I am not

An old school plagiarist

Stealing all that I write

From this life

Obvious to those

Cursed with sight

Funny how I still

Know nothing despite


The writings on the wall

And the many scribbles

In the stalls

Bumping into other thieves

Busy at their theft

Rolling up their sleeves

All of us trying to take a bow

For something we were presented

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Poem – Anger


Rising off the backs

Of moments passed

Inflating the present

Beyond its own capabilities

Blinded to that fact

It zero’s in on its fresh target

With unbridled determination

Overstating the importance and value

Of the pedestal it has chosen

To perch itself upon

Long after this battle is done

And it has stepped down

To hide its face

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