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Poetry

Index

The poetry of Kris Mercer

Sunshine Pills

Ode to a friend

Under the Moon

Ricco’s Beach

The Strike

The Phone Call

The Old House

The Night

The Dream

Swan song

Lost

Xmas

Once is enough

Ode to Amy Jade Winehouse

Global Warming

My Birthday

A Retreat

The fat lady

Birthday verse

Trees in Autumn

To a biker – almost an epic

The last one

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunshine pills

The tears of sadness well up in my eyes.
I’ve said my farewells and all my goodbyes.

I’m leaving you all, there’s a place I must go.
Where the sun always shines and the wind doesn’t blow.

Love always runs smoothly and friends never part.
There’s no such thing as a broken heart.

Where children don’t argue and never do fight.
Where everyone’s happy and wrong’s always right.

I’ve tried as hard as I can to live day by day.
I’ve found it’s too much, so I’m going away.

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Ode to a friend !

You feel no compassion,
affection,
perception.
No fondness or tenderness.
Devoid of passion,
emotion,
inclination.
You remain restrained,
detached,
uninvolved.
I am the companion of
insensitivity.

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Under the Moon

With stars in their eyes and moonbeams in their pockets.
They’re reaching for the skies in their solar powered rockets.
Their recycled tin cans make fast efficient cars,
as they drive to the future past the motorways of Mars.
But where are they going?, what do they leave behind?.
The shell of a world we knew, the remnants of mankind

 

 

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Ricco’s Beach

The moonlight projects its eerie glow as the waves crash down onto the jagged
rocks throwing a fine spray of memories high into the air.
Tentacles of wind embrace my thoughts. For all but a few moments, before
scattering the salty droplets onto the glistening shore.
The bitter liquid slowly trickles through the grains of sand, reluctantly forsaking
its existence and relinquishing the past.
Slowly the dawn is breaking, but the unsteady light still casts long shadows across
my path and I am fearful to walk into the darkness that surrounds me.
The water’s edge is littered with fragments of debris from an age gone by and
apprehension surges forth on the incoming tide.

 

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The Strike

The battle fought, neither won nor lost.

What of a friendship ?

Is that the cost ?

To lose a friend who was held so dear.

Was it my fault ?

No my conscience is clear.

Que cera cera, what will be will be.

A friend no longer, a friend to me.

My hoppo, my buddy,

my pal, my mate.

Too late to say sorry.

Too late. Too late

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The Phone Call

 

The phone starts ringing,
got to go.
Only been in the bath
for an hour or so.

Pick up the receiver,
getting cold.
Sit and listen
to what I am told.

They don’t seem to bothered,
I’m turning blue.
The towel keeps on slipping
it just will not do.

Look : Just listen here.
I’ve nothing to say.
I’ll ring you tomorrow.
(Or some other day).

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The Old House

The old house stood empty,
desolate and deserted.
The rooms once filled with
laughter and happiness
now echoed
in the hollowed out shell.
The facade crumbled
under the tangled web of
ivy and the core fell into
disrepair.
But the sun shone through
the now broken windows.
Reflecting memories of the
past.
Only a sympathetic hand
and a sentimental heart can
restore what once was.

 

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The Night
I once had a dream, like bubbles floating on clouds forever free.
The bubbles burst.
The clouds opened and rained down on my dreams.
There is no life without sleep.
With sleep comes dreams.
No life, no sleep.
No shattered dreams.
Lock up your heart, throw away the key.
Allow no one entry.

Lest they be the night.

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The Dream

I dreamt I was in Camelot
when all the knights were there.
I dreamt I was in Camelot
when all the maids were fair.
I dreamt I met a handsome knight
upon a big black horse.
And when he picked his maiden fair,
it was me of course.
When morning came,
I found him gone.
He wasn’t really there.
My bed I left with deep regret.
But what is that ? A hair?
“It is not mine”.
I cried aloud.
Then sat to think it out.
Oh No!
It was no dream at all
but the whisky, the gin
…….. and the stout.
So girls beware,
of (k)nights so rare.
When you’re out getting tight.
The man of your dreams
maybe all that he seems.
But in the morning
you’ll see the light.

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Swan song

You’re leaving here today
so there are no more tomorrows.
Yesterdays are a thing of the past,
so are we
and you’re hurting me
so bad.

You’re going out now
I’ve heard with someone new.
Don’t think it’s going to last.
What do you say
to get your own way
now then.

Why do you have to go ?
What did I do
to make you sad ?
Why can’t you stay
just another day.
(Don’t let me hear you say
you’re going away.)
It can’t have been that bad.

Your bags are packed,
standing in the hall.
You can do everything so fast.
Closed the door.
Not here anymore.
At all.


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Lost !

You gave me the directions.
That fork in the road.
Was it right, or left ?.
What was it I wrote?.

That list of directions
I took on the phone.
They’re miles away,
I left them at home.



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Xmas

The festive season
is upon us yet again.
The season of good cheer,
happiness, light heartedness.
What of us ?.
We are one.
Alone !
The children scamper about,
excited, sleepless, noisy.
We are not on our own.
Alone !
The presents all wrapped
we sit quiet.
Xmas day is minutes away.
A drink by our sides.
A fire in the grate.
Alone !
We are together.
Apart.
One parent.

 

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Once is enough

“It was only the once”.
Was all she would say.
“Only the once”.
As they wheeled her away.

She was allowed to go home.
There she would die.
All her friends called round.
To say, “Goodbye”.

They all knew the reason.
But the memory fades.
Please don’t forget
you too, can catch Aids.

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Ode to Amy Jade Winehouse

(14 September 1983 – 23 July 2011)

Confidence oozed from every pore.
Style dripped from your every step.
Self assurance cried out to be heard.
Vulnerability was locked away.
Insecurity wept behind closed doors.

 

 

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Global Warming

Decay is defined as “to waste” and “to rot”.
Do we blame mankind or not ?
Are we to allow the world to die ?
To disintegrate and putrify.
Life is slowly ticking away,
Another hour, another day.
Death, disease and global warming,
Will no one heed nature’s warning ?

 

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My Birthday

“Do you know who this is.
Do you recognise the voice?”
It’s been a long time, but
“Yes, of course.”
What a surprise. I’d all but
given up hope.
I thought it had been,
you know:
just a quick grope.

“When are you coming?”
“Soon.” You say.
Do you know, you’ve quite
made my day.
I was feeling quite low
’till I answered the phone.
My birthday I’d spent all alone.
I no longer feel like the
proverbial doormat.
I feel more like,
the Cheshire Cat.

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A Retreat

This boat of mine
is no status symbol.
It is my escape, my freedom.
The smell of the salt
laden air.
Sea breezes,
blowing through my hair.
Solitude, solace.
Sweet sensual pleasure.
You can’t take that away
with your words.
Liberally laced with thorns.
No, my dear.
Not a status symbol.
A Retreat.

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The Fat Lady

At first it was a giggle, a small titter or two.

Her face began to crease and lines appeared.

Exploding into laughter her cheeks

rose, almost obscuring those

small eyes.

Her chin began to wobble like jelly

on a plate as the laughter grew.

Like a rough sea her body rippled

and bobbed.

In layers of obesity.

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Birthday verse

Life begins at forty.
Now isn’t it a shame.
The mind is Oh so willing,
it’s the body that’s to blame.

You know you’re getting older,
‘cos people tell you so.
It also takes you longer,
to get from stop to go.

Never mind, it’s not all bad.
It could have been much worse.
Instead of sending birthday cards,
they could have sent a hearse.

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Trees in Autumn

As ships in a rough sea they sway in the wind, leaves fluttering and falling. Golden suns in the fading light.

Soon they will become as dead men. Bare and lifeless, grey and cold. The leaves changing from the many colours of summer to yellow and finally brown as they fall.

Shivering and moaning in the cooling wind, little comfort on a cold dark night. Their cold grey fingers reach out, thrusting, grabbing. Never finding anything to hold.

They call out for comfort and warmth, receiving nothing but the cold bare earth in which they sit.

 

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To A Biker

(A bit cheesy I know)

I

The machine came thundering
through the still of the night .
The throb of it’s engine
the power of it’s might.
As evil as Satan
It’s armour all new.
As back as the devil
it came into view.

Through the wind and the rain
and the darkness he went.
The black leathered rider
that hell must have sent.
He’s cold and he’s heartless
He’s mean through and through.
The look in his eyes
could break you in two.

The machine roared on
it passed out of sight.
The last that I saw
was a red tail light.
I’d done my bit
I’d played my part.
The bike and the rider
took with them my heart.

Through the wind and the rain
and the darkness he went.
The black leathered rider
that hell must have sent.
He’s cold and he’s heartless.
He’s mean through and through.
The look in his eyes could break you in two.

The throb of it’s engine
I hear in my mind.
The black leathered rider.
I look, but can’t find.
Will he return?
No one can say.
But I sit and I wait
and hope for that day.

II

The summer was coming
the nights were light.
When I heard the roar
of a motorbike.
My heart gave a leap.
My mind in turmoil.
My insides were churning.
My stomach a coil.

The black leathered rider
come back at last.
I hoped he’d remember
me from the past.
My dreams were soon shattered.
What had he done ?
He had someone with him.
Riding Pillion !

Why did he do it ?
only he can tell.
What can you expect
from the son of Hell.
I’d waited patiently.
It seemed so long.
I couldn’t believe.
I’d been so wrong.

He passed by me
a minute did he linger.
Perhaps I could wait
did he not remember ?
How could I tell
who she was.
Maybe just someone
he’d come across.

As they went on their way
the rain began.
Through the empty streets
of the town I ran.
No one was there
to see the tears I shed.
For a bike and a rider
and a dream that was dead.

III

The wind and the rain
swept through my hair.
What was I doing ?
What did I care ?
A bike and a rider
what are they to me ?
Open your eyes,
look, you will see.

The bike is a stead
upon which to ride.
But the only horsepower
comes from deep inside.
The black leathered rider
not mean and hard.
To the few who bother
to look beyond the facade.

His heart was taken
by one who didn’t care.
Not so much heartless
but no love there.
The pain and anger
does not show through.
But we know it’s there,
only hidden from view.
We few. We few

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The last one

The last page of my book.

I’ve come to a close.

No more will I write

in verse or in prose.

My life has no meaning.

No solace I find..

In the words I have written;

or the things they remind.

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Images and words are copyright material and may not be reproduced without written consent of the author

©Kris Mercer

 

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