Here's a more political poem, accompanied by one of my harmonica tracks. Well I tend to vote for the Green party, so its my own protest against the austerity measures being inflicted upon the working class throughout Europe and the UK. Hope you enjoy the video.
Well here's a new poetry video, made with some help from my friends. Its me performing my poetry, with a bluesy track that me and my friends came up with in a jam session, so the music is live. Its me on the harmonica, hope you enjoy.
The balance
You've got to find the balance
The balance inherent within everything.
In order to survive
The storms of emotion,
So that you need not moan
But like a bird, sing!
As the balanced diet
Nourishes a body strong
That in turn keeps
Your mind ticking along.
A balanced opinion
Could often be said
To be the tool
Of the wisest of men.
You've got to find the balance
The balance inherent within everything
In order to survive
Life's snaking tensions
That in all our lives
Is coiled like a spring.
A balanced account
Could very much prove
A guidance to any grasping fool.
Though what else
Could cause such alarm
As when poverty is used
To socially disarm.
No! we've got to find the balance
The balance inherent within everything.
In order to survive
The storms of emotion,
So that we need not moan
But like the birds, sing!
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
Life does rumble.
Life does rumble like distant thunder
With the echoes of our haunted minds,
Some good, and some simply evil
All lost to the onslaught of time.
And so I learnt with much relief
Never to focus my sole attention
Upon beliefs that cannot compete
Nor save ones hypertension;
In the growing sense of defeat
When living the apprehension.
Life does rumble like distant thunder
With the echoes, of past memories.
Some good and some simply evil,
All wrapped up, in the good of all things.
So I learnt with much relief
To be misunderstood by the fool,
And alienated by a crowded ignorance,
That pride and vanity could only fuel;
In the growing sense of insignificance,
That marks out certain folk as a rule.
Life does rumble like distant thunder
As lightening strikes the point of thought,
Some good and some simply evil
All wrapped up in the ideas you've sort.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013©.
Unholy war.
I see the glinting metal upon a torn horizon
Hearing the shriek of serpents fired;
Hearts sink upon the next reprisal
While Death eagerly sharpens his trusty scythe.
I heed the mad mutterings of a cussing language
Devoid of logic yet fortified with pride;
The meekest shrink from the abject carnage
Whilst a god ashamed, finds a place to hide.
I read your arguments in the daily papers
Every word crafted from a culture of lies,
Truly yours is the kingdom of Cain
In murdering ones brothers for the lord of flies.
I feel the wind harassing all thought
A gale which carries a dismal calamity,
Where no refuge can be bought or sort,
In our world bleeding its costly humanity.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2001©.
Advice to all those squares.
Hey what's troubling me
Do you really want to know?
Are you really fucking listening?
Between the ring tones of your phone.
Just another eager problem
For you to grimly nod and share
My passing wouldn't trouble you,
Its only death that makes you scared.
Making me the guilty one
For loathing market- societies
As if there's something intrinsically wrong
with objecting to false realities.
Hey what's troubling me
Do I really care to show?
Are you really sure of existing
Could you truly ever know?
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
Secret lovers.
Sadly, our eyes could not dwell nor meet
For fear of the longing intimacy.
Though beneath our stifled breasts
Drummed loudly the beat, of love's great lunacy.
When holding a loft, from notions of desire,
Our gestures proved "The bodies no liar";
With scarlet lips, ripened for the kissing
And pupils broadening, to deadly shades of night;
The borders of anxiety, weighed down a hope sinking,
As each held in esteem, the others sexual might.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2005©.
Here is a link to William's spreaker channel, where you can hear him perform some more of his poetry to soundtracks that he has also produced.
https://www.spreaker.com/user/bikerdelic
Night waves.
The Radio channels through the starlit skies
Voices which crackle as background relief,
As a million minds upon this summer night
Immerse themselves in the sea of dreams.
The old moon, watches over humanity,
Submerged within the unconscious blue.
Theres a beauty sewn into the threads of tragedy
In the old Jazz song that paid its due.
The tides wash over the sands and estuaries
As the waves breathe the rhythm of time
Non witnessed and unknown, by all sleepers
In a spectacle that is the mystical night.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
One of my oil paintings of the future Buddha Maitreya, although Maitreya is usually depicted as sitting down western style on a throne.
I therefore chose the lotus posture that the buddha is sitting in, as it fitted better with the concept of a metorite crashing to earth.
Maitreya is the Future Buddha who is predicted to be born into the world, when all true Buddhism has disappeared from the world,and all the kindness has disappeared like water from a desert.
I think at such times as these, the world sorely needs a Maitreya.
A revolutionary poem that I put to some well known poster artwork.
Black cat, in the night of the soul.
The streets are lit in mortuary green,
At the peak of night when others sleep;
With no one around to survey the scene,
Of a lonely world that often weeps.
But the blackest cat in the moonlight,
Follows his own honed instinct
Treading into the mysteries of night
Patrolling his very own precinct.
In the night and day of the mortal soul
Where passionate fears and confidence rein
We can feel the two halves of a perfect whole
When detached from illusions of judgment or blame.
And like that cat who roams the darkness,
We can embrace the potential of the unknown
And be no more the frightened or restless,
With no guilt or remorse to atone.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
One of my more Zen like inspired poems. Image also produced by myself.
Upon reaching forty.
Upon reaching forty.
My old friends no longer call,
Dispersed like grains of corn
Purely victims of it all.
Upon reaching forty
All the dreams I once had planned
Lay decayed by a lack of demand
In life's crazed sortie.
Upon reaching forty
My beard and hair is grey
Upon a face withdrawn by age
As my ego commences to fray.
Upon reaching forty
Every place has lost its face,
In a life of continual pace
Growing increasingly haughty
Upon reaching forty
My views no longer compare
As a junior in a line of old men
With broken faith, in need of repair.
Upon reaching forty
Less fetters guard my mind
As I seek in hope to find
The truest essense to my story.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2010©.
Armageddon blues.
In the temples, soon after death
The moneylenders reappeared
Dealing blood under the suffering shadow;
The currency of souls auctioneered.
In the bustling, crushing high-streets
A million Lazarus's gather to preach,
Weighed down by the gold of peers
Their tongues blistered by hypocrisies
And stomachs folded by opulent years.
Each one a Pontius Pilate
Two thousand years to date;
Forsaken by the masses which nervously swoon
From the material indoctrinations,
Is how the darkest days loom.
Pitting men against brothers,
As only a religious corruption brews;
Each soldier born of quaking mothers,
Dance to the strains of the Armageddon blues.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2001©
What Good Becomes?
Can a god be confined by a culture
When a culture defines a god?
Are gods superimposed images
Of Man's discriminate plots?
What speaks of whispers in deserts
Spirit or psychotic response?
What good becomes of religions
Mired in misery & blood?
Of intrinsic thoughts, I hold my own,
Second-hand, only to speculation;
Caring not for what priests withhold,
For truth lays in the open investigation.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2002©.
Your inner best friend.
I saw my ideal friend
Always beckoning ahead,
Further up the mountain pass
That twists and turns on me.
Always out of reach
Yet waving frantically!
I could not understand
Why they would not wait for me?
And so I walked alone
Seeking some old sanctuary,
Upon that mountain pass
That twists and turned on me.
Always out of reach
Yet calling my name,
I could not understand
Why they could not wait for me?
I reached the mountain top
That so beckoned the way ahead,
Seeing only the empty space
And the road which brought me.
Always out of touch
Yet waving tragically!
Hardly believing,
That ideal friend was me.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
Isle of Man.
Honoured by the curtseys of each wave,
Paying homage to the court-
Upon timeless shores of destiny;
Aqueous veins pronounce a cragged face,
Trickling down a giant's brow of greenery.
Nesting upon the shoulders of dormant magma
Secure in the heights of isolation,
Lily-white cottages perch precariously
From wraith-like pirates of churlish seas.
Shielded by oaks, in enchanted secrecy
Kissed by the bardic winds of mystery,
Is testimony to the charms of a rootless wonderment
Spellbinding strangers to swallow down heed.
As a cloak descends upon a clouded lair,
Dwelled by the shaman Manannan Mac Lir,
With a fearful beauty of life's mortal pace
In the realm of kings, legends and men;
The ghosts of time's temporal face,
Gather by the weathered crown of Snaefell,
Witnessed only by one nervous wren,
In evening song while the rivers swell.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2004©.
The folly of establishments.
You don't need a scholarship
To float your big ideas,
But a doctor needs his patients
To practise throughout his years.
So where would all empires be
Without mystic's, saints or sages?
For the kings of men, pay a timely fee
Yet wisdom passes through the ages.
You don't need to be religious
To be the kindest human soul
But religion without kind people
Is like a spoon without its bowl.
So where would be humanity
Without life's defiant folk?
It would surely be a tyranny,
by the bourgeois yoke.
You don't need politicians
To ruin your lives and dreams,
Yet they do less good than damage,
Always meddling behind the scenes.
And what becomes of democracy
Without civil liberties?
When custodian's of such a hypocrisy
Steal away opportunities.
You don't need a scholarship
To float such big ideas,
That the people are losing patience
After suffering too many fears.
So where this leaves us standing,
Without the freedom just to be?
For I hear a revolution demanding
To set the people free.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
William's first ever public performance at the Cube theatre in Corby, England, 2013.
I have been writing poetry for over twenty years but decided to take up the challenge of performance poetry.
The passing of time.
Do not cry nor wail for me
Beneath the veil of deaths relief,
Where I lay still, fast asleep;
Beyond the pain of fears and regrets.
No more these eyes to weep
As time soothes and soon forgets.
So our bonds lay broken
Far beyond repair;
As time was fleeting, yet
Such preciousness we shared.
Remember love within a smile
The serenity of the moment
And the innocence of a child.
Worthier than gold such contemplations,
To live each moment
Beyond foolish expectations.
So do not cry nor wail for me
Beneath the veil of deaths relief,
Where I lay still, fast asleep;
Beyond the pain of fears and regrets.
No more these eyes to weep
As time soothes and soon forgets.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2011©.
Imagination.
There lays a world within a world
By no mortal hands concealed,
Where horizons of unlimited possiblities,
Stretch our mental capablitities
In dreams that are worthy vessels
For refugees of the body and soul;
We can seek within the temples
For what resides within the whole.
Endeavouring for the eye that percieves
All the fruits & labours of inherent beauty,
Is to rest amongst the shimmering leaves
Swaying upon the branches of wonderment
Overlooking the throes of reality.
So appreciate the husks & the seeds
Sown by the notions of eternal wanderers,
For without such passive ideals & creeds
What enchantment could survive tomorrow?
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2001©.
Music of natural delight.
Away from the drunken tom-foolery;
Walking home upon a Saturday night,
Leaving behind the pulsating music
And the dancers on the edge of time.
The sweetest of choruses greets my ears
From rooftops and branches up high,
Serenading the coming dawn,
As I transfixed, slowly pass on by.
Savouring the innocence, upon a wing,
Bringing joy to my heart and mind;
Making follies of human thoughts and whims,
Upon hearing the songs of delight.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2003©.
The Liar.
I look into your eyes
& see your favoured wiles;
Then deeper within the soul
Espy your inner foe.
I hear your fractured words
& listen to your tales;
Then follow your stream of thought,
To where ever it prevails.
I watch your body speak
Far louder than mere words;
Then wonder why such feats,
Should I really have endured.
I see therefore a liar
With no discrimination made,
So bid you the long farewell
Taking leave, as my shadow fades.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
The diamond heart.
To give from a heart, undeceiving
Nor pride one's self upon the deed;
In offering the gift to those receiving
The potential of loves dormant seed.
Contours the light of celestial reason
To anoint each moment and every season
With jewels of pure untainted emotion,
The sparkling rays of divine devotion.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2003©.
This film I also made on my laptop and home computer, due to financial retraints. However I produced the sound track, with me performing the harmonica. Produced in 2013.
The Idealist.
Idealism and truth is my Gasoline,
Its what keeps me alive and running.
I cannot defend a compromise
That's unjust and wile-fully cunning.
And so I make the best of friends,
As good paths are bound to cross.
Never needing to follow lavished trends
When instead theres universal logos.
So I only step where I'm welcome,
Dusting my shoes where I'm not
Marking out a discriminate kingdom,
Which routinely loses the plot.
Searching for a path through the maze
Of a corupted garden with isolating walls,
That keeps every human in a constant phase
Of economic warfare and bitter social brawls.
Idealism and truth is my Gasoline
Its what keeps me alive and running.
I cannot defend a compromise
That's unjust and wilefully cunning.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013©.
Quarter past Ten.
Some commuting upon this hour
Anxiously speed homeward bound.
Brake lights glaring in optic union
Approaching fast intersections;
a continuous wail of feral engines
Clawing audibly the stagnant air.
Intravenously injected down the main line
Jettisoned through the causation of life,
Craving the pull towards their abodes
Colliding to earth, such meteorites of flight.
The traffic wakes within its trail
Scattered words of paper dreams.
Not one leaf upon the sycamore stirs,
Nor ghost or gentle breeze apparent,
When aromas of petroleum, pervades the air
In the hopeless debris of random loneliness.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2007 ©.
The old dog.
Standing upon a frozen street
Nonchalantly awaiting the number nine bus;
Whom should I observe walking so neat?
Just a friend, never sombre
Nor in any manic-some rush.
Mocking my fool hearty gamble
In risking the shackles of workingmen's woes
Whilst he is free to sample
Life, from his head down to his toes.
Life is equal to a bitch on heat;
The old dogs howl in disgust.
My eyes glistened brightly
Upon a promise from Mary Jane,
Without shame, I visited her nightly
Yet as years soured, her charms did wane.
Such is the allure of a pipe dream,
That banishes reason from reality
Stealing the mind from self esteem
Restrictive to life as endangering ones sanity.
Life is equal to a bitch on heat;
The old dogs howl in disgust.
I saw the subject of many desires;
Raven hair, blowing seduction upon the breeze,
Though without the spirit she so requires
My ambitions are no more than a tease.
With swollen tongue and pulsing heart
This actor stumbled before the baying crowd,
Restless as the lady in my bashful shroud,
No more than a fool, yearning to please.
Life is equal to a bitch on heat;
The old dogs howl in disgust.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2002©.
In the fall of the West.
Where can a mind find peace from birth
Stranded within this self-consuming sphere?
When wealth is the only presumption of worth
In which elites hold fast, with a cankerous fear.
In the mighty halls of senates and kings
Tremors follow a thunderous roar,
For fools not heeding what injustice brings
Will enact the wrath of uncivilised war.
When drunken power, casts its final illusions,
Brewed in the cauldrons of corruption and crime;
Fabricates a pretext like a myriad of delusions,
Whilst the bells of war, so ominously chime.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2009 ©.
Samsara, Nirvana.
Sorrow always finds a troubled mind
As anger tempers the hateful heart;
Materially feeding each hungry ghost,
Slowly draining lifes creative spark.
Age now finds me a wearier host,
Resigned to the truth of life's very passing,
As I raise my glass in a final toast.
No more of life, to be asking,
In the blink of a cosmic eye.
Rivers of awareness, once fluid and tasking-
Value the suchness of an altruist mind.
An alias with no selfhood to name;
No attachment but complete liberation!
As we escape the great, worldily frame.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
The Horror in our realities.
Observing our world
Spiralling into chaos,
Stirred and shaken
By the powers of delusion.
Hearing those funeral processions,
Jolting with every step,
Down the dead end alleys of Hades.
Trumpeting to the beat
Of a million overdosed anxieties;
Watching every moment,
From mobiles phones and TV sets.
Whilst we search for the light
Along the avenue of shadows.
Holding onto our humanity
Amongst the bustling crowds;
The gnashing of teeth
You would expect to follow,
Resonates in every conversation,
Such bitterness,
Being hard to swallow.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013 ©.
INFJ, poem.
The given trust that I often sought
lays so very much out of reach.
It is often the tale of my own sort,
That you should never try to teach.
As we see in countless different ways,
Beyond some folk's comprehensions.
We are missunderstood in all our days,
Which feeds our apprehensions.
So wish! as you like for a different part
But the actor stays the same.
And so hate us or love with all your heart,
As we will never play your game!
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013©.
Roll up Roll up for war.
"Their ready for the greatest show on earth,
Searching for intelligence, amongst the Senate clowns.
So "Roll up roll up" as I hear for what its worth
The circus of death, is to be making its rounds".
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013©.
The lost and found.
As death threatens to stalk our fear,
Never leaving you in any doubt,
Your love of ego becomes so clear
In the moments of life, held so dear,
So fearful of the imminent drought.
Lust and power only intoxicates
The very shadow of ones self,
However impermanence communicates
The irrelevance of status and wealth.
So come now my foolhearty friends
You make uneasy laughing clowns,
There is still time to make amends
And wipe away your laden frowns.
For every action that we inter play
Will come full circle around.
As tomorrow could be our final day,
Do not stay lost, let thyself be found.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2000©.
A new video poem I produced the yesterday.
Its a protest poem against Capitalist exploitation of the working class around the world and is also anti austerity measures and anti Conservative relating to the uk Government of David Cameron.
Such a dismal government of the Conservatives/ Liberals are committing very real discrimination against the unemployed, working class and the vulnerable (the physically disabled and those citizens that suffer from mental health conditions) in British society today.
There is much to this sad modern tale that Charles Dickens would reckonise, with great sadness, disappointment and regret. As the British establishment are showing their true contemptable colours as a ignorant and privleged elite, that have lost touch with the average man/ woman and child in the street, due to their increasing greed and collective arrogance "as a class of rogues in a nation".
Life in Britain for the working classes.
I went to the factory, of the death of my soul
Seeing so much insanity and pointless repetition.
That a mind couldn't help but grow so old,
Under the subjected torture of mindless contradictions.
As the muted drones of factory machines
Drowned the humour of each and every nation;
Such are the factories, where dreams come to die,
In lives effected by economic subjugation.
Written by William Shaun Milligan 2013©.
Follow this link to see more of Williams video performances ofhis poetry and music.
https://www.youtube.com/user/WICKEDWOE3?feature=mhee
