Category: Poetry

Do littlest of things to help others. You’ll never feel left out Never ever be depressed, morose Your life, up and about Will always have an outstanding purpose.

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riding the storm The skies were filled with formidable clouds that burst in reckless fury wreaking chaos, havoc and disaster all around in hopeless desperation constantly increasing the horrendous darkness that seemed thicker every day with thunderstorms and heavy rains that flooded all that was considered safe and ruined almost everyone in this abysmal cataclysm and horror. What is to

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  The lights in yonder window lifts my spirit out of space to everlasting light of glory in the view of what it means, that somehow my love has come home and might be thinking of me in my absence, while her presence never was more present to me than now with this light that softly stole into my heart.

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  I usually swerve socio-political writing but I caught a snatch of radio and this sprung into mind – it’s kinda haiku stylee.  

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edited repost, old enough, re-titled 

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edited repost, an oldie

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  Five hours until my train so I buy some soothing cream and repelling powder and stand smearing rubbing pouring throwing them over my bullseye-peppered arms and chest next to people snoring on blankets or eating out of clay bowls with the hands they don’t wipe their bottoms with on a platform of Gorakhpur station. Face a beetroot monsoon, I

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  Arsonists howl, “Apostate!”, hate from the bowel, “Apostate!” Chasing the tale they have not read, burning, they growl, “Apostate!” The moon bribed into murder, I hear only the vowel. Apostate? Prostrate freedom waves a white flag and we throw in our towel, apostate.           From “Disoccidented” by Alfie Shoyger: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Disoccidented-Alfie-Shoyger/dp/1999922859   https://alfieshoyger.blogspot.com  

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summer lovin’   for two mad weeks in Mablethorpe, in Jen’s mind, though not in mine, we were nothing more than passing strangers, holiday romancers, summer buddies to flirt with over ices.   or people watch sipping tall white wine as plush upholstered hotel evenings melted into night.   to spite the weather, in sunny day beachwear, we arm-in-armed the

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a little version of something I am not sure where it will lead me as a writer, started as sci fi prose poem. anyway here it is. basic idea was microprocessing and microarchitecture.

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