Wednesday, June 14, 2017

True love

Built on foundations to not ever crumble
stood a solid block of true love
but time took a chisel and chipped every day
until the block was reduced to rubble.

The bits landed in places where humans resided
and as would happen they germinated
to grow the most beautiful “I love you, I do”
in the midst of unbridled chaos.

There followed a time of utter confusion
because humans, of course, had no clue
until finally, finally, they all decided
they’d try their best to just feel it.

So they prodded and stroked and caressed
but, lo and behold, it lay there inert
because it never was taken inside
away from the maddening crowd.

It still grows today in the heat of dismay
which just goes to show that love never dies
but, oh, how it cries in the dead of each night
to simply be taken inside.

And once inside it will blossom and bloom
and be forever a thing to be treasured
but leave it outside and the “I love you, I do”
remains as before inert!

Sunday, June 11, 2017

And so ...

The jackpot’s guaranteed yet still the itch of palm
to feel the grain and texture of immortal love
and the scratch and scratch of searching minds
sends the itch a-creeping deep and deeper still
into the psyche, see?

And so the body squirms and jiggles  
in the light of oncoming obstacles
planned to coincide with an indecorous stretch
into the mystical. 

But this … this surreptitious invasion
works silently and stealthily to satisfy the psyche
by whatever means fits the circumstances.

And so there’s pain and no gain, an illness, poverty,
together with the so and so,
 the so and so  of how life goes,  
before the knowing that ~

immortal love is just an itch no human being can scratch
or dent, or break, or disengage from the psyche, see?   

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

As dead

Love lies as dead in the archives of mind
but a touch and it rises again
not to stand tall and proud
but to strut like a peacock and grin.

That grin comes quite naturally
to one who has won the battle
but love never fights, you know, you know,
so what is the battle it’s won?

Simply the battle to be entrenched
and though dead to still be alive
but from my human perspective
it’s an endeavour to no avail.

If I look further perhaps it can be
something to celebrate
but stuck in these times of limited view
who can attest to something unknown?

Strut as you wish and grin all you will
but a touch doesn’t last forever
so back love  will go to lie as dead
and it all seems silly to me.

The meaning of silly?  Well, here we are:

“Silly did not originally refer to the absurd or ridiculous –
 in fact quite the opposite.
The word derives from the old English word seely,
meaning happy, blissful, lucky or blessed.”


Long ago

When long ago comes back again
into the mind thought closed to then
the barriers that once were strong
simply crumble into mush.

And when mind unleashed goes walk-abouts
it touches on the love and joy
but always stops and ends each trip
with a familiar sadness.

That sadness stays to cloud the days
of settled calm, acceptance, peace,
and the mind must start to build again
new and better barriers.

And, yes, it toils each day and night
till finally it’s sealed up tight
and it breathes again the air of one
happy to be home again.

That build and break down nothing new
but it’s known that somewhere, sometime,
the barriers will not succumb
to those memories of long ago!

Thursday, March 9, 2017

As new

Hard and fast the rain that fell
o’er this land of toil and strife
as if to wash the evil out
again, again, again,
but strange it is no washing can
ere leave the product good as new.

The sun came out as if to be
the saviour of all humankind
but all it did was imbed more
the stain of evil known to be
a repeat of history.

And then the wind; oh, yes, it blew
new hope for all inhabitants
but did they stand and face the force
or run and hide from their renewal?

It’s the residue of those who ran
that stays to stain the years to come
and we, the product, humankind
will not again be good as new
unless, unless, the numbers grow
of those who know to stand and be
renewed, refreshed till good as new!

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.