A bicycle that’s new was blue and swankity it had 52 spokes all chromed and silver fancery That bike was mine I rode up hills to see the countery and down dales to go fast and rode it chancery That bike was mine I popped a tyre down near ta factory and I took it home to tell ta family we got out spoons and inspected ta mattery then I put a plaster were the puncture bubbled watery That bike was mine It had 10 gears which were satisfactory five were hard and the others sappery but it got me going were I want ta be That bike was mine Soon I was looking for a new bike practically with ten more gears and a name that suited me but I’ll never forget that blue bike frankily Because that bike was mine
I am a poet through and through and anyone that tells you different you must deny it and slap them across the face very roughly indeed. I love the normal things in life and turning them into mysterious meaningful emotionally attached fascinating object or subjects.
Whispered names falling simply off lips, Freckles that ripple on skin, Azure eyes that flooded dreams. Eyes may capsize stable thoughts, Blindly wade into unknown waters, Not knowing awaiting dangers. A siren’s melody put in a trance, A map to
When the bloodshed starts at the doorstep of solemn silence, give me a lone engagement with the invisible to unchain the split heart. I will take away the pain from home and come back in failing light when a star
Meaninglessly traversing into the havoc of vanity With a fake logic justified, Leaving the players into the deathly chasm. A Blue bottle game denying the soul of life! Two and two they say ten, And it is their game playing