Author: Dux …
-
A monday morns dichotomy
As June arrives my pen decides to capture all the moment speaks in drifting quill i write until the line decides what sense is wreaked, and as the words begin to form ideas surface from the mornings pages where i capture time to set them free in metered rhyme. I notice first my thoughts in…
-
changing tune
It’s true, it’s true the cuckoo call a-changes in the light of June, in resonance it deepens and finds echo in an altered tune. I listened out and listened well to hear the song that cuckoos tell and notice in the days of june it speaks of travel coming soon. Around the peak of summers…
-
Fibby McFibface
Refracted by the damage done by all that came to pass As witnessed by the folk with eyes the lies of Patel Kash : The leader of the FBI, the boss of all the cops, the drunken bloke who one day woke and tried to hide the slops. The one who wrote the book about…
-
Another day of news
Draw your conclusions, though sketchy they may be considering the wealth of lies in the land where speech is free. Paid in dirty dollars or cryptos hidden hand agendas spent in foul intent, the truth in sinking sand. In clouded obfuscation sits the mirror world of memes where bots release their drivel to an endless…
-
A poem about water.
I see myself as a mersey poet, born within the sound of tugs and the boom of fog horns in autumn mists, born between the diesel smells of Lairds and unhumped Cammels fighting with the lingerings of lairages and tanyards. I see myself as a mersey poet, A legacy of Roger and the scaffolding he…
-
Maxwell’s mates…
aka The shaming of the true Caught inside of self deception senses lost in misdirection, all we hear and all we see fall victim to this fallacy. To those that obfuscate and twist agendas found within the list, in hidden corners unredacted tattered truth of lives impacted. Echelons of powdered guilt upon the jets of…
-
The song of Aprils joy
The laden boughs of apple sing a song of sweetness, such is spring, in scented whiles i sit rejoiced and marvel at the moments touch. As golden dots the dandelions in careless incandescence grow to offer wild ambrosia and fuel the buzz of tiny souls. As nettles rise to claim their pitch and build the…
-
A view from St David’s Bay.
Which way would Puffins vote I wonder? Guillemots and Kittiwakes? On Kromer in their growing numbers safe from all that may forsake… On Friday as we rise from slumber fearing what the boxes tell about the hatred found in thunder deformed into odious smells
-
too busy
Poems unread themselves into silence as the poet stares at the void ahead, where moments go unmeasured and the world allows itself to hide behind the feeling of being too busy.
-
Limbo-ing in middish May.
Mayhem came and hung around while blossoms came and went, Maydays went unanswered in the time where May was spent maybe they will realise before it gets too late that Maydays caused by mayhem may not make America great ( again ) Mayhem came and hung around while blossoms came and went, Maydays went unanswered…