Author: Michael

Husband, dad,(ex)programmer, comic collector and proud Yorkshireman. I have no idea why im here or why im writing but i rather enjoy it. no great fan of punctuation;

Whisper

Blah blah Blah words

Cobwebs thick, paths overgrown with memories grey

and twisted boughs so old and gnarled

they lead the way and whispers call us on.

Shuffling slow through time as thick as mud

not looking back, accept our lot

And knowing, come to die.

For in that place I find you there

and one last time immersed in love

give all I have and know this race is run.

And on the wind and to the stars I’m lifted

To beyond and unto nothing I return

Well lived, well loved, content.

Rest

Some words that dont rhyme

In this place where dragons slain

lay, beds of bones, and winds whip wild

leaves back unto the clawing earth

and on this bleached cold pyre you lie

consumed by all we once fought brave,

to hold and have and tender spills

a love fire tested, burnished, red

now faded, folly shows true face

And to the heart the arrow true,

harsh barbed with lies and sweet deceit

light fades, sun slips and darkness wraps

her arms in coldest loves embrace.

Beyond this now

Word soup

Far beyond this fragile grasp of things I claim to know

Seem clear at first then fade so fast

through fingers slip and do not last

there lies a truth I claim to see in places I daren’t go.

…

Ears fall deaf when loudest voices call with clarity

Light unexpected blinds my eyes

A fool I’m made, no longer wise

and do despise the things I know that ring most true with me.

…

So take my words, these thoughts, those deeds and judge me for their worth

For all I am is laid most bare

When in the dark and without care

Return myself to skies above or cold beneath the earth.

Allen Brick Works

Went for a walk today and found this…

Ive been doing a bot of exploring in the area where I live recently and have found a few amazing places…More to tell on the others but today I took half a day holiday and took the boys out to the Allen Brick Works. It has to be seen to be believed really. It is hidden away in the woods nearby, and what a find!

Mostly now it is all falling down and covered from top to bottom in graffiti, but there are still many signs of what once existed there. We left a few tags (hastily sprayed symbols mostly – though my eldest did a quite splendid classic cock and balls) and will be going back for sure as there is still a lot to see.

The place was a glazed brick manufacturers established by Henry Victor Allen (1887-1960), when he took over the Halifax Glazed Brickworks in the Walterclough Valley. He converted the works to manufacture refractory bricks (glazed bricks able to withstand high temperatures, generally used to line kilns, furnaces and fireplaces etc). Their Selfrac bricks were world famous. The works were later taken over by G R Stein, who also took over other brickworks in the area, and eventually closed in the 1960’s.

Check out the pictures below of it today…

Stone

Waffly words and other peoples emotions

Were flesh as hard and cold as stone

Like grey church steps, worn smooth with time ,

Then surely we could love

And unconstrained here, fearless fall.

To give all without asking back

To take more than can be consumed

And wild and wanton, without care

Crash headlong to sweet simple bliss.

But flesh is weak, such tender hearts

Do feel the thorns of reddest rose

And lovers past steal joy and hope

There leaving cuts that tell such tales

So take this love, this life, this self

And gentle be its guardian

For scars I bare, and freely take

This is your heart to freely break

She

Waffly seasonal metaphorical blah blah blah

Those glimpses, stolen moments, few

Sweet solice sweeps dark clean away

And brave she stands, heart lost at sea

And on his beach, finds refuge, free.

There grows, and roots reach deep and down

And summer brings that golden crown

Face to the sun, soft wind through boughs

Gives shelter, shade and sweet respite

And guard does drop, at night his light

Does fade and wane and in her shadow

Bitter sits on traitors lips

As seasons change and love does fade

With light grown pale and tender touch

now lost, too much her beauty spread

and cold winds strip, leaves line her bed

where love once blossomed 

now lies dead.

 

 

Thorns

Dedicted to the couple having a row outside our hotel rooom because he lost the key and the kid needs a poo. Seriously, just break up now. You’re doomed.

When bloom has failed and frangrance passed

and thorns now all that does remain

that into soft flesh dig and draw

tears scarlet which run down pale cheeks.

…

These nightimes fall without sunset

and lifeless love lies tossed aside

and joy once wild and filled with hope

sits silent, strangled, without voice.

…

Yet onwards, duty, oath’s fulfilled

and aching smiles speak not of pain

through days they shuffle, numb to loss

and into night , not to emerge

 

 

A limerick about flatulence fetish perhaps?

It is Monday after all. Just about. It just about rhymes. Kinda.

Eproctophilia out in the garden

met a flatulent lass “Beg your pardon”

She proclaimed, did a toot

He breathed in her bum fruit

And it gave him a fart fuelled huge hardon

Look I know, takes some effort reading it but it just kind of slipped out.  Reminded me of the time I did those haiku about fetishes and then when I was teaching in that time and left the research on the laptop when I plugged in in front of about twenty 10 year olds.

Without Regret

Sometimes they’re just words…

Should I regret this life well lived

when night time comes and stars look down

then I should surely reassess

and count the costs, repent the loss

to find the joy that like gold veins

runs through this rock on which we built

and lived and loved and spent our days

for these are all were gifted free

until like sand they run away

through fingers old and worn and laced

across our chests and unto sleep