A writing space for you to enjoy and a writing space for me to employ to increase my writing pace.

Month: August, 2014

My Feet of Clay

This is something a little different as it is more like a hymn than a poem and I haven’t done one before, so I’d love some feedback for it. Thanks, hope you enjoy it.

My feet of clay have been set in stone,

Founded on one I can call my own,

For me, for me has he been lain down,

Beaten and cut by so sharp a crown.


The wooden beams that support my life,

Had been rotting, deep in sin and strife,

Now it is made of the greatest oak,

For Builder of man has donned the yolk.


My sword was rust, I could not defend,

Satan’s attacks that did my mind rend,

But granted now is a blade without peer,

For it holds the words that I love dear.


Though my mind has oft taken to drift,

And through the bowels of earth does sift,

You, I know, shall lift me from the mire,

And bring me up thy strength to admire.


Changing Perspective

A spider with abdomen the colour of a buttercup,

Bit a banded yellow insect on the chance it wanted to sup’,

As the wasp lay crawling and dying from the savagery,

I knew who would laugh, but I could only feel a tragedy,

It is in times as this that I picked on the sadness around,

Ah, but no more do I dwell in wells of deep tears underground,

As now a man, that is a human, I see my way as clear,

Such like a rope being cast to me by a strongman, who’s dear,

A sunshine ray to my right and all I must do is go to,

Go to, go to, take the rope, and tie it to myself and do,

What I am asked and guided for. To climb up to the point,

Helping other strugglers along my narrow way. For they joint,

Deserve what I deserve, but have been blessed with a chance like me.

They Were Right

The forest of trees grow from the hillside as a moustache,

Honey bees fumble between the blossoms, adding to their stash,

A dog jumps and snaps at the air around them,

In pure panic stricken state they sting and tear their stem,

A woman jogs up, flaps her hands, and cradles her pet,

Too hard and curls the hooks in the deepest yet,

The pup yelps, but she kisses on unaware,

Picking up the dog, walks by a rose bush there.


A thorn, pricked, stands on its stem under light of manly creation,

Butterfly lands, brushes a petal, but ’tis only a flirtation,

Beautiful nature isn’t always the example to follow,

Myself I’ve found it a touch too hollow,

Preferring rather to turn an eye upwards in my dealings,

Truth, often I have stumbled and fell on others feelings,

Oh, and how, how they have bitten,

And scratched and smote and written,

Tougher words, with reason that I could not rebuke,

They were right, they were right, they were right.