The rain starts to fall as the sky dims to blue, new radio broadcasts of War are all true. Unexpected excitement of boys that are young, who can’t sleep on the thought that It has begun. New measures of safety, they call it “blackout”, where only the wardens and cats are about. Signs are removed and great confusion pursues, as propaganda stories are read in news.

“We need YOU!” they plead and “sign up now, today!”, “I will fight for my country”, thats what they say. Gathered outside, it’s for recruitment, they wait, young boys, from school, secretly to young, debate.

I am in the process of writing more, this is just a snippet. It’s like a story poem I think.


Memories of Home

December 3, 2006

Memories of Home

I look down towards the ground,
Damp and wet all around,
Mud and blood stain my boots,
Left there by a new recruit.

Tears fill my eyes,
I try to disguise,
My memories from home.

Running towards the front line,
Aches and pains all combine,
Heart beats fast and lungs inflate,
I know I’m in a bad state.

Thick, dark smoke covers my sight,
Yellow gas, I scream with fright,
Down I fall to my knee’s,
Not now, not me, don’t please!

I feel pain now,
Not much more I can allow,
My memories from home.

Breathing is hard, I feel faint,
In and out of consciousness,
German voices coming near,
Closer and closer, they appear.

Standing right there,
In front, they stare,
My memories from home.

This is the end, no doubt,
A man moves, HALT they shout,
They shoot, blood comes from his head
No saving him now, he’s dead.

I close my eyes,
And wait to die
My memories from home.

James Crocker – Written on 2nd February 2006

Space Trator

December 3, 2006

Space Trator

As I float here,
In the green dim light of the tunnel,
I know I cant get back now,
Back to humanity, stuck in the darkness.

Ground control hasn’t spoken to me,
Two days I have waited. No contact.
I didn’t mean to abandon him,
I thought we would get back.

His face haunts my uncomfortable dream,
Strapped to the wall, still only green lights to comfort me.
No fuel, not much supply of food,
I’m so stupid!

So alone, in this world, a world not a world as such,
My world, my corrupt little delusion.
I lost my friend of 20 years,
All to my mistake.

Miscalculations, misinterpretations.
Spacewalk from hell,
My mind makes me mumble these words,
Words in which no one will hear. Echo’s in a fake environment.

He tangled in the air pipe,
His face red, eyes bulging,
Screaming at me to get him out,
I didn’t listen to him, I was ordered to stop, they didn’t know.

I left, he drifted away, I’m stuck here, they found out.
I have no more that one day left,
I’m a traitor, so they treat me as one,
They are, to them I’m nothing, a man in a $30 tin can.

James Crocker – Written on 30th October 2006


December 3, 2006


Dreams are what we are made of,
Memories twisted by interpretation,
Our own being dilutes them
And understanding is halved.

A sense of mist surrounds them,
Blurred to perfection,
Until woken up from delusion
Our mind gives ultimate bliss.

Some are lucid, others aren’t,
Messed up to mean something,
Dreams in sleep, daydreams, distractions,
All programmed by media’s lies.

Folders in our head,
Main points of yesterdays meeting,
Bullet points, scribbles, notes,
All stored in the brains power.

Dreams of what could be done
With our lives, destiny or fate
You might ask inside, deep inside
Which one you will choose.

All thought out for us,
Dreams are mere lies inserted
Into our brains by world control,
Existence is only what we appear to know.

James Crocker – Written on 4th November 2006