20something n going no where

20something n going no wherehttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/en-EUhourly82000-01-01T12:00+00:0020something n going no wherehttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/http://data5.blog.de/design/preview/2a/7f93d2034acb7d83ea193fa0ce3277_160x200.jpgMorning cat!http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/10/26/morning-cat-7246192/2009-10-26T12:11:43+01:00 <p>Ah morning cat! You mysterious thing<br> You use the night to roam<br> & return with the sun, to be let in<br> to your ever present home</p> <p>But where do you go when the sky is black?<br> When the world is turned away<br> Do you lurk in places the eye can't track?<br> Back alley's round our way</p> <p>A life of adventure, danger and dare<br> Lost to all, but your kind<br> & to watch you prowl without a care<br> It's a life i wouldn't mind. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/10/26/morning-cat-7246192/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Ah morning cat! You mysterious thing
You use the night to roam
& return with the sun, to be let in
to your ever present home

But where do you go when the sky is black?
When the world is turned away
Do you lurk in places the eye can't track?
Back alley's round our way

A life of adventure, danger and dare
Lost to all, but your kind
& to watch you prowl without a care
It's a life i wouldn't mind.

]]>Quiet with youhttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/10/15/quiet-with-you-7173648/2009-10-15T10:57:09+02:00 <p>Its all been done and all been said<br> All been written; all been read<br> re-cycled music; nothing new<br> every chat brings deja vu<br> Lets go out; forget our cares<br> see leery drunks exchanging stares<br> & like last week, the same men fight<br> The same high price; the same old shite<br> friends i have become friends i had<br> prolonged silence drives them mad<br> I do love you, never doubt<br> but there's nothing new, to talk about<br> & i'd rather sit, quiet with you<br> than flee this world, to something new. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/10/15/quiet-with-you-7173648/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Its all been done and all been said
All been written; all been read
re-cycled music; nothing new
every chat brings deja vu
Lets go out; forget our cares
see leery drunks exchanging stares
& like last week, the same men fight
The same high price; the same old shite
friends i have become friends i had
prolonged silence drives them mad
I do love you, never doubt
but there's nothing new, to talk about
& i'd rather sit, quiet with you
than flee this world, to something new.

]]>Senselesshttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/09/28/senseless-7056963/2009-09-28T19:34:19+02:00 <p>I stand in front of starry night<br> With eyes that do not see<br> But hear others express delight<br> At what’s hidden from me</p> <p>I have in hand a deep red rose<br> Whose scent escapes from me<br> I glance around and envy those<br> Who do inhale with glee</p> <p>And Aphrodite lays bear and pure<br> But touch her I can not<br> And fruitless yearnings I endure<br> As others have their lot</p> <p>The meaning of life told to all<br> But I don’t hear a sound<br> Others rejoice to hear this call<br> But I am lost not found</p> <p>I hold sweet wine from Zeus’ cup<br> Made of purest fruits<br> But mouth sewn shut I can not sup<br> Whilst others fill their boots.</p> <p>But all the joys and all the fun<br> i lack from the above<br> I know that i have truly won<br> when you give me your love.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/09/28/senseless-7056963/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I stand in front of starry night
With eyes that do not see
But hear others express delight
At what’s hidden from me

I have in hand a deep red rose
Whose scent escapes from me
I glance around and envy those
Who do inhale with glee

And Aphrodite lays bear and pure
But touch her I can not
And fruitless yearnings I endure
As others have their lot

The meaning of life told to all
But I don’t hear a sound
Others rejoice to hear this call
But I am lost not found

I hold sweet wine from Zeus’ cup
Made of purest fruits
But mouth sewn shut I can not sup
Whilst others fill their boots.

But all the joys and all the fun
i lack from the above
I know that i have truly won
when you give me your love.

]]>London Townhttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/09/26/london-town-7045243/2009-09-26T19:34:33+02:00 <p>Where metal and brick cement their place<br> On bonny Blighty's weary face<br> And carpets for cars, bikes and feet<br> carry countless people i will never meet<br> Where brickwork buildings and metal mesh<br> will stifle breath and bind the flesh<br> No friendly face, no hands are shook<br> All that matters is how you look<br> London Town, an eyesore metropolis<br> Buried nature, a grey necropolis. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/09/26/london-town-7045243/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Where metal and brick cement their place
On bonny Blighty's weary face
And carpets for cars, bikes and feet
carry countless people i will never meet
Where brickwork buildings and metal mesh
will stifle breath and bind the flesh
No friendly face, no hands are shook
All that matters is how you look
London Town, an eyesore metropolis
Buried nature, a grey necropolis.

]]>autumn?http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/09/01/autumn-6864929/2009-09-01T03:42:50+02:00 <p>Well, i love autumn and all the holidays and celebrations that come with it and am rather excite. Although a little annoyed at the lack of a proper summer.</p> <p>Fall</p> <p>Dead leaves fall when autumn starts<br> Once so green, strong and bright<br> A million sinking broken hearts<br> Are set to burn on bonfire night.</p> <p>And with each leaf, a sighing breath<br> The tree’s youth hits the floor<br> Trampled by kids dressed as death<br> Who come to bang upon your door</p> <p>Trick or treat they shout as one<br> And then expect a prize<br> The mighty oak tree just looks on<br> As leafy tears leave his eyes.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/09/01/autumn-6864929/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Well, i love autumn and all the holidays and celebrations that come with it and am rather excite. Although a little annoyed at the lack of a proper summer.

Fall

Dead leaves fall when autumn starts
Once so green, strong and bright
A million sinking broken hearts
Are set to burn on bonfire night.

And with each leaf, a sighing breath
The tree’s youth hits the floor
Trampled by kids dressed as death
Who come to bang upon your door

Trick or treat they shout as one
And then expect a prize
The mighty oak tree just looks on
As leafy tears leave his eyes.

]]>Wanderlusthttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/08/26/wanderlust-6822618/2009-08-26T01:09:02+02:00 <p>Like a blind man, slowed by care<br> we tentatively shuffle, too aware<br> Doom and gloom! It might go wrong<br> We tell ourselves, and creep along.<br> Like a Tortoise , within our shell<br> peeping out, if all goes well</p> <p>If we're the tortoise, she's the hare<br> covering the ground without a care<br> To watch her soar; to watch her run<br> it's clear to all who really won<br> She'll see it all! All the sights<br> From ancient ruins to city lights.</p> <p>She's never beat and never lost<br> never cold in morning frost<br> she wraps that smile round her face<br> To keep her warm in every place.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/08/26/wanderlust-6822618/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Like a blind man, slowed by care
we tentatively shuffle, too aware
Doom and gloom! It might go wrong
We tell ourselves, and creep along.
Like a Tortoise , within our shell
peeping out, if all goes well

If we're the tortoise, she's the hare
covering the ground without a care
To watch her soar; to watch her run
it's clear to all who really won
She'll see it all! All the sights
From ancient ruins to city lights.

She's never beat and never lost
never cold in morning frost
she wraps that smile round her face
To keep her warm in every place.

]]>Always waiting for somethinghttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/08/18/always-waiting-for-something-6748312/2009-08-18T01:10:26+02:00 <p>Well, i've recently learned that you should never bury your head in the security of other people, no matter how much you're there for them they may not be there for you when you need them. I guess i kind of knew that anyway though...moving on ...a quick post inbetween looooong shifts at work!!</p> <p>As a child on Christmas eve<br> i eagerly await a lie<br> one that you'd have me believe<br> As life goes flying by</p> <p>You claimed we'd lay awake tonight<br> to catch him creeping around<br> But as i turn your mind takes flight<br> and you sleep without a sound</p> <p>Left alone to stand and fight<br> I know not who to blame<br> That cause i laid until the light<br> I saw Santa never came</p> <p>& though i envy you your sleep<br> at least i learnt to fight<br> and if he comes again to creep<br> i'll give him quite a fright! </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/08/18/always-waiting-for-something-6748312/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Well, i've recently learned that you should never bury your head in the security of other people, no matter how much you're there for them they may not be there for you when you need them. I guess i kind of knew that anyway though...moving on ...a quick post inbetween looooong shifts at work!!

As a child on Christmas eve
i eagerly await a lie
one that you'd have me believe
As life goes flying by

You claimed we'd lay awake tonight
to catch him creeping around
But as i turn your mind takes flight
and you sleep without a sound

Left alone to stand and fight
I know not who to blame
That cause i laid until the light
I saw Santa never came

& though i envy you your sleep
at least i learnt to fight
and if he comes again to creep
i'll give him quite a fright!

]]>Art(work) and lovely days in Yorkshirehttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/08/17/art-work-and-lovely-days-in-yorkshire-6742588/2009-08-17T10:31:13+02:00 <p>Hello blog friends, sorry i've been so inactive lately. My girlfriend came over from Denmark and we were out seeing all of the sights in Yorkshire <img src="/img/smilies/icon_smile.gif" alt=":)" class="middle" border="0">We did all of the classic things, a walk around Malham cove (where we got to climb a waterfall), a trip to Brimham rocks (where we had to run through a HUGE patch of nettles ouch!), a lovely day out at Fountains Abbey, York art gallery and castle museum, a walk around Yorks city walls and we even got to go and watch man utd play!, a carboot sale and i also took her to play golf. Good times.<br> She's a budding artist and has just finished her website where you can view all of her work: <a href="http://www.apaintbrush.com/">http://www.apaintbrush.com/</a></p> <p>I'll post photos of the days out in Yorkshire soon, although i'm working 12-1am today and 12-1am tomorrow too...vainly trying to clear the debts before heading back down south for uni.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/08/17/art-work-and-lovely-days-in-yorkshire-6742588/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Hello blog friends, sorry i've been so inactive lately. My girlfriend came over from Denmark and we were out seeing all of the sights in Yorkshire

We did all of the classic things, a walk around Malham cove (where we got to climb a waterfall), a trip to Brimham rocks (where we had to run through a HUGE patch of nettles ouch!), a lovely day out at Fountains Abbey, York art gallery and castle museum, a walk around Yorks city walls and we even got to go and watch man utd play!, a carboot sale and i also took her to play golf. Good times.
She's a budding artist and has just finished her website where you can view all of her work: http://www.apaintbrush.com/

I'll post photos of the days out in Yorkshire soon, although i'm working 12-1am today and 12-1am tomorrow too...vainly trying to clear the debts before heading back down south for uni.

]]>Riding stormshttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/07/19/riding-storms-6546077/2009-07-19T15:31:58+02:00 <p>Well, my habit of burying my head is still going strong, lately i've found a classical piano version of The Doors song 'Riders On The Storm' which gives me goosebumps! Goosebumps the size of mountains, so i bury my head in these wonderful mountains of raised awareness...quite ironic really.<br> I actually got to ride in a storm for real the other night. I knew the weather forecast was predicting violent storms in my area and i wanted some excitement. So, i waited until the sky darkens and silence lays like a blanket over the land and then headed out to some rarely used roads in the car. Sweet Jesus was i in for a shock! It started as soon as i set off from my house, though just a little rain and a faint glimmer of lightening. I got about 2miles out from the city lights and i was on my own on the road. When i realised i hadn't passes a car in a while i knew i was far enough and at that exact moment a sheet of lightening lit the night sky, so bright i could see for miles! When you experience lightening like that out of the inner city its an immense sight, so powerful. I kept on driving, setting a slow pace to see more of the incredible show. However, i soon got a bit too close. The lightening was becoming more frequent and suddenly it flashed right in front my very eyes! I've never experienced this before, i was directly underneath the storm and the clouds were low, an eerie mist had settled in front of me on the road. My visibility was very limited due to this mist until suddenly the lightening flashed so bright in front of me that i had to shield my eyes and the wind screen wipers were struggling to work fast enough to allow me to see!!! I had a moment of fear, i was miles from anywhere, alone, and driving with terrible visibility, it was a very uneasy feeling and i started to speed up to get past the storm. It was as soon as i sped up that i had a moment of rare clarity.<br> As a kid if i had been put in that situation i would have loved it, the world was a giant playground where everything was to be experienced and explored. My childhood was such that i felt involved in everything around me and dived into unsettling moments with a naive courage. Sometimes naivity is needed in life, without it we become too calculating, too robotic and detatched from life itself. Luckily i realised this was becoming a problem for me whilst the storm was still raging all around me. I pulled the car over, sat back, replaced my uneasiness with wonder and enjoyed a remarkable and rare experience, i feel all the better for it.</p> <p>As kids we have wishes that are carefree, spontaneous and we enjoy fearless lifes happily going from one adventure to the next with no stress inbetween. I think somewhere along the line 99.9% of humans lose this way of life. Fear is sold to us by corporations, newspapers, television, governments and word of mouth. Those in power feed off our fear and grow fat off it. Our childhood wishes and dreams and adventures become replaced by questions such as 'hmm, tight budget, whats next...decorate the bathroom, get a new boiler or save for a holiday.' The biggest adventure most get is a holiday to a place which is england but in a foreign country for 2weeks a year. I imagine most people spend 5weeks worrying over christmas and working that much harder for it, and 3weeks before their holiday just waiting for it to arrive and working. So, 10 weeks in the 52 that exist in a year are spent in a slightly altered way maybe...'but it's ok, we're going to a land of sun for 2weeks!!! YAY' they'll say...to which i'd reply 'there used to be sun here too, and extravegant views, but the advertising billboards block out both.' ...and whats on these advertising billboards? Cheap holiday deals. No thanks, this isn't for me at all.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/07/19/riding-storms-6546077/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Well, my habit of burying my head is still going strong, lately i've found a classical piano version of The Doors song 'Riders On The Storm' which gives me goosebumps! Goosebumps the size of mountains, so i bury my head in these wonderful mountains of raised awareness...quite ironic really.
I actually got to ride in a storm for real the other night. I knew the weather forecast was predicting violent storms in my area and i wanted some excitement. So, i waited until the sky darkens and silence lays like a blanket over the land and then headed out to some rarely used roads in the car. Sweet Jesus was i in for a shock! It started as soon as i set off from my house, though just a little rain and a faint glimmer of lightening. I got about 2miles out from the city lights and i was on my own on the road. When i realised i hadn't passes a car in a while i knew i was far enough and at that exact moment a sheet of lightening lit the night sky, so bright i could see for miles! When you experience lightening like that out of the inner city its an immense sight, so powerful. I kept on driving, setting a slow pace to see more of the incredible show. However, i soon got a bit too close. The lightening was becoming more frequent and suddenly it flashed right in front my very eyes! I've never experienced this before, i was directly underneath the storm and the clouds were low, an eerie mist had settled in front of me on the road. My visibility was very limited due to this mist until suddenly the lightening flashed so bright in front of me that i had to shield my eyes and the wind screen wipers were struggling to work fast enough to allow me to see!!! I had a moment of fear, i was miles from anywhere, alone, and driving with terrible visibility, it was a very uneasy feeling and i started to speed up to get past the storm. It was as soon as i sped up that i had a moment of rare clarity.
As a kid if i had been put in that situation i would have loved it, the world was a giant playground where everything was to be experienced and explored. My childhood was such that i felt involved in everything around me and dived into unsettling moments with a naive courage. Sometimes naivity is needed in life, without it we become too calculating, too robotic and detatched from life itself. Luckily i realised this was becoming a problem for me whilst the storm was still raging all around me. I pulled the car over, sat back, replaced my uneasiness with wonder and enjoyed a remarkable and rare experience, i feel all the better for it.

As kids we have wishes that are carefree, spontaneous and we enjoy fearless lifes happily going from one adventure to the next with no stress inbetween. I think somewhere along the line 99.9% of humans lose this way of life. Fear is sold to us by corporations, newspapers, television, governments and word of mouth. Those in power feed off our fear and grow fat off it. Our childhood wishes and dreams and adventures become replaced by questions such as 'hmm, tight budget, whats next...decorate the bathroom, get a new boiler or save for a holiday.' The biggest adventure most get is a holiday to a place which is england but in a foreign country for 2weeks a year. I imagine most people spend 5weeks worrying over christmas and working that much harder for it, and 3weeks before their holiday just waiting for it to arrive and working. So, 10 weeks in the 52 that exist in a year are spent in a slightly altered way maybe...'but it's ok, we're going to a land of sun for 2weeks!!! YAY' they'll say...to which i'd reply 'there used to be sun here too, and extravegant views, but the advertising billboards block out both.' ...and whats on these advertising billboards? Cheap holiday deals. No thanks, this isn't for me at all.

]]>Artificial Nighthttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/06/30/artificial-night-6427520/2009-06-30T20:51:12+02:00 <p>Wishes of the young always take flight<br> Through a cloudless sky, ample and bright<br> But age and living will cloud the mind<br> The quest for more, which we’ll never find<br> Like when the day is no longer young<br> Advertisement billboards block the sun<br> And the scene is set, artificial night<br> Where no wind can give our wishes flight</p> <p><a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/print1/3645114" title="print1"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/114/3645114_15e7eaf5b2_s.jpeg" alt="print1"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/06/30/artificial-night-6427520/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Wishes of the young always take flight
Through a cloudless sky, ample and bright
But age and living will cloud the mind
The quest for more, which we’ll never find
Like when the day is no longer young
Advertisement billboards block the sun
And the scene is set, artificial night
Where no wind can give our wishes flight

]]>Random writinghttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/06/22/random-writing-6362859/2009-06-22T16:12:29+02:00 <p>I have a massive and slightly obsessive urge. I want this so bad it hurts and my stomach feels indecisive...heavy, yet hollow and empty. I want to leave the house, through the front door, wearing my dressing gown with the hood up. I want to walk through the dark streets in my area, casting shadows when I pass a street light. I want to be introverted, in a trance, almost to a point where it would seem like a challenge to be dragged back to the harshness of reality. I want to do this, placing one foot in front of the other in a robotic, monotonous motion whilst I let my feelings swarm over me, cloud my eyes and sink my lips. I want passers by to mumble quietly to their companions that I 'don’t look so good'. I want to shuffle away to a place where I spent joyful younger years. I want to get in the middle of my chosen place, let the memories wash over me and shudder with violent spasms of nostalgia. I want to feel all the uncertainty and indecisiveness climbing up towards the surface. I want to feel it, like a lump rising, gathering pace, growing like a snowball rolling, making my face twitch. I want to release it with every fibre of my being. Oh, sweet cathartic joy! I want it to tear my throat and make my voice hoarse. I want it to burst blood vessels as I throw it forward with every furious ounce of energy I have. I want to scream so loud with anguish that my younger self hears the warning and the dread of uncertainty in the air. I want my piercing howl to raise the, fair hairs on the back of his young neck. I want to do this until I am down on my knees, crying with the effort. I don’t want to be frowned upon, or thought mad, for doing this. I don't want to be sectioned and drugged until all of the surrounding grey concrete and cold blue steel becomes acceptable again. It isn't right. I vaguely remember colours, smells and elements. I think I remember misty winter mornings, the gentle crunch of frost under boot as I run to school, skidding in the patches of ice. I distantly remember lush, green spring mornings, where the dew from the vibrant grass would seep into my shoe, pass swiftly through my sock and soak my foot. The scent of a heavy shower looming nearer and daffodils and daisy's all around. This was life, there was colour. I want to scream until my guts flow out of my mouth and I spew bodily paint over the concrete and cold steel. My prison is my canvas. This whole city is my prison. Penned in by greys and blues. A man-made, overcast, grey sky. The elite do this because the sun causes irrational emotion, they want our senses to be neutralised. If the environment surrounding us fails to do this they bring the drugs. They come at night. Cloaked in black, needles drawn. Injecting grey fluid into our red bloodstream. No colour is allowed anywhere! But I harbour a secret; I cling to it at all hours of the meaningless day and lay awake in the night nurturing it. The drugs are becoming less effective. Each time I am drugged its effects are leaving me quicker and quicker. The greys and blues are cracking...but so am I. It's a race against time. I have to find a way out before I am taken. That’s what it’s called people 'disappear', which is something they do when they show too much emotion. I'm on a knife edge. I want to scream, but I must remain silent. I yearn to rip down the grey structures and tear through the blue steel, but I must remain dormant. A sleeping volcano waiting to scream. I will erupt, I will spill red liquid over this city and I will dance in the lifeblood spilt.</p> <p>It was inevitable that it would end up this way. When the economy crashed our way of life crashed with it. Jobs became an immense rarity and people would do anything to get one. The way mantis babies will eat each other if food supply is low. When people realised that there wasn’t enough jobs the riots started. They were small at first, but eventually thousands of people would be involved in each riot. Then came the white horseman of the apocalypse…disease. He rode in on his demonic steed leaving a deadly trail of influenza that there were no vaccines for. Millions of people were dead and dying, and then it happened…the truth came out. An insider who was working for the banking cartel admitted to helping engineer the influenza. It was grown in labs, by men in white coats…the white horseman. They infected as many as they possibly could. Our water supply was riddled with the disease, airplanes dropped it onto cities from above, it was released through air conditioning and the worst, most hideous crime of all…it was sold to the public in the belief that it was a vaccine. People had to pay to receive what they thought was there salvation, it turned out that they were been injected with the disease. All of this was done behind the governments back and when they tried to stop it its own armies turned on them. In every country in the world the governments and monarchies were killed off. It was the world banks who paid the soldiers….and like everything else in the old days, money talked. Those that survived tried to fight, but the soldiers dressed in black were superior, both in tactics and in technologies. People were rounded up in the middle of the night, put on buses, transferred to trains and then moved to ‘camps’. We, the survivors, remained in these camps for years, only being let out when it was our time to work. The work we did was to help build the bankers new worlds for them. The grey/blue cities we were stuck in. We were forced to build our own prisons. No one knew who the bankers were, where lived, what they looked like…anything. They weren’t the vain leaders of political parties and monarchs that people were used to. They stayed in the shadows, they spoke to us through speaker systems and their word was law. People tried to fight back, to escape, some people tried to look for shreds of humanity in the soldiers, this was futile…status steals peoples souls more so than money. The soldiers drank in their power and quenched their parched throats. For too long the public had hated soldiers for fighting unjust wars, this was their revenge. Those who fought died. Their screams were our bible and our religion was acceptance. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/06/22/random-writing-6362859/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I have a massive and slightly obsessive urge. I want this so bad it hurts and my stomach feels indecisive...heavy, yet hollow and empty. I want to leave the house, through the front door, wearing my dressing gown with the hood up. I want to walk through the dark streets in my area, casting shadows when I pass a street light. I want to be introverted, in a trance, almost to a point where it would seem like a challenge to be dragged back to the harshness of reality. I want to do this, placing one foot in front of the other in a robotic, monotonous motion whilst I let my feelings swarm over me, cloud my eyes and sink my lips. I want passers by to mumble quietly to their companions that I 'don’t look so good'. I want to shuffle away to a place where I spent joyful younger years. I want to get in the middle of my chosen place, let the memories wash over me and shudder with violent spasms of nostalgia. I want to feel all the uncertainty and indecisiveness climbing up towards the surface. I want to feel it, like a lump rising, gathering pace, growing like a snowball rolling, making my face twitch. I want to release it with every fibre of my being. Oh, sweet cathartic joy! I want it to tear my throat and make my voice hoarse. I want it to burst blood vessels as I throw it forward with every furious ounce of energy I have. I want to scream so loud with anguish that my younger self hears the warning and the dread of uncertainty in the air. I want my piercing howl to raise the, fair hairs on the back of his young neck. I want to do this until I am down on my knees, crying with the effort. I don’t want to be frowned upon, or thought mad, for doing this. I don't want to be sectioned and drugged until all of the surrounding grey concrete and cold blue steel becomes acceptable again. It isn't right. I vaguely remember colours, smells and elements. I think I remember misty winter mornings, the gentle crunch of frost under boot as I run to school, skidding in the patches of ice. I distantly remember lush, green spring mornings, where the dew from the vibrant grass would seep into my shoe, pass swiftly through my sock and soak my foot. The scent of a heavy shower looming nearer and daffodils and daisy's all around. This was life, there was colour. I want to scream until my guts flow out of my mouth and I spew bodily paint over the concrete and cold steel. My prison is my canvas. This whole city is my prison. Penned in by greys and blues. A man-made, overcast, grey sky. The elite do this because the sun causes irrational emotion, they want our senses to be neutralised. If the environment surrounding us fails to do this they bring the drugs. They come at night. Cloaked in black, needles drawn. Injecting grey fluid into our red bloodstream. No colour is allowed anywhere! But I harbour a secret; I cling to it at all hours of the meaningless day and lay awake in the night nurturing it. The drugs are becoming less effective. Each time I am drugged its effects are leaving me quicker and quicker. The greys and blues are cracking...but so am I. It's a race against time. I have to find a way out before I am taken. That’s what it’s called people 'disappear', which is something they do when they show too much emotion. I'm on a knife edge. I want to scream, but I must remain silent. I yearn to rip down the grey structures and tear through the blue steel, but I must remain dormant. A sleeping volcano waiting to scream. I will erupt, I will spill red liquid over this city and I will dance in the lifeblood spilt.

It was inevitable that it would end up this way. When the economy crashed our way of life crashed with it. Jobs became an immense rarity and people would do anything to get one. The way mantis babies will eat each other if food supply is low. When people realised that there wasn’t enough jobs the riots started. They were small at first, but eventually thousands of people would be involved in each riot. Then came the white horseman of the apocalypse…disease. He rode in on his demonic steed leaving a deadly trail of influenza that there were no vaccines for. Millions of people were dead and dying, and then it happened…the truth came out. An insider who was working for the banking cartel admitted to helping engineer the influenza. It was grown in labs, by men in white coats…the white horseman. They infected as many as they possibly could. Our water supply was riddled with the disease, airplanes dropped it onto cities from above, it was released through air conditioning and the worst, most hideous crime of all…it was sold to the public in the belief that it was a vaccine. People had to pay to receive what they thought was there salvation, it turned out that they were been injected with the disease. All of this was done behind the governments back and when they tried to stop it its own armies turned on them. In every country in the world the governments and monarchies were killed off. It was the world banks who paid the soldiers….and like everything else in the old days, money talked. Those that survived tried to fight, but the soldiers dressed in black were superior, both in tactics and in technologies. People were rounded up in the middle of the night, put on buses, transferred to trains and then moved to ‘camps’. We, the survivors, remained in these camps for years, only being let out when it was our time to work. The work we did was to help build the bankers new worlds for them. The grey/blue cities we were stuck in. We were forced to build our own prisons. No one knew who the bankers were, where lived, what they looked like…anything. They weren’t the vain leaders of political parties and monarchs that people were used to. They stayed in the shadows, they spoke to us through speaker systems and their word was law. People tried to fight back, to escape, some people tried to look for shreds of humanity in the soldiers, this was futile…status steals peoples souls more so than money. The soldiers drank in their power and quenched their parched throats. For too long the public had hated soldiers for fighting unjust wars, this was their revenge. Those who fought died. Their screams were our bible and our religion was acceptance.

]]>...http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/06/18/i-have-a-massive-and-slightly-obssessive-urge-i-want-6338205/2009-06-18T23:13:46+02:00 <p>I have a massive and slightly obssessive urge. I want this so bad it hurts and my stomach feels indecisive...heavy, yet hollow and empty. I want to leave the house, through the front door, wearing my dressing gown with the hood up. I want to walk through the dark streets in my area, casting shadows when i pass a street light. I want to be introverted, in a trance, almost to a point where it would seem like a challenge to be dragged back to the harshness of reality. I want to do this, placing one foot in front of the other in a robotic, monotonous motion whilst i let my feelings swarm over me, cloud my eyes and sink my lips. I want passers by to mumble quietly to their companions that i 'dont look so good'. I want to shuffle away to a place where i spent joyful youngers years. I want to get in the middle of my chosen place, let the memories wash over me and shudder with violent spasms of nostalgia. I want to feel all the uncertainty and indecisiveness climbing up towards the surface. I want to feel it, like a lump rising, gathering pace, growing like a snowball rolling, making my face twitch. I want to release it with every fibre of my being, cathartic joy! I want it to tear my throat and make my voice hoarse. I want it to burst blood vessels as i throw it forward with every furious ounce of energy i have. I want to scream so loud with anguish that my younger self hears the warning and the dread of uncertainty in the air. I want to do this until i am down on my knees, crying with the effort. I dont want to be frowned upon, or thought mad, for doing this. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/06/18/i-have-a-massive-and-slightly-obssessive-urge-i-want-6338205/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I have a massive and slightly obssessive urge. I want this so bad it hurts and my stomach feels indecisive...heavy, yet hollow and empty. I want to leave the house, through the front door, wearing my dressing gown with the hood up. I want to walk through the dark streets in my area, casting shadows when i pass a street light. I want to be introverted, in a trance, almost to a point where it would seem like a challenge to be dragged back to the harshness of reality. I want to do this, placing one foot in front of the other in a robotic, monotonous motion whilst i let my feelings swarm over me, cloud my eyes and sink my lips. I want passers by to mumble quietly to their companions that i 'dont look so good'. I want to shuffle away to a place where i spent joyful youngers years. I want to get in the middle of my chosen place, let the memories wash over me and shudder with violent spasms of nostalgia. I want to feel all the uncertainty and indecisiveness climbing up towards the surface. I want to feel it, like a lump rising, gathering pace, growing like a snowball rolling, making my face twitch. I want to release it with every fibre of my being, cathartic joy! I want it to tear my throat and make my voice hoarse. I want it to burst blood vessels as i throw it forward with every furious ounce of energy i have. I want to scream so loud with anguish that my younger self hears the warning and the dread of uncertainty in the air. I want to do this until i am down on my knees, crying with the effort. I dont want to be frowned upon, or thought mad, for doing this.

]]>a separate box for memories?http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/06/03/a-separate-box-for-memories-6229718/2009-06-03T13:35:33+02:00 <p>This first year of uni has flown by! It feels strange packing up my room, lots of souveniers from an action packed and emotional first year! An amazing year to be honest, feels sad to be leaving my room. Especially knowing that someone else will be enjoying it next year, i will have to come back and see who the new person is <img src="/img/smilies/icon_smile.gif" alt=":)" class="middle" border="0"></p> <p>Sick with nostalgia I vomit the past<br> Sifting through memories I desire to last<br> But sensing freedom they flee in the night<br> on the wings of moths they seek out the light<br> spreading like locusts as moses foretold<br> they block out my sun and leave my life cold<br> As i scurry away, under a rock<br> a new face moves in, where i horded my stock.</p> <p><a href="http://www.blog.co.uk/media/photo/dscf3486/3562560" title="DSCF3486"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/560/3562560_0a9bc4ebcd_s.jpeg" alt="DSCF3486" vspace="5" hspace="5"></a> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/06/03/a-separate-box-for-memories-6229718/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>This first year of uni has flown by! It feels strange packing up my room, lots of souveniers from an action packed and emotional first year! An amazing year to be honest, feels sad to be leaving my room. Especially knowing that someone else will be enjoying it next year, i will have to come back and see who the new person is

Sick with nostalgia I vomit the past
Sifting through memories I desire to last
But sensing freedom they flee in the night
on the wings of moths they seek out the light
spreading like locusts as moses foretold
they block out my sun and leave my life cold
As i scurry away, under a rock
a new face moves in, where i horded my stock.

]]>stargazing for onehttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/05/30/stargazing-for-one-6203900/2009-05-30T19:11:26+02:00 <p>And as she turned out the light, she had no choice but to fill the dawn with the dull ache of reality. Now i crawl from my lair, put out my feelers, long for the past and grasp for the future. Though like mist at dawn it creeps through my fingers, so i sit with my head buried in work.</p> <p>Lost and lazy, stargazer.<br> Sits on a shelf<br> green with envy<br> of the bygone self. </p> <p><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/862/3550862_bb8044279d_s.jpeg" alt="DSCF3451" vspace="5" hspace="5"><img src="http://data5.blog.de/media/863/3550863_ee7fe8f665_s.jpeg" alt="DSCF3456" vspace="5" hspace="5"> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/05/30/stargazing-for-one-6203900/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>And as she turned out the light, she had no choice but to fill the dawn with the dull ache of reality. Now i crawl from my lair, put out my feelers, long for the past and grasp for the future. Though like mist at dawn it creeps through my fingers, so i sit with my head buried in work.

Lost and lazy, stargazer.
Sits on a shelf
green with envy
of the bygone self.

DSCF3451 DSCF3456

]]>unfinished...http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/05/28/unfinished-6194485/2009-05-28T20:56:52+02:00 <p>Lost and lazy stargazer<br> sits on the shelf<br> green with envy<br> of the bygone self</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/05/28/unfinished-6194485/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Lost and lazy stargazer
sits on the shelf
green with envy
of the bygone self

]]>Return of the kinghttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/05/17/return-of-the-king-6130699/2009-05-17T18:40:04+02:00 <p>London was burning, in a bygone time<br> Not so now, the flood is here<br> A city swimming, drenched in crime<br> ...and the weak drown in fear.</p> <p>Discontent creeps in, alongside mistrust<br> Cos when the top rains down<br> the sturdy framework, begins to rust<br> A penny for a frown...</p> <p>...the bankers would scream, this was their decree<br> so Guy Fawkes please return<br> The bankers mantra's shared by the MP<br> ...so old Guy, let it burn!</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/05/17/return-of-the-king-6130699/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>London was burning, in a bygone time
Not so now, the flood is here
A city swimming, drenched in crime
...and the weak drown in fear.

Discontent creeps in, alongside mistrust
Cos when the top rains down
the sturdy framework, begins to rust
A penny for a frown...

...the bankers would scream, this was their decree
so Guy Fawkes please return
The bankers mantra's shared by the MP
...so old Guy, let it burn!

]]>Thresholds and gatewayshttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/03/10/thresholds-and-gateways-5733617/2009-03-10T23:30:03+01:00 <p>Hard of hearing, with failing eyes<br> & numb throughout my temper flies<br> with flailing wings it hits the floor<br> left behind. I crawl for the door<br> but once escaped & once set free<br> back insides where i long to be<br> broken judgement and clouded mind<br> a once great deal left unsigned<br> words not spoken, feelings kept in<br> brings the silence, that heavy din<br> of a far off laugh heard before<br> from that old room<br> across the corridor. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/03/10/thresholds-and-gateways-5733617/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Hard of hearing, with failing eyes
& numb throughout my temper flies
with flailing wings it hits the floor
left behind. I crawl for the door
but once escaped & once set free
back insides where i long to be
broken judgement and clouded mind
a once great deal left unsigned
words not spoken, feelings kept in
brings the silence, that heavy din
of a far off laugh heard before
from that old room
across the corridor.

]]>A modern fairy talehttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/03/08/a-modern-fairy-tale-5715154/2009-03-08T12:41:05+01:00 <p>Once upon a time there was a great wolf, who lived in the city. He was very successful, very strong, very clever and very rich. All of these things are important because living in the big, wild and untamed city can be extremely dangerous at times. He was regarded by most other wolves as the most successful in the city and they regarded him with eyes of green! He was looked upon by most of the girls with eyes that were hungry.<br> But this did not bother the wolf; he only had eyes for one girl. The wolf didn’t know her name, so he just called her Little Red Hood (on account of the red sports coat she always wore, with the hood up). The great wolf knew that Little Red Hood had to walk through a very wild and untamed area of the city at night to visit her Grandma; this was the key to his plan. He thought that because he was so big and strong that the girl would want him to walk her to Grandma’s so that she felt safe. With this in mind he strolled up to the girl on the threshold of the ghetto and said: “I’ve watched you before and I know you have to walk through a very dangerous place, would you like me to accompany you?”<br> The girl looked astounded “Bugger off! You pervert! Why have you been watching me?” She replied, for she was a modern girl and well aware of dangers and how to combat them. And after saying this she began walking off.<br> Now it was the wolf’s turn to be astounded, he stood gaping as she walked off. After a few steps the girl turned around and looked at him, he thought that maybe all hope was not lost. This however was proven to be false as the girl shouted a warning: “And be careful on your way back Mr Wolf, down that path there is drug addicts who have dirty needles and down the other path there is a gang with knives. Choose carefully.”<br> The wolf, heart broken and in no mood for dangerous adventures had called a taxi to take him home. Already his broken heart had cost him, and it was going to cost him a lot more too. Every night for a week he went back to the same spot on the threshold and never once did he get to cross the threshold with her. After 7 days of trying he was driven to despair! He started missing work because he didn’t want to get out of bed, he stopped eating because he was always love sick, he stopped exercising because he had no motivation and he stopped thinking because it hurt so much to think. A woman in love with him had once remarked to him: “What nice nails you have!”<br> “All the better to grasp opportunities with.” He replied. His nails were now dirty and weak.<br> “What big shoulders you have!”<br> “Indeed, they can carry the weight of the world with ease.” They were now struggling to carry the weight of his downcast head.<br> “What calculating eyes you have!”<br> “They help me see opportunities.” They now saw nothing due to been constantly clouded over and filled with tears.<br> “What big nostrils you have!”<br> “The better to smell the success with.” Now all they smelt was his own body odour due to not showering. And all that those big ears were hearing now was power ballads. The wolf was indeed broken. On the 30th day of been heart broken he was fired from work, on the 31st he was evicted from his penthouse and on the 32nd day of heart ache he finally got to cross the threshold. Though not with Little Red Riding Hood, he crossed it on his own as he had to live on the streets in the ghetto for the rest of his days.<br> He eventually got over his broken heart, but never regained his place and status in society; the city is a very unforgiving place after all.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/03/08/a-modern-fairy-tale-5715154/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Once upon a time there was a great wolf, who lived in the city. He was very successful, very strong, very clever and very rich. All of these things are important because living in the big, wild and untamed city can be extremely dangerous at times. He was regarded by most other wolves as the most successful in the city and they regarded him with eyes of green! He was looked upon by most of the girls with eyes that were hungry.
But this did not bother the wolf; he only had eyes for one girl. The wolf didn’t know her name, so he just called her Little Red Hood (on account of the red sports coat she always wore, with the hood up). The great wolf knew that Little Red Hood had to walk through a very wild and untamed area of the city at night to visit her Grandma; this was the key to his plan. He thought that because he was so big and strong that the girl would want him to walk her to Grandma’s so that she felt safe. With this in mind he strolled up to the girl on the threshold of the ghetto and said: “I’ve watched you before and I know you have to walk through a very dangerous place, would you like me to accompany you?”
The girl looked astounded “Bugger off! You pervert! Why have you been watching me?” She replied, for she was a modern girl and well aware of dangers and how to combat them. And after saying this she began walking off.
Now it was the wolf’s turn to be astounded, he stood gaping as she walked off. After a few steps the girl turned around and looked at him, he thought that maybe all hope was not lost. This however was proven to be false as the girl shouted a warning: “And be careful on your way back Mr Wolf, down that path there is drug addicts who have dirty needles and down the other path there is a gang with knives. Choose carefully.”
The wolf, heart broken and in no mood for dangerous adventures had called a taxi to take him home. Already his broken heart had cost him, and it was going to cost him a lot more too. Every night for a week he went back to the same spot on the threshold and never once did he get to cross the threshold with her. After 7 days of trying he was driven to despair! He started missing work because he didn’t want to get out of bed, he stopped eating because he was always love sick, he stopped exercising because he had no motivation and he stopped thinking because it hurt so much to think. A woman in love with him had once remarked to him: “What nice nails you have!”
“All the better to grasp opportunities with.” He replied. His nails were now dirty and weak.
“What big shoulders you have!”
“Indeed, they can carry the weight of the world with ease.” They were now struggling to carry the weight of his downcast head.
“What calculating eyes you have!”
“They help me see opportunities.” They now saw nothing due to been constantly clouded over and filled with tears.
“What big nostrils you have!”
“The better to smell the success with.” Now all they smelt was his own body odour due to not showering. And all that those big ears were hearing now was power ballads. The wolf was indeed broken. On the 30th day of been heart broken he was fired from work, on the 31st he was evicted from his penthouse and on the 32nd day of heart ache he finally got to cross the threshold. Though not with Little Red Riding Hood, he crossed it on his own as he had to live on the streets in the ghetto for the rest of his days.
He eventually got over his broken heart, but never regained his place and status in society; the city is a very unforgiving place after all.

]]>Mother Earthhttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/02/27/mother-earth-5661283/2009-02-27T17:06:09+01:00 <p>Studied the environment lately and it just makes me desire a life in the country even more so, and also to travel the world, to see amazing sights before they are torn and ripped and turned into buildings. 'Great' cities, such as London. Culture but no heart, activity with no excitement and interaction with no passion.</p> <p>Mother Earth</p> <p>Cars, as tears, make haste to trace<br> Roads, as wrinkles, which line thy face<br> and men, with crosses, anger thee<br> crediting god, for your beauty<br> and they close your legs to us all<br> make us pay to answer your call<br> you are tamed, shamed and made to whore<br> where bouncers in green guard your door<br> your bright hair, in which we'd play<br> aged so sudden, turned to grey<br> cement and concrete reach the sky,<br> as nameless grey suits heave a sigh<br> and your sweet, fresh, natural breath<br> turns to smog, a stifling death. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/02/27/mother-earth-5661283/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Studied the environment lately and it just makes me desire a life in the country even more so, and also to travel the world, to see amazing sights before they are torn and ripped and turned into buildings. 'Great' cities, such as London. Culture but no heart, activity with no excitement and interaction with no passion.

Mother Earth

Cars, as tears, make haste to trace
Roads, as wrinkles, which line thy face
and men, with crosses, anger thee
crediting god, for your beauty
and they close your legs to us all
make us pay to answer your call
you are tamed, shamed and made to whore
where bouncers in green guard your door
your bright hair, in which we'd play
aged so sudden, turned to grey
cement and concrete reach the sky,
as nameless grey suits heave a sigh
and your sweet, fresh, natural breath
turns to smog, a stifling death.

]]>Spring trees, finished...for now at least.http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/02/11/spring-trees-finished-for-now-at-least-5553874/2009-02-11T18:14:19+01:00 <p>The trunk is the easel, the leaves the art<br> The former the body, the latter the heart<br> Neighbouring trees that begin to entwine<br> To share the sunlight, its clearly a sign.</p> <p>A perfect picture, a time to begin<br> To study the world; to take it all in<br> To dance in the rain; to bathe in the sun<br> Give legs to ideas and let them run. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/02/11/spring-trees-finished-for-now-at-least-5553874/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>The trunk is the easel, the leaves the art
The former the body, the latter the heart
Neighbouring trees that begin to entwine
To share the sunlight, its clearly a sign.

A perfect picture, a time to begin
To study the world; to take it all in
To dance in the rain; to bathe in the sun
Give legs to ideas and let them run.

]]>A life that was lenthttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/02/06/a-life-that-was-lent-5517059/2009-02-06T05:14:59+01:00 <p>Well, i was most upset when i had to try building a snowman without using any coal. All these strikes are making me think of the miners strikes in the 80s. Although obviously they haven't reached the same heights and hopefully they won't.</p> <p>A life that was lent.</p> <p>Britains going bust<br> Ruined by the rich<br> Naïve, misplaced trust<br> Drove us to the ditch</p> <p>Clearly the bankers<br> With bonus so big<br> Are worthless wankers<br> Chasing rainbows to dig</p> <p>The whole school of thought<br> Always to borrow<br> To have what we sought<br> Forget tomorrow</p> <p>Well tomorrow came<br> As the jobs all went<br> And spoiled our game<br> Our life that was lent.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/02/06/a-life-that-was-lent-5517059/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Well, i was most upset when i had to try building a snowman without using any coal. All these strikes are making me think of the miners strikes in the 80s. Although obviously they haven't reached the same heights and hopefully they won't.

A life that was lent.

Britains going bust
Ruined by the rich
Naïve, misplaced trust
Drove us to the ditch

Clearly the bankers
With bonus so big
Are worthless wankers
Chasing rainbows to dig

The whole school of thought
Always to borrow
To have what we sought
Forget tomorrow

Well tomorrow came
As the jobs all went
And spoiled our game
Our life that was lent.

]]>FEARhttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/01/27/fear-5460607/2009-01-27T23:37:07+01:00 <p>I remember the first time i saw a 'rag and bone man'. I was terrified, which is unjust because they are friendly chaps who used to give kids balloons for pieces of scrap. I guess i grew up in a time when they were dying out. Due to this i just didn't understand what he was all about. I'll never forget the how the cry of 'RAA-BO' chilled my blood. Looking back now its a fond memory. : )</p> <p>A cold, grey, and dreary day</p> <p>Silence, stillness, as the snows lay</p> <p>whilst an idle child views the show</p> <p>with nothing to do, and nowhere to go</p> <p>Chin rested on his small white hands</p> <p>Dreaming, lazily of exploring new lands</p> <p>He's stuck in a trance, of silence and gloom</p> <p>and his only world, is his large empty room</p> <p>when a piercing cry chills his blood</p> <p>Haunting and loud, to expel all good</p> <p>“RAA-BO” comes the despairing call</p> <p>Sounding futile, yet heard by all</p> <p>then he hears the shuffling feet</p> <p>Scraping along his barren street</p> <p>Scared stiff he views the road</p> <p>A cart creaks by shaky and old</p> <p>“RAA-BO” comes the cry again</p> <p>making the hairs stand, and then</p> <p>the source is seen, a ghastly sight</p> <p>rags for clothes and eyes like night</p> <p>he slowly looks up, their eyes lock</p> <p>the boy turns white, rigid with shock</p> <p>This is the day, the boys fear began</p> <p>Of the age old, unknown, rag and bone man.</p> <p><img src="http://www.bbc.co.uk/leeds/content/images/2005/03/15/rag_and_bone_300_300x300.jpg" alt="" title="rag and bone man"> </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2009/01/27/fear-5460607/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I remember the first time i saw a 'rag and bone man'. I was terrified, which is unjust because they are friendly chaps who used to give kids balloons for pieces of scrap. I guess i grew up in a time when they were dying out. Due to this i just didn't understand what he was all about. I'll never forget the how the cry of 'RAA-BO' chilled my blood. Looking back now its a fond memory. : )

A cold, grey, and dreary day

Silence, stillness, as the snows lay

whilst an idle child views the show

with nothing to do, and nowhere to go

Chin rested on his small white hands

Dreaming, lazily of exploring new lands

He's stuck in a trance, of silence and gloom

and his only world, is his large empty room

when a piercing cry chills his blood

Haunting and loud, to expel all good

“RAA-BO” comes the despairing call

Sounding futile, yet heard by all

then he hears the shuffling feet

Scraping along his barren street

Scared stiff he views the road

A cart creaks by shaky and old

“RAA-BO” comes the cry again

making the hairs stand, and then

the source is seen, a ghastly sight

rags for clothes and eyes like night

he slowly looks up, their eyes lock

the boy turns white, rigid with shock

This is the day, the boys fear began

Of the age old, unknown, rag and bone man.

]]>when push comes to shovehttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/12/24/when-push-comes-to-shove-5271628/2008-12-24T16:15:06+01:00 <p>I dont know where i stand<br> so i'll fall for you instead<br> i have to follow my heart<br> for i've clearly lost my head<br> Yet when love has voice<br> theres no longer a choice<br> and security settles in<br> which surely in love<br> when push comes to shove<br> is a truly mundane thing</p> <p>i dont know where i stand<br> so i'll kneel for you instead<br> in front of the world i beg<br> My love, return the love i said<br> but you must say no<br> for if your cards you show<br> comfort comes to stay<br> which surely in lust<br> i bid you, please trust<br> drives all passion away </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/12/24/when-push-comes-to-shove-5271628/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I dont know where i stand
so i'll fall for you instead
i have to follow my heart
for i've clearly lost my head
Yet when love has voice
theres no longer a choice
and security settles in
which surely in love
when push comes to shove
is a truly mundane thing

i dont know where i stand
so i'll kneel for you instead
in front of the world i beg
My love, return the love i said
but you must say no
for if your cards you show
comfort comes to stay
which surely in lust
i bid you, please trust
drives all passion away

]]>"ism's"http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/11/27/ism-s-5119518/2008-11-27T15:17:14+01:00 <p>It's no surprise<br> when we open our eyes<br> that we view the world with cynacism<br> when every word we use can now end in "ism"<br> theres sexism<br> which led to feminism<br> & this led to more sexism<br> don't ya think it is-ummm<br> frustrating, grating<br> that we keep on segregating<br> parrallels that never meet...a prism<br> wish not for globalism<br> in a world where patriotism<br> leads to nationalism<br> and this is the mother is of racism<br> which all ties in to facism.<br> Capitalism<br> which, if you agree with marxism<br> turns turns to socialism<br> and this breeds communism<br> before politics there was religion<br> first there was catholicism<br> at war with protestants, which led to puritanism<br> so please understand my scepticism<br> when you frown at my alcoholism<br> because in this world of warring "ism's"<br> i need my sweet...<br> escapism.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/11/27/ism-s-5119518/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>It's no surprise
when we open our eyes
that we view the world with cynacism
when every word we use can now end in "ism"
theres sexism
which led to feminism
& this led to more sexism
don't ya think it is-ummm
frustrating, grating
that we keep on segregating
parrallels that never meet...a prism
wish not for globalism
in a world where patriotism
leads to nationalism
and this is the mother is of racism
which all ties in to facism.
Capitalism
which, if you agree with marxism
turns turns to socialism
and this breeds communism
before politics there was religion
first there was catholicism
at war with protestants, which led to puritanism
so please understand my scepticism
when you frown at my alcoholism
because in this world of warring "ism's"
i need my sweet...
escapism.

]]>one and the samehttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/10/29/one-and-the-same-4949238/2008-10-29T10:41:42+01:00 <p>Hope and fear will go hand in hand<br> one always brings the other<br> i fear it wont go as we planned<br> but hope you'll be my lover</p> <p>So, if you play hope i'll play fear<br> make it known through all the land<br> hope and fear are leaving here<br> we leave as one, hand in hand. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/10/29/one-and-the-same-4949238/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Hope and fear will go hand in hand
one always brings the other
i fear it wont go as we planned
but hope you'll be my lover

So, if you play hope i'll play fear
make it known through all the land
hope and fear are leaving here
we leave as one, hand in hand.

]]>Oh My Lovehttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/10/29/oh-my-love-4949223/2008-10-29T10:38:57+01:00 <p>I'll whisper this wish to the fresh sea breeze<br> carried north to your door<br> I'll be home as the snow hits the wintery trees<br> i wish us peace not war</p> <p>Cos i've seen the moores and seen the coast<br> and there's no greater view<br> i've seen sunsets to make a man boast<br> that don't compare to you</p> <p>I've travelled this land, heard stories told<br> of beauties far and wide<br> but oh my love, you're a sight to behold<br> my love, my joy, my pride. </p> <p>I long to be back, inside your walls<br> for a leisurely walk<br> the museums, pubs and market stalls<br> so much to see, in York. </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/10/29/oh-my-love-4949223/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>I'll whisper this wish to the fresh sea breeze
carried north to your door
I'll be home as the snow hits the wintery trees
i wish us peace not war

Cos i've seen the moores and seen the coast
and there's no greater view
i've seen sunsets to make a man boast
that don't compare to you

I've travelled this land, heard stories told
of beauties far and wide
but oh my love, you're a sight to behold
my love, my joy, my pride.

I long to be back, inside your walls
for a leisurely walk
the museums, pubs and market stalls
so much to see, in York.

]]>internet playerhttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/08/24/internet-player-4632387/2008-08-24T22:49:05+02:00 <p>The only bags for life he carries, are the ones under his eyes<br> From stalking the internet at 3am, lurking, to surprise<br> Any like minded lass, who likewise fancies a chat<br> Straight into cyber, the small talk/foreplay don’t last long, cos he’s got the knack for that.<br> On msn he cant fail at all, cant do himself no harm<br> If it goes wrong he turns off his pc, when he cant turn on his charm<br> He stalks and talks, frantically searching for internet lust<br> Pictures don’t matter too much, cos in this world no ones fussed<br> Morning springs. His phone rings, he knows what its about<br> Its an old pals birthday and all the lads are going out<br> But giving up the opportunity to get out on an “all-dayer”<br> He thinks “its easier at home, where I can be an internet player”<br> So he ignores the phone and leaves it there ringing<br> Better off in here he thinks, cos outside he feels minging<br> They all say “you need some sun on that skeletal, drawn face”<br> But he shuffles away back to his lair, cos he’s a fucking disgrace</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/08/24/internet-player-4632387/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>The only bags for life he carries, are the ones under his eyes
From stalking the internet at 3am, lurking, to surprise
Any like minded lass, who likewise fancies a chat
Straight into cyber, the small talk/foreplay don’t last long, cos he’s got the knack for that.
On msn he cant fail at all, cant do himself no harm
If it goes wrong he turns off his pc, when he cant turn on his charm
He stalks and talks, frantically searching for internet lust
Pictures don’t matter too much, cos in this world no ones fussed
Morning springs. His phone rings, he knows what its about
Its an old pals birthday and all the lads are going out
But giving up the opportunity to get out on an “all-dayer”
He thinks “its easier at home, where I can be an internet player”
So he ignores the phone and leaves it there ringing
Better off in here he thinks, cos outside he feels minging
They all say “you need some sun on that skeletal, drawn face”
But he shuffles away back to his lair, cos he’s a fucking disgrace

]]>2005http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/07/13/2005-4443074/2008-07-13T19:10:24+02:00 <p>Your gentle touch is not what I miss the most<br> Nor coming home from work to egg on toast<br> Its not running away, to escape the bores<br> And finding a quiet spot, to make love outdoors<br> Your bright, blue eyes are not what I miss the most<br> Nor sacking off work to spend a day at the coast<br> Its not hearing you laugh and seeing you smile<br> Or gazing at the stars, just laying for a while<br> Nor that I was lucky to have you, able to boast.<br> I now stalk our old haunts, a fading ghost<br> So just been together and feeling alive<br> Is what I will always miss about 2005.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/07/13/2005-4443074/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Your gentle touch is not what I miss the most
Nor coming home from work to egg on toast
Its not running away, to escape the bores
And finding a quiet spot, to make love outdoors
Your bright, blue eyes are not what I miss the most
Nor sacking off work to spend a day at the coast
Its not hearing you laugh and seeing you smile
Or gazing at the stars, just laying for a while
Nor that I was lucky to have you, able to boast.
I now stalk our old haunts, a fading ghost
So just been together and feeling alive
Is what I will always miss about 2005.

]]>spring treeshttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/07/04/spring-trees-4400609/2008-07-04T03:21:47+02:00 <p>The trunk is the easel, the leaves the art<br> The former the body, the latter the heart<br> Neighbouring trees that begin to entwine<br> To share the sunlight, its clearly a sign.</p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/07/04/spring-trees-4400609/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>The trunk is the easel, the leaves the art
The former the body, the latter the heart
Neighbouring trees that begin to entwine
To share the sunlight, its clearly a sign.

]]>Romance ain't deadhttp://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/06/14/romance-ain-t-dead-4315111/2008-06-14T16:05:56+02:00 <p>Romance ain't dead, but its damaged and broken<br> Young lovers turn to single mothers<br> Due to words left unspoken</p> <p>Or they stick together, though all the loves gone<br> Domestic violence to end the silence<br> They’ll pretend they get along </p> <p> <small> <a href="http://ronkey.blog.co.uk/2008/06/14/romance-ain-t-dead-4315111/#comments">Comments</a> </small> </p>Romance ain't dead, but its damaged and broken
Young lovers turn to single mothers
Due to words left unspoken

Or they stick together, though all the loves gone
Domestic violence to end the silence
They’ll pretend they get along

]]>