A late night fest.

Mute cacophony of ideas
Dreams which end, perplex & roll around to play games in the sand.
A water leaked.
Late night issues & forgotten themes.
Who cares but nobody for the dreams which died.
Incest gave way to passion & planets spun.
Midnight ramble.
Heavy hand broken on repeat.
Can u understand the criteria of the late night sleep?
Drug induced?
Apartment sworn.

Her clothes were torn.
Knees showing in pads of white,
Distance drowning in some foreign air,
Warplanes ran.
She rued the injustice of other people’s wars.
& all the time I coloured text upon the wall.

Final hours stay alert in orange flames of death.
Crimson cigarettes pass from lips.
Youth was a name I knew before.
Braided hair lost its appeal.
I cried when the dog in space died this afternoon.
& Jane was a stranger sold as slave.
Was sex always supposed to be free?

Money buries the dead in sheets of grey
& pauses wait patiently for each man to fill.
What would you say if you were here?
Or alive?
Would you talk to god about the football scores?
Or ask him if you could seduce the neighbour’s daughter?
I live on an island of solitude
Where no respect is given for deeds.

I suppose you should sleep now huh?
Bed yourself in clouds of work.
Could you think of me as I alert the police & ramble fine mosaic words across the sky,
Silent dreams of sex & angels.
Time to plug in the blanket of love & hope & peace.
I wonder if you will say how clever I am?
Is it not good that I can count the stars upon the back of my head?
Girls or drugs or both I ask
& then step forward to illustrate the aim of all escape.

Goodnight or morn & salutations.
Robot greased & sleep ensues.
A late night fest.
I take my rest
& bid all thee farewell my friends.

~ I suppose sleep is a valid concoction. I should try it sometime!
© ed simkins

A Waterfall Of Thoughts

dreams are strange idylls of time, which flitter & flutter through my mind.

peaceful waterfalls flow & ebb like time itself, i walk through gardens of sensual fantasies.

you smile in dutch, i smile in french & the world itself dances & sings.

i hear myself in music blown, like symphonies of old on majestic sky, raising stages.

earth’s crust melts in heated nights, each man abducts & loves his woman.

lingerie falls, like leaves from autumnal trees, & the echos of virgin sighs pleases me.

how can i ask for more than reality to bite or for these dreams of mine to occur?

i sit here naked; a newborn Bern. easily at home within this stolen painted cave.

thoughts repeat as i ask my question, & stories told return once more.

no sign of the prettiest girl, no sexual smile, no delicious warning signs.

the loins are cold, unwanted toys, imagination plays upon her crimson dress.

money that i own, i pay for you, a rich man’s pimp who buys for pleasure.

a day of motions without unrest or meaningless stress, night draws near.

bolted locks are crossed & fused, man entrapped in simple solitude.

rambling thoughts & precious deeds revealed in abused amazement.

brain empty, sugar spent. a neutral colour now. i rest my head.

~ just thinking & reviewing my day, my hopes, my dreams, my wishes & being at peace

(c) Ed Simkins

Front-Page News

time it moves when music blares and hides the hate of burning cages

girl in red, speeds through her life and murmurs names in stages.

man on fire from horrid fate in planes his terrors waning

millionaires in broken dreams without the truth it’s naming.

i take a look at falling books and hide my soul in tables

earthquakes shiver and tortures minds whilst depression leaves you stable.

men are paid in falsehood lies and riches given to dying

while parents three are now allowed to just give up on trying.

girls in shoes & kissing laughter, smiling with desire

i’d fuck her brains out with ponytail if assured of no damnation fire.

for i would hate to die this day without a kiss of pleasure

or find from angels of the past a box of golden treasure.

you make me laugh with your lying charms and sensual dancing hips

your sexual nose and blinkered eyes and sweet moist burning lips.

but in the world that lies and hates and torments us all the same

i would be the king of war that battles hard in tortured pain

i’d kill these monsters, purify my land, kiss each pretty girl in turn

to save their sensual little thighs, such is my concern.

i’d smile and laugh and bite back horror to end this barren night

with hard fought wins and bloody freedom just for her naked sight.

~  a mix of thoughts on the BBC News & of my dreams today

(c) Ed Simkins

two girls & a question

Last night she made love, she smiled & she screamed. such that relationships begin.

the steam was hot and love ejected, a turbulence dance within the waterfall.

& then this morning I found that she was gone, the girl in red cloak & her shoes.

so today a replacement found alas, yet so different from the girl who’d passed

muscles & toned & short blonde hair, petite in nature but strong in stature.

i tried to talk & words came out, but i had to end it as her lies came out

for though she was fun & yes she smiled & oh, how the conversation flowed,

i could not say that enamored love there in reason did begin to flow.

You see, i prefer my girls so sweet & clear, with stylish hair that speaks to me

American smiles & English charms, European styles & Girlish looks

I prefer my fantasy to the real thing for reality seems to only let you down

& i ask you now, how can i be with someone who lies, who cheats or worse still dies

who tries to change & rearrange the soul you’re born with, how does that work?

How does any man or girl i ask, survive a warden who tells them of some other rules

that i am wrong when i am right, that relationships are controlled, that i am nought

how do you prefer the reality of the one you’re with, compared to the love & affection of the unknown one?

the golden one who simply lets you love.

i ask you.

~ two people i met made me think

(c) Ed Simkins


Bone and meat and frozen hands. these are the things that surround tonight.

a stone age cave with stone age man, wearing blankets to escape the dread.

i walked the miles and climbed the hills and saw the world outside.

whilst now inside i find myself curtained off and blue.

the lights are out and music plays, the orange flame has died.

so what news is brought, what events occur, aside a cycled thought of fun.

well none my friends, for day remains a quiet place of salvage

– such are Saturdays in this modern world.

with broken neck I axed a tree and placed it several times,

quarry dug and in mud i slid, the money of the farmers collected.

oh and dreams explored in morning light, such that memory forgets.

upon the cave wall in Lascaux, did i scribe my apparitions!

taylor swift did lie beside and talk to me of hiding,

her make up gone and she was born, a naked face was pleasing,

my father stopped a WW1 arrest as german soldiers came pounding

& civil war enactment brought distress without a gun

a horse requested, a chain was broke, a village unseen by death

i awoke to find that eight hours had passed and the star outside was shining.

& now i wonder how to conquer night, when all i know is frozen.

(c) Ed Simkins

~ today in the life of me.

Sitting here

eyes asleep & a broken neck, my head it rests on battered thought.

an orange flame flickers, dances, nods in joy, its silent praise bathed in wax

waves of sound stroll back & forth, back & forth.

emptiness in my head.

the girl with hair of maiden straw, she left the world a lonely place.

she dissappeared & children learnt, that such a word is written wrong.

i sought a sight of a smiling face and ended with such fakery.

fun that should & could and would have been, mutated into climbing trees

the children climbed and laughed and fell about, the storms of rage did take a few

and then the world it paused in hidden hope, that evening slumber would now approach

& with a flight through starry sky, the horses ran & whisked me home.

To my cave of ice, a heated breath, my frozen nails and fur-lined mask

here i sit & watch my mind, a drifting thought that passes by

& with no hate, for all has gone, the news switched off and door shut tight

i rest in light that no man knows, with ghosts and dreams and broken hopes.

i bid all well and hide myself, a hiding human in his cave.

sitting, resting, waiting, his dreaming heart encaged.

(c) Ed Simkins

~ On the events of my today; through work & play & now.