Fear

The trees are now in shed of leaf

like the past from conscious minds

that drops each day more and more

until we’re on our way

into uncertainty.

 

It’s the future not yet visible

that calls with hopefulness

at the start of heartless winter

yet sometimes there’s the fear

only one alone can feel

that drapes around the shoulders

unexpectedly.

 

‘tis of no avail to shrug and moan

or think the future grand

for the “been there, done that,”

gone to ground

but to square the shoulders so

brings a moment’s respite

from the weight of loneliness.

 

It’s only after all a threat

that if believed becomes real

and in between the weave of threads

there always is the love

unseen but known to be

that grows again the leaves

and lightens the feel

of untenable fear!

Technorati Tags: inspirational,poetry

A nameless woman

Forestalled upon the edge of love a nameless woman stands

poised and ready, willing, to experience the air

and feel it blowing blissfully around her wayward hair.

Not as a feather flies but quickly, hurriedly,

she descends and welcomes in the full thrust of memory

to keep her briefly buoyant on her journey through the air.

Aligned with the wind and the freedom of belief,

and blanketed with moisture of passionate release,

she rockets down to ground too fast to turn around

and anchor herself to rocks of present times.

But she lands unharmed, figuratively speaking,

and travels to the sea intent on swimming free

to an island she can’t see.

She still swims today and you’ll see her in the waves

thrashing back and forth, crossing over in the rough,

and bobbing like a cork in moments of respite.

And the island she can’t see remains as a dream,

a technicolour dream on a wide screen,

until she has to turn, wave a final goodbye,

and sink painstakingly to the bottom of the sea.

The bottom of the sea;

can it hold an endless dream

and not destroy the element

that made it so to be?

Technorati Tags: general,poetry

Island of seals

Almost arctic in feel is the seal colony

lazily basking unmindful of me

but the wind’s through my hair and I’m almost there

into that state of pure ecstasy.

 

And purity lies peacefully free

on rocks rising up in the middle of sea

and I’m humbled more by the sight of it all

but what are the thoughts about me?

 

How great the treasures of the mighty sea

displayed as a lesson to combat greed

and live with the force of unified love

in peace, the pure peace of ecstasy.

 

But the to and fro toss of the sea’s restless waves

foretells a sad and different tale

and no hold to the rails of wishful thinking

can stop the outcome of these present days.

 

To the island of seals, drink in the sea

and know you are envied your ecstasy.

Technorati Tags: nature,poetry

No applause

‘tis no applause that echoes

from the sky down to the ground

but the thunderous ire of many minds

forced to witness my two-step.

 

Forward/back, forward/back.

My ears are deaf to their “turn, turn”

shouted from that gallery

some say cannot exist.

 

And ‘tis no applause that echoes

once the dreaming is all done

but the moan and groan of soul

some say cannot exist.

 

Some say the words do not exist,

some say the dreams aren’t real,

and some say there’s a reason

no one hears or lives the dream.

 

The reason is (fill in the blanks);

it doesn’t matter half as much

what’s written on the tag

as what I choose to set down

in the corners of my mind.

 

I’ve set the turn, turn, turn around,

next to the moans of soul

because one day when the time is right

the turn and twist will spin the moan

into murmurs of delight.

 

Some say it will not ever be

but … what, what, what?

I’m deaf, you see!

Technorati Tags: spiritual,poetry

A day of remembering

Speak to me in silence

so I can hear your words

calm my restlessness

and move the dark and dreary

to the clouds of yesterday.

Touch me with your needs

in the stillness of the night

so I can open up the door

to my own desire.

Look into my eyes

in the light of morning sun

so I can rise to welcome in

the passion you inspire.

Listen to my heart

and the music of my soul

so I can feel you leading me

around the floor of love.

Now please feel my tears,

run heartache down your cheeks

because you did it all

and then turned away!

Technorati Tags: general,poetry

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.

 

 

 

(Photograph by Helen Howell)

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 her 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 a new realm

but “tomorrow” more together than torn

the adult within will stand up again

on the ground of original thought!

Technorati Tags: spiritual,poetry

Africa, South Africa

Grazing free amongst the trees

in the peace of all alone

a lumbering old elephant

looks forward, never back,

in his quest for nourishment. 

 
The air is fresh and clean

away from concrete towers

where shadows come alive

and slink and slither silently

out into the streets.

Africa, South Africa,

from whence doth garbage come

that blows from dingy alleyways

into the country air

and settles in my nostrils

the smell of evilness?

Behind my back a whirlwind

swirls remnants of the past

across the sky into my life

and onward to the future

to settle there and procreate

more garbage for the young.

Africa, South Africa,

where have the children gone

who once played hide and seek

amongst bushes, brambles, trees,

and climbed up rocky outcrops

happy and at ease?

And Africa, South Africa,

where change and turmoil reign

you are today, indeed you are,

a land that swallows children

and regurgitates more crime

to steal and kill the spark of hope

I light most every day!

Technorati Tags: general,poetry

A "silly tale" for today

I found today in a second hand store

a book on a life lived before

and I flipped through the pages

with an eye for detail

and a bag full of rusty old coins.

The edges were worn,

the cover was torn,

the colour had faded to grey,

and then I remembered

I’d read it before

and already had paid the price.

But I pulled out a penny to pay the man

though he hadn’t yet asked for my thoughts

so the penny, like love, fell to the floor

and I planted a smile on my face.

I went back home and packed up my heart

in a red velvet box with a clasp.

A precaution, you see, in case love should think

I died in a daylight raid.

But I’m still alive walking around

with a brick in the place of my heart

and when I get back it’ll be quite flat

with no blood left to turn about face.

 
Maybe for now a brick will do

cold and hard and lifeless inside

to keep me sane and grounded in life

until I am no longer me. 

 
The moral, however, of this silly tale

is perhaps of no consequence

when the heart of the matter is under a bed

beating alone with no phone

to dial love up and call it back home

from wherever it went to be free.  

 
That’s it!  It’s life that squashes a heart

and bleeds out the life-blood of soul!

Technorati Tags: life,poetry

Necessity vs Need

 

I failed or was I foiled for multi-layered reasons

known and catalogued by goblins, witches, gnomes,

or by the scales of justice

not evenly balanced

between necessity and need?

 

 

Need tips the scale

and immobilizes me

from that moment of knowing

yet the ogre of necessity

licks at my mystic flavour

till everyone can see

it’s swallowed and digested

the substance of a woman.

 

 

 

(Photograph by Frank Bennett, New Zealand)

 

Foiled or failed; to no avail

the nightly contemplation

for necessity sucks dry

the moisture of desire

until dehydrated needs

flip up into the air and simply disappear.

 

A backward glance lets me see

nought remains but a dream,

a recurring dream!

Technorati Tags: life,poetry

Of dreams

When direction is lost and I take a wrong turn

I’m perturbed to awake and find I’m at home 

but then I remember in dreams how I yearn  

and how they entice the lonely to roam.    

     
There are days when I linger half comatose

and days that I live in disbelief, fear, 

but then I remember the book isn’t closed

though fragile and old in this atmosphere.

And so of my dreams they’re completely intact

for love’s energy must refuse solitude

in its need to honour and respect spirit pacts

made always to still human inquietude.

But how restless are we like jitterbugs, fleas,

in the shadow of all we’re not meant to be!

Technorati Tags: dream,poetry

The deal

Cards folded they lie inert on display

their story untold from then to today

and a useless, discarded, foray into life

wasted, I bet, in the soon afterlife.

The winning hand yours; I’m not appalled,

ordained we are winners or losers of all.

No go-between, seer, or gentle soothsayer, 

enlightens a fool to an experienced player.

Deal again and again, oh, mysterious friend,

the phantom of dreams walks on to the end

this time to the wall no one passes through

to uncover and discover a different view.

Like sugar to bears temptations fine lair  

draws in and deceives the innocent, fair,

until the call made, “wake up to today”

folds into the pack long lost yesterdays. 

   
The loser the soul, the winner our pride, 

and the phantom of dreams destined to die 

struggles for breath in mind’s unholy mess

like spider webs turned into human distress. 

But deal again life to the dead as before

and remember this time … no wake up call!

Technorati Tags: life,poetry

God speed

 

On a winter’s night with daylight gone to rest

night recites a fairytale and sings of better days

in preparation for its encore in the sky.

 

And it rises like a wave lifted by the love of soul

high above perceptions and unfounded beliefs

to reign over all and decree to the poor

the promise of return to the true state of man.

 

 

(Photograph by Gareth Howell)

 

But again, again, till death doth end the personality today 

pain enters our light shields to nourish and to nurture

the growth in every garden of how we’re meant to be

before infused into soul like a dash of water

to an alcoholic drink.

 

Softer then the taste, palatable and smooth,

more easily assimilated into a higher world

where experience, the mixer, refines the end product.

 

Refined and defined, transparent to the eye,

upright or bent over is what we must decide

before participation in the world of unseen power.

 

But to each the time to know

and I, a humble bystander,

can only say,

“God speed!”

Technorati Tags: spiritual,poetry

 

Simple Simon (again)

Simple Simon wakes sometimes to the glory of a mind that feels a dream as if it’s real

and knows there is a place where people play amongst the hay and exchange the straw

as if it’s love and all.

 

But of straw it rolls into a ball bound to not be free and the same of love within a dream

that, of course, is not set free to o’er lay this artful land with how we’re meant to be.

 

There are roller coasters, round-abouts, slides and climbing things magnetized to pull us in

and keep us from the goal and so sighs a woman on the side for such is life that adds the

swings to make us think we’re dizzy with success.

 

Of course there is a moment when playgrounds close the gates and bar the one who would

play as if life can never end but it’s really just a lifetime that finishes the race with no

medal of eternal grace.

 

So Simple Simon thinks one day he’ll come again and play but, lo behold, no playground

stays the same as it once was for returning steps can’t make amends for what was left

undone.

 

He ponders like a wise old man but finally he simply dies to all the love inside for to know

it’s there is like he must rise and take the lead in the metal shop of medals to gain a slight

advantage is the rush and crush of heaven.

 

Simple Simon, dear, dear, dear, you can’t say you didn’t know love is the way to go

for you can see the “challenged” in every walk of life giving out and getting in

the benefits of love.

 

Ah, but I know to look is not to see so Simple Simon, dear, dear, dear,

please wake no more to dreams before you’ve learnt to see!

Technorati Tags: humorous,writing

I give to you

The hand of time, my hand, your hand,

whatever dries my eyes,

silences the tongue of love

and aligns the spirit

with the properties of death.

 

If I should cry while loving you,

I simply am alive

to the power and the beauty

of all you are inside

and if I should cry at sunsets

let no man say I lie

at their magnificence.

 

I give to you my tears

though distance mars their tone

confident each drop

will somehow slip and slide

into the waiting channel

of higher consciousness.

 

Even if construed

tears are immature release,

he who hears the words

and can inwardly interpret

is not a king, God, or queen,

but simply wise emotionally.

 

I give to you my words,

the wisdom of a woman’s mind,

and a different point of view.

May you see beyond the commonplace

and into the extraordinary!

 

(Photograph by Frank Bennett, New Zealand)

Technorati Tags: general,poetry

It's like ...

It's like that settled state of peace
becomes restless in its sleep
and I awake to heartache
and a mind is disarray.

Of course it’s just the knowing
no grace allowed for spirit love
to manifest from dreams to real
and keep a woman/man in love
till death begets again
the making of another life.

And it’s like the tears are too confined
within where they abide
and seek they do the free outside
to fill chambers of the eyes
and flood the conscious mind
with severe loneliness.

Then rises so the will and need
to bury love deep under ground
and turn the dial from then to now
with sheer determined strength.

I hear the click of notches passed
and smile at my achievement
but lo behold the damn thing slips
and swings back to the start.

And it’s like the turn, turn, try again
will one day reach the end
and stick in the final groove
of inconsequential “stuff”
not meant to stay in memory ~
and that surely is the hope
of unrequited love!