Thursday, February 9, 2017

Last time?

She looked at her wagon decrepit and old;
can it make one trip down yonder road
with a load much lighter than ever before
and a soul that knows it will soon have to die?

The wagon was silent; it had spoken before
of one last, one last, and another last one
and now closed eyes to think (maybe pray)
could it be, could it be, the final last one.

It looked at the pasture beyond its foresight
and thought maybe, yes, it could live out its days
relaxing, reclining, and remembering
all the trips back and forth and round about.

Maybe, just maybe, time is its friend
to allow four wheels to sink into the sand
and bring in peace previously denied
the one that travelled through experiences.

Suspicious of time; friend or foe do you think
but wagons and gypsies know time is just time
so easily susceptible to a change of mind
on its relentless march to demise - 
if there such a thing be.

Thursday, November 3, 2016


The shore has lain comatose
for nigh on a million years
a silent but strong barrier
against the encroach of sea.

Yet in the silence I can hear
the wish to join the sea
and travel far beyond the reach
of mankind’s evil ways.

But stuck it is like you and me
creating and maintaining
an extraordinary barrier
against the encroach of love.

Unlike sea love knows to withdraw
and wait in the corners of many lifetimes
and I wish sometimes it was like sea
to always provoke that intractable shore.

Love is kind but is it kind
to leave mankind’s free will alone
and feel the pain of being ignored
in, oh, so many little ways?

And yet love waits and soon perhaps
we’ll know that waiting as was made
will be the most spectacular
kindness ever known.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Oak trees

Lining the road like soldiers in time
standing tall, proud, touching the sky,
trees of fine Oak wave branches as swords
in homage and welcome to me, their Lord.

Soft is the wind that whispers through leaves
the message of love and how we should be
but all we once knew hides in corners of pain
each of us own as part of our gain.

Circles of age ringed silent and grave
speak of a wisdom awarded the brave
for roots of their history reach to the core
and know of the peace beyond heaven’s door.

I’ll pass by again one day when I’m old
no longer a Lord but a poor humble soul
naked and bare in my moment of prayer
next to the crown of my human despair. 

And I will bear fruit in my freedom to be
like a tall Oak in the kingdom of trees
upright and strong right where I belong
in the whispers of love’s immortal song!

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Gypsy of note

So that gypsy of note opened her door
to the worse than ever before
and watched in dismay as her wagon wheels
buckled then broke under the weight.

She toiled all day until dawn broke
in attempts to repair the damage
but, lo and behold, the rain fell down
and her wagon got stuck in the mud.

There followed then the stress and strain
to release and uplift the entrenched
but finally too tired to move
she succumbed to the rain and mud.

Exhausted she lies and calls to the wild
that claims life in the deep within
to bless her with two gigantic wings
to fly free from the deeply entrenched.

And her voice with the wind journeys afar
to a place she still has to know
but she waits like a maiden with grace
sometimes in and sometimes out
that exulted state.
She waits and calls again, again,
but she knows wings won’t ever be real
because they are and will always be
just the strength to be happy in mud!


Monday, July 4, 2016

Pop, pop!

Pop, pop, pop!  The memory pops
and out flow all the bits and bobs
from years and years ago
and even just from yesterday.

Floating so within the mind
they form a pattern undefined
and yet sometimes the dots are joined
and cause/effect comes into view.

And of the dreams that should have been
they stand on the periphery
twinkling like a million stars
far from an outstretched reach.

Then there’s love and empathy
unencumbered by the past
because no matter how it tried
it couldn’t pierce the unfeeling.

Laughter, joy and happiness
a mere speck so hard to find
but there within the medley
for tomorrow’s search and find.

Sadness, grief and heartache
bump shoulders with adversity
and enjoy their freedom heartily
until acceptance swallows them.

Finally the clouds comes in
and all that once was visible
becomes as if it never was
until the next pop, pop!

Monday, March 14, 2016


She wound emotion round and round
the stake of present times
and secured the ends to resolve
to prevent escape and leakage
out of two blue eyes.

She feels the twirl and whirl within
and so the walls are fortified,
the exits double bolted,
and she feeds detachment
in the hope of forcing speedy growth.

There’ll come a time o’er yonder hill
when freedom will be celebrated
and emotion will fall to ground
to finally be trodden on
and be as if it never was.

So she wonders why not let it go
but emotion far too meaningful
to end up in the dirt
and so the perimeter is electrified.

It may die for lack of air and care
but that’s alright, you know,
because then she’ll know at last
she’s joined the human race! 

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

As inherently bred

As she turned from the sky to the ground
she heard the chant of the whole human crowd.
“Love myself, love myself, love me, me”
as the only way to ere love another. 

Could it be, could it be, but no one should be
wrapped up and engaged with weeds in the fields
that seek to degrade the beautiful, free,
with thoughts of only a me, me, me.

She tried to go back to when it began
and find the corner she didn’t turn round
so she too could be in the valley of “me”
and chant forever in unison. 

Now directions for gypsies are none to clear
when issued by someone known not to care
for the you, the you, the you, you, you,
and so gypsies remain as inherently bred.

Who bred them to be so mindful of you
and battle the dragons plaguing your soul
when , oh, that tree of only a me
promises peace and harmony.

Would anyone leave such a paradise
to feel another’s pain and heartache
and she wonders how many would gather at noon
when asked to leave themselves far behind.

She doesn’t sigh as gypsies can do
but proceeds on her journey happy to be
a singer of her own special song
for you, of course, and you, you, you.

Maybe one day she’ll find the corner
and join the chant of humankind
but she doesn’t like corners that lead nowhere
and so she’ll remain as inherently bred.