Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Sustaining power

Love lies, has lied and will always lie
because it takes pity, you see
on all of the people who believe
it has no sustaining powers.

But it’s just a lie that deafens our ears
for we must find our own hearing aids
and we must in the fullness of time
harken unto the truth.

My time isn’t yours and sad this life
that moves and grooves to the silence
broken only by the clatter and din
of the times that will not survive.

And I’ve heard the words of the weak
propagate off-centre views
and feel, have felt and will always feel
love’s ever pain and anguish.

If only, if only, love would speak
in the words of the multitudes
but it sits on the side-lines waiting
for the bubble to burst.

It will burst in the most amazing way
and all of the deaf will hear
and I pity the people who believe
it has no sustaining power!

Saturday, February 25, 2012


And as she circles trails
in the forest of remembrances
brambles scratch and pierce
deep in the heart of love.

She’s a gypsy lady ne’er again
to be as she once was
yet still the heart pumps passion
and she would dance again.

She tears at fortitude,
looks deep into composure,
and searches for the truth
as a means of standing still.

Not yet but finally
stillness will o’er lay the world
and that gypsy lady dead
in the coffin of lost love.

But look amongst the brambles
and lift, lift her up,
for the life-blood of a gypsy
flows unchecked into the dirt.

What will it grow, what will it grow,
but nothing grows when all is still
and no one comes to pay respect
to all she was and tried to be!

Sunday, February 19, 2012


When the fight is given up
“Right” lies down
and suffers then the agony
of a homeless one.

Wind and rain, hailstorms, snow,
and the disregard of passers by
shatters so its certainty
and it weeps.

Tears mingle with the elements
but the world doesn’t end
and another day arises
to the same as before.

Day looks down again, again
but nought to do it simply stays
a witness to the tragedy
but no teller of the tale.

I tell the tale for “Right” should be
tall and proud and loved by all
and yet a vagabond it lies
in the gutter crying.

But one day “Right” will rule again
if you and me and lovers all
don’t in situ kill it
slowly and agonizingly!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012


When a moment comes of no recall
freedom grips the soul
for after all the past is gone
and ne’er will come again.

But just a moment, yes, indeed
for the heart would backward go,
and remember till no break of day
brings the present into play.

With no reins made to tie the sun
down on the other side
each day the heart must learn again
to put the past aside.

It learns each second, minute, hour,
of each long living day
but unlike mind it cannot
ever gain a passing mark.

The heart, therefore, a drop-out
lives to beat to what was good
and the soul just sits and waits
for a moment of freedom!

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

A gypsy rests

Beneath the shade of present times
a gypsy rests her weary mind
and sighs the sigh of womankind
that through the ages sallied forth
o’er the hills and dales.

She packs and ties her chattels down
the same as once before
and checks the path that lies ahead
for pitfalls of the past.

There they are, there and there,
and, my goodness, even there
but she smiles the smile of womankind
because that’s what gypsies do.

She’s going back, back, back again,
to times before the gypsy blood
rose fulsome, free, in her psyche
and set her mind to wandering.

A gypsy rests; it’s meant to be
the end of all that should  have been!