Below is a collection of some of the 4lines that I have written over the last year or so. I hope that you like them. If you want you can leave a comment below. Thanks for dropping by.
the dead aren’t cool
the dead are cold
some are so young
they never get old
lauren bacall, who was not very tall,
had decided she’d like to be caught,
so became after all bogey’s new moll,
the to-have of to have and have not.
lillian gish, protecting the child,
while evil outside was confronted,
she just sat there and smiled:
the hunter becoming the hunted.
rhyme – the weapon of choice
attacking walls of rhetoric
can lead to so much trouble,
try one time just using rhyme
to reduce your foe to rubble.
living isn’t easy, it’s what we try to do,
living isn’t simply breathing in and out.
living’s not a game, but isn’t it a shame,
living’s not the same for me and you.
how does the brain store the memories we gain,
what criteria does it use for saving this, or that?
there are people who struggle with their mother’s name
but can describe to us, in detail, their dear old hat.
i like the notion of fairies, with their fairy dust,
sprinkling little magic rainbows on the less
fortunate to help them make it through a crisis.
oh how we need them now.
your inattentive self is on the rise
i can see that blank look in your eyes
and for weeks i wonder when
if you will ever be yourself again
note to self
we saturate the world with noise
flashing lights from grown-up toys
oblivious to what is plain to see
that we should cause such misery
what i said
often the words i never say
are the only ones i mean that day
and vice-versa so it would seem
if you follow what I did not mean
i rarely write in rhyme these days.
it is more of a chore than before
to try to ignore the inner me, or
at least the one i see quite frequently
being happy is a very short poem
for if happy there is not much to say
but when one is chin-deep in sadness
one can write about misery all day
we all go blank sometimes
sometimes it seems like years
years turn into centuries
centuries of tears
for all those born today
may your memory replay
the moment, time and place,
for nothing shall erase
the love that’s born today.
the news is so bad
that night after night
i hope there’s a tunnel
at the end of the light
i think i’m in luff with roger mcgough
a luff thus far unrequited
you’d think with all of his poems and stuff
this liverpool lad would be knighted
nowhere more foreign
for the sake of the few and their fear
in the home of the oh-so-sincere
faiths that some hold are shut out in the cold
for there’s nowhere more foreign than here
shades of grey
how mistaken to desire just truth,
to set this as our main objective.
for can i say, with shades of grey
we could be more selective.
try imagining a place where nothing is.
can you comprehend what you’re not seeing?
for it could be true, that there is no you,
nor evidence of you ever being.
my other half
take a moment to think, just as we blink
that half of your life has gone by
we could wonder at how, or ask ourselves why
but just as we do we know, the other half will surely go
notions, such as these few lines, are simply forms of introspection,
interrogating murky reservoirs of human imperfection.
regardless of the honesty with which we execute the task
there’s many questions left unsaid, for some we dare not ask.
if I could meet me as a younger man
if I could meet me as a younger man what advice would I give,
on the things that made me who I am or the way that he might live,
and if on listening to all advice, the younger man should cry:
“I want to make my own mistakes”.(For I know the reason why.)
while some cut up the dead
they dissect the living
for one the battle’s over
the other, just beginning
jack and jill
jack thought jill was on the pill
as the two fetched up some water,
to each of them, a moment’s thrill
brought jack and jill a daughter.
georgie porgie, puddin’ and pie
he kissed the girls, who knows why?
when all the boys came out to play
t’was plain to see that he was gay.
humpty dumpty sat on a wall,
humpty dumpty had a great fall.
all the king’s horses and all the king’s men
had to go back to ikea again.
itsy bitsy Spider
The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout,
down came the rain and washed the spider out.
out came the sun and dried up all the rain,
said itsy bitsy spider, “this bloody weather again.”