Scattered Thoughts @ambroseharte - Tumblr Blog

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SMILING. Sometimes I feel like giving up; like calling it a day, The sun no longer shines, and the sky is low and grey. The whole world is against me; everything I do is wrong, The days are short and rowdy, and the nights are quiet and long. Thoughts keep running through my head, of the messes I have made, Of the times when I have blundered in; of the crazy things I've said.

But then I see your smiling face, and I know it's all worthwhile, And no matter what life throws my way, I will meet it with a smile. Ambrose Harte Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

Invisibility.

I am just an ordinary person,

Going about my ordinary day,

And no one seems to see me,

Or hear a single word I say.

I'm invisible at the station,

I'm invisible on the train,

I'm invisible in my work place,

And when I get home again.

When I take a seat upon a bus,

I'm just a used up piece of space,

And though I smile and say hello,

I am still an empty place.

When I go down to the corner store,

No one sees me where I stand,

They only see my purchases,

And the money in my hand.

There was a time when people stopped,

To greet you in the street,

But now everyone's a stranger;

I know no one that I meet.

I'm invisible in the country side,

I'm just a cloud that's blowing by,

I'm invisible now I'm living,

I'll be invisible when I die.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

Shadows

I don't know what is happening,

But I know it's something bad,

And I know that when it's over,

I'll be broken, beat and sad.

Even though I see it coming,

I cannot change its course,

It is always bound to happen;

A relentless, heartless force.

Though I pray for intervention,

My prayers are all for nought,

And this fight I dare not mention,

Is a fight not to be fought.

I know that when it's over,

There'll be nothing left of me,

Just a shadow of myself;

Of the self I used to be.

Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts

amy-winehouse-in-suburbia

💗

scatteredthoughts2

Too Little, Too Late.

As children we shared everything,

And everything was fine,

Then later we just lost ourselves,

In life and love and time.

My years were wild and troublesome,

Filled with fights and jail and drugs,

But no matter where I lay my head,

I sent you love and hugs.

I wondered where you were,

And I prayed you were alright,

I prayed that you were safe,

And not fumbling through your life.

I searched for you in every town,

I saw your face in every face,

I tried so hard to settle down,

Then I searched for you, in a different place.

And now at last I've found you,

Behind convent walls and doors,

And the Sisters say your life was filled,

With charity work and chores.

They show me to a cold bare room,

Where you lie in cold repose,

A crucifix above your head,

In your hands a blood red rose.

And as I hold your cold, cold hand,

As I whisper your sweet name,

I tell you I'm so sorry,

For being too late again.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

THE NAMES WE CHOOSE TO DIE WITH.

The names we choose to die with;

The names we leave behind,

In death, I see so much,

In living, I was blind.

The names we choose to die with;

Names carved in mossy stone,

In death, I have so many friends,

In life, I lived alone.

The names we choose to die with;

Names no one will recall,

In life, I lived so frugal,

In death, I spend it all.

The names we choose to die with;

Names covered now with clay,

In life, I was not living,

In death, I live each day.

©Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

The Remnant of a Dream.

What is left after a dream,

what is left that lingers on,

What remnants are still remaining,

to help make sense of what is gone.

You try to grasp a dreams tail-end,

and it's like trying to hold a cloud of mist,

It's like holding on to the rainbow's end,

you know its there, but it does not exist.

Remnants of dreams,

and wispy memories, slowly dying,

Grasping, clinging at what's not there,

music, breezes, sadly sighing.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

Writers Block.

The crumpled pages in the bin,

Reflect the state of mind I'm in,

Others scattered on the floor,

Reflect my aim is very poor.

I cannot write a single word,

And those I write seem so absurd,

They have no rhythm or no rhyme,

And it feels like I'm just wasting time.

Mad ideas clog up my head,

Mumbo jumbo and eggs on bread,

Children's games from long ago,

And scratchy records that play too slow.

Children's rhymes that make no sense,

Fragile worlds with no permanence,

Things I see but cannot feel,

And things I feel that are not real.

The words are running off my pages,

Laughing, giggling, at my futile rages,

Jumping down onto the floor,

And scrambling out beneath the door.

I think I'll throw my pen away,

And try again some other day,

Because whatevers caused this writers block,

Has left me in a state of shock.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

Evil Things.

Goblins and daemons and evil things,

Trolls and Ogres and beasts with wings,

Lands of brimstone and fire and sulphur,

Screeches and screams and begging for succour.

Man-made monsters of gears, cogs and chains,

Mad Hungry Zombies searching for brains,

Banshees singing the hymns of the dead,

And laughing hyenas that fill you with dread.

Reposing Vampires asleep in their tombs,

Monsters in closets invading kids rooms,

Ghosts on the stairs to guide you to bed,

And cannibals drooling to eat you instead.

Frankenstein's monster wakes up on his slab,

The mad, crazy scientist with concoctions to jab,

Mummies all swathed in bandages so dirty,

And Siren's at sea all singing so flirty.

Aliens land in your garden at night,

The mythical Gorgon has you in his sight,

Dragons breath fire that burn up the earth,

And Gargoyles stand guard over mansions of death.

Here are some monsters ( I have named just a few ),

There are others out there who would love to get you,

But beware when you leave to go to the store;

The most evil of all, could be living next door.

©Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

Friendships.

Some friendships can be fickle,

Some friendships can be weak,

Some friendships can be awkward,

And not the friendships that you seek.

Some friendships can be boring,

With no common ground at all,

With no interests that you share,

And you both stare at the wall.

Some friendships can be straining,

And leave you tired and sleepy,

And others can be hurtful,

And leave you sore and weepy.

But the friendship that we share,

Is filled with so much pleasure,

With stories, laughs and fun,

And a love we cannot measure.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

The Moment.

You say things in the moment,

That you regret all day,

Because you know that once you've said them,

It's not what you meant to say.

You wish that you could take them back,

And make them disappear,

Because the words you spoke in haste,

Are the words no one should hear.

If you could take the moment back;

That little piece of time,

There are different words that you would say,

And all would be just fine.

But you said them in the moment,

And now the moment's gone,

And though it's just a little time,

The moment lingers on.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

Ghost Lady.

I saw you on the stairs last night,

Translucent in the pale moon light,

You looked so lost and so alone,

As you wandered round your stately home.

Everywhere the moonlight fell,

Was painted in a ghostly spell,

Your silver gown, your golden hair,

All seemed so real, but you were not there.

I felt no fear, no none at all,

When you left the stairs and walked down the hall,

To the room where you would meet your death,

And it filled my heart with deep regret.

But there was nothing I could do;

The past was waiting there for you,

And every night when the moon is high,

You must go into that room and die.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

palatinewolfsblog

Here's something special. A piece of art for a very special friend of mine @scatteredthoughts2 . Always liked the motif of the "haunted house". And when i read his dark yet beautiful poem... Well, i hope you like my artistic "reply". Glad he does... 🖖🐺

scatteredthoughts2

Thank you my friend for an awesome addition to my poem. 👌🤗

scatteredthoughts2

Where Time Stands Still.

There's a chasm deep inside,

a storm I cannot ride,

A feeling somethings lost,

a church with n'er a ghost.

There's a void I cannot cross,

that is full of pain and loss,

A gap no one can fill,

a place where time stands still.

There's an aching inside me,

for the times that used to be,

For the echoes of the past,

and the dreams that could not last.

There's a yearning deep inside,

there's the feelings I can't hide,

There's the pain that's in my heart,

That is tearing me apart.

There's no place that I can find,

what is leaving me behind,

There's no words for me to say,

there's no light left in my day.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

Reaching Out To You.

I am trying to reach out to you,

But it's not an easy thing to do,

You ignore my emails, you ignore my calls,

You walk past me in shopping malls.

I call your name, but you turn away,

I ask you why, but you do not say,

I say I love you, but you don't reply,

I cry so much, but your eyes are dry.

It is like for you I don't exist,

I have risen up like morning mist,

And all the tears I have cried for you,

Have tasted sad like morning dew.

©Ambrose Harte

©Scattered Thoughts

scatteredthoughts2

Mr Know-it-all.

I know what's best for everyone,

But not what's best for me,

I know the answer to all your problems,

But my own I cannot see.

I know the cure for all your ills,

But my own I cannot treat,

I can help you up to stand and walk,

But can't find my own two feet.

I can give advice on love and marriage,

While my own just falls apart,

I know all the ways to heal the hurting,

But can't mend my broken heart.

I want the best for everyone,

But for me there's just neglection,

I cure everything there is to cure,

But can't cure my own affliction.

Doctor go and heal thyself,

Then you can come heal me,

I know the answer to all your problems,

But my own I cannot see.

©Ambrose Harte

scatteredthoughts2

Once.

I used to dance,

but the music's gone,

I once had love,

but I'm now alone.

I used to sing,

but I lost my song,

I used to rhyme,

now the timings wrong.

I used to work,

but they shut us down,

I love the country,

but I live in town.

I used to smile,

now I cry instead,

I once had feasts,

now I've only bread.

I once had children,

but now they've grown,

I used to laugh,

but now I moan.

I once was clever,

but I lost my head,

I used to sleep,

now I've got no bed.

I used to swim,

but the sea's dried up,

I once drank water,

now there's n'er a drop.

I once was good,

but now I'm bad,

I had a soul,

now I'm empty and sad.

I once was fearless,

now I'm filled with dread,

I used to live,

but now I'm dead.

I had directions,

but now I'm lost,

I had a body,

now I'm just a ghost.

©Ambrose Harte

scatteredthoughts2

Vampyre Watch.

I placed my faith in the chapels power,

As I watched the vault from the old bell tower,

High above the old church roof,

I was searching for some ghastly proof.

Then the moon was veiled by a passing cloud,

And I heard the vault doors creaking loud,

But without the moon I could not see,

What monster walked the cemetery.

Then in a clearing, as the moon peeped out,

I saw pure evil walk about,

Dressed head to toe in a shroud of white,

You disappeared into the night.

I quickly ran into your crypt,

And left for you a little gift;

A crucifix of gleaming gold,

On your coffins pillow that was not yet cold.

And as the dawn washed the night away,

You returned to hide from the light of day,

Your shroud once white, was now dark red,

And dripping with the blood you'd shed.

I heard you scream when you saw the cross,

And my heart was heavy that you were lost,

But I had to do what must be done,

As into your crypt, I let in the sun.

I thrust a stake in to your breast,

And blood erupted from your punctured chest,

And from your eyes more blood did squirt,

And turn to red the crypts dry dirt.

I washed away the blood and gore,

And pinned some garlic to my bedroom door,

With the windows closed and the curtains drawn,

I slept through day and night till dawn.

©Ambrose Harte

scatteredthoughts2

The Body.

There's a Body in my basement,

It is buried 'neath a concrete floor;

I had to pour the concrete,

When the stench came wafting from beneath the door.

I can't remember the Body's name,

But she used to be my wife,

And I lost my head and killed her,

When she ruined my cosy life.

The house is falling down around me,

The roof is sagging and the rain gets in,

There is plaster falling from the walls and ceilings,

And the kitchen looks like a garbage bin.

The floors are warped and crooked,

The windows are all broke,

The chimneys blocked with rotten crows,

And it belches out black smoke.

Things have got so bad,

That in the basement just today,

The Body broke through the crumbling cement,

And got up and walked away.

So now it's me and my crumbling house,

That is in such bad repair,

But at last I can get the repair work done,

Now that she's no longer here.

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