Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Some days

Some days she forgets where the palette is kept
and when she remembers the paints are missing
and she wanders the halls lost and bereft
like a stranger in love’s diocese.

No one knows, you see, what to expect
in that place where “life” cannot intrude
and trespass beyond the boundaries imposed
by personal and private intent.

But she has the power to paint the scene
according to all she’s come to believe
and she returns with determined resolve
to find those damn missing tools.

Red, yellow, blue, but it matters not
what hue she decides to use
because to paint no act of a fool
but of one with talent and flair.

And so with the gift of talent and flair
everyone can paint a picture perfect
to hang in the halls of life’s agony
and keep it always in sight.

But we go out, you see, into the fray
of life’s so variable hand-outs
and forget that one day we painted
the blue, so beautiful blue,
into the so dastardly grey …
until, until, we remember!

Helen / 1 April 2010

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

A simple cry

When the line is unbroken between heart and eyes
there’s no getting away from a simple cry
but a cry’s not simple; it’s a spiked cocktail
where inputted love fights conditioning.

The fight rages for a second or more
like sea as it pounds on immovable rocks
until the waves rise, up, higher up,
and cover those giant intractable rocks.

So when the tears fall let no-one abhor
the heart’s so ardent wish to be known
for it suffered and toiled in the paddocks
of ridiculous conformity.

So now it is free and I think a red carpet
to honour its walk down the corridor, time,
for though a narrow and so confined space
it’s known that time always opens the door
to a beautiful and magnificent hall.

And in that hall ~ well, let’s wait and see
what awaits all those who set the heart free!

Monday, March 22, 2010

The price

On the street where I live
there’s no runaway deal
and the price rises up, up, up,
into the more not bargained for
with the knowing of worth and value.

Life takes the stuffing, the cherry on top,
half the filling out of the giving,
and bespeaks of learning to live
with less than ever before
but empty rooms know
how deep the soul goes
to bring up the asked for price.

Sometimes it loiters in memory
awaiting a smash and grab
but mostly the wanting of more
pays up with the bowing out.

Happily so it’s a seesaw in soul
always up when I need to pay
and I keep the rhythm so, just so,
to not ever a borrower be.

The want and the need of more
bows to the force of conformity
and pays a risen up price
for the living with less
than the heart knows is best!

Thursday, March 18, 2010

There was music

There was music once and melodies,
singers, dancers, props and spots,
and changing scenes from good to bad
until the curtain fell to ground.

It lay inert disguised as death
as heads in silence bowed respect.
The players gone, the exit shone,
and minds as one moved on again.

The play of life in coffins sealed,
the stage of now a ghostly grave
that haunts the dark of modern minds
and moves the air of evil will.

But overhead the music plays
far distant now yet still I hear
and there a star shines brilliantly
and sings the song of life anew.

It fills my heart but still I grieve,
it clears my mind but still I cry.
I seek to reach but cannot find
the face of love disguised as man.

Haunting is the melody
and chilling is the sound of fear
as dancing steps falter and end
upon the stage of all that's left.

But play again, my maestro friend,
let love not come to this sad end!

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Illusive love

Free and weightless floating there
lost thoughts in me like breathing air
dispatch desire and need to sky
and draw me up like smoke from fire.

Crushing blows and then dismay
turn nights to days in life's foray
but love, illusive love, lays down
its heart and soul into the ground.

It should fight and grow in might
and honour higher up delight
for like to like, the rule up there,
in strength can climb each living stair.

But weak and listless, disengaged,
it turns deaf ears and sleeps encaged
behind the bars known long ago
when earth became its fragile home.

Projected like a moving play
I watch enthralled its wish to stay
and sing in tune with my desire
for hands to lift the veil of time.

From there in air to here it calls
and flows through me its need of more.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

I do not want ...

I do not want to be
a woman who believes
there’s a reason for the tears
that fall continually.

I do not want to be
a woman so in need
that life a chore untenable
and love a means to grieve.

I do not want to be
a woman with a memory
that overtakes my comfort zone
and leads me into feel.

And I do not, do not, want to be
in that place of feel
where no roof exists to canopy
and keep confined the agony
and turmoil of my being.

I do not want to "be"
but all I want has never been
and so, and so, believe me, please,
to want or not the same, you see?

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

I love

I love the feel of summer rain
in fall upon my brow
each drop a lover’s sweet caress,
each drip a timeless vow.

I love the feel of rising sun
that fuels my memory
and the night that holds just so
my wishes and my dreams.

I love the feel of autumn wind
around my weariness
like an order to about-face
and endure a woman’s pain.

I love the voices of the young
in tune with modern wisdom
and the openness that says I can
converse in total freedom.

I love my history with you
but to the sea the rivers go
to make of waves a happenstance
that brings in the unknown.

And today I love the unknown;
it's just the truth of soul!