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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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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

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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

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Okay… so it should have been day 21. I’ve got a lot going on right now, so it’s not feasible to write every day. I figure I’ll settle for writing thirty poems in thirty days just not necessarily one a day.

 

A Writers’ Sin

These words these words and more words still,

how sick of words I feel.

They are but weak and empty things,

mere shadows of the real.

I write and write and write more still,

give thanks to those who read.

Give thanks for those who understand,

and my poor ego feed.

I do not write to save the whales,

nor homelessness to end.

But only for the sounds words make,

no greater good my friend.

So all these words and still more words,

are nothing more than pride.

My voices searching for the light,

escape the void inside.

I pour my soul, pour my poor soul,

into these words I write.

And see it there upon the page,

so small and vain and trite.

 

Cheers, Winston

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So yes, I’m running behind.  Life hasn’t been terribly cooperative with the NaPoWriMo deal this year, but I’m still hanging in there.

 

Desperate Words

The ghosts of verses from the past,

go moaning through my head.

The do not let me write new lines,

my skill with words seems dead.

I start a verse and watch it die,

no place for it to go.

It seems I’ve lost my words this time

and now I’m struggling so.

I wish that I could find some way,

recapture what I’ve lost.

There’s not much that I wouldn’t do,

would pay most any cost.

I know this looks like verse I write,

but really all it says.

Is that I’m losing my wee mind,

It’s just one of those days.

 

Cheers, Winston

 

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With everything going on, it’s not always easy to fall asleep. Tonight’s effort is my fondest wish for anyone with this problem.

 

Ode to Morpheus

Sleep my loves sleep, and dream sweet dreams,

of love and joy and peace.

Leave fear and stress and woe behind,

all pain you now release.

So close your eyes and take your rest,

push every care away.

Now calm your mind and let the night,

sooth all wounds of the day.

Your troubles seem too great to leave,

your eyes refuse to close.

But hold this image in your mind,

a single golden rose.

You see this bloom and smell it’s scent,

it’s all that’s in your head.

Now hold that thought but gently now,

and take yourself to bed.

Now sleep my loves your mind’s at peace,

no harm can come to you.

So rest in Morpheus embrace,

and know this much is true.

If you hold to the golden rose,

your every dream will be,

As sweet as every rose that blooms,

and from all pain be free.

 

Cheers, Winston

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It’s late and I should be in bed, buuuuuut…… this should just take a minute.

 

Seek a Different Path

The dance begins, the battle joined,

the words cut just like knives.

We know that we should just let go,

this is not worth our lives.

But we can’t just forget the hurts,

keep living in the past.

Can’t now recall who started this,

nor how long it will last.

But we are right of this we’re sure,

about what we don’t know.

They must be wrong of course they are,

else we’d not hate them so.

Our fathers hated so we hate,

for what else can we do?

This is how it’s always been,

of course it must be true.

But there are those who seek a change,

who seek a diff’rent way.

Some day they hope to stop the hate,

seek peace for all they say.

I do not know what that would be,

I’ve dreamt of it I think.

But peace is such a fragile thing,

may vanish if you blink.

 So we go on, seek victory,

it’s what we think we need.

We claim to love the ones we hurt,

then weep to see them bleed.

It’s what we’ve learned, it’s what we teach,

but we can learn new things.

Not bound forever by the past,

it’s hope the future brings.

 

Cheers, Winston

 

 

 

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