Author Description

Welcome to the black book friend. The second of the series of archaic poetry.Putting into print old poems is a strange thing indeed, like time travel, you find yourself there again, feeling the moment again.Another batch always brings strange sensations worthy of a poem in themselves.The 9/11 poem, written the day it happened, Jericho (Berlin wall) 7/7, its a journey in itself! Modern poetry reflecting our times comes as standard, with my childishly boring angle on reaffirming, as times never change, as nothing does.My writing "real time" has never faltered, though merging new and old has been an explosively creative experience in itself, work comes thick and fast!Like walking down a high street and being flung "spread eagle" against a shop window with a jolt of inspiration, or ducking the line on a twenty one gun salute! Just going from A to B. There aren't enough hours of a day sometimes.You have the standard synonymous epic within, my Dante on this occasion, 33 pages of what I chose as pushing an envelope in writing, judgment day.Also bonus epic's "who am I what am I and why" the pointlessness of the life after death argument "lampooned" for your enjoyment, also the epic King! Of British history.My standard cynical outlook on "reality?" and principles is present, as well as my sense of humor, spiritual, and damning. Mortality? Death, no! How about the transition of dying? Gotta be done! Even Santa gets scrutinized!As I have stated the brain is not all used, its not supposed to be!It is there to be explored, and amongst rolling hill, valley and mountain, you have to be prepared to light your torch for caves.There are poems that reflect many things, some just pretty, that I believe break up my work less it fall foul of cliche of dirge, I don't do dirge. Everything has a message, subtle or a hammer blow.