Kevin Patrick Poems

If you want to be loved
Then learn to feel hurt
And if you ever swallowed trust
You'll pay for just desserts
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You walk pass men who make their homes
On park benches and street corners
And look away without dismay
While giving them your coldest shoulder
...

Sunday is the cruelest day of the week
It stretches monotony into a cloud soaked day
seeping the inebriation of Saturdays
for the firing squad of Mondays routines
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A Razors wind wails
Lashing from winters cruel whip
Piercing the silence
Over the pallid fields of
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Its hard for me to remember
that dress you wore in late September
when your smile still flared with summer
and your patented rustic charm
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Hold onto love
When it tries to slip through
In the net of a veil
Where vows drip with dew
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Tell me life is black and white
That there's a wrong and there's a right
Where good men never rot in graves
And villains always change their ways
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You strike without fair warning
breaking on waves of mourning
then teeter-totter
and helter-skelter
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The colour of anger is Red
Frustration connubial to Dread
The colour of love is Purple
Sanguine to Aphrodite's myrtle
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Caught beneath an axis of vicious symmetry
the bound fly squirmed
kicking, thrashing and hopelessly bashing
against a coffin of barbed wire silk
...