Autumn in Sussex

The Downs are wreathed in mist, like smoke
From a dying fire.
The leaves are turning red and gold
Like flames upon a pyre.

Spring's little lambs are grown to sheep
The swallows they have flown.
The blossoms that the summer brought
Their petals all have thrown.

Now autumn's bounty fills the woods,
The hedgerows are ablaze
With hips and haws in colours bright
The senses to amaze.
The smoke from wood fires fills the air,
 The scent of autumn true.
The autumn sun is cooler now
And mornings filled with dew.

The cobwebs shine with dewdrops bright.
The spider in her lair
Thinks nothing of the rainbow hue
That scatters in the air.

And children kick the fallen leaves
As laughingly they run
To gather conkers, shiny brown,
Gleaming in the sun.

We gather blackberries from the hedge
And apples from on high.
Up in the tree they ripen now
To turn into a pie.

But autumn sometimes has a kick
And the rain lashes down.
The wind, it howls within the eaves
And through the trees doth moan.


Oh Mirabelle, Mirabelle,

Your beauty drew the witch's spell

Forced to roam the cold, high plains,

Assailed by the winds and driving rains.


Alone, alone, no hearth, no home,

Thro' the barren wastes you roam,

Many desire you, none offer love,

Your fire unseen, ‘neath the frost above.


Ice maiden,' they say, ‘A stone for a heart',

But it's only a shell, awaits Cupid's dart.

Your yearning for love the curse does hide.

In your reserved demeanor they see only pride.


Oh Mirabelle of the lovely eyes,

Child of the waters and the stormy skies.

You see reflections in the pure white snow,

Of dark times so very long ago.


What do you see at the ridge o'er there?

A horse with a mane and a tail so fair,

Tall and red with stockings white,

King of the herd, awesome his might.


She saw his eyes, so bright and clear,

He saw her fire, he felt no fear.

Made for each other, the flame and the red,

She mounted, he snorted, she gave him his head.


I shall call you Balthazar,

Your name will be heard near and far.

Amid the lightning, the thunder, the sleet and the scree,

On your hooves, with my sword, we're forever free.


Oh Mirabelle, Mirabelle,

Your beauty drew the witch's spell.

With Balthazar come rain or shine,

Tempestuous, passionate, love equine.

(c) RM Burgess, 2019


Secret Sweetheart

Secret Sweetheart

To secret loves, to saucy Suzanne

Of amorous arms, of arms of lifespans

To self redemptions, to rendezvous 

Of past relations, past misconstrues

To femininity, to fantasy thereof

Of uncanny contours, of energy of love

To a golden mane, to liquid blue eyes

    Of gingerbread gifts, of salacious surprise 

To dreams of two, to be campaigns 

Of characters on course, of course champagne

To inebriate we, to be the inevitable

Of paradox dare, of paradox pleasurable


To residing with men, to men of garnish

Of tempting fate, of tears of tarnish

To her hark, to the house of hormones

Of me screaming rapture, of reckless condones

She swaggers in the face of tear drops

© Lee Johnson

The Older Woman

To uncover the cupid of night         

     I creep between the coldness

          Leaping over the edges

               A chameleon from before

                    Translucence is my breeze

                         Drafting through her door

                              Caressed by nervousness

                                   Untangled by the warmth

                                        Words of altered meanings

                                        Confusions to explore

                                   Now fractures into pieces

                              In mind fields of her floor

                         Moulds of clay my caper        

                    Wit and heart reshaped

               To a fate without form

          From rascals of rapport

     To the tingle of tainted love

My character will deplore    

©Lee Johnson

no matter the circumstance

I received my dirty little stones. and dreamt sweetly as I opened a pouch.
and wondered what they could be.
went to Smith the jeweller. and sat idly on his couch.
as I waited for him to wash and.
later confirm them to I as gems
after he told me they were worth.
millions of rands is value.
that I could either risk selling.
them on a black market for a dime. or make him my agent. I opted to lock them in my safe at home. only for my girlfriend to get jealous.
and call the cops on me.
would you like to hear more. before I could do just that. I've got to call my lawyer first.
because even when they say.
some things in this world.
are as exactly as we see them.
those diamonds are mine.
and testing before the court.
has never been my style,
but I have to admit though.
pillow talk is nothing if someone you love,
Isn't wearing a glistening rock.
Diamonds are forever and my advise
on you is; you too should have them.

no matter the circumstance.
Drop the Picture for the Nature

From a kilometer

It's as pure and clean as the Garment

Dynamic, looking expensive,

Taking the place of an ornament

Getting to a meter

It's faking the creature

Just like the firmament 

I told them, not every smiling face you see

From afar are endowed with white teeth

Some are from the cutest men, 

But an instrument of cheat

They always prove to be as white as snow, 

It's a ruse,  Deep inside, 

You definitely get to see a tint 

I stand on my feet,

To Be an agent of change, 

Not an agent of Deceit 

Drop the picture, 

You got to pick up the nature

By HACKOSAM (MrAwelewa)
Instagram: @iam_hackosam


She knew it would be diifficult to revisit her past trauma, but her journey would be incomplete without resolving her childhood sexual abuse.

This journey would help her know her inner soul and understand why the child chose isolation.

Isolation was what she experienced not aloneness. Being alone was a choice. Isolation was not...thrust upon her for her safety. The damaged child required safe places.

To learn to  trust required surrender to God. Surrender to learn trust. She knew was necessary or she forever would be lonely rather than alone. She took her first steps with God's presence

Susans Soul...Allpoetry.com



Life causes your soul to bleed.
Your very existence...

leads to 


in your heart,

other hidden places 




of  you... 

(c) Susans Soul...
All Poetry.com

The Edge of Madness

My world has been darkened

My memories forgotten--
I'm balancing on the edge of madness.
Although it's deceiving, my brain has me seeing
These shadows that wander
And laugh at my sadness.

I see birds that are flying
But backwards they're flying
And the walls now are twisting about.
The voices are calling
I feel that I'm falling
My brain now I'm starting to doubt.

I can't understand just went went wrong
As I lay in my padded room
Because all I recall
Was the time that I'd spent
With the old man in 402!

I can hear someone knocking outside of my door
Whispering to me through vents in the floor.
The knocking continues again and again
And the voices get louder inside of the vents.
I stand by my bedside, shouting out loud...
Leave me alone!
Stay out of my head!

When I fluttered my eyes
The floor came alive
And I'm suddenly covered in bees.
In a blink of an eye, my room is the hive...
What the hell is happening to me??

I yelled for the nurse
And started to curse
And pounded the door with my fists.
I tear at my face
And swat at my ears
And scream at the top of my lungs in fear!

And then it all stopped.
The room was still
And the bees that attacked me had all disappeared!

It is days such as these
When I'm wondering...
If I'll ever see daylight again.
But because I believed
I was covered in bees
Nurse Gloria Sue
Had noted my screams
And told Dr. Sullivan that I was hallucinating!

So they brought in the jacket
That over-sized jacket--
The one with the buckles and chains.
As I pleaded my case
The guards held me still
As they tightened the straps on my waist.

I talked to the doc around seven o'clock
About the incident in 402
But all that he said was to go back to bed
And he'd see me tomorrow at noon.

As I sit in the corner of a well-padded room
In a jacket that keeps out the cold
I constantly pray that I'll get out today
But it's not all that likely, I'm told.

I spend all my time
Just clearing my mind
SO tomorrow I can prove to the doc...
That the pills he'd prescribed, were making me sick
And maybe
Jut maybe
I can get back to my life--
To my job
To my kids
To my wonderful wife.
Just the though of this helps me sleep through the night.
But while I was dreaming, I was awakened in fright
By whispering voices
And a light in my eyes.

There were echoes of laughter
As I woke from my sleep
While staring at the ceiling grate.
When I attempted to move to the edge of my bed
I found myself hung up
In a four-point restraint!

I looked to my left
I jerked to my right.
No doctors were there--
Just the men in the white
Each smelling of whiskey from the previous night.
They were holding the straps
And pulling them tight
While I yelled for the nurse
But no nurses in sight!

There was no way to win
As they showed off their grins
While gripping my jaw and holding my chin...
And taking some pills
And shoving them in
Then waiting...
And waiting...
Until they kicked in!

I tried to keep still as they forced down the pills
That brought back the birds and the bees.
When the doctor came in on the following day
He had noticed the madness in me.
He shook his head and immediately said,
"You leave me no choice
But to continue the drugs
And double your dosage
For seven more months...

And then we will see if the birds and the bees
Come back to bother you then.
If they do... that's a problem
ANd you'll have to stay longer
'Cause we'll have to start all over again!"

When I spoke of the pills
That were making me ill
He forced a shot into my skin.
In a matter of time
I was back in the hive--
Just the bees and me once again.

The nurse fed me pudding for breakfast and lunch.
Of course it was laced with some lunatic drugs.
And dinner was served through a flexible plug
That attached to my mouth so I could eat when I want!

And all of this time, I've been thinking of why...
Why was I left in an asylum to die?
And all I could think of was my appointment last year
With my family doctor who committed me here.

I had talked to him briefly about a sty in my eye
Maybe passed along from my kids or my wife.
A routine visit
I had thought at the time...
But it was then when he looked at my children and wife
And asked them politely to wait outside.
And as soon as the did
I had asked him why
But he just closed the door with a lengthy sigh.

I stood up in panic and started to cry
And asked him,
Doctor...am I gong to die?
But before he could answer
The door opened wide
And in walked three men
Who were dressed in white.

I wanted to go...
But they gripped my arms tight--
I didn't know why... so I put up a fight.
And during the fight with the men in the white
My doctor had stuck a shot into my thigh!

And it's here where my troubles began to unfold
Because this doctor of mine was extremely old
And the nurse warned me earlier
That his hearing aid broke
And to speak in a loud, understandable tone.

And though I was speaking as loud as I could
This doctor of mine
When I spoke of my problem... this sty in my eye....
What he thought--
What he heard--
Was the word...SUICIDE.
And the day he committed me
My doctor, he died.
And my doctor was one who was very well liked
By the doctors who worked in the Greenview Asylum
Who believed that my doctor was undoubtedly right!

So now here I sit on the floor in my room
Just me and the birds and the bees.
The men in the vents
Continue to speak.
The shadows that wander
Keep laughing at me
And the nurses keep slipping the pills in my drinks.
So what do I think?
What do I think?

When I think of this mistake that was made in my life
That has kept me from seeing my kids and my wife
When I think of the doctors
And the men in the white...
There's one thing that bothers me
Night after night...

They still haven't treated this sty in my eye!




I Am


I AM Hungry with a hunger that does not originate from my stomach, but rather from my soul

Insecurities that come not from my inabilities, but from my mind which propagates the lies

For I am wounded from the past and scarred forever more

I mourn for a childhood that was robbed of innocence and I cry out for justice, but my assailant has long left this earth and what good would a public trial do?

“Would they believe me, more importantly, would anybody care?”  These are the question that my inner child asks and there is no one to answer her, but me.

I have stuffed my pain down inside of me until I resemble the thighs of a woman in panty hose several sizes too small, I can no longer contain what has been pushed down and I feel it oozing out.  I am a bulimic and shall be forever more.

I have lived in a closet of shame that no one understands. Sick, disgusting and lacking self control…I have told myself these very things and my mind confirms what I have known, I am a disgrace and will be, forever more.


“Wait!” My inner child cries.  “I did not cause the pain!”  “But, YOU did fill yourself like a balloon, not stopping until you popped!” My righteous mind chimes in.

“It wasn't me who did those things!”  My inner child says with her arms crossed and her chin thrust out.

“It was me, don't blame her.” Says a small voice I barely recognize.  That voice!  I know it and yet I have to think hard to place whose it is.

“She is the TEEN.” I remark to myself.  “I remember her, such a sad girl, but a damn good actress as I recall.”  My mind remembers the fake smiles and forced laughter, the teen version of my inner child.  I see the bags of potato chips and the crumbs falling off her chin….”eat, hurry, or they will know” she seems to be saying.

Retching, gagging as she grips the cold and uncaring porcelain bowl.  Heart palpitations, will she die?  The underlying smell of vomit and the mints she always carried.  I see her now, a wounded bird that someone should just put out of her misery but they will not, for they only see her smiles.  A damn good actress indeed.


I tell the voices to go away.  I don't have time for their whining.  I must get up and be a happy, a well adjusted middle-aged woman who is still stuffing her feelings into panty hose that are several sizes too small…for I am a bulimic, now and forevermore

A Song For My King

              A Song For My King!

           When thoroughly dressed in words,

           I'll do justice to my thoughts of Him

           With the tongue of the learned:

           Forsaken by men, remembered by God

         The Presence of Christ abolished my crisis.

           A song for my King I'll sing.

    Blinded by desires, I see only my Self.

   My blind eyes you opened - to love as you love

  Through the lens of love, I see my King enthroned!

  Heaven in my heart, my sore - heart you healed.

  I'll add my hymn to those of His angels,

  A song for my King I'll sing.

  I was nobody until I came into His Body.

  Before the Mighty One stood behind my two zeros,

   Excellent was foreign to me.

  Then, I drank happiness from parches of good,

    Now, Jesus is my eternal spring of joy.

     A song for my King I'll sing.


   The test of yesterday is my testimony of today

   He processed me before He possessed me;

   Presenting His glory in my story!

   I will broadcast His love across the nations,

   I will speak of His wonders to the children of men

   A song for my King I'll sing.


    Most important things in life you gave us free

    The strong rejoice, the weak thank you;

    You alone constitute our comfort and joy.

    So big, so close – I've never seen a father like you.

 Thousands there, thousands here, come join me now;

    As I sing a song for my King

Segun Tewogbola


Black Out

Black Out

I fall into a deep coma

I awake not having a memory of anything that went on in my life

It could be for hours or for a day

It doesn't matter how long

When I open my eyes the memory is still gone

I am often confused because every dream that I have delivers different messages

Some good some bad

Warnings of evil that surrounds

Pre-cautioning of a mistake I may make

Closing my eyes drifting away is all it takes

Sometimes I feel I dream while I am awake

Everything around me is silent

Only the echoes in my mind exist

My vision is only of the waves in the ocean

I get sea sick when I think of it

I don't feel I am of the norm

The some live in the light

Yet I live in the dark

My eyes are closed yet my third is open

It is the cause

It is the center gravity that holds these events together

At night I leave my body

I return when I am awake

I rarely have nightmares but when I do my whole body shakes

I fall while standing steal

I lift high while lying

I leave this earth without trying

When I return my memory is gone

It's like I was reborn again resurrected within myself    

When I black out I live another life

When I return my energy is stripped from me

I spend most of the day regaining

I struggle at maintaining

Because this is all in my brain

I often wonder

Am I insane?

I am trapped in a world alone

No one can hear me call or shout

When I black out

-Read About Poet Fatimah
So sad it is,
Life will always be, what it chooses to be.
But the fact is;
We can always be what we want to be.

So sad it is;
Things can never be the same again.
But the fact is;
We can always fall and rise again.

So sad it is ;
You've lost your dearest lover.
But the fact is;
You can always find a proper lover!

So sad it is; 
You've lost a lucrative job.
But the fact is;
You can always get a better job.

So sad it is;
You've failed so many times.
But the fact is;
You can always try again another time.

For every sadness, there is a fact.
Pick the fact from every sadness,
Don't dwell on the sadness,
Deal with the fact! 

BY PATRICK JAMES. ( watch out for more motivational poems) for more of this poems email me on Jamesboro1987@gmail.com
Sound of success.
Seek for success. 
Speak of success.
Search for success.
Shout for success.
Scream for success,
Strive for success,
to show forth your success.

Go for goals.
Go for gold.
Go for glory.
Go for good grades.
Go for greatness
Go for growth,
never go slow.

Rule over your world.
Rule over your destiny.
Rule over your challenges.
Rule over your circumstances.
Rule your mind!

Overcome to be an overcomes.
Succeed to be a success.
Contribute to be a contributor.
Invent to be an inventor.
Create to be a creator.
Find to be a founder.

Never settle for less,
go through all the stress
to ensure you come out your very best.

How I wish, life can be.....
As peaceful as it use to be.
Happily smiling and always joyful,
Quiet, calmly blissful and successful.

How I wish life can be.....
As prayerful as it use to be.
Fasting and praying continuously,
Inteceesing and worshipping spiritually.

How I wish we  will still be.....
The best lovers we use to be.
Two heart yoked together by an undying affection.
No deceit, no any form of affectation.

How is wish Nigeria can be.....
As united as it use to be.
Hauaa, Igbo, Yoruba dwelling together harmoniously.
North, east and west co- habiting together pleasantly.

By Patrick James
Not all battles can be won
With arms and ammunitions.
Not all wars can be won
With military discipline or diplomacy.
Not all chaos can be resolved
With sense and settlement;
But all can be easily won - 
Simply on your knee.

The shortest distance from
Failure to success, 
Is the distance between your knee
And the floor.

On your knee, all battles are won.
On your knee, all problems are solved.
On your knee, all pain and plight are gone.
On your knee only, is total victory guaranteed!

If you wish to satisfy all your needs,
endeavor to always be on your knees.
If you want to maintain the lead,
Never pause being on your knee.
The Little Shop

It was undistinguished, commonplace,

A little shop, just one in a row,

But on a winter's day to walk inside

To feel the warmth, bask in the glow

Of an atmosphere filled with the scent

Of coffee beans and almond nuts,

See tablecloths in red and white,

Hear the tinkling tone of teaspoon on cup,

Was to escape the weather's hellish grasp,

The biting cold, the blustery wind,

The drizzling rain, the swirling snow,

And find a piece of heaven within.

From Entertaining Verse Poems        

©Blair Gowrie (Roderick Macdonald)




When Time Speaks
When the lights went down

I put a candle to the crown

Taught me a story of unknown

Hoping to die, or never born


And yet I lay below my bed

It was so dark, sure I was glad

To feel a warmth besides those paths

Maybe I am not yet dead


A voice…hanging in my head, standing there

The same voice I could not bear

Told me a secret in which I'd share

For they of whom I care


Let the time stand still

Let them come…come near

Let the joy break my chill

And let the kid kill his tears

This poem is published in a collection of poetry "As The Rest Heal My Heart"


It clings to the cliffed shore,
to the wintered face of the thistle path,
to the fingers of the old man's glove
as he waves his memory homeward

In that breath between come and go
she moves up from the bay;
gold turns her stride,
the line of her dress,
the soft sea pulling at her feet

When he reaches out
and the frail birds fly
and the sun and the sky
have married deep into the sea, it clings

Even as his shadow threads retreat,
it clings, even now as it dissolves to mist
The Ancients
It's my last day with the old giants
In mourning I hike the lost trails,
sniffing the aroma of the bark,
that cinnamon of the forest
Under tepees of wood
in a membrane of shadows,
I stalk the earth, its mammal traces,
its elusive tracks,
to sit on a fallen log
where spiders macramé,
moss sloping to my knees
unaware of invisibles within,
grubbing in their tunnels
A lizard taps my foot,
responding, I muse to its touch,
my thoughts like Indian visions,
And when daylight mushrooms into night,
and an owl hoots from cedar,
I still sit with a lizard on my shoe
Huddled with the ancients of the woods


Saving Paludis

About: Rodney is currently the author of four books - "The Book of Nicknames"; "The Millipede Effect My Quest to Understand the Homeless, Standed and Down & Out"; "What IF? Just A.S.K. How Our Youth Can Change,Improve or Become an Influence in Those Things they Desire" and "What IF I want to be a Christian? Just A.S.K." His book inspirations lie within the work he does that involves helping others improve on aspects of their lives. Rodney leads two significant non-profit actions he created "We Care" (Designed educate to bring to be a bridge for the homeless and the agencies that care for them) and "A Life Saved is a Future Gained" (Program designed to educate and Bing awareness to issues of Missing and Eploited Children,Runaway Youth and Human Trafficking of our Youth). Brooks has also Colo barred with his youngest daughter to create the What IF? Just A.S.K. program designed to improve and empower our youth. Rodney is an active Church Leader and a 30 plus year Human Resources professional in several fortune 100 and 500 companies. Https:www.Whatifjustask.com Https:bbv2m@bbv2m-brothersbrooksvision2missionllc.com
Rodney Darrel Brooks
About: Julie Stafford changed a generation's eating habits in the 80's and 90's. She became Australia's biggest and fastest selling cookbook author, selling more than 2.2million copies globally. When in 2006, she lost the love of her life, her life changed infinitely. She changed her writing genre to deliver a love story born of synchronicities that were just too powerful to ignore. Based on her real life events, her story will touch your heart and have you searching for your own synchronicities to give your life greater meaning and fulfillment.
About: Steve Catto is an old man, or at least that's what it says on his birth certificate. He was born in Yorkshire, but his parents took him to Australia when he was six years old and he grew up there, sometimes racing cars across the desert.

He was never very good at school, but the one thing he did learn was how to learn, and he started writing programs for the computer at the local university, much to the disdain of his teachers who told him that he would ‘never make a living out of that rubbish'. In his late teens he returned to the UK, and his parents followed him – which wasn't what he wanted because he was hoping to get away from them. His first proper job was in the computer department of an infamous Oxford publishing company, and he subsequently went on to write software for electricity control systems, and simulators for the military. He started to fly gliders and wrote programs to analyse the data from aircraft flight recorders, where he also learned to fly, and crash, lots of other types of aircraft as well – which was the best part of the job. At various times in his career he has also lived and worked in France, Switzerland, and Canada, and he now lives in Scotland. Since appearing in school plays as a child he has performed almost continuously on the amateur stage, and spent a few years scuba diving. These two things have nothing to do with each other. In terms of his pedigree as an author he has written many technical manuals and filled in countless timesheets, so is well versed in the art of conjuring up works of fiction, however he has never written a novel before, especially not one that involves a blonde girl and a man with a bow and arrow, but he did once spend three weeks working in a factory that made handles for buckets.

Steve Catto