the feeling and how that feeling grows
I asked again the blind man to make you understand
the meaning of the poetry that bleeds from shaking hand?

He smiled upon me gently and said the truth you seek
is found within your aching soul and tears upon your cheek.
The words upon your parchment are mirrors of your heart.
An outlet of emotion but wouldn’t even start...

to tell her of your torment and how you really feel,
and just how much you love her,

……no poem ever will……

A poem from Medieval I - Blood of the cross

Oh blinded men who will not see,
the truth is not where it should be.
When Saladin came close to death
from Arab steel with Sinan’s breath,
the price he paid for lengthened life,
protection from assassin's knife
was not of slaves or swathes of gold
but bounty from a conflict old.
Where Christian wood, a source of tears
a remnant of a thousand years
was taken from a Sultan’s gaze
and cost the bloodiest of days.
When murder was the story made, 

two thousand slain by Christian blade,
the price of life was nought but tree,
a simple gift that couldn’t be.
For Saladin no longer knew
the resting place of aged yew,
the bounty of those glory days
won hard beneath the Horned one's gaze.
So seek the trophy not within
a treasury or Sultan’s whim
but in the place where all men sleep
and place their trust and bones to keep.
Where mountain men with feared name
Ensure it’s not seen again.
The yew that Christians so desire
was not destroyed in Muslim fire
But hides away in trees afar,
a fortress of Jabahl Bahra.


A Tribute to all miners
The Shadow Men
Starry glint through blackened pallet
dulled forever, worn by weight of time.
Men of Stature, strong of heart
felled by the uncaring of consequence.
Aching bones seek final rest,
weakened props for seams of flowing red
in place of ancient black.
Yet giants still, to those who know.
Pass not by the shadow men
but pause to hear account,
for night time beckons and as light fades,
shadows shorten, soon lost forever.