Friday, February 29, 2008


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!
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Tuesday, February 26, 2008


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?
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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!

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Saturday, February 16, 2008

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!

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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!

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

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.

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 the clouds brought in the rain
to hasten my withdrawal
from the onset of insight.

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!

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Saturday, February 9, 2008

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!

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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!

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