Like raindrops made of lead

Filling you with dread

I’d rather be anywhere else instead


What a terrible terrible sound

One that quakes and shakes the ground

Leaving dead bodies all around


With giant balls of flames

The outcome is always the same

The fire driving men insane


Like raindrops from the sky

Received with arms open wide

Its time to do or to die

The Icognito Writer

No Mercy

No mercy for the weak

No favor for the poor

No grace for the lost at heart

This world is a closed door

I said no mercy for the weak

And no favour for the poor

Find yourself if you are lost at heart

Cause you’re world is a closed door

Be careful my little child

The world is dangerous out there

Just sit down and wait a while

I’ll be right here

There’s no mercy for the weak

We’ve forgotten those that are poor

No memory of the lost at heart

Where are their open doors?

But its your turn my little child

You no longer live in fear

So now you can finally smile

And I’ll always be right here

The Icognito Writer

Happiness Is

Happiness is a joy

That everyone deserves

It feels the heart

With love and warmth

Happiness is a feeling

That none can forget

It is a reason

To laugh and smile

But to some happiness is a privilege

One they don’t have

A smile is a miracle

Seen once in a blue moon

Happiness is a curse

For those with broken hearts

It reminds them of the past

When they were hurt

For me happiness is itself

The word in whole

A feeling thats fleeting

But comes again

Happiness is a joy

But its also a sadness

A blessing and a curse

Beauty in its madness


The Icognito Writer: IBMC Ten – The Happiness Challenge

Revisit: Time

Time is off the essence

That is what’s often said

But time can’t bring to remembrance

Those who are left for dead

Time is important, it’s true

But time isn’t all there is

Maybe for me and you

Time isn’t all there is

There’s a time for every occasion

A Time for each season

But time does’t change your occupation

Time doesn’t the reason

It’s time to say goodbye now

It’s time to leave again

Even as I leave now

I still feel the pain

The Icognito Writer: Truly random poetry

Revisit: Pretty Little Things

Your pretty little wings

Yeah, those things on your back

Those pretty little things

Are covered in black

And your pretty little eyes

Well, they used to be blue

But even with the absence of light

They’re my favourite thing about you

Your pretty little smile

Now crooked on your face

That pretty little smile

Has forgot its resting place

Your pretty little wings

Took you up to the sky

Those pretty little things

Forgot what they left behind

Your pretty little corpse

Lying here on my floor

You left it without remorse

What did you leave it for?

Your pretty little legs

All nice and smooth

May they never leave I beg

May they always soothe

Your pretty little wings

Caused you to up and go

Those pretty little things

Fly to places I don’t know

And your pretty little face

Well, it’s all I can touch

Right now in this place

Though it isn’t much

Your pretty little hair

Was gold now its black

It flew everywhere

But now it’s on your back

And so I stay here

A king without its crown

A sorry state; a pitiful affair

I’m feeling down

My queen has gone

She has died and she has left

When it is dawn

I’ll have no-one left

But your pretty little wings

They are here by my side

Those pretty little things

Will watch me as the days go by

So my pretty little angel

What do you have to say

You who refused to be labelled

As the one who flew away
And so I’ll pass my days here

Watching as the sun flies by

Sitting in the cold autumn air

In the dark of the night

Your pretty little wings

Oh, how happy I’ll be

If those pretty little things

Could bring you back to me

The Icognito Writer

The Tress Speak: Whispers

The trees speak in whispers

Sending secrets through their vines

Softly and gently talking

Like lovers in a park

The trees speak in whispers

Their voices echo through the air

Like a gently breeze in spring

It’s a pleasant thing to feel

They share secrets of the land

Of the roses and birds on their branches

Of the weather and raindrops

Of the times ahead

The trees speak in whispers

But if you stop and listen

On a cool autumn day

You hear the secrets they share

The Icognito Writer

Cry Me A River, Child

Cry me a river, child

With your tears so tired

Cry me a river, child

With your face so sad

Cry me a river, child

You know time waits for no one

Cry me a river, child

Do it now if you must

Cry me a river, child

Let me know your heartache

Cry me a river, child

Let me know how it hurts

Cry me a river, child

But don’t forget tomorrow

Cry me a river, child

Don’t remember yesterday

Cry me a river, child

Don’t drown in sorrow

Cry me a river, child

Don’t drown in pain

The Icognito Writer

The Trees Speak: The Fire

The trees are calm now

They speak to each other in hush tones

Spreading secrets

Spreading warmth

The weather is hot

Their leaves are dry

The branches are baked

Yet the trees are still happy

A spark lights

Not much, just a little flame

But its summer and the flame grows

The trees are afraid

The fire burns

It quickly spires out of control

Consuming all that it sees

Consuming the trees

The trees are fearful

Yet they do not fall

They do not falter

They do not cry

The trees stand tall

Facing the flames with all their might

Their lives on the line

For those who live inside their branches

The flame dies out

Rain has quelled its anger

The trees still stand

Though they are much darker

Their trunks are black

Burnt with the heat of the flame

Yet they are still there

Yet they still speak in hushed tones

The Icognito Writer

The Trees Speak: The Storm

The trees speak

Talking calmly among one another

Discussing matters of great importance

Like the time of the next rain shower

The trees cry

Their leaves are bustling

The rain has begun falling

Its heavier than usual

The trees howl

The wind has picked up

Their branches now flail in the wind

Yet their roots are still firm

The trees weap

The rain is now a heavy downpour

Like bullets from the sky

Piercing through their leaves

The trees scream

The birds are afraid

The snake has gone inside the burrow

It is dark now

The trees exclaim

Their thick bodies hold firm

The animals are safe now

The storm is passing

The trees laugh

The rain is now merely a tickle

The wind is gone

The storm is finally over

The trees speak

Talking calmly among one another

Discussing matters of great importance

Like the time of the next rain shower

The Icognito Writer

The Black Sheep

Initial Nursery Rhyme: Baa, Baa, Black Sheep

Baa, baa, black sheep

Have you any wool?

Yes sir, yes sir

Three bags full.

One for my master

And one for the dame

One for the little boy

Who lives down the lane.

My Take

Baa, baa, black sheep

Have you any wool?

Yes sir, yes sir

I’ve got bags full.

My coat is lush

The color just the same

Please buy a bag

Its for the boy down the lane


The black sheep had come back into the farmhouse, it still had some bags left over; it wasn’t a good day. It let the bags slide off its back and slowly galloped to the fireplace where he knew the boy would be laying. Thomas used to be the shepherd boy, gently guiding the sheep to the pasture. But then the black sheep had gotten lost and Thomas had risked his life to find it. He managed to rescue the sheep from the ravine in which it had fallen but he broke his foot in the process. Now Thomas stays at home herding the sheep with his dog Fido while he sits down. Sure the black sheep didn’t mean any harm to Thomas by leaving the pasture in the first place; it just wanted to be accepted. But it was only the shepherd boy that called his color beautiful. Now it spends most of its days roaming the towns streets hoping to get enough money to repay its friend.


The Icognito Writer: IBMC #08 – The Nursery Rhyme Challenge: Sorry for making such a innocent nursery rhyme turn so dark but its the only thing I could think of.

Revisit: Like The Clouds

It was cloudy over head; the sky was grey. Jess had just turned on the fireplace and was sitting on the couch in a blanket burrito holding a hot cup of cocoa. She had had a bad day at work and wanted to put it behind her as soon as possible. She looked out her window; the sky was growing darker by the second and it didn’t look like it was going to be getting brighter any time soon.

Jess got up and moved closer to the fireplace; the cheap purchase was a bit too weak even for her small one bedroom apartment. She watched as the fireplace displayed a weird greenish flame – it was supposed to be orange but it had broken a long time ago. Just like her.

Despite all the anger she had been holding all day, Jess found herself melting in the comfort of the fire. Her worries and cares seemed to vanish into thin air. Jess found herself looking out of the window one more time. The sun had come out and the clouds were slowly dispersing.

Jess figured she was like the clouds in someway; all she needed was a sort of warmth and she was back on her feet. Granted, a small flame is vastly different from a billion joules worth of star heat, but it still got the job done. She was no longer moody, just like the clouds.

People Like You

You call me insane, don’t know my name

Don’t talk to me at all

But I’ll just smile and wait for a while

Cause I know you’ll fall

I may not have green and I may not be lean

But I really don’t care

I know what will be, because I have seen

What happens to people, people like you

You may be rude; it’s not something new

But I really don’t care

You think you’re cool, playing me for a fool

When there’s no one here

But I’ll sit down and wait; I’ve got all of today

To stay true

And I know what will be, cause I know what’s happening

To people, people like you

The Icognito Writer: People Like You

Four Lines For Poetry #3 – Love

With Valentine’s Day coming up during the week, I thought an appropriate prompt would be “Love”, after all it is the season where love is apparently in the air (I’ll be wearing my gas mask).

Once again the rules are:

  1. Maximum (and minimum) of Four Lines
  2. Must be a form of poetry
  3. In response to the weekly word (or phrase) prompt

Good luck and have fun

The Icognito Writer


Permission To Fail

News Article: Viewpoint: How Creativity Is Helped By Failure

I don’t know about other writers but for me, I oft get discouraged after I fail a piece of writing or I can’t write down a scene how it appears in my head. However, I’m rarely down for long as I soon realise the simple truth; I’m not perfect and I will never be. This is not to say that I won’t strive to produce by best work or strive to be the best, it just means that I won’t strive for perfection simply because it doesn’t exist. All I can give is maximum 100% of me (more likely 80% depending on my mood) and that’s all. If the quality of work exceeds my past performance it simply means I’ve reached a new best. If not it means that I still have lots to work on.

Perfect people don’t fail, don’t sin and most importantly; don’t exist.


The Icognito Writer: IBMC #07 – The News And Paper Challenge