MACHINA IN TIME

Enter the olden arcade within the vicinity of suburbia,

To play with zest the blasters and platformers that are,

unique in their style.

Flashing dials and flickering screens haunt the players mind,

As he taps and types, wielding the joystick like some,

Manic swordsman encapsulated in this modern time.

His concentration level is accentuated by his cold-hard stare ,

And destroying and evading the enemy is a vast priority,

In the challenging set of old.

The last boss...frenzy, the screens psychedelic imagery, gives off,

a metallic wooden presence that accumulates in a final battle,

Of glory, the battle is won.

Victorious, he emerges from the cavern, the high score,

Recorded on a ragged piece of paper plucked from his pocket,

That's the only proof he's got, and that's all he'll ever need.

POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2012

DUNE NINJA

As dusk faded into the blackness of the field,

Shadows flickered around summer nights,

Flashing, the forked skies.

The blackened patterned trees, inflicting themselves,

Amidst the nights ether.

Sects dancing insanely around enchanted fires.

But unbeknownst, a figure watches, clocked in obscurity.

Sacrificial flames toss around evil sorcery,

The evil ones death incantations.

Time, then it happens.

Somersault spinning, shuriken flight,

Sword in motion and nunchakas assault.

The fight happens long,

But one by one evil ones disappear, dead.

He emerges victorious, the avenging, deadly, stealth-like, dune ninja!.

POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES
ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2011

ENDOMININE

Along the old road to the secluded, sunshine place,

Dandelion arcs in the sunny breeze,

The night star twinkle and haunt in our minds,

As butterflies drift and i roll in the reeds.

The sun blazes, the undulating hill, the kites flying,

I move in from behind and embrace you,

All our lovers dreams and accomplishments,

I wish away hazy and bright, thoughtscapes beckoning.

Drifting and floating.

I, we, all are image and as i see the white horses and waterfalls we walk back from the paths.

POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES
ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2011

PEOPLE OF THE EARTH

People, the wonderful poetry and prose they write,

The Earth's seasons, forever and unchanging,

People, pioneering sport and playing with excellence.

Inventing the wheel, spreading the land with colour.

Making fine clothes, out of spun fabric,

Painting with oils, creating images from impressive minds,

Sketching with ultimate artistry, molding plastic and setting concrete,

Even pressing wood to make concave skateboards.

Forever immortal, shining in the Sun and playing in glorious oceans,

Where we all drift along in fantastic galleons carved from man's amazing tools.

People chiseling stone, creating wonderful statues and landmarks.

Balancing on mountain peaks and dancing in the snow,

Redefining extreme sports and setting records,

Channeling their thoughts in to computer programming,

Designing fantastic architecture,

Where all civilizations meet and love each other with eternal grace.

POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES
ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2011

TREASURE IN THE VALLEYS

Since the dawn of time, peoples inventions have shone,

From the creations carved from trees, to the manipulation and creativity of metal,

Steel, Iron, Gold and Platinum, the harnessing of these elements,

Sculpting and shaping the Earths treasures.

Making them into objects for every day life and need, peoples genius and everlasting grace.

Musical, rhythmical and harmonious, creating instruments for pleasure,

Playing with their primal thought and ingenuity, smelting Gold and Silver into ornaments of glory.

Ever happy , with their cultivation of the land.

Forever aware of their equality , intelligence, flow and at atonement with life,

Painting beautiful pictures portrayed on paper, with skill and determination.

Their utmost zest for life, shining like Gold in the sun, destined for glory,

The mining in the valleys and beyond ,

A milestone of a age of brave men, 

Digging in black carved out tunnels underground,

Creating fuel for their loved ones back home,

Collecting materials from the Earths surface and below,

Spreading their enterprise and impressing everyone from land to sea and sand .

POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES
ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2011

AMIDST THE WOOD LIT IN WINTER

For all the bitterness and anguish I feel,

The sorrow, the mind afflicting emptiness against society.

Someone stands tall,

Amidst the wood lit in winter.

For the cold calls on,

Haunts the vacant fields,

Where thoughts are one with him.

There is spirit,

His might rules supreme,

Empties my mind,

Of every scornful look on my face.

Which expresses deep frustration,

When they exploit his way,

I get drawn in,

To the shallow face of iniquity.

Then I realise,

Lift my thoughts into the wind,

I am in harmony with my creator,

I am in my right place,

Burning adrift wood lit in winter.

POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES
ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2011



ECHOES OF RAIN

As the rain plummeted down,

Beating upon the hard surface of stone,

The land around me sparkled.

Streaks of light penetrate,

The dense fog of the cloud.

Rain pitter-pattering with a smattering of rhyme,

Upon the terraces drenched and soaked,

For in my mind I am in an inlet of Caswell bay,

Scanning the rain from an echoing cave.

Seashores of cockle and shell shimmer and ring on frosted arcs,

Replenished in a paddle boat,

I row through the minds pastures,

Of droplets teeming with life in the netherworld of lakes and seas.

POEM COPYRIGHT PAUL JONATHAN STOKES
ART COPYRIGHT JON HAWARD 2011