Fluorescent, flickering nightmare shades,
Subliminal, melancholy feelings.
Autumnal, winter light, a blazing summer night.
A small boy stalks the streets. He eyes the men he meets.
With a distasteful look he takes a hand
Resigned, to the pain and the small change.

The hunger drives him there, oblivious to a disgusted stare.
He plies his trade. the pimp gets paid.
In misery, a small boy gets laid.

With unseeing eyes, feelings laid bare,
A pseudo father figure keeps him warm.
Gone is the childhood of candyfloss and apples
Replaced, by a Disneyland of monsters and horrors.
His love is given for pain and small change

The man came from nowhere,
And merged into our lives
Entwined with all who came near
To hear speak of happier times
"Walk with me into a blissful light,
And go with a light heart
I bring inner peace, with piercing sight,
Humbled with the knowledge of who I am"
So we gathered in awe of the man cloaked in darkness
The aura, surreal in it's captive form, encircled the helpless.
The kings of lands, lost to the night
Rose up to claim, once more,
The gossamer wings of hope.

A furtive glance
Confirmed by ignorance
A coded purchase
The coast is clear
A left turn, outside the shop
Into waiting arms
Face flushed
Fingers entwined
We walk, like a couple
For an hour or so

A physical closeness
Lasts, but a moment
Our time is up
Indoors they are waiting
The oven timer ringing
Oblivious, or maybe
They just don't care
It's teatime
Dad's late back
From the shops again.

God! Not another day,
A lifetime to get through
Time standing still,
Or so it seems.
Weariness crushing down on your soul,
Dulling all senses,
Lost in a maze of indifference,
So what?
Jumbled thoughts, waking dreams,
Communication, a drag,
But necessary, to survive,
The curse of a complacent mind.
Dark thoughts, strangle all reason,
Well intentioned platitudes,
Irritate, and anger,
Not fair!

Sowing the seeds of destruction.
Leaving the mark of a mis-spent youth.
All the passions of a "one night" flirtation.
Damn the consequences, bury the truth.

Blame it all on the modern times.
Close your eyes and ignore the signs,
Of the wrong you are doing.
The anguish, the pain.
The dead you are leaving
But "don't blame me!"

Yesterday fades into the darkness of your mind;
Forgotten liaisons on the edge of your mind.
The past returns to haunt you, again and again
No one to comfort, nobody wins.

It's all too easy to get caught in the trap.
Temptation has always been greater than that.
And the thrill of the chase makes you eager to win.
Blind to the hurt you are leaving within.

So take a look at this modern age.
Turn your back on the past and change your ways.
See the wrong you have done, the pain you have left behind.
The numbers are growing, but don't .....blame......me!

A hug from little Rachel,
"I wish you were my dad"
"Oh, I bet your dads the nicest guy,
and gives you love and makes you glad"

"Yes, he gives me love, the secret kind of love,
and I musn't tell my mum"
"But why?, love is for sharing,
and love can be such fun!"

"My mum says I'm bad,
if I don't kiss my dad goodnight,
but if I do, he looks at me all funny,
and I know, I just know, it's not right!"

"I have tried to be a good girl,
I've tried to love him right,
but it hurts!, it hurts so much,
when he kisses me goodnight"

"He sweats, and goes all funny,
and then he starts to cry,
That's why I wish you were my dad,
because after school, I just wave and say bye bye"

Times I remembered,
Times I lost,
Dreams that folded -
I can't count the cost
Of memories that faded
To travel
From the station of my mind,
Like silent passengers,
Down the foggy ruins of time,
And disappear
On the train to oblivion;
Where all is laid
To rest in peace
Amidst Oblivion -
The tomb where pain
Is dead and holds no fears.

© John Van der Kiste, 1975

Already, I feel the day
Fading, receding into history,
As Baird's small theatre
Commands, and holds its sway
Over me, a willing,
Subconsciously worshipping
Slave to technology,
Slumped in an armchair-
Lazy, passive, laughing,
Nurturing the seeds
Of a well-earned rest.
As evening
Meanders into night;
As night
Flows into morrow.

© John Van der Kiste, 1976

December, still December.
And the rain has washed
The earth with tears
And the mist
Has brushed
The sky, the stones, the trees
With loving tenderness
Peace, and a veil of mystery
That hides a thousand things -
Dewdrops dancing on a cobweb,
Reflections breathing
Sons of winter sunlight -
A curtain one may watch,
But never penetrate,
Only watch infinity -
As winter broods -
We brood, we wait, we wonder
For spring
Is just
A dream away

© John Van der Kiste, 1985

As the rainfall yields to sunshine,
Dappled light pours through the beeches.
The daffodils have had their season;
Now is the time our violets, anemones come forth.
Once again, April's buds awaken.

'Tis always the time for the river Dart,
Rolling, singing, sighing, roaring down her waterfalls.
Animals and birds come out to play -
Squirrels scamper up the branches,
Blackbirds brag, trill proudly from tree to tree.

Listen. Is there not magic underfoot and overhead?
The floating symmetry of being -
The theatre of a thousand years -
While these woodlands stand and watch,
Untouched, unseen save by you and I,
Unbowed, witnesses to the past,
Unsullied, witnesses to the future.

All around, these woods grant sanctuary to the traveller,
Protection to the peaceful,
Salvation to the soul,
An ever-changing, yet unchanged tapestry,
Self-stitched, self-created,
That opens the door on a world of its own.

© John Van der Kiste, 2002

You took the colour from my world -
You turned it into driftwood -
Sleepless nights, stretching like everlasting corridors.
How could you lock me in that cell
And not leave me the key?

Morning was not morning - day was only night
Black, inhospitable, unforgiving restless hours
I walked with weary steps footsore
Along a road where lights were out
All seemed like deathly silence
But the mockery of comfortless, unforgiving reproach
No open space, just shadows and dark corners

The dull, pitiless aroma of nightmare lingers
The ghosts of pleasures, memories of happiness now sit
Like portraits on the wall, false, malicious, sarcastic
Reminders of days of living a lie

   Beware of false friends
   Watch your back
   The smile, the laugh, the handshake of friendship
   Is a mask of deceit

There was no sense of loss - there was nothing to lose
There was no focus
No vision of shapeless thoughts which swept around my head
It was a landscape without perspective
Meaningless, contradictory, angry,
Colliding in a Tower of Babel in the air

Magpies picking at the twisted flesh and bones of threads
The skeins of hollow thoughts that mean nothing
Wounds leave scars - scars will not heal
Time heals, time fades, time might erase

Even the moonlight
Reduced to a flickering candle
Splutters into a void
Overshadowed by the crashing tidal wave of a thousand clouds.
There are howling monsters in the deep.
Their savage cries frozen into murderous infinity
Are part of the setting now

   The light goes out
   The moon goes out
   The sky goes out
   Turn out the light
   Let me be alone
   It does not matter
   My skin is raw
   Blood flows dry from a thousand cuts
   Let me lock the door
   And let me hide

© John Van der Kiste, 2001

He wields it like a broadsword, and with a pompous pride
assumes he has a moral right to have it by his side
He worships all it stands for, a simple devotee
and if it hurts and causes pain - it's not his fault you see.

It never ever alters, in battle it won't yield
when using it in his defence it makes an awesome shield
He even stabs his friends with it, which causes them to flee
but when it wounds and hurts them - it's not his fault you see

At times it hurts each one of us, but always it is right
it cannot weep for casualties, it's righteous in its fight
He trusts that it will never lie, there's nothing with more dignity
but when it causes suffering - it's not his fault you see

He's not afraid to face it, though it cuts him like the rest
throughout his life he's trusted it, but still he hasn't guessed
That just because it's right and true it does not guarantee
that when it hurts and causes pain - it's not his fault you see

© Andy Trigg 2001

One day I sat alone
when it settled on my arm
A lovely little butterfly
someone had done it harm

It had a damaged wing
which was very badly frayed
It made me feel quite special
I was happy when it stayed

Although it had been damaged
to everybody's eye
It was still a very valid
and delightful butterfly

I seemed to make it happy
it appeared to feel secure
But a sudden movement by me
and it was there no more

Eventually it came again
my fondness for it grew
But when I tried to touch it
up in the air it flew

Whenever it would come back
I tried to show I care
Each time it would feel safer
returning to the air

One time I thought I'd hurt it
as I tried to hold it tight
It stayed away a long time
before It did alight

Attempting to persuade it
to stay a little longer
I always seemed to scare it
but my need became much stronger

Eventually it flew away
high up in the sky
Often I catch sight of it
as it goes flying by

Butterfly's are delicate
they need to feel they're free
I'll never try to hold one
if one ever lands on me

© Andy Trigg 2001

Music reaches deep inside me
invokes feelings that I need
Fills my head with pleasure
on which my soul can feed

Takes me to another place
immerses me in lakes of sound
free to float or dive deep down
no longer feel earthbound

With skilful hands it clasps my mood
and throws it up real high
Then like a captive bird set free
I spread my wings and fly

The open sky I find before me
has no clouds - no threat of rain
Even gloomy songs uplift me
elated in my new domain

Drug me with euphoric feelings
take me on a carefree ride
Nothing else can so uplift me
nothing else can tap inside

Drench me in its sonic shower
pull me through its magic door
Show me all the disparate pieces
help me in my quest for more

© Andy Trigg 2001

I have a precious gift
to give at my discretion
enough for all I meet
a truly great possession
No matter who I give it to
I always have some left
but if I give it no one
it's me that is bereft

© Andy Trigg 2001

I am host to a siege carried out in my mind
I feel like the hostage and captor combined.
I've been taken over by fragments empowered
I want to comply but I act like a coward

Feelings inside me have fed on my fears
Suddenly living yet dormant for years.
Rejecting my island in search of things better
I'm hurting my family and turning them bitter.

I'm in a small boat far away from the shore
and so far away I can see it no more.
Though I'm tethered by rope and the rope is secure
I know that I can't stay out here anymore.

I have in my hand the sharpest of knives
And to cut it will free me but damage some lives.
And I fear that I'd find with the passage of time
that the worst of the damage could happen to mine

If my hands pull the rope and I head back to shore
Will I even be welcome back there anymore?
And what if I go back and stem the blood flow
Only later to damage much more if I go?

I've heard of the islands where the weather is great
But something inside says I've left it too late
My island is temperate, doesn't suffer extremes
The one's that I look for are maybe just dreams.

Maybe my island is something to cherish
Or at least is a place where I'm able to flourish.
Maybe those islands that bask in sunshine
have men just like me, that lust after mine.

© Andy Trigg 2001

A little boy
named willy
Was destined
to be silly
It was his fate
he couldn't wait
he told his mum
he would be great
he wouldn't care
what people say
he would be silly
every day.

Was 8 years old
when first he told
his mother that
when he was old
he'd be the best
the silliest
and it would be
his life-long quest
she couldn't see
but tried her best
she didn't think
he'd have the zest

But it was true
It came to pass
he grow up as
a silly ass
very skilled
at being daft
he never stopped
it was his craft
Throughout his life
he played the fool
they laughed at him
each day at school

And when he had
to go to work
they all just thought
he was a jerk
his humour was
both blunt and snappy
effective though
and he was happy
When he died
he left a hole
and people missed
his cheerful soul

© Andy Trigg 2001

I like poetry
Especially when it rhymes.
Actually, I tell a lie: I despise most
Poetry.
It makes no difference whether
It rhymes
Or
Not.
So umm yeah.

© "K" 2001

A bully comes a bully goes
You know im hurt but it never shows
He steals my cash and rips my clothes
Deadens my arm and bloodies my nose

So because hes bigger stronger tougher
There really is no need to for me to suffer
I have no sister I have no brother
My fathers dead in jail is my mother

Im sad enough when I go home
So bully please bully just leave me alone
Ill call my friend on my mobile phone
He tells me stand firm like ive been shown

Don't need to fight or come to blows
I like to be kind and have no foes
To be a victim I never chose
Or why im picked on nobody knows

It is a problem this I know
and slimmers seem to find it so,
to lose the pounds that they don't need
of this warning they should heed...
There lurks upon the chilled food shelf
a curse that is the worst for health.
an evil thing so bad for you
yet to resist I cannot do.

It calls me away from the fruit and veg,
though to my family I did pledge,
to keep away from it's crusty lure,
but I am weak - that is for sure.
The centre pink, the jelly clear.
Of calories I don't want to hear.
I know my heart is lost to this
'cos eating one is surely bliss.

The object of my every dream
is not a cake or soft ice-cream.
The thing that makes my knees go weak,
who's name makes me tremble when I speak,
is small and round and full of sins,
I know it should go in the bin,
but I'm obsessed, I can't pass by -
I've got to have one more PORK PIE!

© Heather Turner 2002.