Memories

She woke up in the morning
blanketed with memories
of a place long lost and gone
from all of her five senses.

But in her heart she knew it still
and revelled in its majesty
for a spell, yes, just a spell
until it disappeared again
into her subconscious.

She calls it up sometimes at will
to pretend but yet she knows
memories are punishments
that leave one, oh, so low.

So she looks out the window,
ventures out to stand upon
ground she doesn’t know,
and beats a hasty retreat
from the feel that creeps within.

And when it seems one shutters out
the place where we are at
it’s only for a moment
to gather up the manner, means,
of beating memories to pulp.

Pulp?  Oh, yes, indeed, just pulp
that swirls and swishes in/around
to make of mind not worth dime
in life’s economy.

But in the currency of heart
some memories pay and pay again
when viewed as not a punishment
but as antiques worth a million!

Simple thing called "Love"

Though well ensconced and settled in
a period of change
it seems the mind can still rebel
when losing sight and awareness
of the bigger picture.

But little minds can’t ere access
what’s not yet here designed
to allow continuous viewing
beyond these present times.

There are times when my little mind
drives me up the wall
and out the roof into the air
to see what’s lurking there
and when I find you there
I’m awed and overcome
by that simple thing called “Love”.

It’s the journey back from air, roof, walls,
that lands me like a wounded bird
back into daily life
and from there it’s many miles to go
to arrive at acceptance.

But we face the challenge - we all do
of living life and breathing air
not suited to our core
and it’s best in the overall
to not escape the times.

And when life is sometimes seen to be
a devil thing incarnate
we all can know like I do
that somewhere far and yet so near
there’s that simple thing called “Love”!

The clouds

The clouds have come to cry
o’er this land, South Africa,
like the grief that overspills
one who cannot sleep.

It’s a drip and drop that ne’er will cease
until the past is broken up
and scattered on the winds of time
like dust of no significance.

But dust, you know, the dust of life,
the foundation of the masses,
builds and grows, accumulates,
to turn nothing into something.

Not a rock but a storehouse
of grief and pain, heartache, loss,
all the joys childbirth can bring,
and love in all its many forms.

Sad to say there ne’er can be
a storehouse broken down and lost
but I and you can build anew
based on a different view ~
as soon as, as soon as,
we push the clouds away!

Showers

Angry words and insults
overfull between the walls
erupt and cover bystanders
with a shower out of hell ~
and I ask, and I ask,
“What’s love got to do with it?”

But love retreated long ago
to where it first came from
deep within the psyche
where no man can erode
its essential grace.

It lives there in a bubble
divorced from reality
and I feel for love so well confined
beautiful in lifelessness.

But in this world, oh, yes, this world,
love prefers its solitude
for like me it has no wish to be
a bystander under showers.

I live, you live, they live,
carrying bubbles everywhere
but light they are, so very light,
we don’t know they exist.

So burst a bubble, why not, why not,
because surely now, by now it’s time
to stand beneath and glory in
showers of a different kind!

Oh, yes, indeed!

Ordered to perfection;
some say, oh, yes, indeed,
this universe of sun and moon,
of stars and planet earth.

Like clockwork comes the autumn,
the winter, spring, summer,
and yet of life it falls and dips
to no known calendar.

It’s a flow I do not understand
for it veers from my decisions
and departs from all routines
instilled as my support.

Not quite a puppet yet it seems
someone is pulling strings
and at the end I move and sway
to a beat I cannot hear.

Life, oh, life, oh, yes indeed,
you tax the minds of minions
yet leave us free and clear to say,
“Never to say never”.

I never would, I never could,
I’ll never do this/that,
and the master at the end of strings ~
well, I wonder, do you think
he/she/it will die one day laughing?

But masters do not ever die.
They simply rule from far away
and suffer so the sure results
that laughter always brings!

Personal matters

So the journey began not fully aware
of the route, the scenery, me,
but in the meander I finally came
to the heart of all personal matters.

I found some amazing and wonderful things
and some things not befitting a queen
and I thought maybe it was alright
because I surely am not a queen.

I went there, yes, I did.  I did that, yes, I did.
I thought this/that, yes, I did
and I loved you, yes, I surely did,
down there in the heart of all matters.

So the meander continues,
heart takes in and grows,
and love, heartache, happiness, grief,
expands at a daily rate.

Be happy!  It’s good to know all things
but of love it really should float above
all of those things down there, down there,
in the heart of all personal matters!

The lady and the wishing well

She didn’t look blankly about
but focused threw her penny down
the most amazing wishing well
a mind could ere perceive.

She watched it pause a moment, two,
at the point of human love
before it disappeared within
a void the dreamers know.

Perhaps she was a dreamer, yes?
Perhaps she knew the scene by heart
and smiled the smile a woman does
when knowing all’s not lost?

But the penny certainly was lost
for ne’er again would it rise up
and sit within her palm of hand
in search of yet another well.

The one she chose was good enough
but of choice I think she wasn’t blessed
for are we not at love’s behest
in all we think and do?

Perhaps not so for who can know
why pennies disappear in wells
and not remain at human love
co-joined with one another.

So she turned and left that awesome well
that claimed her earthly riches
and poorer walked along the path
that surely led towards demise.

Don’t wait, don’t wait; she will be lost
like pennies thrown into a well
and sometimes, yes, I cry for her
but then I smile like women do!