For some creative scribblers - Poem

The drunken intellectuals of the north end street
Look at the mirror with grin and greed
Self indulgence is compulsive narcissism
Above the ditches and below a crown
Searching for their left out egos and worn out prides
Under the bottles of wines and whisky
Struggle is their humiliation
Naked in their dresses
Hunting them inside the scripts of rejected stories
Villains, heroes and comedians
Erotic kisses in blotted inks
Play the guns in the torn up edges
The constant disguise in the last page
Amongst the deep cellulose of angels and paint
Unsung solos of eulogy
For their pride, posse and talent
Gods of Words or Reality Destructors?
Thriving for sentences through the half inch glasses
Finding themselves
In the vivid caricatures
Of Beauty and facades
Filling the spaces in their separated words
While the void in their life is in search
Of their clone in the secret pages of a poet
Staring at the last sip in the bar at north end street.

A Poem for a Day - Poem

Monday has gloomed our imaginations to mundane
Tuesday is just horrible for Tuesday
Wednesday shows signs of Hope
From causal times of beckoning
For fun, vain and desperation
For the weekend of hope and failure
The fun is not the fun in its purity
It is the patient count of diurnal freezing
In cubes, in boxes, in clockwork jails
Stare at the white doom
Space out in your immovable mind
To mark that waiting game
We join in hands with some shame
Lets get together to celebrate
By preempting the joy
Before the final day of a vacuous week
It is not the hangover Saturday
Or the lonely Sunday
Not even the glorious Friday - hell hole's pardon exercise
It is its elder brother and sweet reminder
Where hopes spring and eagerness soar high
The invisible prisoners
Of corporate chaos
Calls for the revelries
And possible debauchery
And for the heck of it
Come out
For the Paradise of Pre-Friday