A chat to the universe

Evil, twisted and perverse


You take and rape
and rip away at the soul of man

There is no peace in you

I have found no path for the lone traveller
other than the one you have provided
while mindless zombies in cocoons clap hands
and shout in nonsensical utterances
believing they own the only truth
So now they sell it for profit
to feed their bottomless bellies

There is no balance
No force
No energy
No inkling of sanity within your walls

There is just us and the dirt.
Perhaps, there, we will find peace.
Perhaps, there, we will rest.

© 2017 The Drummer Poet

Looking up

They moved so much faster than I have ever seen
Little shades of white and grey
Cotton wool being pulled from the body
and swirling around without a care

I could not stop staring
it was beautiful
against the blue

And the wind, the power and silence
of the wind
as it whipped the white into wisps of strings and twirls
locked my eyes into a long uninterrupted gaze of imagination
and I flew

I flew up into the blue
and my body was swept about
so high
so so high
I could hear nothing but the wind

I let the wind take me
I let the wind be me
and I became the wind
I became the artist of the clouds

And I created the shapes and creatures
and movements and drama
and speed and glory

And, for a moment, I found peace away from the noise
Even though earth was just below, I was no longer a part of it.

© 2017 The Drummer Poet

Solace in the Winter

The orange lights and mists are coming back
Another season awaits
like clockwork in a finely-tuned masterpiece of fate

For where else do I find myself
but in the cold dusk outside?
For where do I hide myself
but in the old mask inside?

Solace in the Winter
whilst longing for the Spring
and wishes not granted
belonging to anything

But something does feel
A change somehow
And I think
this time
I shall find my solitude

© The Drummer Poet

Metamorphosis of Time

Fingers tremble
and eyes focus
on a white page
with a pen in one hand
and a fist of dreams

Plunged into the metamorphosis of time
and wrapped in garments of angst
whilst fire burns
and smoke grabs at the lungs
I reach out for air,
grabbing wisps of nothingness

My body ages
My mind increases in folly
The reliance on my undetermined fate
seemingly fixed beyond my strength
Who can I talk to?
What can be done when all has been done?
What has been done?

Letters on paper
requiring much insight

I continue the walk
tho’ my soles are thin
My eyes glisten when I laugh
and your reflection can be seen in them

I’m so tired, dear God, so tired.

© The Drummer Poet


So, who are you really?

Beneath the skin.

The gathering of all your fears
or the tears of a thousand rivers?
The summative collection of your dreams
or the reaching of tree branches?

The wrinkles surround the eyes and
a smile lifts the face slowly
Faded memories clouded with thoughts

There is joy and sadness,
clarity with confusion,
illusion with belief
and hope with hopelessness.

So, who are you really?

Behind the smile.

Tired windows to the soul
looking out into gardens of grey
and wishing for the days of colour.

Four decades. Four treasures.
Stories and memories.
Joy in the journey.

So, who are you really?

Behind the laugh.

Still a road. A long road.
Walking. Look up. Look up.

You are the the only, you are the one,
you are the special, you are the motion,
you are the brave, you are the voice,
you are the man, you are who you want to be.

You are the tree, you are the branches,
you are the leaves, you are the shade,
you are the one who will grow,
you are your roots
and the sky is your playground – fly.

You are powerful beyond your perceived limitations
You have life and life is in you
Your path is yours to choose, yours to walk, yours to change

So, who are you really?

In the quiet of the night.

Your eyes will always hide yet they will gleam
Your mouth will always speak but your heart will remain louder
You will always walk but be running when no-one is watching
You will discover your passion again, you will remember and be ignited again, you will be reunited to the love of your heart again for the rhythm of life to be heard again in your voice, your eyes, your motion and soul.

So, who are you really?

Undefinable, infinite, unfinished, a work in progress till the end of your time.

© The Drummer Poet