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Poems by Stephen Woodhouse

A time to come

There comes a time in a writer's mind
You’re against the clock
They call it writer's block
Can’t think what to write
Across your mind it’s a fight
The inspiration's not there
The desperation flares
Depression sets in
The flare for writing within
The body and soul
The mind just caves in
Just give it some time I’m sure I’ll be fine
The writing will be done
Just sit and wait
For a time come

Pure view

I sit and see the calm flat sea
Serenity that’s part of me,
This is where I'd like to be
Locals fishing. tourists wishing,
A postcard of mind I’d like to find,
Just to be here to shed a tear.


Taken through the sublime reaching back in time,
To reorder the disorder in my chaotic mind.
Looking through the vortex in my cortex I'll analyse my choices
Maybe I'll take heed from my voices, that, what happens right now
Has yet to begin.
The past is benign the present translucent,
The future line has yet to be aligned.
Not sure on my decisions that causes the incisions
On our path of living allowing total remission
Changing completely from what we remember
From the choices we've tendered
Time and space completely re-rendered,
Like a clay mould still in the making
To start again is not really good enough
Second time round will be just as tough

Can we really start again?
Are we the ones who are completely sane?
Or just oblivious to the chemistry that forces us to search our minds
For a better place a better time.
Is it happening now or has it already gone,
Have we been there yet or have yet to go?
Does anyone really know?
Is that cerebral transit to an alternate time?
A new place or a new day
Or just another complex mind.
New chaos new disorder
Coming from an alternate order.
The universal reversal of cerebral placebo!!!!

Poor affliction

Skint and desperate, addicted, afflicted
What was I thinking I couldn't say?
My mind was awash with thoughts astray
Living in tomorrow for yesterday.
Today another day for my mind to stray

The palace of exile

No one to speak to nowhere to go
I have just the company of the dungeon rats,
For seven days and seven nights now,
I have dwelt in the loose palace of exile
The only light I have at night is the strong and intimidating stare of the moon,
In the nights sky,
But soon I will be gone,
I will break through into a new born dawn on the other side.
I can see the disciples following their Jesus to a new springs door,
But it’s locked they can't get out but they can hear behind the door,
The swish and the swash of the seasons spring tide.

Summer is nigh those hazy days are here again ,
With only the rats of the dungeon of darkness to talk to,
For comfort and sanity.
I will be here for eternity in body and soul,
With my only friend.
When he comes I’ll be ready and waiting,
For my only friend the end !

The killing mind

Two little girls found dead
The guilty sick in the head
Enraged with violence
They were caged in silence
Through sullified emotion
Commotion, no devotion,
Their dreams just broken.
Enthused in his lies,
Not a soul hearing their cries
Of pain and suffering,
No need to die, just tell me why.
So young so innocent
Their lives could have been magnificent
How could you feel so good from something so bad?
At the lives you took, so many, so sad
It’s no excuse you see, your insanity plea,
Neurological disorder,
It’s just psychological order.
You want to be noticed to be seen
For the world to sit up, you're not what you seem.
Sweeping your corridors imagining your applause
From the horror you make
How many lives can you take?

Well you’ve done what you set out to,
Maybe not to plan but hey what the hell,
You’re the caretaker man!!!

And your lawyers are just as bad
because they know you’re not mad,
Quite the opposite, completely sane
Intelligent, at the mane.
Though you snigger at the thought of what you did
Ha!! Now you’ve been caught
But you don’t care you did it that’s what matters,
So many lives left in tatters.

If there is a hell may you rot so violently,
Those two little girls they won’t be forgotten
So silently,
But you’ll sit there and remember with glee,
How you did it with ease.
So is this how it works, how the killing mind flirts.

You’ll be battered and beaten you sick bastard, eaten alive,
By the plague that’s rife inside the cage,
So maybe you’ll go mad on the plains of the insane,
Because you won’t cope, you stole their hope,
Their dreams when you made them suffer and listened to their screams.

The more I think of it the more I’m sure
That you will rot, it’s the only cure.
You’ve got no feeling inside of your infertile mind.
From your psychotic soul you will lose control.
So don’t be kind when you die alive from the putrid ranks
Of your killing mind.