Monday, January 8, 2024

Up and Out

And as her mind fills up, up, up,
with evil not ere known before
she knows to do a nightly scrub
and flush the knowledge out, out, out. 

But of the flush is it enough
to ensure no remnant there remains
to taint the essence of her being
and make her be as she is not? 

Although she ponders she well knows
she is today as she was then
and tomorrow she will be again
how she’s always been. 

There is no changing the true self
but sometimes pretence reigns supreme
and little signs along the way
are discarded from mind’s reservoir. 

But the day will come when evil says,
“To hell with this, I’m going out”
and she will see and then believe
all those discarded signs.

Too late, too late, she should have known
but the scrub and flush left her unarmed
to face the full import
of evil’s many wiles. 

So keep the signs within the mind
to be prepared and ready for
the time when people change
from what you thought was good and true!

Saturday, January 7, 2023


The words that once were free at ease
recline beneath a willow tree
wishing so to climb, climb, climb,
to escape the evil on the ground. 

That evil is a devil thing that stabs
and stabs, stabs, stabs again,
till nought but “mush” remains to speak
of love and peace and harmony. 

And that “mush” sends up an ardent plea
to grow, grow, grow and grow some more,
to knock at last on heaven’s door
and ask, and ask, why, why, why, why. 

For now mere silence filters down
and words listen, listen more,
but nothing penetrates the shell
that survival put in place. 

But they know, of course, they know
because heaven speaks out loud
when the channel free of dirt and grime
picked up from that filthy ground. 

But how to make the channel free
for more than minutes in a day
and words ponder, ponder, ponder more,
until claimed by exhaustive sleep. 

You’ll see them there beneath the tree
but don’t disturb their reverie
because they will have to start again
from beginning till the end. 

How long it’s been, how long will be,
but I can’t tell you till I know
they’ve up and walked away
to regain their rightful place. 

And their rightful place a page of course
or three or four or more and more and more!

Tuesday, October 18, 2022

The sea today


Wind whips at the sea and she crests in anger
at the will of the life force that puts her on edge
for placed of nature she'd much rather flow
straight to the shore like a woman adored.

No friend the wind to pierce through her heart
and bleed her frustrated womanhood feel
into the rough of an unsettled life
like a figment created for picturesque worth
and not for the using, the feeling, tasting.

Sea sprays her ire right up to the sky
but it crashes back down into her mass
swallowed and swallowed so she can begin
making slow rolls towards calm repose.

Night hastens to come and relieve the sun
for the sentry of day no help in the fray
and the sea bids the night be her lover
to still the frenzy within.

Night settles at last on the sea’s many fears
the promise of peace still yet to be
and the sea believes like the seer in me
that everything comes to he who believes.

Meanwhile the rain and just so you know
tomorrow the wind will blow yet again!

Thursday, April 14, 2022



And as that gypsy emerged
from her bubble of silence
she wondered what happened that day
when life stole her earthly voice.
Was it the rain that washed it out,
the wind that blew it away,
or simply the evil of humankind
that burnt to ash each/every word?
It matters not; what’s gone is gone
but that gypsy knows to search the terrain
because the entrenched that’s missing today
not yet dead and buried.
If found could she then still verbalize
the intent of goodness, mercy, kindness,
and speak to the deaf of forever love
and belief in the everlasting?
Meanwhile the days relentless march on
while she struggles to remain undeterred
from the battle to retain her core beliefs
in a world so intent on evil.
She searches today, she struggles today,
but evil, that dastardly thing called “evil”,
attaches itself to her every day
and relentlessly marches on and on and on!

Saturday, March 27, 2021

The run and jump


She’s a baby at this thing called life
because she cannot understand
the lies, the greed, the arrogance
and that dreaded manipulation
that trips her up time and time again.
But babies grow and learn
and know to take little, little, steps,
before the run and jump
that takes them away and over.
I reckon she’s in mid jump
uncertain how or where she’ll land
but at least she is in motion
from years of immobility.
If I had a hat I would take it off
but I can bow from the waist down
and pay homage to the strength
that came out from the blue.
Yes, she was strong and is strong
now way up in the air
but will a cushion or a rock
be awaiting her “come-down”?
But such is life that no one knows
what a run and jump will lead to
but to stay as one immobile
a fate worse than death.
Please let’s pray that she will hand
upright on her feet
and live to tell of the heartache and grief
that will surely follow her all of her days!

Saturday, January 23, 2021



These days more than then
it’s time to sift through the dirt
and find a little miracle
waiting to be noticed
and rescued from the pain
of being trodden on. 

It takes a time, it really does,
for sifting’s no easy task
when distracted is the mind
by life’s activities. 

But to sift, look, and be aware
of something waiting in the dirt
to be lifted up and cherished
always gives a good return
on the effort expended.  

How sad these days to walk on dirt
and ignore what’s underfoot
until each and every miracle
breaks up and disappears.

Sunday, January 10, 2021

The voice of free speech (adapted from the original)

The voice of free speech soft and dulcet in its tone
or harsh, abrasive, cutting, and reaching to the core,
moves freely like the wind, touching, circulating,
and speaking only and always to those who wish to hear.
Ideology, philosophy, wishful thinking, memories,
unsubstantiated dreams, hopes, wishes, needs, desires,
woven like a tapestry too soon to be out-dated
and discarded like a heap of old and musty books.
In a fire of these times volumes and manuscripts
will burn and be forgotten like bodies of the dead
and cynics will grow to outnumber those who know
till all and everything disappears into the air.
How pointless, how degrading, how useless is intent
to expose to the already wise the wisdom of the old
or shine like a star in the path of a blind man
in the knowledge that he has no eyes to see.

Too numerous the setbacks and too far away the moon
to highlight a soul within the shell of flesh
and everyone’s free speech will evolve into dust
to be trodden on and crushed by life’s intolerance.
The air once thin, sustaining, grows thick and thicker now
with the absorption of … simply all and everything