The Poetry of a Prole

The Poetry of a Prolehttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/This is just a selection of some of the poetry I have written over the years. Some are sad, hopeless, helpless. Some are angry. Some are soppy. Some are pathetic. Some are funny. Some are cruel and the rest are just plain bad.en-UKhourly82000-01-01T12:00+00:00The Poetry of a Prolehttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/b3/9201fbd9d19d908f1ae092d3421e51_160x200.jpgSolitudehttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/30/solitude~1081774/2006-08-30T09:58:11+02:00 Why did they leave me all alone? Am I really, truly bad? Why won't they take me home? Do they really think I'm mad? Why won't my mother answer me? I'm sure she can hear me shout, Why won't they set me free? Why won't they let me out? What have I done? Am I insane? Would I really try to hurt and maime? I know that I am a little wild, But deep inside, I'm just a child, They've convicted me without a trial, I'm entitled to one I know, If they listened to ME for a little while, I'm sure they'd let me go! <a href="http://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/30/solitude~1081774/#comments">Comments</a> Why did they leave me all alone?
Am I really, truly bad?
Why won't they take me home?
Do they really think I'm mad?
Why won't my mother answer me?
I'm sure she can hear me shout,
Why won't they set me free?
Why won't they let me out?
What have I done? Am I insane?
Would I really try to hurt and maime?
I know that I am a little wild,
But deep inside, I'm just a child,
They've convicted me without a trial,
I'm entitled to one I know,
If they listened to ME for a little while,
I'm sure they'd let me go!

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]]>Angelhttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/30/angel~1081771/2006-08-30T09:57:13+02:00 Inside my heads a universe, spacious and very vast, thoughts enter in then disappear, thoughts that never last, Within there is an Angel, She's beckoning to me, Leading to a way out, to set my spirit free, Her eyes are full of innocence, Her radiance is pure, Her hair is kind of fairy gold, she's elfin and demure, I see her knife calling, and then I feel the pain, My Angel was a devil, Now I'll never dream again! <a href="http://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/30/angel~1081771/#comments">Comments</a> Inside my heads a universe,
spacious and very vast,
thoughts enter in then disappear,
thoughts that never last,
Within there is an Angel,
She's beckoning to me,
Leading to a way out,
to set my spirit free,
Her eyes are full of innocence,
Her radiance is pure,
Her hair is kind of fairy gold,
she's elfin and demure,
I see her knife calling,
and then I feel the pain,
My Angel was a devil,
Now I'll never dream again!

Comments

]]>The Tragedy of Emma-Jane - a cautionary tale for childrenhttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/30/the_tragedy_of_emma_jane_a_cautionary_ta~1081764/2006-08-30T09:54:02+02:00 How did it begin? Now let me see, I do believe she was only three, or maybe she had just turned four, I don't believe it was any more, It was thundering and lightning, a terrible day And Emma-Jane went out to play, She didn't ask her mother though, For she knew for sure that she'd say 'No!' As it happened she lived by the sea, Which was rough that day, believe you me, Off she went with her bucket and spade, And on the beach she happily played, That was until the tide came in, And then she found she couldn't swim, She went under once, then twice, then again In the violent foam, disturbed by the rain And so it was that Emma-Jane drowned, And only her bucket and spade were found. <a href="http://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/30/the_tragedy_of_emma_jane_a_cautionary_ta~1081764/#comments">Comments</a> How did it begin? Now let me see,
I do believe she was only three,
or maybe she had just turned four,
I don't believe it was any more,
It was thundering and lightning, a terrible day
And Emma-Jane went out to play,
She didn't ask her mother though,
For she knew for sure that she'd say 'No!'
As it happened she lived by the sea,
Which was rough that day, believe you me,
Off she went with her bucket and spade,
And on the beach she happily played,
That was until the tide came in,
And then she found she couldn't swim,
She went under once, then twice, then again
In the violent foam, disturbed by the rain
And so it was that Emma-Jane drowned,
And only her bucket and spade were found.

Comments

]]>IFhttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/if~1042342/2006-08-15T20:50:58+02:00 If you hold a flower to your heart, doesn't it bruise the petals? As I hold you to my breast it certainly bruises my heart, a raindrop on a petal only enhances the beauty of the flower, Yet the salt tears that sting my eyes only streak my cheeks with mascara, When the seed of the flower falls on stony ground it cannot hope to grow, When my words of love fall on deaf ears, they too are like that seed on stony ground, When your hands caress me, why do I tremble like the petals of that flower in the breeze? When your lips touch mine, Why do I die a slow death like the flower as it sheds its petals? When I see you why do I suddenly come alive and feel that stirring within me, Like the germinating seed, pain and pleasure of life and death mix within me as I tell myself yet again I'M NOT IN LOVE! <a href="http://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/if~1042342/#comments">Comments</a> If you hold a flower to your heart, doesn't it bruise the petals?
As I hold you to my breast it certainly bruises my heart,
a raindrop on a petal only enhances the beauty of the flower,
Yet the salt tears that sting my eyes only streak my cheeks with mascara,
When the seed of the flower falls on stony ground it cannot hope to grow,
When my words of love fall on deaf ears, they too are like that seed on stony ground,
When your hands caress me, why do I tremble like the petals of that flower in the breeze?
When your lips touch mine, Why do I die a slow death like the flower as it sheds its petals?
When I see you why do I suddenly come alive and feel that stirring within me,
Like the germinating seed, pain and pleasure of life and death mix within me as I tell myself yet again
I'M NOT IN LOVE!

Comments

]]>Reunitedhttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/reunited~1042314/2006-08-15T20:44:01+02:00 Why did I have to go? Where is he now? I don't Know Why won't he write to me? What kind of reason can there be? Could it be he doesn't care? Maybe he isn't even there! Was it all an endless dream? Walking along in forests of green Now the leaves have all turned brown Has our love like them come tumbling down? I know as winter time moves on My tears of sorrow will soon be gone and I'll be crying tears of joy, When I first hold our baby Boy. <a href="http://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/reunited~1042314/#comments">Comments</a> Why did I have to go?
Where is he now?
I don't Know
Why won't he write to me?
What kind of reason can there be?
Could it be he doesn't care?
Maybe he isn't even there!
Was it all an endless dream?
Walking along in forests of green
Now the leaves have all turned brown
Has our love like them come tumbling down?
I know as winter time moves on
My tears of sorrow will soon be gone
and I'll be crying tears of joy,
When I first hold our baby Boy.

Comments

]]>Intrusionhttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/intrusion~1042275/2006-08-15T20:35:01+02:00 How dare you come here to my private place to watch the things that I do, To pry into my secrets and steal my thoughts They're mine, they're not for you I can see your light its shining, it has no right to be here, I hate you sunlight, My world is dark and its there that I have no fear, I can see your eyes, dancing, golden beams peering through that crack, Go away and leave me alone, I don't want you to come back. In your face I remember the things that I'd like to forget, About summers nights and rainy days, when rainbows climbed in the wet, days which led from here to there days when I had my freind Those days were long long ago now and in darkness I's like them to end. <a href="http://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/intrusion~1042275/#comments">Comments</a> How dare you come here to my private place to watch the things that I do,
To pry into my secrets and steal my thoughts
They're mine, they're not for you
I can see your light its shining, it has no right to be here,
I hate you sunlight, My world is dark and its there that I have no fear,
I can see your eyes, dancing, golden beams peering through that crack,
Go away and leave me alone, I don't want you to come back.
In your face I remember the things that I'd like to forget,
About summers nights and rainy days, when rainbows climbed in the wet,
days which led from here to there
days when I had my freind
Those days were long long ago now and in darkness I's like them to end.

Comments

]]>Hungerhttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/hunger~1042273/2006-08-15T20:33:56+02:00 Cambodia, a sunset, Picturesque and fine, These streets now desolate, Were crowded once in time, A baby cries, A child dies every now and then, You've once been told so never forget Hunger humbles men, Oh yes you say we've given bread to help cambodian children, Then give some more, help the poor, the starving and the needy We Europeans our bellies full are over fed and greedy, 'I'm Sorry' But sorry is not enough Many still are dying, So stop and think as you stuff your face, Of all those people dying. <a href="http://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/hunger~1042273/#comments">Comments</a> Cambodia, a sunset,
Picturesque and fine,
These streets now desolate,
Were crowded once in time,
A baby cries,
A child dies every now and then,
You've once been told so never forget
Hunger humbles men,
Oh yes you say we've given bread to help cambodian children,
Then give some more, help the poor, the starving and the needy
We Europeans our bellies full are over fed and greedy,
'I'm Sorry' But sorry is not enough
Many still are dying,
So stop and think as you stuff your face,
Of all those people dying.

Comments

]]>The Herohttp://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/the_hero~1042259/2006-08-15T20:28:46+02:00 The headstones in a graveyard, A soldier died at war, In 1915 it says 'Upon a distant shore', He was a very brave man, His epitaph tells all, 'Hero' of the trenches He was bound to fall, He was a rather quiet man He loved the country life, Pottering in the garden, Or reading to his wife, He was a very tall man, Nearly six foot five, His freinds all called him 'Big Jim' thats when he was ALIVE. <a href="http://thepoetryofaprole.blog.co.uk/2006/08/15/the_hero~1042259/#comments">Comments</a> The headstones in a graveyard,
A soldier died at war,
In 1915 it says 'Upon a distant shore',
He was a very brave man,
His epitaph tells all,
'Hero' of the trenches
He was bound to fall,
He was a rather quiet man
He loved the country life,
Pottering in the garden,
Or reading to his wife,
He was a very tall man,
Nearly six foot five,
His freinds all called him 'Big Jim'
thats when he was ALIVE.

Comments

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