Short Journey

I got me two small nickles and a diamond ring,
A bag on my back, and a short verse to sing.
Got the clothes on my body, and shoes on my feet,
Gonna keep on a walking, don’t know who I’ll meet.
A harmonica in my pocket, the wind in my hair,
A long straight road ahead leading to nowhere.
The dawn is behind me, the dusk is ahead,
A small bunch of leaves to make as a bed.
I got a soul deep down, and a dance in my heart,
Done a few short miles, it’s good for a start.
There are long miles ahead, just awaiting for me,
Got that song locked inside, gotta find that old key.
I will carry on walking ’til my feet are sore,
Red and raw ’til I can’t walk no more.
And all I know is at the end of the night,
When I'm back in your arms and holding you tight.

I wrote this one the other day - I wrote 4 of them in one go and they're in a series of similar poems. Anyways, less talk, more type!
(ps. there are a couple of swears in this, my bad!)


Back Alley Wonder

You like the smell of stale cologne,
It sits on your cheek where it don't belong.
That mattress placed upright against the wall,
Don't knock it too hard, or it gonna fall.

A drag on that fag that smells like #,
Cheap and nasty, you take another hit.
Squatters rights and ASBO kids,
You don't care as long as you take bids.

Back Alley Wonder, the wolf whistles cry,
You're well known to every other guy.
Hitch up that skirt, strut like you do,
Tonight is 3 guys, stuck to you like glue.

Unpolitically Correct, you thieve and lie,
The back alleys call your name, and then you die,
Just a little more inside,
There's no meaning to truth and pride.

Back Alley Wonder, the wolf whistles cry,
You're well known to every other guy.
Hitch up that skirt, strut like you do,
Tonight is 3 guys, stuck to you like glue.

A slut, a whore, the diseased ridden bitch,
Many a name, to your persona is stitched.
You got nothing, not a dime to your name,
You don't seem to care, you hide in your fame.

Ten green bottles, sitting on the wall,
Miss Wonder will take a Great Fall.
The Back Alley Wonder, unknown to the Day,
Gonna die a nasty death in a very bad way.

Ooh, I gots 4 stars, yey! Lol!

Ok, I've attempted a War Poem. Think tin hats and rusty webbing, hopefully I've done this justice

Wilting Poppies

Corporal John, caught in the line of fire,
Because his bergen got caught on wire.
In full view, visible to the eye,
Of course Corporal John was afraid to die.

He looks back to the safety of the trenches,
Daydreaming, but soon reality pinches.
At the bloodied skin on his face,
It winds him back down into his place.

He can see his comrades, who were hard at trying,
Of grabbing him by the webbing, not afraid of dying.
And pulling back out of harms way,
But no one is brave enough, needless to say.

Bullets and Mortar, flying over his head,
It's a miracle at how he yet isn't dead.
Burying himself deeper into the ground,
Whichever way, he'll be either lost or found.

"Dear God, I never believed in you much before,
But please hear me out, don't close your door.
I don't really want to die today,
But I know it'll come, whatever the day.

Please, I beg, don't let it hurt much,
I fought for my country, to save them as such.
From all the bad's and all the wrongs,
I never have killed, here I don't belong.

I was given no answers, I had no choice,
Dragged from my home without my own voice.
Please, take me home to my wife,
And there I will live, and get on with my life.

Please stop the war, for it's our greatest enemy,
Turning good men bad, help them go free.
And be it years, Decades or Centuries,
Our poppies remain, wilting and growing, for eternity."