Now here’s my bloody sonnet for today, A trifle for my daily exercise; It’s best I try to keep it light and gay, Tho’ truly I am full of heavy sighs. My muse has been holding himself aloof, Yet condescends to text my mobile phone; He says he thinks poetry’s for poufs! When will he give this dog a friggin’ bone? These rude, unpolished rhymes are from the heart: If I should catch that mischief-making God, I’ll wring his scrawny neck and break his dart, And fling his poxy carcass ‘neath the sod. So what if poetry is somewhat queer, We all know Shakespeare was a sonneteer
I am a writer. I am shy. I started writing poetry in my youth. I first performed in 1987 at the Avon Poetry Festival along side Bertel Martin of the Bristol Black Writers Workshop, supporting Benjamin Zephaniah.I gave my last poetry performance in 1992 at the Arnolfini gallery Bristol, supporting Labi Siffre during Poetry month.In 1998 for a year, I became the Resident Poet at Bristol Evening Post.I haven't written much since then but in 2014 I began exercising my rusty hand writing sonnets. I hope to continue writing in the coming year.
In those corners of your eyes my darkness prevades I wish all the doors gets locked from inside Why does our western gleam fades in twilight shades And still you’re searching for me in pale moonlight The night never brings
My Pearl of Inestimable Value Out from its obscurity in this Silence Dawn, emerged an invisible Cruelty, gabbed in terminal robe; Stealthily descended upon this blissful abode: the habitation of ‘My Pearl of Inestimable Value’ With its fangs snarling in
I am terribly shocked and remorseful My sister, can’t help than weeping at your ill-fate Transcending self to a passive onlooker Or to the role of an unmindful passenger With torn heart, tied hands, and bleeding eyes All finding acutely
My heart loves you Was it not some time ago, My heart was like a rock? An impenetrable fortress, With steep cliffs at its side, A distance land, Far away, From where no ordinary soul, Would dare to reside? I
Cacophony was child’s cry,it made me forlorn Symphony it is,now that you are born Trauma was my life,bruised my being Tranquil I am, showered in your eyes loving Bathed in your waft ,my stink is gone Rescued by your raft,now