Mind Burps
I, Poet Series, Volume Three
By Anthony North
Copyright Anthony North 2013
Cover image copyright, Yvonne North 2013
Other books by Anthony North
I, TRILOGY INTRODUCTORY VOLUME
I, STORYTELLER SERIES
I, Adventurer: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/305210
I, POET SERIES
Inmate Earth: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/237329
Bard Stuff: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/252874
Verse Fest: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/302837
I, THINKER SERIES
I, Paranormal: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/237339
I, Essayist: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/259928
I, Society: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/272861
I, Unexplained: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/303478
I, Observer: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/304480
CONTENTS
Introduction
Scary
Philosophical
Love
Life
Humour
Green
Criminal
About the Author
Connect With Anthony
INTRODUCTION
Welcome. My poetry comes in a peculiar way; I see the world on display; Then logic's usurped; the mind burps. So please read me, I pray.
SCARY
Midnight ... Song of the Dead ... Molly the Medium ... Welcome ... Fleeting
MIDNIGHT
The hour strikes, the hands are both raised,
The clock is still, all else is crazed,
For this is midnight, of time and soul,
Goosebumps raised, the air is cold
Witches chant and bats fly above,
No time now for peace or a dove,
For spirits are out, walking the Earth,
A supernatural veil of sorrow and dearth
Into this brew your thoughts do stray,
Mixed in a cauldron for ghosties to waylay,
And haunt you with memories of what you’ve done,
Hope you did good, or now you’re so glum
As minutes tick by, light follows dark,
Goodness returning, angels hark,
As long as you’re not lost in those thoughts impure,
Carried away on death’s eternal tour
SONG OF THE DEAD
Wail of the Banshee, a frightening song,
Heard it!? Won’t be long,
Before you’re gone …
Sing another song
Wail of the loved, a sorrowful dirge,
Made it!? You’re on the verge,
With the dead you merge …
Sing another song
Wail of the frightened, a haunting tune,
Seen it!? It’s a full moon,
A ghostly croon ….
Sing another song
MOLLY THE MEDIUM
Molly the Medium
Descends into tedium
Whenever she thinks of fakes;
From where voices come
Be it the dead offering a crumb,
Or from deep in her own open mind
She hates the deception
The total inception
Of schemers who are not very kind;
The bereaved often need solace
Of afterlife a promise
And Molly does therapy for their sake;
She stops their inner panic
Makes them calm, not manic
And hardly any money she makes;
So …
… Spare a thought for dear Molly
She’s not off her trolley
And remember, they’re not all fake
WELCOME
Welcome to your deepest thoughts,
It’s strange in here, you can’t abort,
You can only go round and round,
From neuron to neuron, forever abound;
Some thoughts are of tranquility,
The closest to Heaven you’ll ever be,
Whilst others are of macabre stuff,
Get stuck in there, it gets quite tough;
Memories exist all over the place,
All past experience interlaced,
With fantasy built upon mere fact,
Amazing things that you thought you lacked;
But beware of that surreal rabbit hole,
Go down there, you won’t be whole,
And welcome you to insanity
FLEETING
I’ve not been here long,
I sing a different song,
Such a strange place to be,
So different to me,
Those shapes in my sight,
Such a terrible plight,
Fleetingly they appear,
So often with a tear,
How lonely they must be,
If only they could see,
It doesn’t have to be misery
I’ve not been here long,
I don’t think I belong,
Watching those forms,
In this place, the norm,
Existence so slight,
Seemingly no respite,
Weighed down by those chains,
Of past deeds and pains;
Oh, these visits I dread,
To the living, it’s said,
And me, so recently dead
PHILOSOPHICAL
Just Like Gold ... Discoveries ... Dinosaurs ... Serendipity ... A Creative Disguise ... Colourful Man ... Xenophobia ... I Believe? ... Latent ... It Slipped Through My Fingers ... Apocalypse When ... Doodles ... Time ... Unsavoury? ... Fading Memories
JUST LIKE GOLD
I’m like gold, so perfect and all,
Wherever I go, I enthrall;
I’m so famous I’m known round the world,
They see me and say: ‘There’s that girl;’
In every way my beauty shines,
To perfection, I’m a walking shrine,
Achieved by cosmetics, knife and pill,
And only quarter million, the bill
She’s like gold, so perfect and all,
Wherever she goes, she enthralls;
I try my best to live up to her,
No matter what cost I may incur,
‘Cos perfect is the way to be,
To emulate such celebrity,
But if only once my mind had gleaned,
Perfection is an impossible dream
DISCOVERIES
A sense of awe, a feeling of wonder,
From one thing to another, we blunder,
In our eternal search for the new,
With a sense of curiosity we do imbue,
Ourselves to feel and sense and spy,
Amazingly novel stimuli;
Whether the man or humankind,
Whether our life, or through history, we find,
A constant need to be the first,
Always quenching our curious thirst;
Indeed, it is simply what we are,
The reason why we’ve come so far
DINOSAURS
We know them well, but never seen,
From their fossils, knowledge we glean,
Of their existence long ago,
When life did seem to constantly flow,
But let’s have a word for the dinosaur time,
‘Cos man can sometimes malign,
This beast that thrived for eons long,
Living in harmony where we should belong,
And I’m sure if they could, they would say,
Looking at you mammals
and your violent display,
If you could do as well as us,
Life on Earth could really buzz
SERENDIPITY
That was lucky, it came just right,
Fate withdraws, this time no bite;
Oh, how lucky a person can be,
Steered by marvellous serendipity;
But what, exactly, is it all about,
This force that is prone to shout,
And send you on your fortuitous way,
Rich and happy without delay?
Jung would say its synchronicity,
Meaningful coincidence guides you and me,
Whilst others would blame our capacity to be deluded,
Madness, for a moment, had simply intruded,
On our ability to realise our life,
Goes any which way from fortune to strife,
But depending on whether you’re an optimist or not,
Your memories are simply all you’ve got,
To remember the good times, or maybe the sad,
And this decides whether fate was good or bad
A CREATIVE DISGUISE
Brush strokes true on canvas bare,
Producing images, people stare,
As genius from the painter grows,
Where next will the artist go?
The pen, a conduit for the writers’ mind,
Producing words, often sublime,
Engaging readers to be amazed,
Where next, this wonderful writing craze?
To hear such sounds we ensure,
Composers produce such symphony,
Where next will the musician go for me?
Throughout history they have created,
Artists, writers, musicians feted,
For the genius of their muse,
Culture, diverse, for us to choose
Where next we cannot possibly say,
Conformity, they must always slay,
To go where others have never thought,
Originality, they court
But one thing we must understand,
Each of these is just a strand,
Disguising the beauty of such art,
It is human endeavour they impart
COLOURFUL MAN
Colourful man of every hue,
Black and white and yellow, too,
Forever we’ve thought our colour is best,
Frightened and wary of the rest;
Some people think the answer is clear,
A big melting pot to take away our fear,
But this is just running away from the truth,
Something known by every youth;
Differences are silly, we just want to play,
Anyone whose game can join in, this way,
But discrimination arises when adults we are,
From simple acceptance we’ve travelled so far;
All being the same is the way to our end,
Diversity is the way we will surely ascend,
Learning to live in a colourful world,
Then we can get over it – let humanity unfurl
XENOPHOBIA
Oh dear, he’s very different to you,
Another race, so very true;
Does he live similar to us,
Ride to work on a bus?
Does he have a family, a home?
What about morals? Does he atone?
Why are you so suspicious of him?
Could it become hatred with a whim?
Or is it that he’s unexplained,
And what we don’t know, we disdain;
Perhaps this message can stop the pain,
Most of the world’s people are the same
They live and breath, work and play,
Have thoughts like you every day;
Only their culture is alien to you,
Different stories to get through;
They feel and cry and laugh and fear,
When people who are different come too near
What is the answer to this shame,
To fight our xenophobic blame?
Some people say a melting pot,
Trying to make us what we’re not;
We need diversity so we can thrive,
Then mix and learn, into friendships dive
I BELIEVE?
I believe I don’t believe,
Don’t wear my heart upon my sleeve,
Don’t accept myth or lore,
Don’t put a horseshoe on my door,
Don’t honour gods or fairytale,
Don’t think evil can assail,
Don’t let miracles change my life,
Don’t allow good to overcome strife
I don’t believe because I know,
Everywhere I ever go,
Rationally see in front of me,
The world working with so much glee,
Without the need for supernatural terms,
That reality as it always churns,
Can bend to what must always be right,
Giving wonders without respite
The problem is our knowledge is slight,
Trapped in material, atheist delight,
Thinking that we know the story,
Scientists and thinkers in all their glory,
But all they have is a tiny glimpse,
Giving their brains a hint of a glint,
But above all this is a reality, a glow,
I don’t believe because I know
LATENT
We feel the world, know it’s there,
We hear it, smell it, and we stare,
But how much can we really see,
Of this magnificent entity?
Science experiments, tells us what’s so,
But religion, more ethereal goes,
Delving in mystery, the unknown,
Requiring us all to forever atone;
Yet could there be more latent news,
From people with holistic views,
Of a universe that’s not all there,
For us to ever be aware?
Not quite manifest, whether good or bad,
Some theorise such things, and go mad,
Yet intuitions won’t go away,
Of the existence of things seen other ways
IT SLIPPED THROUGH MY FINGERS
It always happens, you can never catch,
No matter how hard you snatch,
Try it yourself, raise up your hand,
Then clench it tight, just where you stand;
Within your grasp is universal stuff,
So sublime, never tough,
Not there at all, or so we think,
Yet it creates the world before you blink;
Billions of atoms have escaped your hand,
All the constituents to create the land,
The blueprint for everything that we can know,
The stuff that makes reality glow;
But catch it you can’t, no matter how hard you try,
Its secrets sealed even though we pry,
Yet our intellect advances, goes through the roof,
So that maybe – one day – we’ll discover the truth
APOCALYPSE WHEN
Apocalypse is too much to imagine,
Resulting in so little reaction,
To things that could really zap,
Mankind goes and takes a nap;
Why is this so, I want to know?
What interrupts our knowledge flow?
Science seems to sort things out,
Finding facts, displacing doubt,
But when it comes to apocalypse when,
They revert to kids the age of ten;
Maybe ‘cos they shun the unknown,
It isn’t part of the knowledge zone,
They only deal in what they think,
Is acceptable and won’t cause a stink;
This way they change nature so,
Becoming gods, never slow,
But ap
ocalypse is when those gods blink,
Too much to bear, the scientists think
DOODLES
Doodle here, doodle there,
Often we’re not even aware,
Doing pictures all the time,
Nothing special, unrefined,
Never thinking consciously,
Biding time, therapy,
Something that we simply do,
But sometimes they may come true;
Nothing happens absentmindedly,
What we do is empathy,
With our unconscious desires and dreams,
Freudian, we display our schemes;
So doodle happily all the time,
They follow a specific rhyme,
Then look closely at what you’ve drawn;
You’ll maybe see your future dawn
TIME
Crazy thing this thing called time,
Sometimes slow and so sublime,
At others racing, oh, so fast,
Usually when you’re having a blast,
But always we think it goes one way,
From cause to effect, never astray,
Going backwards would be mad,
To die then be born would surely be sad,
Yet with its effect things continually change,
Decaying, depleting, often deranged,
Yet how we view it can often advance,
Night following day gave life a chance,
Yet now counting seconds, life’s rarely enhanced
UNSAVOURY?
Everything is such a toil,
Going round with aluminium foil,
On the head to stop the voices,
Occasional success, he rejoices;
Outside, people constantly stare,
Always he is in their glare,
Actions strange, talking to all,
Nonsense that can easily appal;
But take him back thousands of years,
Beyond folklore and known seers,
The centrepiece of his tribe,
A shaman hearing the universal vibe;
Voices are his majesty,
His people’s supernatural therapy,
He has a place, is never sad,
So tell me, who is really mad?
FADING MEMORIES
A funny thing our memory recall,
Keeping the past on the ball,
Arranged in unimaginable ways,
Experiences often on display;
But why, I ask, do we remember the bad,
Above the things that should make us glad?
Are we attuned to pollute the past,
The horrors, stark, making us gasp?
Maybe we’re wired through emotions stark,