Thursday, September 27, 2007

Original thought

 Sea wears her waves like a heartache sign
from a sting to a trickle to lack of control
and moans and groans from the belly of soul
where love first and foremost was born.
Life currents moved in and tossed her adrift
from the path of original thought
and now she’s a travelling gypsy
with no place to call her own.

Sea pounds at the rocks with
fighting spirit but this outward sign 
of “devil may care”
belies her need and desire
to be held like a babe in arms.
And all who come unto very real love 
are babies within born anew 
still yet to know that original thought 
gave the sea the pleasure of shore.
I just can’t believe the sea’s ebb and flow
and the shore’s complete indifference
but time makes all more together than torn
and returns again original thought
to the top of priority lists.
Meanwhile the sea moans and groans
like an echo today of human heartache
at the turn around and reversal from
the path of original thought!

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Confession of sky

Here lies the confession of sky
in silence asking I feel
how it suffers and bleeds
throughout its kingdom
the sun's need to be seen
and passion and beauty known
by all of mankind down below.

And I suffer the beauty in me
forced to witness disease
and the stop/start trails of pain and heartache
inexhaustibly present on earth
until I can know the value and worth
of absorbing the all and then more.

Then can I say I’m the sum of all states
streaked with what I can take
unbound by the statute of limitation
in the kingdom of soul energy?

And my confession I hasten to say,
is my growing need to believe
within is the power to rise like the sun
into the kingdom of God’s ever love!

Tuesday, September 25, 2007


There once was a girl who followed a dog
who followed a car up and over a hill
and I don't know why she followed that dog;
perhaps there was love.

There once was a woman who followed a soul
who followed a heart to a place then unknown
and I don’t know why she followed that soul;
perhaps there was love.

There once was a lady who followed a mind
that followed the feel of something real
and I don’t know why she followed that mind;
perhaps there was love.

Perhaps there was love but I don’t know why!

Monday, September 24, 2007


Sky looks down at the sea and the shore
in awe of the sea’s indomitable spirit
that keeps her rolling up and into
the depths of the one she adores.

Sun fuels the fire of passionate need
and watches the twist and turn of belief
that changes the sea from an unrivalled force
into the meek and hopelessly weak.

Moon sneaks into the sea’s changing ways
with eyes tuned in to what’s really real
and guides the blind into desire
by the sheerness of heavenly light.

Stars shine the smile of the Mona Lisa;
secrets they know always mystify
but clearly it’s nature’s very own work
that keeps sea and shore together/apart!

Saturday, September 22, 2007

At the edge of need

At the edge of a need
the sea waits patiently
for my approach and encroach
into the world of feel
like love on the perimeter
of innate desire
lingers around
the will of stubborn minds.

A carpet of green and tall stately trees,
in the distance a shadow; perhaps it is me
mathematically challenged but counting memories
and preserving or discarding for the sake of harmony.

But I’m only a one in life’s long domino line
on shaky ground susceptible to a change of mind
unless I walk the path marked “Intuition’s Way”
through the hills and dales of my African days.

And led that way by need I entered into feel
disruptive, confusing, yet plain and simply me
receiving and perceiving lasting emotive facts
tied in little bundles concise and compact.

The mathematically challenged yet can count on feel
though perhaps it leads astray for the sake of harmony!

Technorati Tags: ,

Friday, September 21, 2007

A calling

A calling now within the heart
to light the fire that once burnt low
because fortune smiles on he who loves
and pays dividends in kind.

Of fortune said the beggar man
I thought I’d found but then did lose
and spend now a sad and lonely time
with hands like weather spoons
dishing up the seasons
but not true sustenance.

Oh, ‘tis just the mind and how it thinks
and that you know but do not know
when eyes survey the food platters
and believe they’re out of reach.

But I, the I of prolonged fortitude
still find my table laid and bedecked
with the uninspiring tasteless
and I wonder and then I ponder
how to spice the already cooked.

And then I know a re-lit fire
can yet infuse more resilience
to the eating of "what is" today
because I leave it all behind
in the recreation process.

I make, eat, and recreate
until the wonder of
the plain and ordinary
but simply delicious… love!

Fresh from the earth

Fresh from the earth comes a sense of rebirth
like the feeling of love with its tempting worth
but it’s only a sense wrapped up in denial
and bound with string of strong self control. 
It hovers and loiters unsure how to shine
when the sun rises up on uncertain minds
scared to breathe in and feel how it burns
and frays the edges of enforced loneliness.
Thick as a cloud preparing to rain
or dismay as it builds no hope for today
the sense of love lies down in a ditch
and covers itself with dirt from the earth.
There it lies waiting those who would go
far from the realms of familiar abodes
to dig and remove and say, “I know you,
you’ve been some time in my unconscious mind.”
And the sense of love rises up from the grave
but only halfway and still covered in pain
till the breeze of reality blows a whirlwind
and spirals it up to the heights of desire.
The sense of love no one can ere see -
but I really don’t know, perhaps it’s just me
sensing and feeling from dreaming nights
what here on the earth is not meant to be!
Technorati Tags: ,


 It’s a long time now since the night said hello  
sort of slow like a sigh as it builds up inside                  
with neither a storm nor a whisper of wind
to hasten its journey to the other side.

Impatient at best it hangs silent in air
with the promise of all I’ve yet to believe
like a rock on the edge of love’s rippling brook
immobile remains to suffer and grieve.
I keep night there at the edge of my bed
and see how it darkens then lightens again
as if its own shadow has left to discover
the means and the way of bearing the pain.

Withdrawn from the centre of happiness
awake but asleep to the answers I seek
night pulls and I shuffle into a dream state
a prisoner released from the jail of defeat.

But enclosed in night’s arms of unrivaled might
love sprinkles our lives with God’s only light!
Technorati Tags: ,

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

At ease

Languidly at ease in the vision of my dreams
the midnight of your soul reposes next to me.
A glass for wine, empty, still, indicative of will
reflects from the sky moon’s passionate desire.

Slowly as the rising sun life begins again
to encompass the needs of mankind’s reality
like thunder would split and torment the air
with the promise of rain not meant to fall today.

 The heat of no release trails footsteps to the door
and dreams and real entwined run into twilight time
till together in the shadows they merge in memory
and settle in compartments of the deep unconscious mind.

I cry today for love’s long waywardness
underneath a sky dark and somber like my fear
for night brings no relief or calm of my belief
when reality of day overshadows souls at play.

Languidly at ease - and I pray to be that way
until the hand of time moves everything around
and I drink, drink again, the wine of daily calm!

Love Lives

I taste within the sweet heavenly
once shared in the midst of intimacy
and slide my tongue over teeth and gums
to savour the loving like a juicy plumb.

But caught in the turn of life’s merry orb
the centre part, heart, too hard to absorb
and the mind begets only a mind
down each and every set bloodline.

Needs be the hub and core of true love
lies up, up, up, in the blue above
for a time unproved, unknown, unseen,
and for a time to be as a dream.

Yet and yet to this commonplace ground
love comes down to where I am found
and channels its grace in extraordinary ways
to ensure the dawning of better days.

Love lives, you see, in every bloodline
waiting to rise and be as a bride
to the transitory flesh of humanity
to ensure furtherance into eternity.

I love you, I do, and I hope it’s enough
to lift you up and out of the rough!

In the swing of time

I’m here in the everyday cut and chip of soul
from static pose to flying mode
afraid of where I’ll fall
and time, uncertain time,
swings me back and forth
between success and failure.

And all who wish upon a prayer
cessation of a moving star
know sleep brings no release
beneath the weight of dreams
heavy, heavy, heavy,
until the dawn, awakening,
though enlightenment
like yonder star
travels sky and travels high
beyond the reach of open minds.

Like a homemade mish-mash stew
I’m dished up from pot to you.
Swing me high, swing me low,
swing me to the floor below
but deft the hands of time
that stitch, cut, weave, entwine,
fine filigrees of my desire
into another place and time.

Time, uncertain time,
‘tis neither friend nor foe
that twists and turns and cuts adrift
my fleshy parts from soul
for one and all in separate form
know time still learns like you and me…
the merits of a wholesome meal!

Technorati Tags: ,

The Chasm

Between heaven and earth a chasm is stretched
open and wide like the smile of our youth
determined to catch God’s given worth
and refresh imaginative minds.

Pour oil and I slip backward in time,
water plays havoc with feet on the ground,
but the chasm waits like a lover in love
to shiver through bodies creative intent.

To break from the old is to fall, fall, fall,
into the chasm of innovation
that designs and builds from the bottom up
a unique and new manner of being.

But the path is blocked by the forest and me
as if life would preclude a renewal of thought
and this capture and hold of minds in boredom
a betrayal of our magnificence.

And the you and me likewise entwined
can’t see that the chasm no abyss feared
but a plain and simple hole for the soul
where men and women still fear to go.

Refresh, renew, revitalize, mend,
and rekindled sparks sizzle, snap, crack,
and burn the brushwood of love’s malady
as quick as a flash and just like that.

So burn, baby, burn and come out an adult;
it doesn’t take sticks to light a new fire!

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Dream Merchant

So the merchant delivers a dream, you see,
packed and bound by the free
to make of the day a tearful foray
into the feel of human dismay.

And I cannot say, “No, wrong address”
and never can there be any redress
kindly paid to the dreamer in me
when asleep to perceptions of real.

The dreaming, I know, brings in belief
and dances the dance of relief
but ‘tis really a monster untamed
sent to make a woman enflamed.

Watch out, watch out, monsters abound
but don’t bother with looking around
because nothing hidden can ever be seen
except in an extraordinary dream.

And I dream again, again and again
the feel of a beautiful “then”
enhanced in the confines of mind
that maybe can see into time!

Technorati Tags: ,

Romancing the impossible

The attraction of opposites;
how beautifully entwined
in this land of physical
not sufficient unto permanence
of two souls combined.

Two who would be king and modern day reversals
of intended roles a fillip to the ego
and crown for personality
but mankind is stuck with
romancing the impossible.

I bow out from the limelight
into myself to know
men are the future makers
like ordinary brick layers
and women the mortar
to hold it all together
from this lifetime now
and on into the next.

My hands are soft and tender with touch of gentle love
yet evolution brings to me hard skin and rough edges
and I mourn this loss of dignity like survivors mourn the dead
until romancing the possible becomes again the norm…
but not in my lifetime,
perhaps not now at all!

Technorati Tags: ,

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Round the dandelions

Dancing round the dandelions
a damsel in distress
dies a thousand deaths.

Though done the deed of dance
damsels do not die
but drop daintily the faith
into ditches of depression.

Married so to dirt
and doomed to suffocate
damsels don a gypsy skirt
and flirt again with death
daring with allure
that monster of the deep.

But deadly death a distant date
because dirt is dirt is dirt
and needs a damsels tears
to do the devil’s deeds.

Muddied damsels now decide
to dance to different tunes
and so dresses down the damsel
to suit the dutiful.

And the delightful, dutiful, doomed,
dances today around dandelions!

Technorati Tags: ,

The sense of then

Wind agitates the trees
like shaking sense, it seems
into the errant and unruly
aspects of divinity
growing from the core
for the sake of knowing more.

What more? What more?
‘tis air, that’s all
with ne’er a sign of energy
shape-shifting from a mystery
into the understandable
and reliable.

There are times and these are they
to forsake a man-made way
and branch out mindfully,
seriously or playfully,
into the ether of a dream
which holds the vision, see?

Paid pennies for the nonsense
now threefold for the sense
and poor, so poor, the common man
to not extend a hand
and drop more than thought before
into mind’s deep memory store.

More, more, yet still no fix
for life’s off-beat rhythms
but ne’er again the sense of then
should flow from poets’ pens!

Cyclical Maneuvers

In final acquiesce to the power of the night
and resisting the temptation to throw a tantrum
the light of day roller skates towards the bitter end.

I stand on the sidelines of passive withdrawal
as a witness to the joining of life and death as one
and to cyclical maneuvers out of my control.
In cryptic code beyond the scope of limited ability
lies the scroll of understanding of living versus dead
and why the departed forever shine spotlights
into the shadows of the un-evolved.

Like a sponge I find myself absorbing messages
imprecise and hazy like my very own
until I can grasp the concept of negotiation
and how it feels to be enflamed and then denied.
I am the sun and the moon rolled into one
bearing humanoid features distinctively arranged
to grow and change cyclically beyond my control
and merge finally into a strange and mysterious
unseen twilight time.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Poor and Needy, Lonely, Sad

Poor and needy, lonely, sad! Come!
Barter happiness for a bag of trinkets!

Tendered as real currency; maybe there is love
somewhere in the wrapping of the bigger picture,
but no imaginative flow or fingers of the soul
can find a buried treasure when heart belies the fact.

On stepping stones of heart
over rivers of deceit to banks of certain truth
a rocky journey arduous
for the poor and lonely, weak,
until pennies fall from heaven
but I know that cannot be.

Pennies, cents, and dollars, the currency of life,
not viable in heaven or the maybe/perhaps
lifetime after death
but without a money crutch
heart becomes a tinkling harp
in the big brass band
of this reality’s demands.

And I see my heart falling, down, down, down,
to the depths of heartlessness decreed as a means
of skimming surface needs
until pennies fall from heaven
but I know that cannot be
because love always comes for free!

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Of Life

“Of life”, said the woman, “How lucky can you be?”  There are rivers, mountains, border wars, and sun to blister skin together with the turmoil of making money be.  You also have the sea and leaves on every tree in motion entwined with a breeze you cannot see.  You have the moon at night and shadows of your fright, the stars in the sky like goals out of reach, and lungs to keep inhaling both the good and the bad elements of luck.

Ah, yes, you have your vehicles and speed that always kills on highways to your destiny as well as backs to scratch, palms to grease, and the other cheek. You have doctors, dentists, lawyers, and, of course, the poor.  You have domesticated animals who always want to roam, children born to leave, lovers you can’t see, and mothers like their mothers though they vowed they’d never be.

You have me, the one and only, who can say you have it all when you speak of loving peace and of hating war so don’t ask for more in jungles of concrete that suffocate the weak.

You’re lucky to not be one of the starving masses or (and I’m not too sure here) a dictator serving self. You have the magic of your work, a home you never see, a need to explore the mystery of ego, and a body once beautiful now tattooed with dragons and butterflies and supposedly adorned with studs in ears, eyelids, lips, and rings in belly buttons.

You have a heart like a magician’s hat that brings forth funny things and a soul you cannot know no matter what degrees trail behind your name but what’s in a name when only a mind remains to tell the tale.  And your mind belongs to you.  I can’t intrude or dare to guess its form and design unless, of course, you pay me to.

And if you wish for many things one day they’ll all come true but scattered in between all the things you do not need, you may not be aware that they are even there.  If you pray – well, it’s the same and still bears your name as if you wrote a letter and dispatched it in the mail.

You can wait by the garden gate for a lifetime more-or-less or search amongst the millions for the one who’s meant for you but never will he/she be delivered by the trees unless you believe there are fairies in the glen.

You have the alphabet for life plans of a, b, c, etcetera, and too you have your numbers that balance for the few. You’ve got books to read but no time, things to do still un-done, and a thousand opportunities that never come to call.

You’ve got me to tell you how we feel and poets who write poetry, two faces (maybe more), a stare that says it all, idle hands (sometimes), and body aches to tell you how many years you’ve lived.

Oh, yes, you also have sex and the ones who get lucky may sometimes think it’s love. You have dreams and fantasies that never come true and nightmares that do. You’ve got hopes and you’ve got wishes like fish in oceans deep that always without fail mangle your lifeline.

You’ve got me to show you how to cry, friends you want to be, and always and forever those bills you have to pay.  You have your yesterdays in which you never age and your tomorrows that like a birthday gift land in your lap for better or for worse.

One day we’ll all be free but I’m not too sure, you see, so until we all go walking down mystic avenues, you still, of course, have … me!  How lucky can you be?

Simply so

Rain falls and then it falls again;
earth’s now a better place
growing from the bottom up
into a state of grace ~
but in that time of moisture’s fall
boughs broke and suffered more.

Lo, oh, lo, and this behold
each raindrop has to fall
upon the face of innocence
to feel and taste it all.

And simply so life grows again
sooner, later, matters not;
the summer, winter, rose of soul
springs forth from mud and rot.

Lo, oh, lo, and this behold
I’m like a stream, you see,
flowing with a ripple, stone,
to the majestic sea.

And simply so love grows again
in the land of spirit feel
if you believe it went away
while flowing to the sea!

The call of intent

Down at the root of inception
in the deep and dark underground
love spirals and sinks and turns
away from the call of intent.

Loud, too loud, the ears shut down
but the hum in the way of all hums
carries the tune of what should be done
along every step of the way.

No skip and jump can clear the hump
of unending procrastination
and love in this slump a blight
on the smooth movement of life.

Intention and deed like spice in a stew;
eat and be satisfied
or suck on a thumb after twiddling is done
and fade into the lost forgotten.

Love spirals and sinks and turns;
one day intent will be heard
and the weapons of soul destruction
will implode with the force of action.

One day, one day; there's no stew today
because I'm not cooking for you!

This is Love

Unbeknown the hidden rises up, up, and unto love
calling like a little child "Look, look at me"
but nothing can be seen within the emotive feel
of all I was and am and will be soon again.

A lover's song accompanies the music of a heart
and I catch the words quicker now 
in this awakening to the immortal tender
that moves within a reach and stretch
to where I cannot go.

And as a mind attunes to eternal energy
the best of all you were and are
and will be soon again
strums within a need inexhaustibly apparent
to the goddess in me.

This is love, you know, made somewhere to exist
to lift and push the clouds away
from life's disharmony
clanging so incessantly
in the daily grind.

But life, oh, life, this devil "thing" begets unto most everyone
the ears that cannot hear, a heart that cannot feel,
and a mind so out of tune that it flits and flutters aimlessly
like a lost butterfly.

The best, the best, of you and me will one day listen, feel, believe,
that nothing happens mindlessly to bring within a symphony!


(A meander through "p" words)

Picture perfect particles
of present/past pursuits
appear like a puzzle pack
and promulgate a ponder
of this Pandora's box.

The poor and pathetic
present as shaky pillars
whilst platforms of the powerful
portray a predetermined pose
that pales to insignificance
the petty and the paltry.

But pat the past, pat-pat-pat,
and pour the present so
to pad and puff the mind
with a personal pact
to preserve in perpetuity
the programmed powerful.

To the Panoramic future phase
perhaps perchance perceive
a portfolio of possibilities
for the pander to a "me"
by the place of pose and poise
precisely and particularly
in a peaceful paradise!

I had a dream

The sapphire of my eyes uncloaked by love's desire
sparks to flames intent of mind and brings a dream in sight
sometimes when I'm asleep to the wondrous you and me.

To discern the meaning, reason, in this dry and deadly season
a useless chore for sane/insane because love manifests the same
whether true or false, real or dream or simply how I feel.

Unending in its drive to twist the mind awry
the dream recurs, repeats, as if it's trying to speak
but I listen anyway to whatever comes my way.

Wishes, dreams, hopes or thoughts
and still it comes to nought!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Blue of the sky

Not yet time for the blue to appear
but the natural inbred is there

in wait of a summoning forth
from within the confines of sky

The effort to rise seems destined to die
for lack of sufficient knowledge
because awareness takes time
to manifest life
in the grey, the grey of the sky.

I sip at my cup and put my belief
in the wonder of the unknown
because I have seen the blue, blue, blue,
and know it will come again
but it waits, you see, like the lover in me
for time to consider a move.

But time is time and has its own view
unperturbed by my daily need
to embrace the natural inbred
as my very own paradise.

Blue, my blue, the beautiful blue,
I'm truly in love with you
because, just because, because
you truly are beautiful!