Biography of John Madger
I am not a poet, nor am I a writer. I have never been to school or gone to workshops or clubs to learn about writing and poetry. I simply write down what I feel at the time. I do read a lot, which I’m sure subconsciously inspires me to take the jumble of words that are spinning around in my head, and put them in order.
I have no dilutions that any of my work will go down as “great works of our age” or anything like that. The reason I started to put stuff out for people to read was, I wanted friends and family to have a better idea of what was going on in my world. I posted some up on this site because I have read the work of so many other people here and I thought it only fair that I contribute something. I truly have been inspired by everyone I have read. Some works I like, some I don’t. All have opened my mind to a different way of thinking and have inspired me in many ways and on many levels. Writing to me is the best way to express my thoughts and feelings. I have never been good at verbalizing myself. I always tend to twist my own words around and make it difficult for others to understand where I’m coming from. When I write, I can think at my own speed and look to see how it sounds before it is spoken. Perhaps one day I may become a bit more well spoken, that is surly a goal that I am attempting to reach. But until that day I write. And will most likely continue to write. I enjoy it. I will continue to read and be inspired. I will continue to be me.
John Madger Poems
To Love And Hate The Rain
I love and hate you like the rain, The joy of life, the bringer of pain, Clean and beautiful, an autumns’ delight,
A Heart To Carry
How do you feel with out a heart? How do you see, breathe, hear, or touch? The only way for one to know is have lost their heart. How does someone loose ones heart?
What should I do? Where should I go? Where am I?
As I sit and ponder I feel amiss, for the woman I love wonders alone, As she journeys through trial and tribulation she feels cold, cold and lacking Lacking and yearning for the joy of her life. I try to imagine a deed I may do, to help guide her away form the toil of desperation.
Through My Own Eyes
Through my own eyes I have seen many things, I have seen the horror of pain and agony, I have seen the joy of love and exhilaration,
What should I do?
Where should I go?
Where am I?
I look and look, and fail to see, fail to hear,
When I speak, no one answers, no one hears,
Do they see me? Can they hear me?
What should I do?