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[mrwriter1-blog]

Very nice and good purchase made and enjoyable!

[mrwriter1-blog]

Modern day Massacre

Bored of writing lines that will satirise your bravado

Tired of cultivating words only to have them returned 

exhausted with lies and tales of deceipt

 stop goes the clock,  to end the meet and greet

A world of intellect will be offered  and whimsical desires

 will be beaten and purged and engulfed by the fires

women want T.O.W.I.E. women want celebrity faces,

women want silver tiara's in petite glass cases

 media influenza will infect the  minds of the masses

intellectual women stay clear through there new  bifocal glasses

Yet we make the wrong choice forever and always.

[mrwriter1-blog]

Days and nights

sorry for the wait

and wasting your time

through spouting insulting comments or obnoxious rhymes

.....

But i am really just here to say i will love you forever more,

you dismiss my pleas and head for the door 

you know what i am 

and what i will become

as i funnel the vodka, the whiskey, the rum

dismissing my brothers my sisters my mum

.....

belieiving your my salvation, for which i'll be  reborn

the old me will soon be dead  and no one will morn

i will be the one you depend on forever by your side

that dependant man for you to abide by.

.....

For who am i kidding i am a nervous wreck,

too many drunken days  i have spent on the deck

too many engagements missed , too many spoiled nights

an eternity of arguments turn to fights

......

for your long luscious hair shall forever keep me sane

the imprint of a gorgeous lady firmly planted in my brain

i wish i had not said so much,  but i wish i had said more

but please don't leave again, don't head for that DOOR.

.....

[mrwriter1-blog]

Days and nights

sorry for the wait

and wasting your time

through spouting insulting comments or obnoxious rhymes

But i am really just here to say i will love you forever more,

you dismiss my pleas and head for the door 

you know what i am 

and what i will become

as i funnel the vodka, the whiskey, the rum

dismissing my brothers my sisters my mum

belieiving your my salvation, for which i'll be  reborn

the old me will soon be dead  and no one will morn

i will be the one you depend on forever by your side

that dependant man for you to abide by.

For who am i kidding i am a nervous wreck,

too many drunken days  i have spent on the deck

too many engagements missed , too many spoiled nights

an eternity of arguments turn to fights

for your long luscious hair shall forever keep me sane

the imprint of a gorgeous lady firmly planted in my brain

i wish i had not said so much,  but i wish i had said more

but please don't leave again, don't head for that DOOR.

[mrwriter1-blog]

Words

Words

people write them for praise

Others will look to depend on them

some people say too many

whilst others spend eternity looking for some

words  may sometimes start wars

whilst some words will end oppression

Words can be agressive , powerful yet beautifully poetic,

they slot elegantly into an  never ending rhythm.

Some words meaning extends beyond the parameters of control,

changing the lives of many in an instance , the simplicity of its nature

Words can never be fresh or forever new,

people re-use the words of others tarnishing its meaning.

praise comes in the form of the assembly of words,

yet it seeks to be a mere repetition of a formulation of words by another.

Words can be romantic , 3 words will tempt fate and future

whilst some, used to condemn others fate , sentence them to solitude 

words can end fueds as quickly as they started,

Yet some words will loose meaning over time as their users expire

But what happens when you run out of words?

[mrwriter1-blog]

The City i live in.

Its dark in the day and dark in the night

drunk by day , will end in a fight

with job seekers allowance ,and benefits in their pockets

robbery of cars, or stealing grandma's lockets

a voice will cry out as the city is now rotten

of a government which chooses to forget, and now has forgotten.

Prospects stay low, but children go to school

looking for a better life , in a society were drugs rule

i finally begin to loose faith and grow ever tired,

sick of walking on old police cordon tape, of a life once expired

But remember.....

Guerrilla warfare is the order of the day

pointing guns will earn your pay

police sirens loud , helicopters patrol

many arrested, then out on parole

future looks bleak through the factory haze

another grieving mother, curtosy of this knife craze

A city stuck in a slump, bordering on its own rapture

A marvelous mess created by one Margaret Thatcher.

[mrwriter1-blog]

The chronicles of the desperate man-Part 2

 Part 2: Death's Funeral

The funeral commences, death is lowered into the ground,

not a teary eye , or bellowing sound.

the man is free to capture his desires,

to rid his life of the pretenders and liars.

To right what was wrong and win back his wife,

 change the tarnished memories that plagued his life.

He talks in his sleep shouting her name,

hoping she would return, his efforts it vein

To loose everything your heart ever desired

her beautiful looks you  once admired

 he's remains and old man with  an eternity to live for, 

now that death wont be knocking at his door,

he must say sorry to the wife he betrayed,

for the gambling, the boozing,the vices he paid.

He looks at the gravestone and begins to read

whilst basking in the triumph of his sinful deed

panic suddenly engulfs his mind

upon the shock discovery of his latest find

he turns around runs fast with a quickening breath,

with the knowledge that the tomb read "the second coming of death"

[mrwriter1-blog]

Hey this is Mrwriter1, feel free to follow my main blog , i will be looking to update daily, all comments are well recieved, thanks and keep reading.

MrWriter1

[mrwriter1-blog]

The chronicles of the desperate man-Part 1

The wind blows, O' the wind blows,

the clock ticks, tick tock it goes,

the rain hitting the roof hard like never before,

 whilst the mans sits pointing his gun at the door.

He knows whats coming and he doesnt like it one bit,

one mans insanity ,  and one mans pit.

An old man sits , regret in his eyes,

Broken promises, multiple lies,

death is coming , coming to knock

waiting for his arrival whilst holding his glock

he will shoot him stone dead right in the head

death is nothing to fear because it will soon be dead.

He wishes for another chance to right all the wrongs,

the gambling, the drugs, the marijuana the bongs.

hand around the trigger, the bang on the door,

but who will end up laid out on the floor

Its his one life squandered, his one life wasted.

bang goes the bullet  and  the walls  become pasted.

[mrwriter1-blog]

Sleepless days, sleepless nights.

How do you know when your awake,

my eyes open but yet i sleep,

my day to day life merges into a fairground of a circus act

my eyes close,

my days grow darker trapped am i, in the vicegrip of the working world.

constantly i drift in and out, always awake now  never will i sleep again i know what awaits,

a lifetime of 'what ifs' i will remain alone, the ever chasing sleep approaches it sings to 

me.

But who will hold your hand when the time comes

[mrwriter1-blog]

working world

Composure is not something we humans posses,

rash decisions lead to our downfalls,

we tempt fate, spoking the fire more and more , gambling our luck

to see the reaction in ourselves.

They say the closer you are to the edge, the more your in control.

my feet stand firmly on that edge always, 

only then will you know who you are.

depression is what drives a man to insanity,

greatness comes from depression, 

only when you have truely given up on everything, 

are you free to re-invent yourself , to do something daring ,

to challenge your destiny in the hope or achieving greatness.

You stand away from the edge you become just another corporate nobody,

caught in the ceaseless never ending merry go round of the day to day 9-5er.

he will never truely understand his purpose why he was put on this world,

he will just know how to photocopy, and sit silent,

whilst the man barks the orders from the top.

his life is of boredom, it teases his mind encasing him .

His days will never grow old.

[mrwriter1-blog]

Economical world

A wise man once told me ,

time is money.

So i headed on out doors into the blue yonder, 

with a vision of making time.

if time is money, go out and make time.

[mrwriter1-blog]

Insomnia.

Trapped mind, trapped lines,

console in a society thats uncaring,

its pressures will drive humans to brink

of insanity.

Its when your at the edge you truely realise who you are.

Are you the person questing to rid his woes or the one who accepts them.

im always to late to discover the answer, we as people move on.

discover , but mainly forget.

The people we once were.

[mrwriter1-blog]

All on red ,please.

The possessions of a man will drive him crazy,

This man is broke yet he clings onto his words

like they were gold.

The harder the struggle makes the man, 

he's wise beyond his years yet too much of a gambler to know when he has it good.

The sun will set on the mountain of houses,

stacked like factory boxes.

The man destined to loose will count his pennies

The winner just sits and plots it, with your mind,

you conquer, poverty is physchological.

You plot your path, its removed from your sight.

He knows the day will come when for a second,

he'll do something that will change his life,

wether its greatness depends on the man.

Everyone has that second , that moment, to go for glory or cut their losses.

The blue yonder awaits, and the race quickens, all runners to the starting

                 post.

its when you make sure you have your right shoes, you cant run if your sinking,

The man out of ideas is the man destined for failure, he suffers

from media slavery, it tell him hes broke, beating him into submission

believing hes destined for this.The winner sits at the line , he doesnt need to run

the inevitable waits for him so why run, he knows what he

must do so he just sits and waits.

What a rich man.

[mrwriter1-blog]

The half-way house

The great escape begins

the final race to the finish.

motivation drives the motor.

Time in time out positioning,

as we constantly change.

Moves begin to materialise

chasing the red beacon.

its survival is impossible yet highlighted it calls me.

In the darkness, in the abyss for too long,

to leave via parachute.

it calls me and i need it!!

The further i am to the beacon, 

my humanity is realised, 

it'll end my arguess peril and 

give to me whats been lost, whats been taken.

Whats been robbed.

Then again, 

why run when you can drive,

so i hop in , and surpass the beacon, it was not something i no longer required, it was pointless,

as we set off into the sunny hot, too hot, immaculate bright lights of the city, 

i feel places amongst my brothers, 

as we sweat it out in the sauna,

whats more perfect.

[mrwriter1-blog]

Waiting

Its time to sink or swim,

and its hard to swim when you cannot breathe.

The man up there keeps watch,

plotting my every position.

Architect of my winnings, 

yet he sculptures my downfall 

to such precision as Angelo.

Lessons will be taught the hard way ,

he believes.

well he's no teacher and i'm certainly no student.

One day we will meet, 

he edges closer tactically,

he plays off my deceit,

my corrupton, my downfall.

The abyss it calls, it sings to me.

Yet i sit nice and warm, but always waiting.

i have no time, 

backwards we go, we must hide,

the future on our heels as i run.

I know what it will bring, 

its best to run to the past for comfort,

cause the future does not nurture nor does it wait for no man.

my fate is it realised in the futures eyes, 

yet i make my decisions.

im not going anywere i will make it wait.

the devil will just have to sit tight,

whilst i master the great escape, 

times can be re-written , its scares the future, so call me the author.

[mrwriter1-blog]

The truth of man

A  free spirit is one that writes,

then why am i.

A mind that feels dazed but trys to remain direct.

Poisoned by media flu, but hes

a man with too many problems,

and not enough answers.

Time will tell, 

yet the clock is fluctuating, stalling perhaps.

You can tell alot from who a man aspires to be, 

      Too much.

For his mind trapped in a ceaselss conundrum 

Does he sacrifcie his intellect his control , 

for the cages of aspiring to be the other man to appease his better half.

The man society will have shapened , strangelled,

force fed its ideology, its power makes 

him inferior it encases his mind leaving

it shattered, so constantly tired.

The work will never end for the clocking, clock out 9-5er.

To maintain stability to impress the women , 

gone is his right for free expression,

his mind decays at the hands of the revolution.

But he loves her so , truely she is worth the sacrifice,

hes willing to lay his life at her feet, 

is it the woman's fault or his, for this problem.

Time quickens for the last,

the bells stop,

he sits reciting his poem of youth,

shes not listening , her musics loud,

then his heart stops,

The job lasted to long , but now its done.