The Humble Pen

What dreams we have
We share with the pen.
What love we find,
We share with the pen.
What happiness we find,
We share with the pen.

When our soul bleeds,
We find solace in the pen.
When our hearts are broken,
We find comfort in the pen.
When all hope is lost,
We find salvation in the pen.

And when we leave this mortal coil
We will leave the pen,
For our Children to pick up.

For the pen, is a rainbow,
For our dreams, hopes and fears

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poem by Steven Cooke
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Lovers Of A Storm

Old Friends that say hello
Who share a secret memory?
Away from the road now travelled

This love that hides in your eyes
Betrayed by the glint of a held back tear
This mystic bond that ties us together

And in a stolen moment, over a bottle of wine
The dream runs free
Dissolving the paths that we now tread

For deep within my soul
A world with an incorruptible sky
Plays host to a lovers imagination

Where the electricity from her touch
Gives birth to the storm
Her passion fuelling the Hurricane
Within me

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poem by Steven Cooke
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Love in all its Glory

Within the petals of the rose
Captured in the fragrance of the orchid
Nurtured by the holy water of love
Drenched in the sunlight of your being
My love is kept safe in the woman
That is you

Within your eyes there is a flame
Born of passion, fuelled by a sacred trust
A woman beyond Michael Angelo’s imagination
Beyond the dreams of first love.

Your face worthy of every love poem ever written
With a smile that my dreams can,
Play over and over again in a world,
That only you and I know

Where we can walk, hand in hand
Through dreams that have not yet spoken
Down paths where our emotions merge

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poem by Steven Cooke
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Love Under The Dollar

In kindle dreams her life retreats
With Botox swagger
And gel filled glory
A plastic rose
Hiding a once varicose being

A flower with a sting
Whose predatory ways
Leach off this sexual forest
Of spar infested vanity
Where youth is for the innocent
And cougars dine on essence divine
With triffid fingers and mosquito convulsions
Of unspoken ways for
The dollar will always pay

And when her thirst has gone
The dark of reality descends
Hiding the face of yesterday
Whose masquerade is left on morning pillow

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poem by Steven Cooke
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Seven Billion Reasons

Another baby born, another bushel of wheat
Another piece of land, for another family to eat

Another net is cast, another fish is caught
Another fire in the forest, another tree sought
Another bird flees, another bird gone
No home for the beast, diversity all gone

Crops in the amazon, Rivers clogged up
Flooding in cities, Seas on the up
Nature under pressure, Pollution the price
Shortage of wheat, Shortage of Rice
Temperature rising, Deserts expanding

Oil running out, the world is in doubt
War for resources, the west uses force
While the poor beg in cities
Victims of policies, Victims of atrocities

Seas that are empty, Bellies that are swelled

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poem by Steven Cooke
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Betrayal of Love

He cares not for conversation,
Though he moans all day
He is not handsome,
Yet beauty will seek him
He cares not for any one lover,
For he loves them all

My friend is ungainly,
And children run from him.
He cares not for broken hearts,
Or for poets dreams,
Though their pen would be silent, without him

His manners are questionable,
For he takes all, without asking
And they cannot refuse.

He grows fat from their offers,
But he always craves more,
For his lovers cannot resist,

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poem by Steven Cooke
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A tree grows in Avignon

Planted by a Soldiers hand,
She slept, while Europe blazed.
Bore silence through winters cull,
Captured in darkness, there to laze
Amongst the ruins of Avignon

Freed by the spring,
Guarded by the sun
Born in thunders drench
A seedling of hope for Avignon
Gave witness to unjust death,
Found her strength in summer’s breath.
Drank the blood of murders shame,
Grew fertile, her innocence to bear
Seduced by the bees of Avignon

Gave birth, to temptation
Casting forth her gift,
Amongst the ruin,

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poem by Steven Cooke
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Ghosts of War

Within the fog of did you see?
An old woman, made up to the nines
Can be seen in the corner of the non-believers eye
Purse in hand and a glass of wine
Waiting for a lover who never comes

Just shadows on the wall
Whispering names, through
Spiders silk, the inheritors
Of this forgotten, debutants ball

While Portraits glare at vacant laughter
An echoed waltz swirls
The embrace of loves decay,
Images now jailed within the Crystal shards
Of a fallen chandelier

A tear of Woman wears mourning face well,
This vigil Mask hiding mortality lost
Now broken and marking time,

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poem by Steven Cooke
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The Worker

Torn from sleeps oasis
The razor stings my mortal soul
A glance in the mirror to know I exist
For the face of god lies there
And behind this forced smile
A lunatic walks in the shadow of me

But within this admission
The asylum of my brain
Has a garden where sanity grows

For bound in chains we gather
Though wind and snow bar our way
Pouring through these asphalt veins
Clogged with cholesterol filled ambition

For Monday morning dines once more
On another workers soul
And all the while the tick of the clock
Winds down this drone

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poem by Steven Cooke
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The Tommies lot

While general's drink their claret wine
In taverns far behind the lines
The English Tommy spills another wine

On Flanders table made from mothers pride
In front of guns in faltered stride
The sweet wine of youth seeps away
Dragging dreams of tomorrows men
Into broken hearts to be remembered by she.
A vintage lost to you and me

And, when autumns harvest came
The Tommy was the crop,
The Somme and Verdun is where life was stopped
And when winter froze the ground
The Tommy slept with reaper sound
Content to die with enemies damned
Caressed by yesterday's ghosts in this Flanders land

When loved ones sent letters from home

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poem by Steven Cooke
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