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!

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?

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?

Storms

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!

Endings

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!

Technorati Tags: general,poetry

The charge

 

 

It’s a charge of the most

extraordinary kind

when the force of love

overrides a 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!

Technorati Tags: general,poetry

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!

Technorati Tags: general,poetry

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!

Her story

There were many days and nights of wandering alone to find the highs and lows of what
the spirit knows and 'twas not an easy journey from the base of no knowledge up unto the
high of all she came to see.  She saw love, you see, twinkling like a star there in the
vastness of heart's undying role to keep the truth alive until the end of time.

She spent a while up there looking further than she dared and time jumped out at her as if
to send her tumbling back into the depths from whence she’d come but she then became
aligned with the aid of certainty that time is just and always is an illusion of the mind.

Armed now with love and an illusion of the mind she turned and left the star behind for who
can carry stars around with those sharp and prickly ends digging into reality and reminding
every day that she one day reached the peak and couldn’t stay there all alone with only
what she knew.

Down, down, down, and she came at last to level ground hard and most un-welcoming to
one who’d found the love up there where she wasn’t meant to go.  She feels the pain of
every step but discards it on the run for she is running, running, to speed up the beat of
her long held memory so one day it will simply fall and not rise up again.

Memory’s like that thing we have but most times do not need for the good we knew can’t
take the place of what has come on after but it can sit in tandem with the circles of a
mind that turn around and interlock the past with the present to make one believe that
what’s gone before will come again.

It’s always there, you see, within time’s illusive mind that hovers over life’s amazing
tapestry weaved with the all of you, the all of her and the all of those we cannot see.  Do
we wait or do we climb into that amazing mind and drift along to all we’re yet to be?

Maybe yes and maybe no for to tell the truth she’s here today simply as a “me” and who
she’ll be tomorrow or who she was back then is something that will jump out when she’s
not thinking that it will!

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!

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!

Technorati Tags: inspirational,poetry

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?

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!

Technorati Tags: dream,poetry