Misjudgement is only normal thinking on a bad night.

Missing Observation, Misinterpretation.

While young and relatively beaming
With my words, crisp and second hand,
I sometimes find inspiration unobtainable
A figment running low, on high demand.

I’ve read in books, seen quoted far too often
How simplicity is the key to new idea,
But if my observations have taught me anything,
It’s that the simple things are often most unclear.

A single line is harder than a portrait
Because we never know if it is right,
That deep and hidden sense of reassurance
Translucent in the words we want to write.

Nevertheless, I task myself with a duty
Uncovering forgotten sights I’ve always seen,
I realise then these places are incredible
But never in the way I thought they’d mean.

So common are the stunning and the beautiful
But only when you know you need not look,
Hiding in plain sight is inspiration
But seen as oh so normal and mistook.

I get it now when they speak of that simplicity
Misleading as the message would appear,
Untrue it is that we must search for beauty
For now I know that beauty’s always here.

A compilation of poems I will undoubtedly be unsuccessful for.

Forever in the heart and always down the road.

It’s hard for me to describe my home, to put to words this feeling
Of the backbone of my life, these walls, their cracks begin revealing
A whole new side to this dear house, and all the seeds it’s sewn
Those seeds now weeds along the path that wanders to my home.

I remember dodgy wallpaper, when everything was taller
But now that’s just fond memory, that time when I was smaller
Yet fundamental things have stayed, not lost from my before
The drawings on the wall I did, the book I still adore.

Never far from this dear house, never out of view
And even as the time ticks by, this house still feels anew
I know that when I do grow up, I’ll think of this small ode
This home’s forever in my heart and always down the road.

Since I did put the word poetry into the title of this whole bloggamajig, I figure I might as well put some of it on here.

It's my sonnet, written on Sunday 25th April, at around 6:30am, since poets don't sleep. Well...I guess they must do, but they're so used to blankly staring off into space all poetically, they just do it then. Me, I just couldn't sleep. Too much food the night before. Not nice.

I'm No Shakespeare, Just A Boy Wearing A Jacobean Ruff.

I’ve seen your eyes and how they scream my name

Your lips that only seem to whisper it

Yet still it be that call that leaves me lame

Far more frightened than I care to admit

I say not that our love is like a rose

For roses may wilt and thorns have drawn blood

With no perfect metaphor I suppose

Indescribable love is always as should

Words never seem enough to explain how

With all my heart and soul I love you so

More than my body will even allow

To leave brings more than a feeling of woe

I know I seem hopeful, for troubles that wait

But I know the joy we’re bound to create.

Just finding a place I can put the song in case I need it.
A memory stick would suffice but you can never be too sure. And I think I lost my memory stick.
Either way I can't be arsed to go look for it.

Sunny Days

Once or twice,
It was nice,
Dancing in the rain,
But getting wet
Made you upset,
Cause it was all the same,
I didn’t like to change…

We were cool,
We were one,
Having oh so much fun,
Stories told in the cold are much better in sun.
But that was all ‘bout to change…

Now we are here,
And, I’m sure you’d like to know,
Where things are bound to go…
Avoiding someone I should hold
Sunny stories have gone cold…
Oh…

Stare at the phone,
All alone,
Waiting for that call,
But when we try,
My throat is dry,
And I say nothing at all…
Nothing at all…

What happened now,
What happened then,
From learning how to count to ten,
To all the way to here right now,
To only hear you tell me how,
You wanted things to change…

Now we are here,
And, I’m sure you’d like to know,
Where things are bound to go…
Avoiding someone I should hold
Sunny stories have gone cold…
Oh so cold…

But now I get the gist,
That, our loves kinda missed,
So I must insist…
That we have a long talk,
We can meet at your place, I will walk…
You know I would walk…

Cause now we are here,
And, I’m sure you’d like to know,
How things are bound to go…
I tell you I am filled with shame,
Things don’t have to be the same,
But she don’t wanna change…
She likes the good old days…

She likes the sunny days…