Poems From The Vault


Hidden in the hedgerow

Heedless of this hearty heave

The hawkers head to heaven

The hoi polloi believe.

They hoist their holy, homely host

And hush away the hand

Held hostage by hysteria and

Histrionic command.

The harshest hymn haunts debate.

Haughtily the hellions herd

Hesitant to house the honest word.

Hungry for the human holocaust.

Hopeful that the hordes harbour

The loss.

FW - 2003

Blessed Are The Meek

Disturbing though it be

I'm relentless in my misery.

I cannot teach therefore I am

A holy lake of me.

Professed are those within their grid

Encased in sacrilege.

Their never ending matrimony to the pledge is

In full swing again.

Their bloody reprise is of late and

Welcomes a good show of faith

To their not so bloody kings.

And so the rings

Begin again to spin.

Into the deep and out

Precious in their doubt

They circle me.

What they want of me, I'm sure

Will not go easily with them.

It bends no further for them.

It abhors them.

Unceremoniously chasing them

Into the underworld.

Blessed are the meek

Keepers of the ancient streak

In my world.

They break through still and quell

The undaunted riot beneath us.

FW - 2002


Like a salve on the predatory notion of forgiveness

This oceanic sickness

Draws the venom from our civilized state.

Division berates the free.

Inducing the reactive melancholy.

Reducing the folly of 'we'.

The slews in the drive of enterprise

Shepherd the weakest form and extracting from the norm

The very normal cries.

The very process 'we' despise is fuelled by the self we gratify.

To never know why is the blind spot.

To never fly is not

an option.

FW - 2004

Chance - Part One

By and by the breaking rush

The seconds still the danger's hush

The dotage comes and calms

My harried inner lush.

Now curbed intent makes amends leisurely with me.

Softens what I hate to know is ailing me...

A love of perpetual agony.

The silly, unanswerable, aching plea

That takes no note of me

Yet marches through avenging what you

Have instilled in me.

You are all who have wronged me.

All who have whipped the strong into me.

The rotting stench I build upon.

The pretty pain that takes so long to pass.

The toil I cannot labour and at last

Can place aside.

By virtue of my own I let it slide.

And wake again beside another chance.

FW - 2004

Chance - Part Two

Lighted by the markers

'Tween the waves of perseverance

Oft I see the end before its time.

These choppy waters sharpen dreams chastened by the beat.

Remain above the tide and these chalky silouhettes of days of old will navigate.

But will the moors recede?

My bogged down enemies are where they choose to be.

Only and forever at my mercy.

And I will keep them there beneath me.

Furthermore, I myself, set the pace.

Once more I, peerless, promenade

Upon the iron stage I've made

And regardless of my talentless facade

I, my God, preside.

FW - 2004

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Comments 4 comments

arthurchappell profile image

arthurchappell 6 years ago from Manchester, England

great use of alliteration here - good poetry

Druid Dude 6 years ago

Whoa! Dynamite! You've been keeping secrets. Great ones. I bow to you, Oh great and powerful fifi! Happy new year.

fi fi profile image

fi fi 6 years ago from Niagara, Canada Author

arthurchappell - Thanks for the comment and for stopping by :)

fi fi profile image

fi fi 6 years ago from Niagara, Canada Author

Druid Dude - Lol, thanks :) Have a safe and happy new year's eve.

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