The Birth of a Planet - A dedication to an amazing group of writers and a very fun year.

The Birth of a Planet

Many millions of years ago,

or so it seems,

a planet was born.

A brand new delivery:

 The first in the galaxy of SMC.

 Particles

drawn together by a force:

the need to compile,

create, compose

poetry and prose.

Particles collide

share and confide

and side by side,

they form a planet.

Christened 125

it thrives:

animated by imagination,

inspired by words.

All are welcome on this planet

by rights

Bloggers, Poets, cynics,

And the wearers of yellow tights.

Even Hufflepuffs

are admitted

As long as they are committed

There is no gravity on this planet,

In this room,

where writers bloom,

all of whom

I will miss. 

Just an extract from something quite a bit longer and significantly more depressing that I wrote

You get lost inside story worlds to protect yourself, those inside your head and on written pages. You wish you could be like the characters in a novel, created and controlled by some unbidden force, that of the author. You feel that life would be so much simpler this way. Then you curse yourself, because what, really, is an author if not a God? Molding his people to be whom he wants, setting their paths clearly ahead of them, allowing no alternative. No, an author is worse than a God, an author can murder and destroy what you grasp onto relentlessly and without consequence. He can manipulate your emotions and drag you into a world that you cannot escape from, that resides in your memory far after you have laid down to rest. He keeps you awake at night. You envy him.

Planet 125 Video

The Northern Lollipop

Because of what I was born

It is expected of me

To be taken by the stick

And to be eaten clean

It’s not much of a feat

And so short a life span

And to make it worse

I was born a Northern’

I don’t want to be bought

I don’t want to stay

I just want to live

I want to run away

And yet I have no legs

Not even one limb

I cannot climb from this jar

And most definitely can’t swim

I am told by my friends

‘Ya shun’t be so sad!

To dream of such things

It will send you flippin’ mad!’

But one day, you’ll see

I’ll leave this horrid glass jail

I’ll fly past shooting stars

Like a warrior, I shall prevail!

But for now, I sit and dream

In this silly little sweetie-shop

I cannot move, I cannot leave

For I am just a lollipop

R