Sunday, March 30, 2008


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
‘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 is 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!
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Thursday, March 27, 2008

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?
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Tuesday, March 25, 2008

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.
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Saturday, March 22, 2008

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!
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Thursday, March 20, 2008

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!

Monday, March 17, 2008

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 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!
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Sunday, March 16, 2008

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!

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Thursday, March 13, 2008

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!

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Tuesday, March 11, 2008

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.

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!
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Sunday, March 9, 2008

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!
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Wednesday, March 5, 2008

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!

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Tuesday, March 4, 2008

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.
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!”
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Sunday, March 2, 2008

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!

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!

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Saturday, March 1, 2008

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!