Ghoul Days

Beckoned by a phobia
fear appears
inside the mind
where images
of trampled earth
mix with melancholy
in a playground
filled with children.

Life shies away from myths
of eternity and bliss
distracted by thoughts
that float away
careless of ambiguity
before they decay
compromised by lies
in alcoves where alibis hide.

The avenue to truth
is closed
as the whack of an axe
chops dying trees
with screaming leaves
and inside an urn
cadaverous lilies
limply rot.

Dealing with Demons

Thoughts escape
as silent echoes
of wistful yearnings
that ebb and flow
then slip back again
fretful and forgetful.

Waves grow with the wind
currents change
and passions incandescence
begins to fade
a fragile love
that failed to last
and passed
with the coolness of a kiss.

The glittering strobe
mouths open and close
gaily greeting
with ingratiating grins
platitudes and cocaine cocktails
parodies of pleasantries
and unkind eyes
that perceive and scrutinize.

fleetingly meet
a melody surges, swells
then changes
to a syncopated beat
as the future fades
slyly wondering
into the whimsy of the night.


I remember the fear
and the cold
inside an old annexe
at a guesthouse
with a long corridor
made of wood.

I hoped
to ride a horse
while walking
down a track
bordered by tall eucalypts
to a shop made of logs.

At a golf house
Mrs Renee Sullivan
screamed with laughter
and talked incessantly
at my mother
who politely listened.

I played golf
climbed to the cross
at the top of a mountain
with Renee’s son
then careered down
between the trees.

Digital Lives

A bird sings
in the tranquility of a moment
as the sun rises
over canned compliments
scrambled egos
and lonely words.

Deliriously domesticated
ordinary people
collectively deluded
and programmed
by propaganda
and the dirty tricks
of politics.

Ideas sprout
like mushrooms after rain
and fade like echoes
that merge as thoughts
or memories
before decomposing
in someone’s clothes.

Forgetful days
scattered with ash
and cold animosities
by twitching leaves
on the branches
of discontented trees.

An assignation
inside a bedroom
with manicured hands
clean white skin
and stylish stubble
in an unwed bed.

Ghosts of the day
give way to gloom
in the solitude
between street lights
where amorphous shapes
until defined by the dawn.

Memories of fireflies
in the evening
beside a pond
disdainful of the rain
not far
the sound of footsteps
a snapping twig.

Jousting with Beelzebub

Every evening
shadows anonymously die
in the fading light
disillusioned by contemptuous eyes
the hypocrisy of amorality
inherited aggression
and disenchantment
with posturing politicians.

Dismembered moments
incompatible views
despicable despots
kings of sin
streamlined lies
the desolation of despair
outrage and dismay
persisting before disintegrating
like threads of a spider’s web.

Human sausage meat
fresh flowers dying in vases
a solitary song
surrounded by the lilt of sound
devotees of profligacy
breeding needs
chasing demons
deceived by hopes
with nothing left but emptiness.

My Life in Orbit – Short Story Poetry Reading by Ken W Simpson (plus interview)

Originally posted on WILDsound Writing and Film Festival Review:

Watch the Short Story Reading of MY LIFE IN ORBIT:

Story performed by Geoff Mays

Get to know writer Ken W. Simpson:

1) What is the theme of your poem?

It is a memoir

2) How would you like people to respond when they read or watch your poetry reading?

Live it with me.

3) How long have you been writing poetry?

I began with stories fifty years ago, and poetry about fifteen years ago.

4) Do you have a favorite poet?

Favorite poet, T S Eliot, favorite writer, Raymond Chandler.

5) What influenced you to submit to WILDsound and have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

I write to communicate, and aim to have my poetry heard as well as read.

6) Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

Only poetry.

7) What is your passion in life?

Writing poetry.

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