Saturday, February 21, 2009

Homeless Love

She thought to let the matter slip
into the garbage bin of mind
from where no reflux back into
the realms of heart's desire.

So come the day when mind repels
this nonsense of perceived reason
the matter floats around about
the good and bad of each season.

Nowhere to go and homeless love
useless to man, beast, woman, child,
seeks to grab the podium
and plead asylum from the mind.

No! ‘tis not a thing that mind desires
for love‘s just a nickel/dime issue
that neither pays the piper's fee
nor brings within the feel of you.

‘tis heart that must expand and grow
and make the space for timeless grace
but it will not, won't, refuses to,
until mind moves back a pace.

Repelled by mind, refused by heart,
love's end comes first before the start!

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Story Line!

Take it, yes, and scratch it through
with pen of ink bold double sized
and hope the near and sure divine
can live without a story line.

‘tis not the time nor for this life
to not evolve around the tale
and immerse the heart in mystery
that not in truth can ere be told.

There's a story in my love for you,
a beginning and a middle, end
to the legend of red roses, four
and the sea and shore; perhaps they mourn
the end of what went long before
but still they live to tell the tale
of time and tide and permanence.

I will live like stories do
read, absorbed, told second-hand,
but of the ones left then to hear
therein lies the mystery.

Evolve and learn, evolve and learn,
and maybe in the spin the awe
of stories then, today, again!

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Money! Money! Money!

So lives a woman now
in the throes of vacillation
not weightless but yet floating
in the air of indecision.

She balances a moment - just
on thermal waves of money lust
but like a brick plummets to earth
and crash lands in the summer lands
of soul's innate desire.

The air screams, "Money, money"
and she knows to humbly bow
but how the back stiffens up
and she becomes immobile
stuck like a stalwart
defender of herself.

She throws the dice; no hearts but spades
to dig an early grave
and bury all her needs, desires,
in a cold unfeeling place.

So shuffles she from rich to poor
like a woman born to swivel
until an "Ah-Ha" moment
changes her lifestyle
and brings from smart the casual
designer wear of soul.

Money! Money! Money!
She's deaf though, don't you know?

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


I'm at the base of life's pyramid scheme
stretched and extended to no good avail
adding some more to the already before
then some more and thereafter some more.

Not good, not bad, but foundations don't last
when stuck in a whirlwind of everyday chores
that produces a mind devoid of intent
to retreat into the glory of the essential "I am".

But give me a chance to finish the base
I'm a worker, you see, diligent and inspired
to acquire the "this" and surely the "that"
before I'm allowed to see the first crack.

Once a crack starts it travels and goes
to where a division will make an impact
and force a step either forward or back
because no one can stand in the middle.

But life is a trickster, a swindler, a cheat
and makes us decide without a contract
for surely it seeks to tie up mankind
in a vacuum of physical needs and desires.

I'm a woman of needs, I desire, yes indeed,
but a vacuum's a deadly and dark empty place
too mean to allow an expansion and stretch
of the great and glorious essential "I am".

But I am, I am, I most decidedly am
all that I am when I think that I am
the great and glorious essential "I am"!

Sunday, February 8, 2009

The crown of truth

As the world turns round and round
so spins the one who loves
slow motion it would seem
from the then into the now.

That spin is like a crown of truth
that adorns my thoughts and moves
and glitters its beliefs
from the mental realms of memory
to the present physical.

I step out sometimes from my queenly guise
into the work-a-day
that spans a time of weeks to months
of discarded memory
but that crown of truth refuses lies
and entwines itself betwixt the times
to bring love back again, again,
into consciousness.

My hair grows thick and thicker now
and the crown unbalanced wobbles
because it seems my everyday
holds no vestige of the truth.

Of truth and crowns and mental realms
see how they lie unused
when in the present physical
we lose our regal eminence!

Saturday, February 7, 2009

The ideal

What's mandated must not be
a now and ever after deal
that ne'er can change or modify
what first was thought ideal.

Like me first there and then to here
a plan's no plan if I'm not free
to formulate a better rule
according to the need in me.

The deal of then; how great it was,
how awesome to believe in you
and then bear witness to the scribe
who changed his point of view.

And I too penned my only name
and so I know how moves a one
not destined to be bound by love
until the changing, changing's done.

But change, my love, before the sun
sinks low on the alive
and shrouds the dead with past regret
until the end of time.

A deal's a deal through changing times;
but not to honour the ideal
like a cancer to annihilate
what still is meant to be!

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

The Edge!

It didn't take a pound of flesh
but a ton of mental stress
to turn the wheels of change
and roll with the incomings
to the edge of where I'm at.

And the edge a place of reverie
where moments congregate and play
soft symphonies of stay right here
or beat that drum of change again
and find another edge.

How sweet and lilting is the tune
of a comfort zone
until the passion rises
and o'er lays the same with dread
of that same old, same old, edge
that neither holds nor caresses
an embedded need.

I love the drums; they move in me
a sense of hopeful restlessness
but too the symphony in me
plays hauntingly of history
that always brought a traveller back
to that same old dreaded edge.

Edges are the damndest things;
they even come in visions
but not long enough to show and tell
whether just a thought or fall!

Monday, February 2, 2009


It's a constant clickety-click, click-click
of time rolling down the tracks
with no more a mountain or steep incline
to slow what cannot be stopped
or a pause at the junction between then and now
to take on more meaningful stuff.

Clickety-click, click-click, click-click,
on and on to nowhere, somewhere,
where time makes its very own line
and decides on concurrent or separate
according to whim or desire.

Time is involved in trickery, fraud,
and cons the gullible time, time again,
but who can say, "Nay" to time's merry ways
when it cannot be caught by candid camera
or redefined by intelligent minds
and packaged within the bounds
of limited understanding.

Time, dear time, pristine or used
still has the legs of a gazelle
for when no track it leaps on in bounds
to that nowhere place or somewhere
quicker than the jet-set can
or even the ordinary man in the street.

Time has eyes for it knows where it's going
but hooded and cloaked I can't access soul
and decide good or bad, right or wrong,
or plain and simply indifferent
so I think I'll just stare stupidly
and grin like a simpleton
while time does its thing, its artful thing,
of rolling on down the tracks!