Where does virtue end and vice begin? Boundaries are born and live within. Busybodies sport suspicious smiles, Feelings full of folders full of files.
Love at first sight Is a fanciful flight For the freedom it brings Hangs on Icarus wings.
Never Too Late
The best and the worst of my mind Is boiling in chambers below And frozen neath blankets of snow The best and the worst must be mined. Or melted by love Or triggered by hate And always too soon But never too late.
Rise and Fall
Everything turns to dust Even emotions rust For what is a feeling but A voice from an ageing gut. Hoarse from the rancid screams Of faded and fractured dreams And death is a late night call To feel is to rise and fall.
The Last Defences
Spare a thought for pretty faces: Proof that looks can’t kill. Lust is leaving bitter traces, Envy has its fill. Symmetry arrests the senses, Ancient passions flare, Lust destroys the last defences: ‘Love’ is in the air.
Our doubt is our passion and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of...– Henry James
In the searing heat of passion We are strangers to ourselves Yet so rarely we explore the beast inside. Dr. Jekyll did not heckle Mr. Hyde.
The vicious voice of anti-choice The bellowing of blame Only wicked minds can wield The rusty sword of shame. Unburdened by compassion Emboldened by belief They cut the cords of empathy And shut the gates of grief.
The Silvery Shore
Is this the stricken shoreline Where dreams come to drown? Half-eaten and torn by time They petition the moon With pious pleas.
Revered upon Reflection
The push and pull A glass half-filled with reason. The ancient lull Of silence bound in treason. I think, therefore I dance around intention. I slam the door On destitute invention. A restless ape Encumbered by projection. An animal Revered upon reflection.
Up Fly the Shoots!
Melody tickles In delicate trickles Of sound, Rousing the roots From a seasonal burial ground. Up fly the shoots of a dream! Humming along with the stream. Oh! And a river grows near Gently the flowers appear Wave upon wave of intent When will the colours be spent?
Do you feel relief When you challenge my belief? Does testing my resolve Provide the power to absolve You of your grief? Blind ignorance refined By such a chaste and narrow mind Is sure to sting. But shallow poisons die Among the words that wish to fly And long to sing. You man the sniper’s nest But every scar upon my breast Reveals the truth. Your mind is deathly old And your...
Free to Conform
You are free to conform With our rules. You are free to be fools When your folly is falling in line. We are free to confine.
Skies of Marble Blue
It’s been a while, old friend The movies in my mind Grow grainy with the passing Of cold, relentless time. I think of you some nights And play the hopeful fool In wishing beauty for you When so much life is cruel. I’ve grown a thicker shell I had no other choice To flee indoctrination And find, again, my voice. You taught me to believe And now, old friend, I do I’ll see you in the...
The Love Between the Pain
Connections lost and found but not returned. Pages set alight but never burned. Storytellers lie to entertain, Looking for the love between the pain.
‘This is a soulless city’ Said the tourist Plodding along Keeping pace with his thoughts. I wondered about his home A small-town boy Missing the warmth Of public private lives.
Priorities Priorities Ignore the mute majorities The helpless and the broken With wistful dreams unspoken. Priorities Priorities Of powerful minorities Who fear the rains of reason In this, and every season.
A radius of guilt A circle of remains Can you see the innocence Among the blackened stains? A soldier in a chair A player in a game Shielded from the stench of blood Protected from the shame. The hit-lists are compiled The pictures are perused And truth is swiftly targeted When power is abused.
Limited signed CDs available
Greetings from sunny Brixton. :) For anyone interested in getting a signed copy of my debut album Drifters, the link is now live on my music page: http://www.conorebbs.com/music.cfm If you have any problems, drop me an email or message me. I am not Amazon, so please allow a little time for shipping. As promised, each copy is €10, and they are limited in number. Featuring artwork by Linda Coogan...
Dreams of Dust
The stories we design The stories we endure Taller tales see further Preaching the impure. The stories we recall The memories we trust Fickle flights of fancy Dying dreams of dust.
Shadowmen are killing dreams With daggers made of gold They slash the painter’s palette Retract, and wait, and hold. Dependent on distraction They teach us how to feel And wound with propaganda But not too deep to heal. Retrieve your right to question Be loyal to the truth The shadowmen wield power But power yields to youth.
Monetise, monetise Profits must be made Monetise, monetise Players should be paid. Monetise, monetise We decide the rules Monetise, monetise Players must be fools.
Another Penny Fell
Subway glances Street romances Parts we never play. Fantasising Dreams revising Lines we never say. Another penny fell Into the wishing well.
A Tree Apart
A tree apart from the canopy Blossoming bountifully Whispers to weighty clouds: Rain upon those in need And, if you can, Spare some drops for me.
A Rock Alone
A rock alone Water on all sides A cliff outgrown Beckoning the tides. A sculptor blind Water in her hands A rock refined Bold and free it stands.
One of the beginnings of human emancipation is the ability to laugh at...– Christopher Hitchens
The Coming Collision
Division Division The coming collision Is driven by conscience-free men Who tell us again and again That fear is our friend.
A motivated mountebank A money-grabbing soul Gives tainted consolation By filling in the gaping hole of grief An actor in the leading role of thief Who digs up buried treasure With fiction fit to measure The depths of our despair The silence that we share.
Out of the Blue
Out of the blue Came a dose of the flu A couple of weeks ago. A saboteur silent With sneezing so violent I feared that my brain might blow. Grey matter upon the wall Does this really matter at all? Vitamin C Is a good friend to me Soup is a brother in arms. I’m compelled to report I would swear this in court: Coffee retains all its charms. A stimulant with a fee Consumed so to...
Memories hide Memories crust Memories slide Memories rust. I recall you Beautiful still Summer surrounds Never a chill. But for the wind Bitter it blows Memories fade Sadness, it shows.
Jubilee 60 years Cup of tea? Philip’s ears.