Tir na nOg

30 June 2008

I Am What Iamb

I am creative and stubborn
I wonder how to capture a moment
I hear bird song in the night
I see a myriad of colours curving in union
I want to paint that.

I am creative and stubborn
I pretend life is OK
I feel pretty much at the end today
I touch the core of oblivion
I worry about things I can‘t change
I cry, I wish I could.

I am creative and stubborn
I understand nothing
I say what I think
I dream of a future
I try to be patient
I hope to make it to the next step

I am 'The Painting Poet'.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

27 June 2008

Desire by *Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

26 June 2008

The Nine Tailors

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
A wedding, celebrated in true English fashion.
A time for joy before the out break of war,
Shattered by a thief, chased by a gent, so dashing.
Two villains caught, hard labour should even the score.

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
So many struck down by that awful Spanish flu,
Family secrets, as the New Year bells chime.
Lady of the manor passes, what a to do!
Again, a gent and his man are central to this rhyme.

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Nine tailors toll this time for a gentleman’s passing mark.
To finally be at rest with his fair lady wife.
All is well until is found there a corpse, disfigure and stark.
Who will solve the mystery behind all this strife?

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Lord Peter is on the case, it will soon be solved,
With the help from his man, Bunter, always at his aid.
No villain will escape from them now they are involved,
But was there a crime? Who was the man found dead?

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Listen close they have much to tell.
A little campanology know how would be handy.
A church and its bells, things hidden in its well.
All clues to a gentleman detective, so dandy.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

24 June 2008

Pirate's Cove

Pirate's Cove by ~Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Chocolate Box

Chocolate Box by ~Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


Stonehenge by ~Painting-Poet on deviantART

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Words in the Stones

Proudly, in circle, they stand tall,
Aveb’ry, a Pagan’s hallowed hall.
For all my wrongs I will atone,
When in their midst, I’m not alone.

I feel their strength, absorb their power,
High above me Ancients tower.
Sanctuary of standing stone,
When in their midst, I’m not alone.

My age of youth has gone with time,

The magic still has flow and rhyme.
I learn with them the way of Crone,
When in their midst, I’m not alone.

Proudly, in circle, they stand tall,
When in their midst, I’m not alone.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

21 June 2008

Summer's Rain

A love found in nature’s glory,
A passion freed me from the pain,
The kiss that started our story
In summer’s rain.

Shelter in the trees’ green cascade,
A warm embrace the waters drain,
As we embarked on love’s crusade,
In summer’s rain.

The damsel in me has a need,
For the knight in you that is plain,
The tender lips that are my feed
In summer’s rain.

Saved from the cloud burst by your touch
Lovers unite in country lane
The tenderness I need so much,
In summer’s rain.

The fingers in my moist hands fall
The loving shoulders take the strain
Our pairing for love stands for all
The summers’ reign.

Purls of dew that taste so sweet,
Forming like new tears on a chain,
Freshness of senses in the heat
In summer’s rain.

In storms we play hide and go seek
The claps of thunder will lay slain
By the power of love that speaks
In summer’s rain.

All through the days of sun we wait
For the first flash in windows pane,
Reach for the peaks of desire’s fate
In summer’s rain.

From you, my love, I never part,
My eternity, you remain,
Forever reigning in my heart
And summer’s rain.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


At dawn the first rays of sun light,
That chase the shadows of the night
To keep the joyful spirits bright
This Solstice day.

The Henge’s, are the sacred place,
That music brings a smiling face
Fill with magic and Pagan grace.
Gather and play

By ritual, we celebrate
A marriage commemorate
Lift the chalice, intoxicate
Where the stones lay

The God and Goddess on this dawn
Do embrace the height of the morn
By Oath solemn that in love sworn
At sun’s first ray

The Earth mother in floral dress
A moment in time to assess
An answer to Pagan request
To dance and sway

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


For all those years you sat in pose,
your love endured to meet my art.
My muse you were, I saw no rose,
Just shapes in heart.

Your curves that drive my mind to paint,
To capture all the eye can see..
To hang on walls without a taint,
In joyful glee.

The names I use are not your own,
As homage is not paid to you.
The seeds of pain that I have sown,
Unjust and true.

My brush betrayed my muse and heart,
The longing lost in ev'ry stroke
The cold inside, controls my art,
I should revoke?.

My muse is sullied with my ink,
The hurt has gone beyond her care.
I wish I had the time to think,
My soul lay bare.

Just once I want to say three words

I am sorry.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Brief Encounter

Washed up on the high tide line on the shore,
A miracle lies amongst the debris.
A rose from deep in the ocean’s blue core,
Her presence on the beach is most eerie.

The crowds gather around to look and stare,
The cameras snap in action for the press.
On front pages she will be laid out bare,
How she got there, that is anyone’s guess.

The rays of sun spark on the silver scale,
Like lost gem stones just lying in the pool.
Her soft skin is as newly washed linen, pale,
Seeks the caress of the tide’s gentle cool.

The ebb and flow of the returning tide,
Carries her to the azure deep to reside.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

15 June 2008

Season of Paradox

In the season of paradox cowards slink,
The world in ambiguity is enslaved.
The writer’s quill flows with contrary ink,
Without the clarity all is depraved.

This life is mortality’s enigma,
We seek to understand the baffling.
It’s lost in a mindless, puzzling stigma,
Among the intellectual waffling.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Cursed Soul

On blackened wing he hovers in sorrows,
He’s caught in fusion of the endless night.
Her curse to leave his heart in field’s furrows,
Alone, despair the only thing in sight.

She stole his soul to feed her own desire,
The lies of love were nothing, empty dreams.
He drowns in rejection, burned by her fire,
The grief the truth that fill his haunting screams.

The pain will scar, no longer a free man,
The past twisted to create the demon.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

14 June 2008

The Tooth Fairy

What does she do with all the teeth that she finds?
White, tiny teeth from under the soft, feather pillow.
Where does she take them as you lie in dream sleep?
To her house by the river, in tree of puss willow.

There she polishes each one with a cloth of fine silver,
Until they glow and shine like a beam of moonlight.
Then to the fairy queen in her castle, just over the hill.
Sparkling jewels for the queen’s crown, always glowing bright.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Ostera Serende

Long nights of darkness are coming to an end.
Spring is marching in, warming the world with life.
Bleak landscape expanses of sombre grey shadows,
Fade to fresh greens, as vibrant as a gypsy’s wife.

Nature rejoices, with colour and tweeting bird song,
Lambs lively leaping as the cold embers of winter fade.
Festivals of all creeds celebrate the life renewal.
For Easter, Ostera, Equinox, voices in praise, invade.

Dancing in the breeze yellow suited gentleman sway,
Daffodils, blasting a serenade on golden trumpet.
Waking the snowdrops, dozing beneath the budding oak,
Finally the frosts bid farewell with the last winter sunset.

Oceans of blue, yellow and white crocuses rippling in the wind,
Cascading waterfalls of colour, on this blessed morn.
Mother Earth is awakening from her long slumber,
As rays embrace her with love, from the first spring dawn.

Blessed spring to all with love and light.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Cry in the Dark

Angel by my side,
without you so lost.
Will this hurt never end?

Despair and uselessness,
without you I am nothing
no desire to exist alone.

Angel I need you
tears solve nothing
yet still I am weeping.

My darling sweet angel
the light in my darkness
I am empty inside.

The world was bright
suddenly the blackness
please burn for me again!

Fight with me baby
give me a reason
to dream, to hope.

I miss you my angel
a futile cry into the dark
I'm alone, none replies.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

One Hell of Mate

Um err what! I think maybe I have lost the plot.
Been trying to battle with that damn writer's block.
Looking everywhere for a spark, a smidgen not a lot.
Would look in my box but can't open the lock.

My brain is asleep, I'm going absolutely mad,
so scarpered last night to my cold studio and paint.
The garden shed by torchlight is my own little pad.
Messed with colours opaque, bright and translucent.

That's a terrible rhyme Jem, for goodness sake.
Not going to even try with formality or form,
Give up... no way this is for Jeff, a hell of a mate.
So a 'poem' to give him a grin larger than norm.

Still messing with paint it didn't help much
but got a few sketches to build into to a frame.
Fantasy my art is an escapism if you need such.
Beats landscapes that all look the same.

Then just after lunch I sign on to AP, to look awhile,
There is Jeff, hooray, so click, I read all his stuff,
Like a jester is he, now I am guaranteed to smile.
I can never imagine our Jeff is in anyway gruff.

A contest, you git, now I got to try and write funny,
and I bet you are sat there snickering, you dastardly hound,
Waistcoat blazing bright, challenging this here hunny!
Maybe I should just write as I speaks as that's a weird sound.

So forgetting all sense, and rhyme too, I'll write as I speaky.
All I really wants to says is Jeff a big thank you babe,
For chirping me chipper each day when I'm down and peaky.
You is a gent with style and class, and one hell of a mate.

Hellfire and britches that last bit almost does rhyme
And it wasn't meant too, well slap my butt and call me Charlie,
Maybe the muse is returning, it's about bloody time,
Now I'm stuck what goes with Charlie ... maybe rusks of Farley!

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

I Can Fly

I hear your voice,
as I sleep
I feel your touch
as you dream.
When you kiss me…
I can fly...

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Leave Me Alone

Some days I get so angry with you, just let me be.
Those days I don’t thank you for not letting me die.
I just wanted to let go, from this hell be free.
Now it’s a struggle, a daily fight to get by.

You know my reasons, you say you understand.
How can you? How can you understand the black
inside me? I feel your hurt when I push away your hand,
each and every time my mind goes to a flashback.

I never know what each day will bring when I wake.
Will it be OK or will the memories sear through my mind.
Thanks to you I have no choice but to live with the heart ache,
What gives you the right to interfere? Do you think it kind?

Why did you stop me that night?
It could all be over now, no more battles to fight.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Destintion Surrealistic Imagination

Paint and canvas,
pencils and water,
four simple things,
four keys to me.

Happiness reflected
in bright colours.
The sad times
come in dark hues.

The canvas
doesn’t question me.
Just goes with
the brush flow.

From canvas I have
no need to hide.
No pretence,
no bottling inside.

A friend
with no voice.
Yet can find
such powerful imagery.

Brush strokes
gentle and sensual
are as much part of me
as the harsh vigorous dabs.

A thousand words
a picture speaks,
consenting me with
the freedom to be.

Fine delicate lines
that lead the eye
on a journey
from reality.

Destination surrealistic imagination.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

My Hero My Daddy

A Harley's roar,
the scent of fall,
a vision in my mind,
a presence in my heart,
the cajun tastes of Dixie.
All keep you alive and with me.

I miss your counsel,
I so need a hug,
from arms strong,
tattooed with love.
I just have one wish
that you were here to comfort me.

I miss you Dad!

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Journey to the Land of Neverwas

Poor Mr. Easter Bunny, so full of woe.
No chocolate, oh gosh, it so is not funny!
Head in hands he sits, what to do?
Kiddies don’t want candy sticks coated in honey.

My dear friend with the elongated ears,
a legend exists, if you are willing to go.
A land where chocolate rivers gently meander
Through valleys of jelly bean meadow.

To get there is quite simple, just follow this road
Of sweet Parma violets till you come to the bend.
There a fluffed chick of yellow will continue as guide
To Neverwas, and Easter you will soon mend.

You can gather from the trees full of dolly’s mixture,
Or find Bertie for a selection of liquorice all sort.
Take a handful of Smarties here, and grab some Snickers there.
If you have time, a slice of Granny’s finest chocolate torte

One last thing, as a gift from me, Mr. E. Bunny,
The secret map, to this ideal of sweet candy infusion.
A garden of indulgence you will surely find,
An extravagant delight, an end to this Easter confusion.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Mitakuye Oyasin

I know the grave is not where you reside,
your spirit, love, walks with me as my guide.
With spiritual whispers I feel your hand,
gently guiding me towards that etheral land.
And though sometimes I feel alone and sad,
I know you are there, as always, Dad.

Mitakuye Oyasin

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

13 June 2008


No forgiveness

or mercy.

Judged, condemned,

eternal retribution.

Drowning in my own depravity.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Poison Rose

The symbol of your love, deepest red.
Forever etched in the rhythm of my heart.
A pulsating stigmata, a constant reminder,
burning my senses now that we are apart.

'It is better to have loved and lost', they say.
Do they know how you penetrated my core?
Making me a some one not just a nothing,
only to be left bleeding from every pore.

The rose now a symbol of sheer poison,
deepest red turning to shades of blue.
Like me no longer perfect or whole,
but acidicly twisted by the loss of you.

Senses are shrivelling in unchartered directions,
acrid emotions claiming possession of my soul.
Lost in confusion, drowning in love's memories,
don't offer sympathy, I am impossible to console.

The entity of black darkness is the rose,
surrounding my being, bitterness pierces me.
The rose is love turned to ravaging hatred,
the poison within thorns set my demon free.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The First Time

Like sex, I will always remember my first kill,
images flash to mind, the hunt, the blade, the thrill.
The addiction started, always I hunger for more,
lust for the surrender, as lifeless bodies fall to the floor.

That first time, unskilled, without talent or finesse.
Mistakes many, now perfected to a murderous tempest.
Techniques of torture, honed to perfection for pleasure,
slow and relentless, releasing them from the hell at leisure.

Blood-crazed and psychotic, a death loving demon,
capturing you, entrapped in your need to release semen.
After its spilt, unwanted seed, I can come alive,
my turn has come, on your demise I will thrive.

Your screams feed me, sating my sadistic need,
but only the finality of your death will fill my greed.
One day my reign of terror will end, it's a sure bet,
To be continued, don't sleep, they have not caught me yet.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Boys Are Stupid, Throw Rocks at Them

The sun beats down and you sleep on missing the fun
A mad dog lying there in the English summer sun.
Oh clever you covered your member, you did
And you remembered to put back the sunscreen lid

Think you are smart don’t you my dear,
The blazing sun you have nothing to fear
Just laying there on your lazy back
Did no one tell you that sand will get in your crack?

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Get a Life dammit

Work my lover,

Toil, my friend,

Time non existent,

Romance a dream,

when paper-clips dance.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Wolf Cry

I heard your call, carried on the breeze,
a guide from beyond taking my hand.
A distant drum from across the seas,
a child, how could I understand?

Skin darker, I stood out against the fair,
no one was brave enough to answer me.
In my dreams I was free in your care,
one day the truth I would see.

Lost and confused teen in wilderness lie,
once again you called out, I heard you.
Across the seas, on a plane I did fly,
you showed me your pride, myself now true.

My heritage from you fills me with pride,
named 'Shewolf' in a language so strange.
Yet like the drum, it beats deep inside,
so long denied me, now will never change.

Spirit calls often from across the veil,
even now you still hold my hand.
My guide as the sea of life I sail
onward to that promised land.

I live so far from our Sacred Lands
but never alone as beside me you walk.
One day I'll return to the tribal bands,
for now I have our spirit talk.

For you, my dad, I keep my head high
feel your honour and pride my soul engulf.
You are a part of me even when I sit and cry
the soft deep whisper 'Be strong lil wolf'.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


Moving house is always a stress,
leaving friends and those you love,
for the unknown, no time to digress,
uncertain as in boxes your world you shove,

Unsure if you are doing things right,
a change of home, a change of life,
is the future really so bright?
The doubts and fears cutting like a knife,

A warm embrace does await you,
new friends you are sure to find.
You are mine and my love is true,
Soon you will find your peace of mind,

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Native Drums

When I hear the native drum beat calling all my tribal brothers.
Cannot sit and listen softly have to join in with the others.
Native pulses stamping circles, footsteps trace the tribal dances.
Ev’ry member keeps the rhythm leading into sacred trances.
Listen closely, feel it take you, journey to the inner meaning.
All my life I knew I needed ways to penetrate the screening.
Feel the blood of father's fam'ly, Cherokee is half my being.
Stirring drumbeats from our hist'ry all are part of ritual seeing.
Now I live in rural Wiltshire far away from ancient homeland.
Pagan ritual joined with drumbeats, this is Jem in modern England.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Isis Child

From the deep she rises to greet the moonlight,
Inhaling breath of the lunar hour.
Embracing the ripples, shimmering bright,
In grace her power.

She comes, bidden, to our world in crisis,
The saving child, our lady of the lake.
Compassionate angel sent by Isis,
For all Mankind’s sake.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Nature's Embrace

The sun setting on the horizon line,
As damask streaks appear in the dusk sky.
White crested the waves fall softly in line
To the shore where the noisy seagulls fly.

Between the day’s end and the darkest night,
Where the Sun King kisses his lady Moon.
They dance to bring a summer’s warming light
Stirring the deep rhythm of nature’s tune.

Pagan dancers join with the Solstice beat,
The world’s music flows on the breeze yonder,
Reaching the native warrior’s bare feet
Leaving all with a mystical wonder.

Nature’s embrace is a gift of free love
Softly her kisses on the wind travel,
Turn the circle on from the skies above
To the pulsing of the Sun King’s gavel.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

12 June 2008

At the Deep End of the Ocean

At the deep end of the ocean,
Where the golden haired mermaids dwell
Waiting for ships on the tides motion
And the sea’s swell.

Their voices sing over the waves
Carried by the breeze to the ear.
As each one of them swims and bathes
What is to fear?

Enchanted they go to the tune,
Sailors follow with captured heart
To the sirens who sit and croon
Music their art.

Like a baited trap, it is sprung
As rats to the pied piper’s flute
Led by the music that they sung
Played like a lute.

These sirens are luring them in.
Once caught there is no freedom left.
Like flies on web by spider spun
It is soul theft.

Vampyric mermaids suck you dry,
Snaring the mind with music sweet.
Stolen spirits are left to die
They have their meat.

At the deep end of the blue sea
Death waits for all that fall in trance.
Ignore the sirens, set sail and flee
Avoid their dance.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

He Came

He came to the dark shores that night,
A hero to be on his quest.
A mere boy is he, no brave knight
To do his best.

The tales of old, the only clue,
To the task he has set upon.
This is something he has to do.
Stories undone.

Sat on the pebbles, there he waits,
For a sign of that certain ship.
To travel the mystery straits,
A worthy trip.

Tall is he and full of brave will,
On a journey into despair,
Against the ocean’s endless chill
A fool’s affair?

What makes Philip, such a young lad,
Take up an impossible ask?
Duty, maybe he is quite mad?
Is it a mask?

No turning back his ship has come,
With his knapsack he steps on board.
The adventure has now begun
Cross the seas broad.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Sapphic Sirens

Legends tell tales from the past,
Of oceans deep that secrets keep.
Enigmas of the ancients’ cast.
Why does she weep?

It’s at the fall of dusk to night,
The maidens of the sea come sing.
Radiant pale in the moon’s light
Their voices ring.

Their songs work magic on the mind
Enchanting those that lend their ears.
The quest, those sweet beauties to find
And spare her tears.

Be warned! They are not such a dream
Danger lurks beneath ladies fair.
Beauty is not all it would seem.
Brave heart takes care.

Journey starts at the island’s stone shore
Await the ship with the golden mast.
Take safe passage and nothing more,
Cross oceans vast.

Sail the sea to the west, it’s said,
To the lands of the Elfin King.
Succeed so his daughter may wed,
Search for the ring.

Then onwards to the rising sun
To the secret isle where they sing.
Golden hair sways, with the night fun
That moonlight bring.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Forbidden Love

From behind closed curtains eyes peer,
Watching as innocents learn love.
Whispers of loose tongues they all hear,
Unhidden love.

Furtive meetings far from the eyes
Shrouded as a hand in a glove,
They keep hearts to their discreet sighs
Forbidden love.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

11 June 2008

The Suitcase

A dusty suitcase lies upon her shelf,
A testimony to the life she made herself.
Packed with keepsakes that are her story
Moments of joy and sadness, her history.

A straw boater with yellow and green trim,
A schoolgirl with a head of dreams filled to the brim.
Diaries tied together with a long piece of string,
Loyally kept recording in detail her everything.

A sea shell from that beach so long ago,
Her innocence lost to the ocean’s tidal largo.
Artworks made of fingerprints from when children were young
Kept out of mother’s love for those new lives begun.

Now she’s gone, what will they do with that old suitcase?
It’s time to clear out; the council want back her place.
Memories have gone with her on that one final trip,
The old tatty case has gone down to the tip.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Monolithic Neolithic Mystery

Stones of old, standing in circle.
Ancient wonder of mystery.
Atmospheric, peaceful, retreat.
Avebury Henge and village, Wiltshire.

Hallowed rocks,
how solid their pride,
part of an enigma,
a sacred complex.

Nearby the mound, Silbury Hill.
West Kennet's neolithic barrow.
Then on to the Sanctuary.
Avebury Henge and village, Wiltshire.

Spiritual home to
Moonraker Pagan kin.
Magic surrounds
Psychic phenomena

Sunrise, Solstice or waning moon.
Beltane, Samhain, holy Sabbat.
Honoured by stones in a circle.
Avebury Henge and village, Wiltshire.

Witches, Druids,
Pagans all, ritual
Goddess peace always,
Blessed Be.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

April 1 Breaking News: WMD Found

After fives years of violence and slaughter,
Evidence has finally been uncovered of WMD.
There it was in plain sight, ignored so many times,
A pea shooter and a casket of dried pea.

Spud guns in red, blue and yellow,
Yes, we should have been so afraid.
Organic biological warfare, such a danger,
Unearthed yesterday morning in a dawn raid.

Information is coming from the Beeb and ITN,
Aggi Omar is heading to the scene in a dash.
Paxo, a report is preparing for Newsnight.
If you are affected please call this number - end of newsflash

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


Here lies unknown,
Somebody loved him,
Somebody's son.

Unknown it may say,
But to somebody,
He was known.

Mother waits in hope,
Maybe one day he'll come home,
Returning from unknown.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

8 June 2008

Wilted Roses (Version 2)

Worn are the faces of aged stone graves
Sun, wind and rain have beaten all to dust.
Words lost to time in twilight’s damask waves.
The unused gateway gathers shards of rust.

Once vibrant petals are withered and dry
Left once, now n act of remembrance lost.
Wilted roses remain alone, left to die
And weigh the invisible spirit cost.

Silent the sleepers in the church’s yard,
Undisturbed by the passers by now.
Forgotten faces from when times were hard
Reading and writing, most didn’t know how.

So many forgotten over passing years,
Did anyone once stand by shedding lost tears?

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Wilted Roses (Version 1)

Our love died at the setting of the sun,
As the day darkened along with the heart.
Like unwinding string our embrace is undone
With the dusk of love it is time to part.

Love fades as ashes of the fire do cool
No embers left to ignite lover’s flame.
Silk threads of passion, the end of the spool.
No regrets, life will never be the same.

The circle of love turned for you and me,
Our lives are on new pathways and reason.
No bitter pain as we set ourselves free,
Like the year, love had its time and season.

At summers end the bush has wilted roses,
And the chance of a new life as love closes.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Inner Balance

Fate deals the hand and we must play,
the cards so painful we must still lay.
Life out of sorts, lost and dazed!
If it ever becomes right, we'll be amazed.

No aces in the deck it would seem,
just deuces and threes nothing to redeem.
The odds are stacked against us so,
risks high, do we chance and go?

Two deuces, the lowest pair,
life just isn't playing fair.
It feels so complex, when will it cease?
Why can't you and I just have inner peace?

Our time will come, of that I am sure.
Our balance returned, at ease once more.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Rose Garden

Red, white, rosebuds grow
Satin petals open out
Blossoms flower bright.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

7 June 2008

Day of Rest

My ideal as I rise early with the birds
to most I suppose that is quite absurd.
Coffee brewing, the aroma fills the room
sipped slowly over the paper, so full of gloom.

Not that I read the news in the Telegraph,
I like my cryptic as I laze, is that daft?
Laundry in the washing machine, spinning,
everything in order, I think I am winning?

So, while I have a chance, I’m off for a wander,
a musing round the farmer’s market, organic wonder.
Leg of lamb and vegetables for the family roast,
I wish I could get away with just beans on toast.

Fruit for a crumble and fresh clotted cream,
a tad sinful but it does taste like a dream.
Selection of crusty bread and various cake,
I am a working mum; I don’t get time to bake.

Lunch over, the rabble sorted till it’s time for tea,
time for my relaxation with thread, my embroidery.
Quiet solitude, my idea of bliss, and so very rare,
this is my day to be me, without worry or care.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Spiralling Dreams

there is none.
Nightmares the haunting reality.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


Knock me down, I will get up again.
Destroy me with words, I am still here.
Deny me, blank my existence, if you can,
no matter what you do, I still appear.

Resilient I am, with you till the end,
looking at you from behind the eye.
Wherever you go, near or far, here or there,
I am bugging you, as you wonder why?

I am your conscience so you cannot hide,
the inner voice that niggles with guilt deep inside.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

My Girl and Me

I watch as she warms the pot at quarter to three,
a tray for two laid perfect in the conservatory.
Ready for that oh, so English speciality,
an event of elegance and grace is afternoon tea.
Cups sat on saucers, china decorated delicately,
everything perfect she looks and smiles at me.
My smile returned tell her the service is satisfactory
and she sits on my lap, and drinks her tea.
Simple things please best, my girl and me.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


Ms Lilly, my dear, give me your hand,
let me take you to a sensual promised land.
Soft tendrils of evocative silk stroking your face,
a greeting as we enter this velvet soft place.

Whispered the caresses of luscious arrays of rainbow colour,
prints mingling with checks, vibrant pinstripe and pretty flower.
Ms Lilly, sweet Lilly, let go of your fear and concern,
step into the realm of retail sensuality for which you so yearn.

Don't stop yet, my dear do not tease, there is many a pleasure
awaiting your temptation, at your delight and your leisure.
Juicy peaches that dribble sweet on your chin,
sticky trails of fruitiness and a longing to give in.

Lose your awareness and grip on reality, let it slide,
as you engulf yourself in your desire's lustful wild ride.
Come my Ms Lilly, fill your sweet honey basket with love,
chocolate covered fingers, a taste of heaven above.

Feel your excitement mounting as you reach out to the checkout girl,
hand her your card and let your senses take a whirl.
The rushing of sensation as your card she does swipe,
the realization that shopping is nothing but... sexual deviant hype.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


Jumbled together
a mass of nothing
Confused ramblings
from a broken brain.
Looking for beauty
in a world of barbed wire
Stop the world now
I want off

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

An Ordinary Man

Is it pleasure, regret, anger or madness? No!
It is all about power, absolute power, corruption complete.
A guy like me with nothing, and no hope of anything in life,
has a way to be whole, respected, it is an honoured retreat.

Sat here, smoking a cigarette, as you take notes, it’s hard to see.
I look like any other Joe, worn down by this hellish city.
How does it happen? Is it a mental or chemical reaction?
Is it flukes or chances, the taking of an opportunity?

I had nothing, see, no hope, no future, no escape,
no woman, no friend, just a never-ending road of nothing.
All that changed one Friday night, that girl, I wanted her, tired
of rejection, I didn’t ask for no permission, just took her everything.

I didn’t kill that one, or the few that came after her,
it was enough to overpower them, take and just leave.
Forced through their fear to swallow my seed,
the power rush to my senses, man you would never believe.

The fear in their eyes as they pleaded, begged for life,
worthless bitches, surrendering, screaming with no pride or grace.
I was careful, sure, never giving them a sight not even
a glimpse till finally one of them whores saw my face.

I knew what I had to do, man, she had to die!
Pantyhose tourniquet twisted round her throat,
biting deep into her flesh as she gasped a final breath.
Man, there is no power like it; it’s tough not to gloat.

I relived every moment in my dreams and thoughts,
no regret, no sympathy, remorse, there was none.
Just a hunger, an aching desire, a lust for that rush.
I had found my passion, my reign in the park begun.

That first kill I played back in my mind,
a mental video tape of a murder of an upper class girl.
Sat in draughty libraries, reading of the ways of death,
finally, I found it, the method that my senses did swirl.

So at home, I crafted the fine strands of stripped leather,
a plaited garrotte that would choke out many an existence.
Easily hidden deep in my killing jacket pocket, ready
for the next worthless bitch’s offer of unwilling subsistence.

Over the next few years I fined tuned my talent for murder,
no longer disfiguring them, the effort wasted on their useless flesh.
Too much force leaves ugly deep bruises and abrasions, imperfections,
so unattractive, I wanted to be better, and make less mess.

The women were mere tools of experimentation and test,
at last, I had it perfected; each death had become a fine art.
The ligature twisted to leave a vibrant plait, a red-purple reflection,
blood vessels ruptured and occluded, faces congested beauties of red dark.

Disposal of the remains was a problem at first, the realization that
dead carcases float with the current to places unknown.
So many of them still remain as ‘missing’ on the police’s files.
Only the two found on the unhallowed river banks, so overgrown.

‘How can an ordinary man kill,’ it is frequently asked.
It is not difficult, the mind from the depravity will disconnect.
The bitches are no different to chickens, when the neck breaks,
they squawk pathetically, just the same, giving nothing to respect.

Guilt or shame! Why should I feel either emotion?
I did my thing then headed home, maybe a hearty meal.
I feel pride in my skill, the satisfaction when it went well,
but most of all, the sense of power, is the thing I most feel.

So the suckers condemned me and sent me to hang,
remember this as you debate, discuss and sit smug.
For all the plain guys you use, abuse and ignore each day,
I stood up and counted, I am no one’s menial slug.

Guilt if there has to be any lies with you, friend, and society,
for compliance to a system built on greed and deviance.
Don’t think you can walk on a guy just like me,
we will give pay back when we are given the chance.

Martyr me to the hangman’s noose, as is your will,
it will not change a god damn thing, there is no hope.
Take me out! I go to those gallows with no shame,
whilst you live on, never satisfied, battling to cope.

Hanged by the neck till dead I will be content with that,
it does seem fitting, almost an honorary celebration.
Lethal injection or electrocution would just be an insult,
to a celebrated master of the fine art of strangulation.

Reaching for my smokes, I watch you flinch and draw back,
a fear reaction, friend? I can’t help but give you a smile.
A brief spark of a reminder of my power now past,
I am shackled and impotent as writer, my story, you compile.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Angel's Kiss

Mere days will pass
till I can claim mine.
A kiss from angel,
simply divine.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Sapphorically Speaking

Now what am I to write today?
I have to get my coursework in,
my lovely girls can splash and play
and I want sin.

The meter that I love to read,
it’s soft and subtle to entrance,
to join my girls is my need
soon I will dance.

A mass of words on paper fall
into iambic, I must sort
so I can go play with them all
free of all thought.

The work complete at last, I’m free
the poet that is here in me.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


K inky inked beauty,
A dored by her fans,
T attooed lady

V eritable work of art
O ne in a million
N aughty but nice.

D ream, my idea of heaven.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Spirit Call

Spirits inspiration,

messages in dreams.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

University of Life

Mistakes, the syllabus
from which we learn.

Do not sit silent,
in sulking regret.

Grasp the chance to grow,
wisdom will follow.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

My Poet Guide

I have a guide in poetry, I do!
A poet guide who sees me right and true.
No spirit he, so real. A friend in word,
meter and rhythm, things I find absurd.

The sonnet played to elegant finesse,
musical rhyme, to cheer and does impress
a darken heart as icy cold as mine,
the warm embrace, with words as rich as wine.

My poet guide he sooths my fears a treat,
a gentle voice to help me hear the beat.
A steady pace, so kind, his words are wise,
he laughs not at my hopeless poem tries.

To Jeff, my poetic totem, thank you friend,
my time is up, she’ll assess, poem end.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

6 June 2008

Illusionary Skies

The stars glisten between billowing clouds,
Flirting with the mists of my silent dream.
Floating in the illusion of mystic shrouds,
Shimmer as gems in the pale moonlight’s beam.

Dreams that free us from the every day life
To find the fantasy within the mind.
Premonition or just a break from strife
In dream world, all is waiting there to find.

Castles in the sky shine for me in sleep,
Fair maiden heroes battling against foe.
Sat in strawberry fields alone to weep,
It doesn’t matter I am set to go.

Released a world of cerulean sky,
Illusions that go far beyond the eye.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Happy Birthday

It was some fifty years ago today
That you came into this world, the unknown.
A Liverpool lad you are all the way,
Now into a man so fine you have grown.

Fifty I really cannot believe it,
But doing the maths, yes of course it's right.
So I should get my quill and write a bit
Send good wishes to one who makes life bright.

So Paul have a great birthday, 'Dad' of mine
And don't let mother drive you too insane.
Just put her out by ears, on washing line
And go, sit and watch the Liverpool game.

Have a rum and black,
And ignore the flack.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

5 June 2008


Wherever darkest lies,

perfect light.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Ethereal Attraction

Another night alone in our bedroom,
memories of you lying ev’rywhere
Eyes red with tears, my senses in the gloom,
life without you leaves me full of despair.

Lying down to sleep in our love filled bed,
tiredness takes over, dreams float into mind.
Haunting visions drift to the time we were wed,
to the days of lust that our love did find.

Startled I can feel your tender embrace,
the taste of your kisses fresh on my lips.
Fingers caressing making my heart race,
the sensual weight of you above my hips.

Gone so fast, the briefest glimpse of you,
alarm sounds an unwilling mind awake.
My ethereal lover, my heart still true,
even death cannot eternal bonds break.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Exam Hell

Months of work coming to a final test,
three hour papers in hot rooms, it’s no jest.
Classics, linguistics, fine art, all for me,
revision time seems too short now you see.

June is a student’s nightmare, no release,
impatient for freedom and inner peace.
Am I ready for the open days show?
Images and sculpture, for public glow.

The nervous tension gives me a headache,
summer madness, for education’s sake.
By exam end I’m lost, dazed and confused.
Ready to relax, no longer abused.

Escaping class for some summer sunshine,
Idyllic dreams with the one I call mine.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Living In Hell

No warning,

just attack my senses.

Anger and rage,

why does it haunt me?

Empty shell,

nothing left inside to hurt.

Nowhere to run

I can't hide from my mind.

Emotionally dead

bloody hell I wish I was too.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.


Love, a state of contradiction and such,
a world of deep joy, yet agony too.
Is it enough or could it be too much?
Senses sharper than any orange construe
each time we risk the heart to that thing, love.
'Never again,' we say after each break,
always we do forget that pledge thereof.
The heart worn on the sleeve, sense we forsake.
Without love we are nothing but alone.
Someone to hold brings such contented joy.
Previous hurts a new love does atone,
so open your heart, no need to be coy.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

FA Cup Final 2008

My lads are both Portsmouth boys,
and today they are full of football joys.
Portsmouth have won the cup to their loudest cheers,
Both are crying happiness' wonderful tears.

Champagne spraying all over the place,
toasting the win with smiles on face.
The Liverpool lass that is there mum,
knows the pride that is flowing through them.

It was close, but Kanu came through,
and scored the goal that made the dreams come true.
Two lads in a Midlands town are screaming out loud
of their home side they are so justly proud.

So in tradition for my boys special rhymes,
lets hear those Pompey chimes
They are so proud you won the cup

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Lonely Place

The reflections of early summer sun,
Glistens again on my windows this year,
They blend invisibly ready for fun,
Laughter of children is all that I hear.

The heat is drying my old wooden walls
As for the first time my door creaks open.
Frustrated the squeals, they can't find their balls
Like me ignored, quite simply forgotten.

Summer's fun just thrown inside at Fall's dawn.
Just left like me, through rain and winter's snow.
I'm left alone at the end of the lawn
To watch as endless seasons come and go.

A touch of creosote keeps my wood fed,
Sat at the garden's end just the old shed.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

4 June 2008

Wild About Worthing

The hell's angels on electric scooters
Race along the promenade to the pier.
Make sure you move at the sound of hooters
Or be mown down by the grannies, we fear.

The stars come out at the Pavillion,
Just like the teeth of those that go see 'em.
The original louts of rebellion,
They'll get you with a stick up the bum.

Watch old boys in white playing with their bowls
Or listen to the tunes at the bandstand.
Making the most of life with sagging cowls
Though most can no longer do a handstand.

Concerns of functions of waste congestion,
It's enough to give us indigestion.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Gang Rule

The three black cats that live by my nan
Gang up at dusk and strut about looking tough
A trio of hoods who rule the estate, man!
"So give us ya Whiskas or we get rough!"

The moggy mob rule, it is here to stay
In this seaside town there is always fish.
Three cool cats that control the alley way
Looking for cod, plaice or bass on a dish.

They sing a cat's chorus out on the tiles
A miaow tune just so she, the queen, smiles.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

A Heart Content

From Canadian shore to English lime,
The Maple leaf, your pride in homeland true.
Serving Crown and Commonwealth in war time,
Then as a law enforcer boy in blue.

On greens, perfectly mown, more glory won,

Heavy woods curving inward to meet jack.
Bowls clattering between ends in the sun,
All dressed in white, never running back.

From Heart's Content, Worthing town became home
When Win joined you as a blushing sweet bride.
Grandchildren, great grandchildren one by one
Came along, our Nan with you by her side.

Each of us has life lessons from your hand fed,
Pops, Poppy, or simply put, good old Fred.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.