Death

From out the blue the thought of death

swirls like murky water

and deposits garbage of the world

at the point where love once entered

into the conscious mind.

 

Garbage is what no one wants

yet inside it’s sent to lie

immovable by time and tide

or by the will of mind

grown weaker by the turn-around

of the good into the bad.

 

Tested by this stacked up mess

of perceptions gone awry

and threats to life and limb

it’s like a person humbly bows

to what is meant to be

for it’s known in circles of the mind

that everything’s been said and done.

 

It’s not to say one wants to leave

the flesh held identity

but when love can’t find the inlet

and the stack of garbage grows

mind throws up a blue screen;

disable, remove, disown,

and self becomes the mainframe

from which composure flows.

 

Murky water, garbage piles;

yet somehow love’s still there

and calm the one who knows today

no evil act of vengeance

can ever kill a saviour!

Technorati Tags: general,poetry

Potholes

Only over Africa do potholes lie in sky

like large and open vaults

ready, waiting, able,

to tempt a woman’s mind

into priceless memories.

 

But no matter land or sky

there always is a forceful power

that lifts me up and out

onto the straight confining

and dull normality

of this present life and times.

 

And how beautiful a pothole

that contains the best of times

and I’m guilty more and more

of unexpectedly

dropping in to feel again

how it was back then.

 

Mind’s playground in the sky

holds more potholes than the land

but when I’m in it’s like I’m out

from what I can’t abide ~

and so of potholes who can say

they do not aid survival?

Technorati Tags: Inspirational,poetry

Bound and tied

The rope of yesterday too tight in my today

binds my hands together in static prayer-like mode

and tells how other lives in figure eight displays

can wind a lie and twist the truth to suffocate a soul.

I breathe for you the air denied, exhale only love,

and draw from you unto myself the pain of freedom gone

but too in life’s dark dungeon damp a sense of happiness

can ooze from walls and doors and make from weak the strong.

How many days, how many weeks, moments, even years,

but time I measure thus; forefingers both and thumbs

moving, always moving, from a triangle to a rectangle

until no space between tells me release has come.

And in the clouds a crown awaits and I will stand aside

but here on earth I suffer, wait, and wish for you new air

to breathe again belief in love and immortality

decreed as our birthright by one who really cares.

But you and I perhaps can be silent Gods unseen

directing destiny merely by what we believe!

Technorati Tags: spiritual,poetry

I dream again

Go, go, go - let no one stay

to see the wreck of yesterday.

Where once a body tall, proud, stood

now lies the shell of soul.

Humbled by the mighty sea

I dream again of you and me

and merge my senses all as one

to hear the scent of you.

My voice trails wide in open sky

high above the magic isles

and I watch the fading echo

disappear beyond my sight.

Coloured is your smile

sliding into bold outlines

and in my heart the taste

lingers to tempt my soul.

And I’m going, going, soon

to speak my loving song

where rainbows whisper, oh, so low

and butterflies stir up a breeze.

Upon this shore a blind man sees,

the deaf hear clearly silent pleas,

and hands touch, stroke, embrace a mind

with reverence to its awesome power.

But I walk on clouds in heaven’s blue

and fly on land for only you

because, because, oh, just because …

love empowers me!

Technorati Tags: love,poetry

Always a sign

There’s always a sign be it glint of an eye

death, illness, or turning aside,

in the strange and mysterious movement

of soul to an ultimate goal.

I stand a spectator in anticipation

of correct interpretation

amidst the constraints and restrictions

of physical needs and desires.

But heaven on earth can only be bred

when I painstakingly relinquish me

into the hands of whoever stands guard

over the unfolding of my destiny.

Called “faith” this let-go, surrender

so many times hurtful to pride

and the snapping of strings of control

a whiplash to bruise and disfigure.

So tender the spot of my heartfelt wants

I can’t help but touch and caress

and murmur under my breath

the fullness of my intent.

And there in the sky floats my desire

tangible only to one who can see

how suffers a body at the will of soul

whose agenda remains still unknown.

But I touch and caress, murmur, and bless,

because, just because, I know

soul and I stand together as one

in the ultimate goal of love!

In the woodwork

The worms are in the woodwork

happy to be buried

because they can not be knowing

what was can grow again

if they think of sunlight

as similar to love.

It only takes one ray

like a knowing in the soul

to bring forth the manhood states

of perpetual forthrightness

and an upright stance

in the aura of a need.

But dark and dank and listless

it’s like the worms are sad

and to be as one unloved

sits like a lump of dough

soggy and un-risen

in an unenlightened mind.

I have the sun, the know of love,

but of course I’m not a man

and I can’t make things happen

like the chop, the saw, of wood and “stuff”

that unearths a squiggly worm.

There are wishes in the sunlight

for worms to rise and grow

before the soft and pliable

becomes a state of mind

and the woodwork closes in.

(Photograph by Frank Bennett, New Zealand)

And is a worm not like a man

and sunlight like a woman’s love?

Towards the end of May

It caught my eye one day towards the end of May,

obscured but partly so by wayside flowers wild,

and I paused to feel and enjoy reflected memories

glinting, gleaming, glistening, in the field of hope.

Confused it seemed familiar as if I’d spied before

a diamond in the broken bits of a tall wine glass

snapped from the stem by time’s acquired disdain

and discarded on the run from emotive states.

Perhaps an uncut crystal,

a clean and fresh dewdrop,

and  wary I walked forward

from where I was before

to get a closer look.

But diamonds are too precious

to be thrown away,

crystals too far buried

beneath the surface of a life,

and dewdrops glisten only

for too short a time

to warrant the delay

on my walk that day in May.

And yet I paused, and yet I moved,

until finally the clouds brought in the rain

to hasten my withdrawal

from the onset of insight.

(Photograph by Frank Bennett, New Zealand)

Sometimes peaceful I go back to see if it’s still there,

sometimes I have to wonder why I stopped to stare,

but most times my tears distort so grand a view

to leave me looking down at the same familiar ground.

Diamonds, crystals, dewdrops,

and I’m a silly fool

for believing, knowing, sensing,

they’re a part of you and me!

Technorati Tags: inspirational,poetry

What to wear?

There was no where else to go except into my soul

and in the closet all my clothes awaited my free choice

but how to choose the look, the feel, the way I ought to be,

to travel through the murky depths back up to being me.

I chose the naked truth, laid aside my human guise,

and revelled in the freedom of no preconceived ideas,

to see reflected back at me designs of other times

and who I was and then was not repeated like dot nine.

In the dark through closed eyelids shadows stirred and moved

and I chose there the finest from the many past loves gone

to come again and swim with me through waters of the soul

into the present time where humans live and grow.

And so we loved soul to soul in the beauty of our dreams

where emotion naked and laid bare spoke a thousand words

but still we swim through water unable to stand proud

on land of planet earth and sand of my home ground.

I stand before the mirror uncertain, scared, afraid,

red or blue; how to choose the now best cover-up

to not violate a truth or cast aside a deep insight

brought to the surface from my unconscious mind.

It seems to me no candle burns but passion spotlights soul

and in the glow of all I know, I need no dress-up clothes!

Technorati Tags: Love,poetry

The similar and familiar

The similar to, familiar, and almost but not quite,

can’t open doors to anything or anywhere at all

and I wait outside a stranger to truth and honesty

similar to, familiar, and almost but not quite,

the poor of Africa awaiting their hand-outs.

And too I know of dreams and needing to be free

unshackled to the similar, familiar,

and almost but not quite

reason for my life.

As twilight faces night so too I brave the dark

similar to, familiar, and almost but not quite,

a miner underground denied the feel of air,

tingling, sending ripples, like the touch of love

when the girl of then thought to live again.

Similar to, familiar, and almost but not quite,

and the genuine, authentic, a mere candle in the dark,

dies a stranger still to the awesome power within

that could have been, could have done,

and could have really loved,

in the full complete beauty of

truth and honesty.

And that today is life; similar to, familiar,

and almost but not quite,

the way it’s meant to be!

Technorati Tags: Life,poetry