Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Wishes, needs, desires

I kept an eye some time ago
on wishes, needs, desires,
and watched them disappear
like mist into the sun.

I called them back into the fold
but too much “pity me, oh, please”
filled the nooks and crannies
where once they dwelt content.

They wandered then the ether
dispossessed of power
and floated round and round about
the core from whence they came.

Occasionally a buzz, a shiver and a feel
but gone before mind could react
and reach out determinedly
to grasp what disappeared.

Wishes, needs, desires;
oh, yes, they disappear
but not to say they ever die
in that air of no disease!




Sunday, April 24, 2011


Time drags its feet towards the hour
but patient is the love in me
that sits beneath a willow tree
united with its silent weep.

And how it sweeps across the land
as if my presence disavowed
but should I cease to wait and weep
what of that silent Willow tree?

Will it stand up with righteousness,
be puffed up with morality,
or will it bend with sweep and weep
lonely for the love in me?

To loneliness, my friend, indeed
‘tis so before the hour is struck
and all who thought to wait and weep
have left for pasture new ~
or perhaps upon a cloud they’ll float
lonely too without you.

Clouds or trees; should I believe
it matters where I choose to be
until, until, time finally
settles on the hour?



Friday, April 22, 2011

The price

The price of oil and fuel goes up
yet love’s value so diminished
and the warlords prosper more
than ere they’ve done before.

It’s a world beset by trials
that suffer so the earth to burst
and the sea to vent its anger

And in amongst this spiral
the energy of you and I
comes in second to the norms
established by the unaware.

Not today, tomorrow, or
next week, next month, year,
will energy en mass rise up ~
but energy is such to be
unseen, unheard, unknown,
until the most amazing shock
changes what we know.

Wide awake, hair singed and burnt,
and who will care of oil and fuel
when the price of love has risen high
and our coffers empty, spent?

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Morning breaks

Morning breaks the spell of past
with fists like lightning bolts
piercing through the mood
of a dark and sombre mind.

Birds and butterflies and me
fly in conscious formation
round and round and round again
the strength of one to overcome.

Willing now to be released
mind welcomes in the draft
cool and soft; a mother’s kiss
on the forehead of a child.

Thus released and free
and glory be the feel
that loosens sides and bottom, top,
of compressed despondency.

And as the overcoming gels
and hardens into good self-love
there’s yet a spot for lightning bolts
to break it into … loving me!

Another day has dawned
on all those dawned before
but of the round and round again
what of, what of, the round again?


Monday, April 18, 2011

The beyond

There’s nothing twixt the air and land
and so I stay quite unaware
and though the clouds purport to be
something solid, tangible,
I know they’re simply wake-up calls
calling, calling, calling,
“look up, look up, look at me”.

Perhaps they’re vain and simply are
in need of my admiring stare
but perhaps they’re like an opening
into what lies beyond.

They disappear sometimes to be
cheerleaders on the side-lines
but no participants appear
and of spectators there are none.

So the beyond remains alone
saddened by my absence
and builds up tension deep within
the sphere of immortal love.

I cry sometimes for that beyond
and I cry for me
unwilling now to ere believe
but I hear them still;
they sing to me
of hope’s sure company.

I can close my eyes, not look above,
can still the hope within
but I can’t and simply cannot
ever close my ears!


Sunday, April 17, 2011


I went from the simplicity
of simply loving you
into the highly convoluted
magic and mystique
of love’s birthing place.

I came back overladen
with triangles, squares, rectangles,
all entwined and entangled
within overlapping circles.

Circles roll and bounce around
an unenlightened mind
and roll down the mountain side
of no understanding.

They’re pretty in their own way
all aglow with this and that
in the twilight time
of a life in repose
but grant no gratification
to any onlooker.

I had to be in it
rolling, feeling, touching,
love’s origins
before the true meaning
of the “I love you”
could be known and understood.

Do I know and understand?
Yes, I surely do,
but I was in while you were out
and though we might nor ere entwine,
I hope you’re in it now!

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

The stars decided

The stars decided, this is it,
it’s time to chase the clouds away
and show the world the glory of
resuscitated passion.

The moon in agreement
shrugged off despondency
and glowed with remembrances
of a time long past and gone.

The wind was still in honour of
time’s amazing grace
that brings to all who stand and wait
the chance to start again.

And I stood beneath this canopy
immobile with the drop of cares
and fear for love’s survival
piled up around my feet.

I might have glowed somewhere within,
I might have remembered you,
but with all my might I surely did
chase the clouds away!

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Brick on brick

I have two piles of bricks
called He Knew and Didn’t Do
and I think to fashion them
into a fortress round my soul.

No drawbridge ‘cause I know
foundations laid on ego beds
will soon one day collapse
and let the loving in.

Still and all, I think to be
the architect of stubbornness
and engineer of righteousness
here on my pedestal.

Brick on brick, brick on brick,
how useless building what will fall
yet build I do with no drawbridge
to my own off-centre plans.

Only when I’m balanced
twixt this world and the next
can I rest beside still waters
and suffer your meanderings ~
but I have two piles of bricks!




Thursday, April 7, 2011

The voice of a poet

The voice of a poet soft and dulcet in its tone
or harsh, abrasive, cutting, and reaching to the core,
moves freely like the wind, touching, circulating,
and speaking only and always to those who wish to hear.

Ideology, philosophy, wishful thinking, memories,
unsubstantiated dreams, hopes, wishes, needs, desires,
woven like a tapestry too soon to be out-dated
and discarded like a heap of old and musty books.

In a fire of these times volumes and manuscripts
will burn and be forgotten like bodies of the dead
and cynics will grow to outnumber those who know
till all and everything disappears into the air.

How pointless, how degrading, how useless is intent
to expose to the already wise the wisdom of the old
or shine like a star in the path of a blind man
in the knowledge that he has no eyes to see.

Too numerous the setbacks and too far away the moon
to highlight a soul within the shell of flesh
and the voice of a poet disappears into the dust
to be trodden on and crushed by life’s intolerance.

The air once thin, sustaining, grows thick and thicker now
with the absorption of … simply all and everything!


Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Wishes and needs

Birds fly together straight to the tree
standing high above the lowly one, me
sure of its beauty, its majesty,
and its indomitable will.

Sunk in the sand for many a year
it’s a tree to harvest adoring stares
and gather the wishes and needs
of each and every sightseer.

No wonder it grows tall, taller than me,
it’s full of the most delightful things
because I know of my wishes and needs
they are outstandingly grand.

I don’t worry that trees hold my needs
but I wonder sometimes how they will appear
after the decreed and inevitable
biodegradable process.

Who will know that they’re mine?


Monday, April 4, 2011


I looked in the distance
and, lo and behold,
there was no horizon beckoning
like a lover’s ardent plea
to follow where he leads.

Perhaps I was mistaken.
Horizons must exist
or else the same old, same old,
gains a foothold in the door
and overpowers me.

So I cleared my eyes of fantasy
and looked again long and hard
till finally there it was
where it has always been.

So my horizon looms
next to yours and his and hers
in the distance far away
calling softly, softly,
“Please come to me”.

What? What? The deaf cannot hear
and so the shimmer of horizons
merely the tears it cries
mournfully, heartbreakingly,
throughout each live long day.

Horizons? Yes, they’re beautiful
but lonely without you!