Monday, 30 July 2012

Poem for Today - Running Scared


I can hear the breath on my neck!
Taking flight before the dawn light
Feet tiring under the weight
Air racing in and out of my lungs
Mocking me at every turn
When did I enlist the wrath?
Falling down into a pit
Putrid air filled rooms
Final breath

Thursday, 26 July 2012

What is Poetry?

Poetry to me is en expression of self and an emotive release of life. The ebb and flow of daily or life experience that follows a few rules or no rules at all.

To Rhyme or not to rhyme ! That is the question!

Well to me as a purist I like rhyme in my poetry as is evedent by my work. But I also like to read the emotion in the words and the rhyme can not be forced. Good poetry flows like silk in the breeze and is written with an air of ease, forced rhyme can be seen and although has the poetic reference lacks humanity and emotion. Good, bad or indifferent emotion it is all good. I have often written prose whilst crying and drooling snot from my face and at other times been in total silence and sullen as well as with my headphones on listening to Dope or Metalica or Mudvane but I must admit my all time fav is the last great Ronny James Dio who was a master of the poetic verse.

Either way poetry should envoke emotion in the reader, I have often cried whilst reading a poem and clapped out aloud to myself! That is poetry in my opinion.

Do I have to rhyme
all of the time

To show you my life
with all its strife

I am not sure you see
But how can this be

Poetry is about you
In whatever you do

There is no reason
To be guided by season

As its what you feel
that makes it real

So go on and try 
You don't have to aim high

Just try I dare you not
Coz once you try you will not stop!


Wednesday, 25 July 2012

My Other Blog spot for Novels and Short stories

This is my Other Blog spot for Novels and short stories but be warned it is dark and full of horror and fun!

The one stop place for Serial Killings, Murder, revenge, and psychotic behaviour!
Also Sci-Fi and paranormal demons and the dark side!

These are all in my head waiting to be released for your reading pleasure.

If you have an idea for a short story please let me know I love a challenge!!!!!!!

Monday, 23 July 2012

If Emotions were Colours - Poem for today

If emotions were colors
What would they be?
Read on my friends
And you will see!
If love feels pure, forever and right
Then it’s easy to see
That loves color, must be white
Anticipation has its cons and pros
With speed and hurry as a goal
Then its color can surly only be Rose
So Envy is always best not seen
It makes good sense then
That its color is deep emerald Green
Anger is associated with dread
And again it’s easy
The color therefore has to be Red
Surprise is hard, so what to do
Go with your instincts
And choose and beautiful sky Blue
Boredom is one I can’t understand
So to give it a color
It must be pale yellow and bland
Panic is one that makes me think
But with all that movement
It just has to be Pink
Lust is one I have to highlight
So beautiful and raw
It just has to be Violet
Disgust is silent and often not true
It is full of self loathing
And so is a mix of Purple and Blue
Trust is always good and clean
With no inhibitions at all
So my color for you is Lime Green
Fear is something I do not lack
And it follows me around at night
So its deep, dark foreboding Black
Happiness is the one to behold
And there is no other color to say
But beautiful bright shining Gold!

Copywrite - Graeme Hawke 2012

Sunday, 22 July 2012

Join Me - My latest dark poem

Join Me

My life is full of ups and downs
And it’s lonely here when you’re not around

Why won’t you come and stay with me?
If you do you will most certainly see

That in my darkness there is room for two
And I simply must insist it be you.

There is nowhere to run and nowhere to hide
I will find you and have you by my side

For millennia now I have waited upon my throne
Sitting in the darkness of my soul all alone

Together we can do so much more than exist
We can ensure the suffering of others will persist

The queen of cold and vile sitting at my side
Will ensure the veil of death and despair will reside

Come and share your putrid flesh with the world
And let mortals see the beauty I have so long beheld

Copywrite Graeme Hawke July 2012

Saturday, 21 July 2012

Poem of today - "Like A Stone"


Like a polished stone I have a life
My time starts from heat and strife
The pressure it moulds and shapes
And leaves me part of a huge landscape
But as time passes I find my way
And in one spot I rarely stay
With the wind and rain as my guides
I take on new facets in huge strides
Time is nothing but fire and ice
With the passing I lose another slice
My outer shell is cracked and worn
And from my birthplace I am torn
I am now only half that what I used to be
And there is less and less for you to see
But I am unique, an individual to behold
A gem I was thousands of years past told
I had started out to be loose and earthly
But a millennium of life and now I’m wealthy
I have lived and seen a million seasons
To see man evolving with unknown reasons
And as a simple stone I found my way
To be with my family where I will stay
A precious gem never more to be alone
Not a bad ending for a humble stone

Copy write Graeme Hawke 2012

Friday, 20 July 2012

Poem of today - I Would!

I would!

Its days like today that make us think
As we look back and ponder life
I imagine where I would be today
If you weren’t my wife

I would not get to see your beauty
Sagging under gravity Each and every day
I would not get to kiss those lips
That looks like a cat’s ass coming my way

I would miss having to squeeze past
Your ample ass to get to the fridge door
So I could make you those meals
To add girth to those hips some more

I would have damaged hearing
Because without the plugs I wear
To drown out your constant drone
I would never know when you’re near

I would be mentally stable and fit for work
But instead I am home caring for you
Living off welfare and handouts
Just so you can complain you have nothing to do

I would be rich of mind and wallet as well
Instead I have nothing to show for my lifetime
But a closet full of your clothes and shoes
That used to fit once upon a time

I would be a smiling happy man
If I could get a word in a conversation
But I do what I am told always
And sit back and lament with reservation

I would be happy if sex wasn’t like the dentist
It’s as tedious and painful as pulling teeth
I thought it was supposed to be fun
But then I never know I’m always underneath

I would be a ecstatic if you fell
Hit the ground and split your head
The blood seeping slowly on the step
As I slept in the comfort of my single bed

I would be jumping for joy if you left
If you took off with another man
To torment and cause so much pain
And you left me with my limited time span

I would sing from the highest point
If you were on life support in intensive care
And It was my decision alone that caused
You to take your last breathe of air

I would pay someone to change you
Out of your diapers Morning and night
While I sold all your clothes and shoes
Hit the town, got drunk and started a fight

I would be a happy man if I knew back then
What I know now today
I would have dated your girlfriend
Been happy instead of claiming I was gay

I would be a happy man if you were nice
Where in the rule book does it say?
Treat him with distrust and hate
It’s no wonder I write poetry to get away

Thursday, 19 July 2012

New Poem - "The Painted Smile"

The Painted Smile

Your job is to turn ugly frowns around
With your painted face, nose applied
You hide behind masks safe n sound
Is this the only way you can hide?

With a face as white as new fallen snow
Eyes that look at me with perpetual surprise
A painted smile so the sadness won’t show
No-one sees the silent sad tears he cries

But behind the facade is a monster in wait
He smiles and beckons you in his dank lair
That smells of old booze and oil face paint
Come on in and spend time if you dare

Behind those sad happy face drawn eyes
And a chin that is unshaven and bloated
There are a life time of hurt, pain and lies
That to the world at large is sugar coated

Is he evil or a sad man misunderstood?
Trying to eke out an existence in life
To find a love someone else if he could
Be lucky and stay out of trouble and strife

We all look on and stare at the painted man
Wanting to laugh with him but laughing at him
His clothes like a multicoloured oversize caftan
Not reflecting the shadows he lives in so dim

I smile and wave when you see one from now
Look on with ride and laugh not look down
Because if you don’t laugh you may have to bow
Before the dark, evil perpetual smile, of the clown!

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

A Peom about the day my mother died in November 2010

I wrote this poem a short while after mum passed 
and I still miss her to this day! 

Monday, 16 July 2012

Jack be Nimble - Not your usual nursery rhyme!

Jack Be Nimble

Jack be nimble,
Run jack as fast as you can
 Because you need to escape the muffin man!
The muffin man!
Yes the muffin man, he lives on Drury lane.
Jack be quick,
Run Jack don’t lag behind
He’ll take your down below
Where he bakes all night
The ovens white hot and aglow
Where little Jack Horner
Sits in his corner
Sharpening his blade upon a stone.
Saying over and over to himself
What I good boy am I!
Jack jump over the fence and run
Or you will be removing Horner’s thumb
But on it will not sit a plumb
It will be your heart that beats one last time
By the light of but one single source
The candlestick

© All books and poetry copyright of Graeme Hawke (and all nom deplumes) plagiarising is punishable by law

Friday, 13 July 2012

Poem for Friday the 13th - The All Father

All Father

I am the one to whom you turn
The one who hears your cries
The one who watches you burn

I am the one to whom your pray
To hear your pleas and plotting
The one who can enlighten your day

I am the one to whom you attain
The one who bleeds you nightly
The one who pleasures in pain

I am the one to whom you sacrifice
The one who ensures eternal strife
The one who does beguile and entice

I am the one to whom you die
The one who in ecstatic throws you call
The one who is an eternal lie

I am the one to whom you render
The one who your serve unbound
The one who can put you asunder

I am the one in whose name you kill
The one you appease with death
The one who controls your will

I am the one to whom you lauder
The one you see in the darkness of soul
I am the one and only “All Father”

Copywrite Graeme Hawke

Thursday, 12 July 2012

Ok so I have an Offer for you all who have read my work so far. I have a book of my peotry at

Ramblings of a cluttered Mind

Paperback, 101 Pages
Price: $10.00
Ships in 3-5 business days
Welcome aboard the Crazy Train that is my life. I have been writing poetry now for over 30 years and I still get a buzz out of putting pen to paper. My life has been one of Love, loss, divorce, marriage and then marriage again. I love and continue to suffer family, death, pets, children and depression. I absolutely love my life so far, but having Bulimia for 30 years has taken its toll on me, both mentally and physically. I have a fun and flippant side as well as a dark brooding side, both of which you will encounter on this journey into my cluttered mind. I hope you enjoy my work I have been published and also spoken word poetry for radio and in social settings or sanctioned readings. I like to challenge the normal and hit at the visual so to take you not only on a journey of words but mind images as well. I find descriptive text to be more powerful than pictures alone. I am an average Aussie male 47 years old with a beautiful wife and two amazingly different and independent daughters.

Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.  

You can also find the eBook version of this here!

Support independent publishing: Buy this e-book on Lulu.

New Poem ANGST

This is a poem I wrote after feeling down and blue.

What’s happening?
Why can’t I breathe?
Pain in my jaw
Like a baby trying to teethe

The strain in my muscles
The fear in my heart
The rush of blood in my ears
My pressure is off the chart

Are you looking at me?
If you are I can’t see you
Stop staring and accusing
There is nothing I can do

The tension in my tendons
Nerves buzzing like torrent seas
Pushing out thru fingers tips
Like electrically charged bees

The weight on my chest
Holding, pinning me below
Like laying in a think inky soup
Drowning in a pool, so shallow.

Can so-one help me to understand?
The feelings I have inside me
And allow the real me to stop fighting
And hold my hand to set me free

Anxiety, worry, distress, torment, unease
These are all things I fight against
In this life of malaise and apprehension
In my prison made of my own ANGST!

© All books copyright of Graeme Hawke (and all nom deplumes) plagiarising is punishable by law and I will!

Wednesday, 11 July 2012

Below is a short story I have written based on a sculpt on the

The Wanderer

Bo’tha looked out of the cragged entrance to the cave as harsh silicates flew past at speeds that would take the flesh from his bones. Wind storms like these were common place on the Me’toch plains and he pondered the last year of his life as a nomad roaming these hard and at times deadly grounds.  The mouth of the cave although offering shelter from the wind storm was still open and he had to be on his guard, other Verilians could use it, marauders not the peaceful wanderers as him, or a spine back Tru’och. Those things are nasty and the armour plate they have is ideally suited for the harsh conditions, there is a sweat spot just under the chest plate or the soft underbelly but to get a clear shot at this is unusual so tending to his hunting bow to ensure working order is a must.

The storm soon past and Bo’tha made his way into the world again squinting as he looked up at the two suns in the sky, one a distinct white ball with a yellow hue the other a dull red glow that is constant and unrelenting. It’s lucky the pigmentation of his skin can adjust for the ultraviolet rays that bombard the planet’s surface. As he steps into world that is his an eerie calm ensues and he knows that his walk will be a long one today, the hills and valleys he must traverse at times unrelenting and obscure, but he must it is the way of his people. He must endure the plains for survival. Keeping to the outcrops as much as possible to stay in cover from the suns and also bandits Bo’tha sees a herd of Dura’ these six legged beasts are good eating and feed off the spiny Thran bush, a source of salt and nutrients to these herbivorous creatures. Taking his bow in hand he watches the herd and only wants the old or infirmed, to take the strongest is to remove the bloodline needed to keep the herd healthy and strong for years to come.  He spots an older female on the outer periphery a group feeding on a small patch to his left in a sunny outcrop. As he takes aim the beast looks up at him and beckons the coming projectile and he targets the beast just under the jaw piercing it through the major artery slaying the grateful animal. The others run and an audible sound is bellowed from the gut of one of the beasts as it warns of danger to the surrounding herd. Bo’tha makes his way slowly to the slain prize and removes two of the legs, a hind and for quarter, as these are the sweetest meets. He then slits the beast open and splays the insides on the ground around the prone carcass a tradition practiced to ensure the remainder of the animal is taken back into the ground as nutrients for future generations. The smell, coppery and pungent beckons not just the land it seems, but also a lone Tru’och, this is not good and as Bo’tha gently places the meat upon the ground and retrieves his bow he knows it’s a fifty, fifty chance he will make it out of this alive, let alone with injury. He studies the deadly beast and sees it is scarred many times from battle and what looks like a wanderers bolt tip embedded in its thick neck and chest plate. He moves on backward facing legs slowly but steadily as is the reason for the three toed feet he thinks to himself almost amusingly as he takes hold of the ground with his toes to gain extra balance. He cycles around slowly feeling for his sharp bone knife at his hip and places it in his mouth, the taste of fresh blood still upon the weapon. He lines up the unwanted guest and never loses contact with its four eyes. As he slowly moved right away from danger two of the dark piercing orbs never leave his, while the other two eye up the free meal at its feet.
He can see the anticipation in the drool as it leaves the leathery lips draining through three inch tusks set out at an angle on the bottom jaw and two piercing canines of similar size in its top jaw as it snarls at him. “Now I have to shoot now” he thinks to himself and the bolt flies into the dangerous foe, a hit yes but only into the bone of the left foreleg he missed the area between armour and bone for a kill shot. The wounded attacker lunges at Bo’tha head down in a sweeping upward curve trying to impale his groin with the lower tusks but he is too agile for the beast and tho almost comedic to watch his body leaps and turns in ways only a cefinic body can the internal joints to his hollow frame although extremely tough and durable and light and agile allowing him to spin left and over danger as it raises towards him. The knife in his mouth now flashes in his left hand, bow dropped moments before the manoeuvre and the swift action allows him to thrust the six inch blade into the soft under parts between neck and limb. The sound of death not as enjoyable for the Tru’och as it screams loud before death and it was not until complete death that Bo’tha released his grip.
Looking down at the carnage he felt a stab of pain and as he looked down he saw the viscous green tell tale that he was injured, a shoulder barb embedded itself in his mid section when he clambered on the beast back. He looked around and finding a yellowish moss he jammed the fungal, vegative growth in the wound and made good his weapons and the meat to continue his trek. The rest of the light hours before the red hue of night were uneventful and his leathery skin was already healing over the wound holding the moss in his body as a natural healing agent. The meat cut into strips were dried in the sun and baked on heated rocks, a fitting feast for a normal day for a wanderer.

Tuesday, 10 July 2012

Poem of the day

Profound Mortality

The incoherent voices that cloud my mind
Are singing a tune cast from before mankind

I bitter and twisted chord that does not rhyme
Written and told since the dawn of know time

A palpable coldness that taunts ones own ears
Played upon bleeding heartstrings to enhance fears

The decaying words trail off like died up tears
As will my body wither away with untold years

The lies and corruption thick like vitreous tar
Mar my thoughts of a time and place from afar

 They hold me here in a diabolical wordless cage
Where I am not free to talk or otherwise engage

I must listen to the babble of childish taunts
Deep from within my own mind that it haunts

The insidious way in which it claws my skin
Is only equalled by the way it seeps deep within

The cold, dark, lifeless maleficent shadow of man
The only physical item left, to define me as human

As the purification of a life lost from stagnant pyre
Drains out of gods’ holy womb, as a world ending fire.

Take a good look around at what we have all become
A society of prayers who are willing to succumb

So take control of your destiny before the sand run dry
And make something of yourself before you die