The Poetry Showcase

Sweet meadows of Ireland I miss you so
where roses and clovers abundantly grow.
I often close my eyes and breath in with sorrow
because I know for sure youll be gone by tomorrow.

Vociferous voiced vegans vex me.
Vivid vituperation voiced to those
disinclined to the virtue of vegetables.
Violently virtuous about their vitality
due to the vegie vitamins.

In any given moment
He can change

Within a millisecond..

He let’s out a steady, contemptuous rumble
As frown lines form
Like shredded wheat
Upon puffed up platters of custard.

Marooned from off my shredded ship
I crawl upon an island
With shore crabs pinched in my equip
Snap turtles, clamped to my hands

The storm had surely done it's will
And beat my body sore

The blood that runs through my veins,
comes from a family that was insane,
a genetic curse, some families bare,
some bloodlines many people share,
as one steps to take a look,

In the eyes of you I See,
on the curve asking for money,
walking around to find a place to be,
drinking pain away,while sharing with me.

Hold my hand and I'll take you there
A place you'd love to know
Where I planted a 50p coin
and prayed for a tree to grow.
Where sunshine was plenty
lay a feild of emerald green

Eyes wide open, again feeling able,
looking forward to a happier place.
Dismiss a fear of becoming unstable,
standing firm as I state my case.

Eyes wide open, again seeing clear,

A meeting of minds
A meeting of hearts
A meeting of souls
A sweet seduction
A love connection
A seductive suggestion

Warms eruptions
Heated secretions
Wetness, erections
Warm eruptions

Im sitting here in the bathroom crying
head buried in my hands worrying
how do I face you, how do I tell you
you really don’t have a clue
I have betrayed you in the worst possible way

She calls me

but I cannot hear the name

across the lines of destiny walking a tightrope

of

intertwining complexity

Where is a guide to follow

for I am fallen

A Man Not Named Winston
(c) 2007 Mark Pearce

A bit of a messiah complex at times.
A writer.
A fool.
Troubadour of love,
Venomous when confronted with deformity, propriety, or power.

Scream A Little
© 2008 Mark Pearce

The world is big and round
But it don’t spin on its own.
You got to give it a little nudge sometimes.
A little push –
A little shove –

Do you remember when we first met?
Yes darling I know it’s been years
But surely you remember
No, it was at the bus stop, remember
It was raining and you asked to share my umbrella

There is a storm brewing inside me
It’s so fierce, so real, I want to flee
The feelings I have are raw and real
It’s all so new and oh so surreal
I want to run, hide, and suppress it all