Monday, September 21, 2009

Thoughtful energy

So blows this life into the mind
where lives a thoughtful energy
and it joins and dissipates the force
that once was paramount.

And in this mix creation’s orb
shrinks and shrivels, disappears
and becomes a servant to dis-ease
clothed in shredded leftovers
of its former glory.

To search and find and reinstate
what once made life worthwhile
like a chore unlisted on the board
of human existence.

Lonely is the voice in time
that calls with silent needfulness
for thought to rise and fight, fight, fight,
the dictates of a mortal life.

Creation’s orb is there somewhere
tattered, torn, not as before,
so blows this life into the mind
again, again, till death the end!

Helen / 22 September 2009

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Country girls and woman folk

‘tis a country girl that knows to be
in complete and utter harmony
with the wild that calls within, within,
in the dead of lonely nights
but she wakes to find the sun up high
on the crying fields.

The crying fields spread far and wide
over all her hopes and needs inside
and she traces them with hands attuned
to the fabric of despair.
Such fabric is o’er laid with fear
and studded with the beads of need
and the pattern formed a travesty
of the wild that calls within.

‘tis country girls and woman folk
who know of harmony and fear
and how it works to blend and meld
the real into the false
and grow amidst the crying fields
one red and vibrant rose.

That rose looks left and right,
sisters, brothers, none
and then it knows to stand upright
and speak for those who can’t
and it screams into the atmosphere
with all it’s innate might.

The echo travels far and wide
but so deep within the crying fields
it fades before the target reached
and the rose knows it must die
before the next sunrise.

Today there is no rose to shout;
the crying fields have spread and grown
beyond the confines of the known
and of country girls and woman folk
they’ve become like you and me
misplaced and dispossessed
of the wild that calls within!

Helen / 14 September 2009

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Cocktails and little crumbs

Life moves in and takes out
dreams, wishes, hopes and needs
and stirs and mixes cocktails
like a barman paid to be
a maker and creator.

It has no mind for me to sense
or heart to pump intent
but, oh, so diligent
it serves up and clears away
like one who doesn’t know
there always is a crumb or two
missed in the clean sweep.

Crumbs mix and meld in their own way
with the morning of the day
and catch in the oesophagus
of one who knows to breathe
the remainder and the residue
into the atmosphere.

And so into the twilight
crumbs scratch and irritate
and scratch and irritate
and scratch and irritate.

Night descends and shallow breath
skirts the crumbs of what is left
and brings unto the one who lives
a sense of silent happiness
that sometimes, sometimes not,
sweeps the crumbs into the bin
of “what the hell, I live”.

And after, long after,
the “sometimes not” grows bigger than
those everyday little crumbs
and that’s the way it goes
until happiness evolves
but never can it grow
when love like a little crumb
remains an irritation!