Grandads Secret Love
The Pendulum of time is like the Pendulum of love,
Anchored in the being that is you
Your makeup tears hide the fading belle,
who once danced down the Champs -elysees
But I too dwell on the past, for time has vandalised my youth too,
My mind no longer curious for what lies on the other side of the hill
Like a tree abused by the countless storms, now forgotten
I still stand; face on, to weather life’s misfortunes
Vows that I have taken, died long ago,
Along with my faith
For god and I no longer speak, a shallow life I have led
My ambitions entwined in the garden and walks in the park
I thought that time would make love fade, as does the beauty of youth
But when I saw you drenched in mornings sunlight
Smelling the blossom on ball gown bushes,
For a brief moment you were young once again
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poem by Steven Cooke
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The Prophesy of Me
These Hallowed halls
Frequented by myth and griffin
Whose presence Guards these priceless minds
Protecting the unwritten novels
M C Squared and ingenious thoughts
The prophesy of zero one
This gluttony of ideas thirsting on capitalisms juice
Summoning their messiahs to walk among us
The commodities of life, this treasured bible
Children the future and Capitalism dissects
Yet Another batch of disciples
So what care I for prophets of doom
Population before climate
Religion over peace
Vanity before reason
Pride over poverty
Cap and gown before that which created me
For I live high above these ghetto streets
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poem by Steven Cooke
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The Democratic Way
Where the arrow falls
A life is taken
Its flight was always destined to find
The rebel's heart
The believers who shake this world
Extinguished by the powers of state
For the rule of law defines society
This history that made all men equal
That teaches our children democracy
This democracy that America holds dear
And England expects
Has been stolen, hocked to the highest bidder
Reformed homogenised and re distributed
By the invisible hand of a powerful few
Your choices defined by control
Hidden in the refuse tip of mankind
Austerity and debt
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poem by Steven Cooke
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End of Ops
I am nearing the end of my journey
The path that I walk is almost done,
Over my shoulder are friends now gone?
In front of me a life, underpinned by yesterday’s fear
For I am in a world where no one belongs
Tomorrow I look through the sight for one more time
My finger, no more the killer and my shoulder
Never to feel the recoil of tracers sent
I have spent too much time bringing Peace to others
It is time for peace to find me.
This letter I write to you
For you have been my rock, and my friend through this ordeal
Your love has been the oasis that protects the candle that is my life
Whose flickering light is fragile, refusing to be extinguished
For it is entwined in my love for you, nourished by your letters
Without which, I would not care for fates demise,
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poem by Steven Cooke
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The Rose
This immortal rose that lovers seek
will be glimpsed by all in youthful peak
for her presence will be on every corner.
And those who confuse that heady perfume
with a lust for love,
will only find winter in an unknown heart
for beauty was always a fragile thing.
We who have seen this gift from above
will always get burned by its light.
The poet and the painter
have perfumed our existence
with loves testimony to this.
The pain and tears fall on empty shield
for love will break your heart
but when we reach out to hold the rose
picked from these fields of hope,
a moment in life unfurls,
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poem by Steven Cooke
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The Lovers Ghost
I am absent from heavens table
For I miss my love.
Compassion from an angel
Helped me slide down a moonbeam,
To visit your lonely heart
As you sleep, I am with you my darling
The warmth of my love
Creating a fire in your memory
Where we can sit and talk.
In the glow of embers love
In this realm we can feel love once again
Let us dance above these flames of desire
You In your prom dress and me in youths blush
Once again I can feel your whispers
Your hidden messages concealed on the breeze
Listened to by inquisitive angels,
Envious of our love.
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poem by Steven Cooke
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Broken England
My Brave ancestor of England,
Look away, for I offend thee
For your England is no more
Decay eats away at this fallen empire.
Your people divided
Its laws weakened by Europe’s power
Its leadership, protecting the few
The fresh air of your Country gone
Only the stench of anarchy remains
Heroes of The Somme look away for I offend thee
Stock Market Parasites, take without producing
Corporations overwhelm, the weak,
Without paying their due,
Their off shore havens digest the life blood of this once great nation,
Leaving the scraps of minimum wage for the masses to beg
The dead of Pashendale look away for I offend thee
Government legislate to keep us in bondage till 66
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poem by Steven Cooke
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A whiskey Love
Through a glass of Whiskey I found her.
Her eyes, Flaming Blue, hiding a glance of Heaven
Her hair golden like the reflection of an English buttercup,
Open to the flirtations of the sun.
Her lips soft, pink,
Like the dawn over a distant tulip field,
With a promise to reveal, even more,
Moist, sweet, the taste of a woman
Her neck, slim, elegant, with a hint of summer,
Jeweled with faint dew drops from the evenings heat
Her shoulders, graceful, a ballerinas calling
Perfectly formed, a place for heroes,
To rest their head
Her arms slender, delicate, with a promise of an angels embrace
An embrace that could wash away, all your sins
Her dress clinging to her body, like the lilies in a pond,
Hiding the secrets below
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poem by Steven Cooke
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Bombers Moon
Making love to my demons
Under the flag of my country
Caught in between the never believer
And a pardon of angels,
Who bargain their souls for my redemption?
Empowered by a nation,
Glorified by heroes departed
My life sanctified by religious compromise
For tonight I fly, under the bombers moon
Nearer to God than most
I see the world differently,
This Earth orbits in a sea of cold
My plane hidden in its recess,
A place where silent screams dwell
And rainbows are sent to die.
Away from the gaze of my enemy,
A phrase worthy of the Devil
Away from the patriots sting,
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poem by Steven Cooke
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An Epic Woman
Woman tell me your thoughts
Shall I be the fool and you the teacher?
Am I your Adonis, or do you see a toad.
Chivalry demands that I am your knight without reward,
For my kin is that of Beowulf and Lancelot,
Dragon slayers, so command me.
I am woman I need no gesture, for wisdom lies in
Raindrops hung out to dry on silken cobwebs.
And in the beggar who is happy, while his king sleeps in fear
For my kin, blessed me with a rare beauty,
My reflection rivals that of the queen Of Sheba
My thoughts entwined with the warrior queen Boadicea,
My tenderness lies in queen Amyitis and her Hanging gardens of Babylon
My passion is that of Cleopatra for Mark Anthony,
And my faith equals that of Mary
So beware young Jason, speak from the heart,
Or you will summon queen Kriemhides in me,
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poem by Steven Cooke
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