Word wakes me early morning

Belligerently dragging me to ink’s well

Now, a new day – barely dawning

Allows my fragrant, literary spell

With crisp, intuitive rhyme

Like roses, their sweetest smell

Freshly spun, immediate time

Swiftly drawn from fate’s wishing well


Open this box to eternity

Weave mesmeric, fresh spun creeping yarns

There are many yet, you choose me

Amidst eerie silence, and calm…


Awoke this morn, bristling pure chat

Steadily, committed to paper

Choice, literary stinging slaps – for

POTUS, putting on his diaper

This – would be – plenipotentiary

Basks abroad – highest chair gathers

Dust – spoke for the world, every

Body except me, threatening

Coerced innocents; truth be told

He’s become public enemy’s

Hellish hive of incompetence

Doesn’t realise dead souls are living

People whilst, dead people haunt living

Souls, those; who are far away remain

Members of faith’s disciples, their

Names lifted up high – written in gold

Humanity’s hope calls future

Continuity, empty dreams

Plaster deep emblazoned footprints

Listen! Hear The Dead who still scream

Our rotten consciences stink