Gordon Sykes is OUT

Gordon Sykes is OUT

PaulWADE Author

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29 May 2012

Five Dark Poem's .


Shall it be my words I use,
to create a picture too large to hang.
Could it be the colour is too weak,
or the mix too pale, 
to hold the attention of the world.
To know these things, before one begins,
can stifle the spirit from deep within.
Now, I feel a dart under my skin.
Shall I pull it out, fill my pen and begin.....
©PaulWADE2009


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Hypnotic coloursColours Feel,
by.......©PaulWADE 2012 

Think in colours. Feel them blending,
shades of temper take their toll,
how bright is happiness, how dull is shame,
mixed with tolerance, a hint of gray.

From early morn, so on through the day,
so many pallets keep darkness at bay,
laughter of children, a very bright pink,
barking dogs, livid purple in beige.

A couple kiss, iridescent silver hue
making love splashes gold in it too,
as passion fades so does the light,
now spent laying in all kinds of blue.

All emotion we humans ever know,
are millions of pixels, a picture drawn,
as with crayons, our choice is free
beauty in our minds, colour you and me.


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A Ghostly Chant...
by... ©PaulWADE 2012

I entered the room, no one looked around
people continued talking in murmuring sounds
as I moved across the room, cautiously, slowly
I could feel no air, or warmth, nor candles scented flow
not even one of the company glanced
looked my way with interest, or askance
my urge to speak was, of a sudden stifled
with trembling fingers my face I riffled
either empty, or gone with cold hands of lead
it all came clear, I’m a ghost, I’m dead.


How is it I see, why do I hear
these people, the living, have no care, nor fear
looking down, the floor passes me under
with a simple thought I move forward in wonder
do feelings have memory, to me it seemed
all and any, were vague as a dream
so the wall came closer, I passed on through
no goodbye to the people, I felt I once knew
is this the peace we are told of since birth
I still can not say, as I drift from this earth.



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The Park in the Cemetery.
by.......©PaulWADE 2011 

Sitting among those who have passed,
in beautiful gardens - trees and grass,
visitors allow their tears to flow,
their people's places, marked in stone,
under they sleep alone in the dark,
found peace they’d craved, then turn to bone,
in mindless quiet, under walkers above,
those who remain, try to show love,
for many - too late, others too soon,
not only wolves howl at the moon...


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Regrettable Journey
By.......©PaulWADE 2011 

Part One.

Born near nature, marshes and trees
dozing in soft grasses, aroma of herbs
watching as fairy like seeds, float high on the air
the buzz and hum of insects in swarms
dragon-fly reflections in the wide clear pond.

The sun hides its face as summer dies,
cold breeze drags the next season in tow
heavy mist fogs, under gray leaden skies
puddles freeze over, the land white with snow
time knows no reason, simply comes and goes.

Days were Golden, warm, wet, or cold
air-rifle, bows and arrows, long blade knives
toys with purpose, how to survive,  
camp-fire cooking, wild fowl, or their eggs,  
outrunning beatings, on ten year old legs
.
Voyages on the river, in a home-made canoe

crafted from fuel tanks, from airplane's of war
boy losing his boyhood, he didn't yet know
stay away from his home is the answer he saw
so many bruises, to fight back he must grow.

"Cruel anger" with Father just died

so too did the beatings, the fear and pain
love for his family, now at home can reside
young brother, mother, finally free"
wonderful times", can this really be?

In darkness of night, sleep never came

fear, pain and dread, deep in his heart
white hot pain keeps searing his brain
a dread for his mother, which had no name
working, protecting, even praying in vain.

Powerless to change this new horror

bargains with God, to let her be strong
had he caused this by not revealing his fears?
then blood freezing cold, pure darkness of sorrow,
numbness aches, who pays for this wrong? 
God,or Mankind? he looks for revenge
while his soul is drowning in hot red tears.

Main Blog-Site -----> PulpKult.Blogspot.com

For Short Story ---->  Jongluer.Blogspot.com


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Black Abyss
by.......©PaulWADE 2010

Black, black abyss, take me where I don’t exist
Nothing seen, no sound or sense,
thoughts and dreams fade, become less and less.
Dark heart, black sight, leave me drifting in nothings night
Now I'm gone, shadow in shadow,
in deep abyss--- already forgotten.

Wake me not, into constant dull grey,
mind awake, memory loose with its games,
imagining if, to unthink how, each memory’s challenge,
does not drift away, smiles or laughter,
all things of the past, constant hunting for those that last
put me back gladly where nil is missed,
back to the deep, deep abyss....



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