Wednesday, October 31, 2007

In Africa, South Africa

In Africa, South Africa, inhabitants bend low
and run indoors for safety from the pelting rain
but after the turn-off the sun shines down again
and we forget the trauma of sodden outerwear.

In Africa, South Africa, we simply must forget
for remembrances produce a long-term problem
and it costs everyone about twenty-years of life
when empathy in full swing slashes at a heart.

In Africa, South Africa, there are broken down trucks
and the traffic lights are out when energy is shed
but when the local commentator says to turn around
there is plain and simply nowhere else to go.

In Africa, South Africa, we’ve got the bigger things
like crime escalation and credit providers
but when we talk retirement we look at the crossroads
in the distance small with non-existent signs.

It’s a land of milk and honey; everyone is milked
and the honey bottled lest we become too sweet
but everything is charged at current standard rates
and we pay, pay, pay, to help the people pray!

Monday, October 29, 2007

Centre aligned

The midday report can’t speak of a dream
or announce a most beautiful love
and the world at six by omission
embeds the idea of denial.

And welcome to the eight o’clock news
that word by word encourages crime
to bang the nails into dream chests
and bury what really could be.

I thrive on attention and crime’s the same
but my numbers are small if any at all
compared to the many and too many
focused today on everything bad.

Newspapers imprint my hands with ink
and o’er lay my mind with dirt
but to turn the page of a dream
repeats the previous ecstasy.

I hold now the dream centre aligned
for the left and right but human rebuff
of what could and really should be!

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Who writes?

Seconds, minutes, hours,
and time merges them together
until day gives way to night
and I walk the shadowed halls
of each weakness I possess.

Night comforts and caresses
like a lover’s gentle hands
and I stir within a dream
frightened there to see
love walks a lonely path
beyond my mental feel.

Wakeful now, aware,
but dreaming still I see
the coming in of loneliness
and I suffocate.

“Breathe”, she says,
and I listen to the gurgle
of one by love possessed
rise up and out in agony
into the still and silent night.

Dramatic for effect
and I read the words, reflect;
who writes the pain and heartache
of unrequited love?

Thursday, October 25, 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!

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

The Murmurings of Sea

In pitiful plea the murmurs of sea
rise up from the roar of tumultuous storms
with a need to now find wisdom from fear,
love from no love, and compassion from tears,
until like a queen revered and admired.

One a cliff looking down and back long ago
there still is a smile and forever blue eyes
dedicated to love’s most timely dismissal
of the madness surrounding soul loneliness.

Across and around, all spirit lands aside,
there flows a memory stream of pure ecstasy
but clarity and truth, mummies bound to secrecy
on the sea’s rolling move towards royalty.

Soft murmurs of the sea and there is no reward
if a plea like a bird flies overhead unheard
but I listen and can hear from a whisper to a scream
the words and intent of sea’s pitiful lament.

She says this and that – did you know it is a fact
that women and the sea interchange and interact?

Monday, October 22, 2007

The eyes of a woman

No eyes but the eyes of a woman in love
can flaunt the passion of sky
and shed tears like an innocent child
at the beauty of love’s honesty.

If I had the eyes of a woman in love
I could speak of the power they hold
to see through time, distance, and space,
and know of all things beautiful.

If I had the eyes, if I had the eyes …
oh, if we all had the eyes!

Sunday, October 21, 2007

One last flickering fire

In form like the sun’s rise before fall
she dreams of love’s fire licking at sky
and dances her heart, openly, unafraid,
like a passionate gypsy on a hot summer’s night.

“Come! Feel the burn of this energy!”
she sings to no one and to everyone
as her body in sync with involuntary action
gyrates to the beat of mystical tunes.

The air opens up like a fabled cave
to the heat of desire and need of release
until precious gold and sovereigns of old
become useless tender to the sensitive.

The fire, the fire, one last flickering fire,
forever burns love as a symbol of wealth
when earth meets sky in explosive delight
somewhere over there beyond her foresight.

She’s a lady, a woman, an angel, you/me,
imbued with love’s feel and in motion to be
a second string bow to the masculine soul
like sun is to sky when earth turns to fire!

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Winter to summer

Winter’s sleeping death will pass like birds in flight
migrating to a warmer place to review its past mistakes
but in the time of ice and snow no blade of grass will stir,
no thunder split the air nor water flood the lakes.

September heralds spring when birds return again
and when gardens of hope renew eternal vows
but new flowers always grow as if they already know
they’re born anew into a world not ever seen before.

And fragile roots in soil abused need courage to sustain
their joy and optimism as they bow to nature’s laws
but in the law of seasons love repeats its endless call
and shows us passion’s glory in vibrant coloured fields.

Spring to summer glory, autumn, winter, then again,
turns within the wheel of a life that we perceive
but true eternal love which never ceases or begins
escapes attention of a mind that really can’t believe.

I believe and always will for truth lives deep inside
waiting quiet and silent through life’s cold winter years
but when I welcome spring and summer says it’s here,
my spirit dances with the stars in God’s own atmosphere!

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Wednesday, October 17, 2007

What is love?

The gifted, the wise, the pastors, the wives,
the noblemen, preachers, and poor humble beings,
turn feelings to words in attempts to describe
the emotion of love, if there such a thing be.

Not gifted or wise, no longer a wife,
I stumble through love with the pen of my mind.

It’s lacking in substance and cannot be seen
yet in the market it barters a give and take fee
but the fee is a feeling exchanged for free
so it could be construed as an invalid deal.

Too it is given with no earthly reward
so the gold in our hearts must be ill gotten gains
and the castles it builds are made out of air
so, therefore, love’s castles are not meant to be.

It doesn’t have legs to cross the divide
between mother earth and heavenly sky
so it’s surely not love when we think we see stars.

If love is the greatest, who taught it to play
sweet lilting music to which we all sway?

Its mission I’ll say, but then won’t deny it,
is to find a “something” that’s missing inside us
but whichever, however, it destructs if ignored
and, therefore, must be as if it was not.

What is love? It’s a thought, an idea, a wishing to be,
a prayer, a hope, and the longing in me,
but if one day it knocked, would I even know?
Would you?

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Monday, October 15, 2007

Reality is born

Reality is born from integrated minds
in eager response to energetic growth
and experimental life its enlightenment.

I, the forsaken, vehicle of all knowing and vessel of emotion,
provide the tuck and stitch for reality’s survival
while threads of personality entwined and combined
lend authenticity to its existence.

Reality’s obedience to mind’s every whim,
no rarity on earth or unusual occurrence,
exceeds and goes beyond normal expectation
and bears well the fruit of experimental labours.

Too I’m called to obey, lift arms to love and hate,
and embrace pain’s embarrassment
as substantiating evidence
of regenerating power.

Time and reality still eons apart
force me to inculcate, assimilate, disperse,
fragmented elements of each experiment
as if I was a mailman on duty every day.

But when the children stop midway
and the circle of life remains a static sphere
then time has caught up with the reality of love
and no man can ignore or indeed put asunder
that most amazing creation of integrated minds!

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Selfish needs

From the pillow of a million sleeps
and the bed of unawareness
the newly born and fragile
awakes to a different world.

‘Tis the babe of selfish needs
that kicks at swaddling clothes
and bares its naked body
to the element of mind
sitting like a regal queen
on the throne of fiscal truths.

But a baby; oh, this baby cries
deep behind the eyes of life
that too long has numbed the will
to arise and walk
and the queen nods knowingly
but unsympathetically.

Hush, hush, little one,
it’s just the awful agony
of unrequited love
that makes you vulnerable
to an inner need
but I rule this kingdom mightily
with my money studded sword
so sleep, little baby, sleep
from now until forever.

And the babe of selfish needs
kicks restlessly in sleep!

Friday, October 12, 2007

Preparing to exit

Heartache and woe line passageways
when preparing to exit the common place
and debark at the station of grace
but I promise a pianist of note,
a drummer and trumpet player,
and a woman beside the river
of what has always been.

Clouds will desert this new playing field
and leave the sun clear to shine
like a symbol of love’s ever true heat
joining at last two separate parts.

The sky will be blue, the purest of blue,
like soul in its final renewal
and the wind of trust in its infancy
will determine a speedy growth.

And he who lies down in surrender
yet stands like a victor and champion
on the pedestal of love’s promise
to forgive and forget past waywardness.

This is the plan on the draft board of soul
or in the dreams of a woman I know
and I look out there, way out there …
and don’t you just simply love it
when a plan comes together?

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The halo of love

As the future gets less
the past is more blessed
though haloes are hard to find
amongst the artefacts unearthed
from the corners of a mind.

I only need one to fit above love
and I know it is here somewhere
wrapped in the mohair of tenderness
and packed in a solid gold heart.

I wore it one time as a once off affair
but it slipped like a disc
from the spine of goodness
and leaked from the inner out.

It happens like that when life has its way
because how stupid today to wear a halo
but to remember the best when the future is less
polishes to a glorious shine
the much too long neglected.

The halo of love; an artefact, yes,
but a treasure that lasts beyond death ~
and I know it is here somewhere!

Tell it to the sky

Fly, fly, little one – tell it to the sky
and find comfort in the arms
of one who understands
it’s a question of perception
of reality.

The rock could be me and the sea the need of love 
to chip away relentlessly at incorrect beliefs 
or I could be the sea moulding and arranging 
the features of my soul.

Either way I’m changing, receiving, letting go, 
opening and closing like the come and go of waves 
while still remaining steadfast 
on the sand of mother earth.

But I age and shrink my bones 
like rocks pummeled by the sea 
until internal energy has no more need of flesh 
and escapes into the atmosphere 
of prepared future roles.

And the sea? That too is me avowing my stability 
though I be embroiled in the ebb and flow of life 
bringing in and taking back my innate belief 
in the permanence of love.

Fly, fly, little one – tell it to the sky
but the sky understands the laws of dualism
in force and relevant until it’s necessary
to unite and create a different perception
of reality!

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

It's meant

I am a powerhouse of love
reduced to lighting soul
and not the full magnitude
of what life is meant to hold.

It’s meant to hold you loving me
to each and every day create
a beautiful eternity
where two in one remember
love’s physical enchantment.

It’s meant to hold the simple things
like a goodnight promise
to awaken to a morning smile
from the moment of beginning
right up until the end.

Life is meant to hold
but it doesn’t till we know!

Sunday, October 7, 2007

So says the dream

From within the heartache over-spills
and cuts grooves within contentment
to make of volcanoes matchbox toys
lined up for keen inspection
for nought can equal or outmatch
the energetic free-fall force
of a woman’s tears.

But pooled within and confined
behind barriers of maturity
they call forth a brighter, hotter, sun
into the deep interior
where it shrivels heart to matchstick parts
before the moon is nigh.

And sadly earth’s the counterpart
of all the matchstick men/women
weeping, keeping, negativity
as fuel for the fire
of earth’s will to die.

So says the dream that never reveals
how to be joyful in sorrow!

Thursday, October 4, 2007

An artist on a wire

An artist on a wire closed his eyes, said a prayer,
and heard the voice of love calling from the side.
Softly, sweet, meek and mild, the agenda of a soul
reverberated and filled up the tent of human lives.

From the ground music loud with worldly cares
pounded through a brain the need to turn away
and back track to the safety of insignificance
in the moving picture beyond the flapping door.

Eyes wide unseeing, faces blank unfeeling,
many lives awaiting the pleasure of demise,
waved a needy hand and sucked in energy
until the artist teetered on the edge of sanity.

How clever in disguise is the mass of humankind
how artfully they dance to tunes of poor, diseased,
begging, calling, pity me, forsake your future life
and stay, return again, forever more, amen.

The artist couldn’t see behind the eyes of need,
couldn’t read the questions meant to test a soul,
and so the voice of love once heard departed sad
to watch and wait silently from the far away outside.

An artist on a wire closed his eyes, said a prayer,
to stay, go back, or walk, and I too closed my eyes!

The sea moves

Seen by many, known by none,
and weighted down with love
sea moves like twilight time
into the dark interior.

Though devils trash good hope
and scatter broken leftovers
along the channel preordained
to bring truth into reality
she holds steady to the course.

But the channel is her plight
for it gathers in the negative
until her determined mindful force
slams into the obstacles
and clears the passageway.

Sea moves like an open mind
and rolls with every punch
to safeguard her cargo, love
through the treacheries of life
until on a foreign shore
she disembarks it all!

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

The mind of a woman

The mind of a woman
like a pendulum
sways between pencil
and pen and ink entries
in her journal of awareness.

Not too far away
the eraser of hope
lies in Cheshire cat repose
in anticipation
of a summons to perform
whilst the ruler of reality,
smug in own importance,
knows soon it must decree
the drawing of a line
underneath a dream.

The rain falls today; it must be the rain
for it’s outside and not in 
like distant fellowship with the pain of love.

Drops of water mar her view, sun mingles with the gray,
and she is kept within encouraged by the chill
to pick up pen and ink or similes of them,
erase what cannot be, and rule off happiness.

The mind of a woman has lost the beat of time
but the tools of moving on pitter patter in her brain
when the rain falls ...
outside and not in!