Wednesday, April 30, 2008

The music

When the music is heard
and it seems too good to be true
it fits into the realms of fantasy
because reality checks
always play out of tune.

But mental headphones cut out the din
of off-key and deadly scenarios
to bring in the music of "let me love you"
as if love ever needs permission.

Round and round, the notes turn around
when there's no one to set eyes upon
and each/every night is a lonely night
when there's no one to say it's alright -
but the music of love plays on
in the mind of a woman loved or unloved
based on perceptions of real.

And if love is too good to be true
the world surely will start out anew
because then it has lost the plot
of what was intended to be!

Monday, April 28, 2008

Can you hear?

Moon displays her inbred grace
unconcerned with life’s distaste
at how she never falls to ground
to shatter my belief
that somewhere way up there on high
is where two lovers meet.

I know I’m me both here and there
but like the moon I shrink/enlarge
mind’s reach and stretch, capacity
to know the more of who you are
when stripped down to the core
by the hands of passion.

Such hands they are like sharpened knives
that hack and cut skin, bone, sinew,
to finally reveal the heart
that pumps despite your disregard
for its unspoken needs.

Listen! Can you hear
how the chains of self imposed restraint
bang and clang against the bars
placed strategically to trap a need
in the realms of fantasy?

‘tis not a fantasy that bleeds
or breaks upon the rocks of need
but just a heart that surely feels
it should be taken seriously!

Listen! Can you hear?

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Just a tree

What was is gone and now no more
will symbolize the truth
of love's forever fortitude
amidst the fickle ways of man.

It’s just a tree tall proud like me
that weakened in a storm
and dropped to ground a canopy
once spread over the earth.

And the core still strong as once before
lies in silent contemplation
uncertain whether the “to be”
is what the people need.

The “not to be” against the grain
but therein lies the root of all
for only when love’s left to rot
will the people learn.

Still today that tree like me
thinks yes to grow or maybe not
for to give the body up to death
frees the soul up unto peace.

Yes or no the mind debates
but not to die before peace reigns
and so the tree grows back again
one branch, one leaf, one hope,
until again love’s canopy
envelops the whole world.

Our world?

Friday, April 25, 2008


Life builds and grows the storms of soul
over here in this dip of design lethargy
where the creators create unmindfully
the ebb and flow of everyone’s dreams.

It’s like the saviours no one ever sees
swop hats with the sinfully wicked
and implant a deep and dark deadly pall
over what we’re meant to see.

Lo and behold we come upon times
when the vision is cleared of uncertainty
and we spy somewhere a symbol of love
in what must be to make us believe.

But the fishermen fish way out, way out,
and I breathe the air of my own make-believe
here where the numbers exceed capacity
laid out in the safety procedures.

So the dreams rise and fall, I tire of it all,
for a storm is a storm and a pall is a pall
whether viewed through a smile or a tear
and that symbol of love diminishes me
to an insignificant icon
on a screen of immense proportions.

But I guess I’m supposed to know
I’m just like a breakable china teapot
pouring toxic thoughts onto storms
and creating a pall over symbols and more
so I cannot see the deep inner side
of the blatantly sinful wicked!

Monday, April 21, 2008


Winter lays an icy hand
on my “forever more”
and freezes expectation
behind a polar fleece jacket
because today there is no sun
and the cold nestles in
beyond the barrier
thought impassable.
The mindless cold of endings
like a power hungry fiend
taxes internal energy
until nothing left to keep
for when I need to sleep
away from the grief.
Though endings be beginnings
and change a mere re-charge
the battery of soul
works half-pace in the cold
and splutters like a tearful child
implanted in the old.
Oh, it’s a small, small, thing;
no one would think it’s anything
except a woman just like me
who values continuity!

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Saturday, April 19, 2008

The charge

It’s a charge of the most
extraordinary kind
when the force of love
overrides destiny
thought safe and secure
by a mind not open to more.

But no mind can resist a preordained move
declared and decreed a necessity
by the master of human-like puppets
behind the scenes pulling the strings
and forcing its will on the poor.
And, yes, I cry and bemoan, bewail,
until I align with the knowing that I
and only myself I’ll have you know
is the one who pushes and pulls
and sends me packing and sealing boxes
like a factory worker.
They pile to the ceiling because the charge
knows order must yet be maintained
in the rush and scurry to be somewhere else
like the peak and pinnacle of love’s ecstasy.
Yet boxes and strings and most everything
weighs a mind down and plants it on earth
and a mind must be free to go anywhere
but it can’t you see without “you”.
There’s always a “you” somewhere in time
that allows an escape for an immature mind
into that place behind the scenes
where all masters convene to plan strategy
and say whether I love or not.
So I do what I do and think what I think
until total denial and ignorance
makes of the master a stupid fool
who neither can speak of the ground rules
or enlighten the sadly bemused.
Excuse me please but I’m just a “me”
who meekly follows the boxes!
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Friday, April 18, 2008

More befitted

The wind blows today to strip the trees
and scatter the leaves beyond my sight
but more of the same returns one day
to adorn the now bedraggled and spent.
And scores of police are on the streets
to do a clean sweep of criminal minds
but into the cracks they scuttle and hide
to come back again more befitted to stay.
I’ve waved a wand and tried to see love
making a place in the world’s disarray
but the try, try, again, like leaves on a breeze
circles and then goes up, up, away.
Into the sky but, oh, fly like a bird
because birds keep their eyes on the ground
searching and hunting for sustenance
to keep them alive one day at a time.
To keep love alive is a matter of mind
and I do it these days for you
because I believe it comes back again
much more befitted to stay ~
but, oh, how this life strips my resolve
and makes of the heart a criminal!
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Tuesday, April 15, 2008

The sea today

Wind whips at the sea and she crests in anger
at the will of the life force that puts her on edge
for placed of nature she'd much rather flow
straight to the shore like a woman adored.

No friend the wind to pierce through her heart
and bleed her frustrated womanhood feel
into the rough of an unsettled life
like a figment created for picturesque worth
and not for the using, the feeling, tasting.

Sea sprays her ire right up to the sky
but it crashes back down into her mass
swallowed and swallowed so she can begin
making slow rolls towards calm repose.

Night hastens to come and relieve the sun
for the sentry of day no help in the fray
and the sea bids the night be her lover
to still the frenzy within.

Night settles at last on the sea’s many fears
the promise of peace still yet to be
and the sea believes like the seer in me
that everything comes to he who believes.

Meanwhile the rain and just so you know
tomorrow the wind will blow yet again!

Saturday, April 12, 2008

I trust but ...

In the killing fields of a loveless life
saviours rise from out the past
to throw the bones of stimulus
to the needy underdogs.

The meat is gone but the chew on bones
a seeming sustenance
for the now tied and tethered
to the stake of ripened age.

Throw the bones! The hungry need to eat
and ‘tis now the moulting season
of a love's most perfect fit
that can't go on and on
without the wholesome meat.

But I trust beyond this one lifetime
the voice of love will call me thrice
and supply the manner and the means
for true essential growth.

I trust but there's luck in the party packs
and timing in the candy
and all the way to go to the tallest tree
before a satisfied recline
in the shade of happiness!

Friday, April 11, 2008

Born of a storm

Clouds meet the sea on horizons of fear
and dark the days numbered one on to three
that harbours and hides the immortal truth
from the ordinary man in the street.

And as I peered through the eye of the storm
the knowing of more spread fulsome and free
like love breaking through the shackles of life
and losing the chains of anxiety.

But it pays not to count the days, months, years,
or wonder who calls an end to the storm
when given free reign to rage undisturbed
until peace the end result of it all.

I stand in the midst of my raging storm
aware of the sun playing hide and seek
but it tempts in vain this one in the know
that for every storm there’s a better “me”.

The sun plays its games; dark clouds have their day,
and I surely am in awe of this storm
that shakes, rattles, rolls, a once neutral state
and brings a new dawn right to my front door.

And I heard it knock persistently sure
again, again, over, over again,
for a new dawn is love born of a storm
trained to knock and knock over again!
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Friday, April 4, 2008

Bubble of belief

Baby, baby, you’ll be fine
and I’ll be fine and they’ll be fine
when a bubble of belief pop-pops
and lies like a fallen leaf
on the ground of an illusion.

It takes a time before the stretch
and blow-up of the truth
rebels and fights against
normal ignorance
but, picky-picky, no big bang
just planned obsolescence
of what the bubble holds.

Knives and swords and weapon things,
dress-up tools for life’s decrees,
an ineffective means
of bursting a belief
and the mind, my powerhouse,
scuttles forward then retreats
because too slow I miss the twist
and lose its show of force.

And that leaves me, the ignorant,
to bend, retrieve, assimilate,
bit by bit each drop of truth
but I lose the intricacies,
bend when I should stretch
and vice versa till I sit
immovable and comfortable
within a bubble, see?

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Story of the corner and me

I thought for a while it wasn’t meant for me
when he said there’s a corner straight up ahead
but the curious in me looked into that dream
and I saw it sitting there in patient repose
waiting for me to turn into love.

I passed him on the road for he had come that way
and I walked on steadily to reach that state of mind
but weighted down with burdens of numerous kinds
it took a whole lifetime to stand as one triumphant.

I turned then to see if he’d waited for my smile
but like a ghost he’d vanished into the ether of mind
and we stood together there for a number of years
until I knew the time was right to go the way I’d come
and settle in the safety of retail therapy
to weight myself again with things I’ll never own.

But I own my love of him stuck now like a toad
in the flesh and bones of an ordinary man
walking, walking, walking, but not going anywhere
and thinking there is merit in talking to the trees.

So the moral of the tale is to stay within the known
and not travel round the corner into the realm of soul
for there you’ll find that love sits like a spider does
in constant spin of webs and a sometimes catch of minds.

I was caught, you see, and chewed until made into new
but now today I think what a useless waste of time
better spent in walking into the jaws of lions
and sinking into demise without a knowing smile!

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