Saturday, May 31, 2008


Confined to a strip between the sea
and the mountains of everyday life
courage is shelled and moves like a crab
as if it is going somewhere.

Oh, it blusters and shouts and tries to get out
from the folds of a hardened gut
but always a sideways movement
the definite way to extinction
of the perceived unique.

Left/right, left/right; how boring is life
when courage afraid to swim
or climb the mountain of life’s disdain
into love’s mystery
hanging like a voluptuous cloud
in tempt of the scared, afraid.

Courage! Yes, yes! It’s the mind of a fool
who cares not to leave level ground
but one with the courage to forsake all others
for the meaningful things in life
rises above the imaginings
and lands in a beautiful place!

Sunday, May 25, 2008


I am the "me" of everyone
wishing on a shooting star
when night begets a dream
and I speak, speak, instantly
but too slow the star departs
and wishes trail dispirited
into the neighbour's yard.

They lie amongst the weeds
thirsty, thirsty, as can be
because no one waters weeds
when pretty flowers preen
and scatter silly wiles
to attract the honey bees.

And in the time of Autumn winds
that wish blows back again
changed, refined, befitted for
a bigger chunk of energy
from the “me” of everyone.

Easier and easier to huff, puff, and blow
and the wish exceeds the bounds
of the once possible
and it flies, flies, and glides
into the most amazing sky.

Sunset over Africa

You'll see it there at sunset
giving glows to every hue
and showing only part
of the intensity of heart
behind each and every cloud.

The seasons come and go,
sunsets always glow,
and clouds have silver linings
because wishes have the edge
on life’s everyday betrayal.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Dream delivery

They tried to deliver yesterday
a dream with dramatic scenes
invisibly open to interpretation
and inspection by reality.

The inn is too full; determined they came
set on the claim of supremacy
over the needs of the flesh
decreed by me an honourable state.

Tears littered the base of human disgrace
that refused to accept and rejected
dream after dream of soul avowals
tendered as right sufficiency.

I walked through the stream
choosing, you see, simply to not believe
but I am the dreamer who knows
there will always be room for a soul.

But soul for soul, flesh for the flesh,
dreams desolate out in the cold,
until the many miles are crossed
and the dreamers can meet
at a place of complete belief!

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Put it there

Put it there, right there, in that puddle of feel
sitting so in the midst of unfathomable depths
where it catches the light and feels the heat
burning into the core of belief.

It’s a funny thing, love, that lies silently
between the confines of immovable me
but drawn by a need it rises sometimes
and breathes the air of freedom.

It’s a game, you know, that everyone plays
when love wiggles and jiggles inside us
and it’s like there’s a crack in control
and a shake-up of everything known
that allows for seepage and flow
into the nub of consciousness.

But love is a gypsy and maybe you/me
catching heat from the fires of passion
and dancing too deep in the soul
to ever really be known.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Like a lion

A soul feeds on love like a lion with prey,
the fleshy part first then the gnawing on bone
until nothing remains but the feeding for free
on snippets and bits of memory recalls.

Two lions with prey

Then hunger awakes the once satisfied
in beg and plead for the essence of feel
and the lion arises, the birds disappear,
but the ground holds no trace, no smell,
for one who would stalk for sustenance.

There is shade from a tree grown older like me,
a river of need where the thirsty can drink
but this just a vision to the wild and untamed
and the lion walks on for a million days.

Head down with a mane thinning and grey
and a heart unspent haggard and bent
the lion lies down and gives up life rights
to the eating and eating and eating again.

And nobody sighs at the sight of that lion;
they did not know there was hunger inside
but a soul owns the deed to forever life rights
and cannot survive if the food has run out.

A soul feeds on love; didn’t you know
the fleshy part first before you must go?

Eight minutes away

Eight minutes away the shiver of fear
waits like a devil-kissed king
to decree a new manner of being
and order the pillage and burn
of the core of belief.

It’s preening, you see, and titivating
and polishing wiles till they shine
for an out of this world creation
of a fear based lineage.

From shoulders a cape the colour of gloom
drapes well to the floor of psychosis
and his head bears the crown of suffering
bedecked with the jewels of misery.

So adorned he prepares to preach to fools
while minions clear paths to a heart
with love’s vestiges fuel for a fire
and empathy fodder for pigs.

Eight minutes away; let nobody say
there never is time to decide;
bow to the king or reconnoiter
love’s worth to the spirit within.

No need to catch or feed the fear
but forever to stay
eight minutes away!

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Soon a mountain

Hills groan with the force of uplifting themselves
up and away from the man in the street
and look to the mountains with envious eyes;
how did they know to rise before time?

Already they're there settled at ease
in the air that always promises more
and the clouds pay homage as if to a king
while sky smiles down as if to a child.

Mountains, oh, mountains,
awesome and grand
first in line for the summer sun, rain.
You pick the best moonbeams,
your very own star
and own all the treasures
hills hope to acquire.

I feel for the hills stretching boundaries and more
and know how a goal slides further away
when the everyday stuff of the common man
heavy like rocks on level ground. 

Hills groan within where the will lives;
soon a mountain but don’t count the years!

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Blue of the sky

Not yet time for the blue to appear
but the natural inbred is there
in wait of a summoning forth
from within the confines of sky.

The effort to rise seems destined to die
for lack of sufficient knowledge
because awareness takes time
to manifest life
in the grey, the grey of the sky.

I sip at my cup and put my belief
in the wonder of the unknown
because I have seen the blue, blue, blue,
and know it will come again
but it waits, you see, like the lover in me
for time to consider a move.

But time is time and has its own view
unperturbed by my daily need
to embrace the natural inbred
as my very own paradise.

Blue, my blue, the beautiful blue,
I’m truly in love with you
because, just because, because
you truly are beautiful!

Monday, May 5, 2008

The sages say

A state of bliss prevails, so the sages say,
when two minds perform as one
but, ha-ha-ha, the joker, life,
twists truth into a knot
and drapes the dangling bits and bobs
over one minuscule part
of who we are inside.
Thus I walk as one unique
comfortable in what's been taught
until the knot deemed safe, secure,
loosens bit by bit
and mixes up my mind with yours
and mine with mine besides.
So then of this conglomerate,
the still waters of a mind,
how does it feel to be denied
and thought as nought inside?

Let me tell you it's a fickle thing
like that joker, life, itself
from sway and ripple softly so
to raging floods inside
that tips the sane and sanest
into a loving mind.
Love me tender, love me fierce,
but sages say no peace prevails
when shrouded head to toe
in only the meaningless
dangling bits and bobs!

Friday, May 2, 2008

Wax and wane

I marvel sometimes at the wisdom of moon;
she knows when to cut and then cut again
from the fullness of being whole in belief
to a half, quarter, less, than was ever before.

And how like a mortal to take for granted
the re-growth and smile of that one in the sky
and to look with the same kind of an eye
at the past as if still here in the present.

Moon waxes and wanes; the past stays the same
lost and locked in the archives of mind
until barely a hint of what must have been
comes under the glare of a jaundiced eye.

But to strain the eyes turned awry by the times
and gain a perspective not found in the past
a chore for the brave, the courageous, and me
now expanded into this present time.

I look back, back, and see there were dreams
that made of hope a complete mockery,
desire that tired in the long march of life
and lost love that begat a new emptiness.

Let the moon wax and wane and suffer the strain
no more can I breathe, breathe in, a dream
or believe there's good reason for losing the cream
love dribbles and drops on what happens to be!