A Heart Content

From Canadian shore to English lime,
The Maple leaf, your pride in homeland true.
Serving Crown and Commonwealth in war time,
Then as a law enforcer boy in blue.

On greens, perfectly mown, more glory won,
Heavy woods curving inward to meet jack.
Bowls clattering between ends in the sun,
All dressed in white, never running back.

From Heart's Content, Worthing town became home
When Win joined you as a blushing sweet bride.
Grandchildren, great grandchildren one by one
Came along, our Nan with you by her side.

Each of us has life lessons from your hand fed,
Pops, Poppy, or simply put, good old Fred.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Destination Surrealistic Imagination

Paint and canvas,

pencils and water,

four simple things,

four keys to me.

Happiness reflected

in bright colours.

The sad times

come in dark hues.

The canvas doesn’t

question me.

Just goes with

the brush flow.

From canvas

I have no need to hide.

No pretence,

no bottling inside.

A friend with

no voice.

Yet can find

such powerful imagery.

Brush strokes

gentle and sensual

are as much part of me

as the harsh vigorous dabs.

A thousand words

a picture speaks,

consenting me with

the freedom to be.

Fine delicate lines

that lead the eye

on a journey

from reality.

Destination surrealistic imagination.

© Jem Farmer, all rights reserved.
Artwork: Salvador Dali

Leave Me Alone

Some days I get so angry with you, just let me be.
Those days I don’t thank you for not letting me die.
I just wanted to let go, from this hell be free.
Now it’s a struggle, a daily fight to get by.

You know my reasons, you say you understand.
How can you? How can you understand the black

inside me? I feel your hurt when I push away your hand,
each and every time my mind goes to a flashback.

I never know what each day will bring when I wake.
Will it be OK or will the memories sear through my mind.
Thanks to you I have no choice but to live with the heart ache,
What gives you the right to interfere? Do you think it kind?

Why did you stop me that night?
It could all be over now, to more battles to fight.

© Jem Farmer, all rights reserved.

Pumping For Love

Girl my heart is pumping for love.

Longing to find my desire within you.

I'm down on my knees girl, only you,

Inhaling the scent that binds us two.

Girl my heart is pumping for love.

You leave me hanging each time you walk away.

Build my hunger, angel, I yearn for the day,

you take my hand for your pleasure to play.

Girl my heart is pumping for love.

My princess, setting my senses aflame.

Constant pressure, the urges to keep tame.

No not till you say, its driving me insane.

Girl my heart is pumping for love.

I await the day you set my love free.

Sate my desire, I am begging thee.

Tease me angel, don't torment me.

© Jem Farmer, all rights reserved.

One Hell of a Mate

Um err what! I think maybe I have lost the plot.
Been trying to battle with that damn writer's block.
Looking everywhere for a spark, a smidgen not a lot.
Would look in my box but can't open the lock.

My brain is asleep, I'm going absolutely mad,
so scarpered last night to my cold studio and paint.
The garden shed by torchlight is my own little pad.
Messed with colours opaque, bright and translucent.

That's a terrible rhyme Jem, for goodness sake.
Not going to even try with formality or form,
Give up... no way this is for Jeff, a hell of a mate.
So a 'poem' to give him a grin larger than norm.

Still messing with paint it didn't help much
but got a few sketches to build into to a frame.
Fantasy my art is an escapism if you need such.
Beats landscapes that all look the same.

Then just after lunch I sign on to AP, to look awhile,
There is Jeff, hooray, so click, I read all his stuff,
Like a jester is he, now I am guaranteed to smile.
I can never imagine our Jeff is in anyway gruff.

A contest, you git, now I got to try and write funny,
and I bet you are sat there snickering, you dastardly hound,
Waistcoat blazing bright, challenging this here hunny!
Maybe I should just write as I speaks as that's a weird sound.

So forgetting all sense, and rhyme too, I'll write as I speaky.
All I really wants to says is Jeff a big thank you babe,
For chirping me chipper each day when I'm down and peaky.
You is a gent with style and class, and one hell of a mate.

Hellfire and britches that last bit almost does rhyme
And it wasn't meant too, well slap my butt and call me Charlie,
Maybe the muse is returning, it's about bloody time,
Now I'm stuck what goes with Charlie ... maybe rusks of Farley!

© Jem Farmer, all rights reserved.