City Street

You lay beneath the feet of man,

The condescending  hierarchy.

Imposed as though inadequacy.

To be so boldly vilified, 

And publicised, 

In view of many stoney eyes.

Know not what brought you to this point,

There is no room for simple thought, 

And so I stand and condescend, 

I have no choice my Stoney friend. 

Visions seen before my time,

Too great for one within the hour.

I am but man. 


Day Dreaming

Gazing out upon a setting summer sky, 

Shades of gold uncherished by the human eye;

Streaking clouds in lines, 

Washed upon the abyss like the sea’s shore. 

A fascination from early teens,

An inspiration,

A creative means;

I’ve lived a life gazing upon heavens floor. 

Memories shared with those dear,

Imagining life in pillows imperfect. 

A face, a shape, a song and story,

Meaning undefined, in simple glory. 

Even though the shades of gold, the pillows billowing and stories untold;

Despite the fact that science holds,

A meaning for this sight is known,

The clouds and sky remain in mind,

A sight and song, dearly I hold. 


This life, it gives and takes,


And often we as people follow suit.

We fight and claw,

For what we want, 

And pray the heavens in our favour, 

Cursing that they may not favour others. 

We are sick, in our consumption, 

And our resolute defiance,

Of odds and ends,

But are so in natural selection. 

No matter our intentions, 

Our objective is a selfish one,

For glory, wealth, or recognition, 

There is no purity of any actions. 

“But we have a pure heart”, or,

“that wasn’t out intent”. 

We tell ourselves these lies, and feed our righteousness. 

But if these were so true, 

And we were pure and generous,

Why then do we give and take,

Just so indiscriminately