You can follow me on Twitter where you can 'Direct Message' me or post in the usual way, but ending each post with the hash-tag - #poetslodge -
(That will keep everything organised :-)


Monday, July 13, 2009

The Song Of Life

The Song of Life

The Song of Life plays gently
in the background of our mind.
It has the chord, the message too
to make life great, for me and you.

So soft that we don't hear a sound.
The Song of Life is so profound.

The 'lost chord' many call it,
and they search both high and low.
If only they were made aware
that it's in their own 'life glow'.

Our DNA has rhythm,
and our heart, a perfect beat.
The Song of Life played gently
makes our time on Earth complete.

When the 'Chord of Life' is filtered,
when it doesn't play so pure.
The Song of Life skips a beat
and now we're not so sure.

Listen to your conscience
and you'll hear it playing there.
The sound of truth and honesty
invites us all,
to love,
and care.

Music is your life force,
deny it if you dare.
Deny the love of music
and your life's now stark and bare.

The Song of Life plays gently
in the background of your time.
That time, so precious and so rare,
is yours to give, and yours to share.

Sing along and dance with joy.
It's a stimulus for girl and boy.
But drink and drugs?
No-No not here.
Your 'conscience' tells you 'very' clear.

Deny it all you might,
you know it's right.
As you sit in silence all alone,
the Song of Life
makes the truth be known.

Our DNA has rhythm,
and our heart, a perfect beat.
The Song of Life played gently
makes our time on Earth complete.



Thursday, June 18, 2009

It's Just An Illusion Baby.


It's Just An Illusion Baby

It's just an illusion baby,
I thought you knew.
It's just an illusion baby,
This World so blue.

The stars in the sky.
The air we breath too.
It's just an illusion baby.
I thought you knew.

Our brain is just the hard-drive,
of a miniscule computer.
So small and so invisible,
I thought you knew.

Every vision that we see
on our computer screen,
is made up of just two digits.
I thought you knew.

Those images - magnificent,
that flash infront of you.
They're just an illusion baby,
I thought you knew.

Each word you type.
Each mouse-click too.
Instructions from the hard drive.
I thought you knew.

Life is just 'The World Of Warcraft'
being played out just for you.
To teach you all life's lessons.
I thought you knew.

'The Game Of Life' has a mind of it's own.
God's own hard-drive we've been shown.
It's just an illusion baby.
Now you Know.



Wednesday, June 10, 2009

The Fell.....


The Fell.

Sometimes dark, sometimes blue,
the purple haze envelopes you.
Wraps you with it's swaddling skin
not letting other souls slip in.

A pumping fluiditious sound,
of a heart-beat that is so profound.
Protects and feeds you love each day,
until it's time to make your way.

Out into this world so cruel,
you enter more precious than any jewel.

The purple haze is fading,
it's done it's job so well.
But now you're on your own,
on your journey down the fell.

More treacherous a journey
you'll never undertake.
Your journey down the Fell of life
does not allow for any mistake.
One slip, you're on your own,
left to fate, will you be gone?

Blessed at the very start
with a vulnerable, precious, pure heart.
Each slip, each trip will damage you,
as you descend from the world you knew.

Love is the feeling you are shown.
But in your're on your own.
With Love comes Guilt, inseperable.
These twins make life intolerable.

The Fell has rocks and craggy slopes,
all very hard without strong ropes.
They hold you firm when you slip and fall.
They keep you straight and walking tall.

But ropes wear thin, and frey, then fail.
Who's there to catch you, hear you wail?
The Fell of life is a cruel hill,
and the twin called Guilt has an iron will.

Seperate these twins and find
your peaceful, happy, contented mind.
The Purple Haze of love you'll see,
and you'll know it's how life should be.

Peter Moring.


Saturday, April 25, 2009

Tin Can Dan


Tin Can Dan.

Tin Can Dan
was a funny little Man.
He had a stoop when he walked,,
spat and dribbled when he talked.

He was out in the morning,
in the noon, the eve and night.
In the pitch-black you’d see Dan
with his little pen flashlight.

Searching through the bins,
through the gutters too.
Searching out those tin-cans
that were thrown away by You.

He always had those black bags
stashed about his person.
He’d fill them with those crumpled cans
that often cut his leathern hands.

He’d walk for miles every day,
collecting cans Tin-Can Dan’s way.
Smiling happily at everyone.
Some were scared,
most thought him fun.

B-O was his favourite Deo’,
baths he had no time for.
His clothes were greasy,
as they shone in his glory.
Those clothes could surely tell a story.

Dan never missed a Reading Rock Festival.
He knew all the kids,
they all thought he was a fool,
as he stooped around, black bags in hand,
he got a free ticket to every live band.

Each night he’d come back
with Wickes’s trolly overflowing.
Sack-on-sack of old tin cans,
he’d spirit through his front door
to his garden and his plans.

Each month or two the cones went out.
“In here!, In here!”
You’d hear old Danny shout.
The lorry parked outside Dan’s gate
and they loaded it up
with help from his mate.

Off to the scrappy,
Tin Can Dan was smiling now.
Through the pain of bone cancer
that made him stoop and bow,
he never complained though
as he stopped to wipe his brow.

The kids at the hospitals
all loved him that’s for sure.
As every penny Tin-Can-Dan made
was headed for their door.

TV’s, games and toys.
Treats to make them smile.
Was all the reward that Danny needed,
his sweat and tears had been rewarded.


Tin-Can-Dan is now too disabled to collect
cans anymore. The Reading Rock festival
promoters invited him as a guest of honour
last year.
Not sure he’ll make this one though.


Friday, March 06, 2009

The Black Queens Bed


The Black Queens Bed

The Black Queen lifts her Sultry head.
Looks round at those who share her bed.
"I see you've all come bearing news".
"So good to see you fit your shoes".

The 'Robot Wars' no more a dream.
Conspiritors compound the scheme.
Digits on computer screens,
keep cash control within 'Her' means.

We've built the dream of our 'Black Queen'.
We can now see, and 'all' be seen.
'Robot Intelligence' not in doubt.
Exceeds our own, inside and out.

The life-blood of our modern world
is cash that shows that we have 'earned'.
We are haemorrhageing badly now.
It must be stemmed.
Do 'we' know how?

Have the 'Surgeons' taken vows
to our 'Black Queen'?
Who really Knows?

'Big Brother' is her favourite Son.
The war He's fought is almost won.
He watches and tracks our every motion.
With 'stealth' he follows in high resolution.

The Brown Crusader, Obama too,
are in her bed.
(I thought you knew)