michael frost
michael frost Poems
tripping through the light fantastic, where all the trees are made of plastic
rolling down from spansill hill, with pint in hand i never spill
crawling through the concrete ghettos, dodging chicks in sharp stilettos
cutting through all mindless games, burning up consumed by flames
...
a silver dawn approaching silently with a morning mist shrouding the days intentions,
a babbling brook whispering untold truths of far away places.
and i naked before the coming dawn stripped down to my bare essence.
the memory of a lovers sweet touch warms the core of my being and i am oblivious to the days early chill.
...
am i wrong or are you right, cant find the gloves to have that fight.
sun goes in clouds come out, rain of wisdom or shower of doubt.
dismount the horse and end the ride, no place to run no time to hide.
the child within is always bold, the righteous path is worn and old.
...
i'd like to take you far away some special place thats out of reach
but ive only got a tenner and enough petrol to drive you to the beach
so jump in beside me on this beautiful sunny day
im just checking my pockets for change for the motorway
...
a silent witness to a terrible crime
but i didn't see it i didn't have time
it was not really me in that terrible place
i did not see the blood spattered all over her face
...
The Best Poem Of michael frost
Tripping Through The Light Fantastic
tripping through the light fantastic, where all the trees are made of plastic
rolling down from spansill hill, with pint in hand i never spill
crawling through the concrete ghettos, dodging chicks in sharp stilettos
cutting through all mindless games, burning up consumed by flames
climbing through to the other side, sensing dangers but quick to hide
dancing round in search of bliss, a sniff a smoke a stolen kiss
running through the pouring rain, free from sin and all its pain
creeping through the world at night, no sign of fear o what a sight
spinning doing the light fandango, breakdance salsa a cheeky tango
tossing coins and making bets, reeling jigs and ancient sets
shooting through in one direction, mistaken roads lead to perfection
stabbing spikes and sticking skins, fragmented shards of glassy chins
breaking free from silly rules, my toolbox full of rusting tools
kicking through the minds perception, a ballot boxing landslide election
rushing home to make some tea, with boundless love in ecstasy
laughing hard at plastic ravers, with polo mints and shiny razors
smoking smokes that may cause cancers, adrift in clubs with sexy dancers
two fingers up for victory, a slave no more to mastery
ducking now and sometimes diving, my deaths not here its late arriving
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4/26/2024 1:30:58 AM # 1.0.0.1119
