A Day In The Life Of Me.

A cold evening death, stillness in solitude.
The light fades deep; a darkened empty room.
Sun dips head and waves farewell.
Dark mood takes over, sombre tone to tell,
In sands of grey, a mangled wreck
A human tide around my neck
A foreign race of greed & power
Stripping my nation of courage by hour.
St. George he fell in overwhelmed disgust.
While flowers saluted as England lost.
Two camps came clear, one black, one white
An error in the ways of man, so obvious to cite.
& women captured by the folly of their lies
Money, power, greed & comfort, opened wide your treacherous thighs.
I circled the army to which I relate.
The few were dying though but I battled hate.
Yet battle lost I ran inside, a hideous complex, a rich man’s joke
A hideous beast in which I hid, the tears fell from brave mens broke
I punched the terrorists & killed a few,
I ran through buildings, bruised black & blue
I cried for the millions, their mouths shut tight
For no-one speaks when God takes fright.
Collecting swords & thoughts gone past
I escaped outside & screaming fast
I took the soldiers & shook their head
“Follow on!” I cried & the war reset
A growing impulse of right from wrong
& If God were here he’d lead along!
Still numbers rose & the dead lay thick,
I stumbled forward on blood & sick,
I craved my medals, I sought my gold
I stood on limbs & raised their soul
But then I blinked & I was led
To train of strangeness in empty shed
I gazed at girl & stripped her down
Her clothes were torn & flesh was shown.
I bit her lips & loved her skin,
I pushed her round & pulled her in,
She loved her pleasure & I her smile
& echoes filled my ears awhile.
But solemn night now takes control,
& light has faded over lonely soul,
I sit here silent & weary torn,
Intrepid fighter, in tired form.

~ a day in the frightful city; of library, aliens, trains, beauty & interest.
© ed simkins

Fallen Soldier.

A worthless man am i.
spoilt & rich, unloved & free.
Here I sit by choice in the darkness of my time.
& Here I write my thoughts to you, freely are they mine.
But my mind is scared; I fear death.
I fear the power that others bind.
& So I cry for fallen man. He who stood for dreams more eloquent than mine.
He who now lies far below, victim of another’s crime.
I read his epitaph & tears did form.
This shifting battle consumes
He died for what? What purpose served?
Since tomb was formed what lessons learned?
Power scares – Should one man hold another?
Or man be free eternal dust?
Was death such an important fate for he?
For twisted ideas held passionately?
The action of the war excites and takes my breath away
I love the charge, the kudos, the brave & gallantry.
But death it frightens, mocks and hates
What medal earned gives thanks for fate?
I cannot claim that death attracts such honour as it does
For I fear that man who died that day was regrettably conscribed
And that each in our pathetic way
Has little power over the things we say.
So I sit and cry, I murmur sorrow.
For he who died without grace nor love.
I pity tombstone read and the lives cut short
& the world in which they fought.
I wish, I wish, that love and peace,
Were all that man would chase
& that each own hand earned destiny
Of life and love ; simplicity.

~ On the sadness of war & the tombs that I’ve seen.

© Ed Simkins

Peace abroad?

So another night.
The western front is quiet once more.
Barbed wire hangs low and mournful.
Forlorn sight in morning call.
The soldiers gone,
The screams are still.
There’s no-one here to shoot or die.
Red flowers stand
Above these parapet walls
Watching green fields retake the battered world.
Within their roots the warriors lay
Entombed in mud and stories told.
Who now calls them fools who fought?
Escaping death and monstrous guns
They ran and laughed and talked no more
Echoes of the land ships passed
Climbing high and lurching low
Fire storm in black and white.
How many tears fell when homes were told that none survived?
& what was won?
& who had lost?
The destruction of the world we knew.
But new time comes and fields are farms
The birds in trees, the rain it falls
No more mustard, missiles gone.
At least in distances told by news.
Look abroad and see the flames
Of modern lies and hated wars.
Man kills man and all because
His leaders say it’s them or him
We learn from nothing and nothing new
Forced to repeat the evil sin
That father gives to sons a-born
That killing stops the next forced war.

~ no idea. I just sat down & this came out. Maybe yoga releases more than body stress!   Maybe i stare into my garden too much!

© Ed Simkins

Escape From Understandable Stupidity

i lie.

i cheat.

i hate. & i kill.

but these things that i do, are but dreams in my head.

it’s a simple device.

i speak my mind. but often i sit here, cross-legged in my cave.

& i’m jealous & i loathe, i despise & i fear.

these things i now share with you.

& i dream of death & i love to hate. I bitch & i whinge and i spread no joy.

but these things are kept within a splendid realm. a frenzied sense of sensibility.

& then i look down.

& i see the flowers on my floor. pictures of beautiful girls who smile. bodies that lust & ideals that i trust.

& i’d love to share a smile!

i worship no god, my taxes are paid & my days are filled with children and chaos.

i seek to engage. i seek to create. i seek a new wife. i seek my own god. i seek & i learn.

my mistakes are my own. my hate is my own.

but all these things balance. the hate. the love.

& i have yet to kill.

i hate stupid ideas. i hate bureaucracy. i hate people in power who limit my life.

& so with a daily smile i complain. i complain to you. & i would kiss you. i might hate you!

but i have yet to kill.

i live within my cave.  i live within my means. i am my own god & i am my own mistakes.

but i do not kill.

the world is full of the likes of me; simple, innocent fools. people who dream.

& we do not kill.

we share our hate & argue our points. we spit our venom and sulk in papers.

but we let each other grow old.

so let me throw these petals of beauty at you & tell you that i want change. that i trust no-one with power. no man of guns, no man of money, no man of support.

let me throw my words at you & see how you cope!

resist me with intellect & respect I will give. love i will grow. & with slow frustrated acceptance will i begrudgingly grant the terms that you seek.

but i will not kill.

is this a message you could understand?

(c) Ed Simkins