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Late Night Musing

Working as a security guard late at night gives the brain time to wander. 
<u>The Nightguards’ Lament </u>

A wind through empty windows shifts

Some hanging plastic sheets. 

As rhythmic as the crashing surf. 

Sounds almost like heartbeats. 
It’s late so very late at night

In truth more early morn. 

I walk alone through cold stone halls

So empty and forlorn. 
If ever was a place to haunt

This place is surely it. 

Where specters stalk and spirits roam

And through the shadows flit. 
And as I walk may glimpse them from

The corner of my eye. 

May feel their breath upon my neck 

Or hear their mournful sigh. 
It’s late so very late at night

And all is deathly still. 

Even the wind has ceased to blow

So why this sudden chill? 
What is this shape where none should be?

In shadow darker yet. 

It cannot move I saw it move! 

A sudden clammy sweat. 
There’s nothing there it’s just a trick

That my eyes play on me. 

I tell  myself this lie again

Deny the things I see. 
I do my rounds and tell myself

It’s just an empty hall. 

Some beers and sleep will prove that it

Was nothing after all. 
Cheers Winston. 

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What Am I Doing?

I mean really… What the heck am I thinking. I made it through April by the skin of my teeth, yet here I am writing another verse. Sometimes I really wonder about me.

 

Our Own Worst Enemy

Technology is not the foe,

it’s not your enemy.

That AI that you dread so much,

is far less threat than me.

 

The science that grows beef in labs,

and soy that bugs won’t eat.

Is building apps to help the blind,

and other needs to meet.

 

It’s not the tech that ends us all,

but what we do with it.

It’s our own inhumanity,

will make our future shit.

 

A hammer’s just a hammer and,

can’t care what it’s used for.

The person using it decides,

to build or start a war.

 

All tech comes down to this same choice,

that shapes our future days.

To kill or cure, to build or burn,

I pray we change our ways.

 

Cheers, Winston

NaPoWriMo Day 30

It’s strange how fast time goes sometimes. It seems like it was only this morning that I was writing the poem for Day 26. Funny how that works eh? Ah well, if I can get past this last blank page, I’ll have made my deadline. Let’s see what’s left in the bottle… shall we?

 

Lynn My Love

My love again you are the one,

I turn to in my need.

The inspiration for my life,

you are my muse indeed.

 

When I can’t think of what to write,

need only think of you.

And sure enough the blocks dissolve,

to let the words flow through,

 

I love you Lynn you are my life,

make all I do worthwhile.

The greatest gifts that I’ll receive,

are your love and your smile.

 

So thank you once again my love,

for all the joy you bring.

You are the Sun and Moon to me,

you are my everything.

 

Cheers, Winston

NaPoWriMo Day 29

I think I mentioned last time that things get a little strange once the creativity starts flowing. Well, hopefully I can finish on a slightly more normal note.

 

A Note To My Therapist

A dream perhaps and yet more real,

than I have known before.

How can I know the truth of it,

what’s dream and what is more.

 

In dreams I often tell myself,

“You’re dreaming never fear.”

But what if I am wrong and this,

is false, the dream is here.

 

What if rules and common sense,

are only in my head.

And all the chaos I call dreams,

is really real instead.

 

There’s no answer that I can find,

no way to truly know.

So I’ll just choose the one I like,

and that’s where I will go.

 

So if you come and I have gone,

it’s true I’ve only woke.

It’s you who’s trapped within a dream,

the punchline to my joke.

 

Cheers, Winston

NaPoWriMo Day 28

Sometimes when I wrench open the creative valve, the weirdest things get washed out.

 

On Ghosthunters

A figure faintly seen at night,

there in the empty place.

If you could gain a closer view,

would you gaze on it’s face?

 

It walks there every night alone,

even when it’s not seen.

Would you it’s solitude invade,

are you in truth that keen?

 

Perhaps its solitude it craves,

just wants its well earned peace.

Not closure for its life on earth,

not waiting on release.

 

Perhaps that place it haunts is home,

where hangs its phantom hat.

And you are mere trespassers there,

Have you considered that?

 

So take your tools and pack  your bags,

go back where you came from.

This haunt is ours and here it stays,

it’s you who’s not welcome.

 

Cheers, Winston

NaPoWriMo Day 27

Yay! Day 27 complete. Only three more to go before bed. Or maybe tomorrow. We’ll see how if there’s anything left in the old “creative juice” bottle.

 

Lost Youth

When we were young we did not think,

beyond the present day,

We lived our lives just for right now,

we knew no other way.

 

When we were young we had no plan,

we did just as we dared.

But now even the simplest task,

is planned for and prepared.

 

“What if?” is now our daily prayer,

our minds whirl round and round.

We’re robbed of fun and robbed of joy,

only our fears abound.

 

So take some time and think back to,

that younger, simpler you.

Think back on all the fun you had,

before stress made you blue.

 

Remember life before “What if?”,

when plans were for old folk.

Before your life got in your way,

like some bad cosmic joke.

 

So don’t make plans quite every day,

just let your heart decide.

And give your weary brain a rest,

let freedom back inside.

 

Cheers, Winston

NaPoWriMo Day 26

So I’m more than a little behind again. But I’m still in there trying. This is the first of five that I have to post to make the target by month’s end.

Write Until I Die

I am behind again I fear,

this verse is some days late.

I offer no excuse to you,

’tis naught but simple fate.

 

My intent is naught but the best,

but that is not enough.

The gap ‘twixt wish and will is wide,

and leaping it is tough.

 

But I go on and try once more,

that is the vow I’ve made.

I by this verse renew that pledge,

for poems I have made.

 

Though it is hard there is time still,

to honour what I’ve said.

For there’s still breath and life and I,

shall write until I’m dead.

 

Cheers, Winston