The Missing Link

This awful weather is starting to stink

It’s been over a week, I’ve spilled no ink

My brain won’t work and I can’t think

Past few nights haven’t slept a wink

I’m beginning to think I’m at the brink

Maybe it’s time to take up drink

Ice coffee that is, wink, wink, wink!




The Show Must Go On

Welcome all to the Hall of Knowledge

Knowing all I don’t allege

Though what’s known within these walls

Is the knowledge all known by no-one at all


There are no books, tablets or scrolls

Nothings written of what’s unknown

Yet this knowledge exists, all right here

Filling the voids of this knowledge lair


Knowledge hidden behind these great doors

Muffling the roars of the dragons snores

To open the doors the dragons would soar

Soaring dragons seen nevermore


There’s also Centaurs that canter to and fro

Whilst the Mers and Unicorns laugh at their show

Some shards of light slip through the cracks

But without reflection they can’t get back


So this Hall of Knowledge remains ever shuttered

Ensuring that future quests remain unfettered

Now off to the slide of gloom and despair

Or steps to the heavens, way, way up there


As fitting an ending as ever can be

The show ends here of your fantasy

To go beyond there’s no return

Nothing to live for if nothing to yearn


Oh!  And one last thing before you go

We can’t tell anyone of this show

We don’t want anyone else to know

Of this place we cannot go



Pastel Poetry Please

The pallete overflows

Colors no-one knows

A spectrum of hues

Whatever I choose

But the grays get in the way


Wheels of color roll on the ground

Colors don’t matter if wheels ain’t round

Drawing time from sketchy books

Gradient defines good, shady or crooks

And the grays all have a say


Canvas pure, time no-more

Palletes bare, nothing to share

Thinking of more, brushes galore

Morning’s bright till dark of night

Yet the grays still paint my day



Found Lost

Lost in the sand

Can’t walk, cannot stand

Vultures above awaiting meat

Flesh melts from my feet


Waves of heat ride the tide of sands

Blisters ooze muddies bloodied hands

Flesh burned, pores yearn, salt sweat dried

Sandpaper eyes, tears boil un-cried


Times far behind, miles are ahead

The only dread now’s not being dead

Visions blurred, yet a figure seen

The end is near, they’re in-between


Once blindingly lost, in a blink found

Screaming a last breath yet not a sound

Inviting any – enemy or friend

Kill or cure, any end