Saturday, June 30, 2012

My story

There’s a story in my African sky
clearly seen and understood
when the clouds have passed on by
and winter says it’s arrived.

I could read it word for word out loud
and change my tone according to
the feeling of the times
if you asked me to.

No one asks; of course, they don’t
because history isn’t captivating
in a world that moves now double-pace
towards annihilation.

But my story never disappears
caught as it is in heaven’s blue
and when I look up, up, up,
I can see love smiling down.

That’s all it does; just smile, smile, smile,
to make me think my story is
completely acceptable
so why then be so woe betide?

I wrote you in, you see, in my forever story
but then the clouds rolled on it
and left a void where should have been
a truly meaningful conclusion.

When what we write has been erased
and love still smiles down, down, down,
what can we do but smile right back
because … one smile deserves another!

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Morning breaks

Morning breaks a lonely heart
but not the part that mourns
and so it stands eternally
a monument to pain.

Not of stone - no, no, no,
but like a locket round the neck
to not ere drift apart 
from the main attraction.     

But the main attraction broken now
no longer stands on centre stage
and holds the gaze of one who loves
unblinking and steadfast.

Broken hearts and mourning parts
so near yet far apart
seek but never find
the element that binds.

But when it’s time at last, at last,
for the final bow
perhaps there’ll be a clap and cheer
for the drama of a life
that grants us all the breath of life
until the curtain drops.

Perhaps, perhaps!

Saturday, June 23, 2012

The closet

When the heart makes its escape
from the closet of its life
it leaves no jacket, hat, or shoes
to speak of its existence.

The door now stands ajar
like a challenge to the brave
to step over the threshold
into that empty space.

And they stand like you and I
uncertain what to do
because the dark of the unknown
always terrifies.

But not to worry, no, no, no,
‘tis just a closet empty, dark,
with nothing left behind to speak
as the heart once surely did.

And the brave, yes, the brave
venture nearer, nearer, in
and suddenly the door bangs closed
and keeps them there confined.

When the brave in darkness terrified
‘tis just a moment, year, lifetime,
before heart again opens doors
and the brave, yes, the brave
must simply wait and be
patient in the closet
of life without a heart!

Monday, June 18, 2012

The dream

Sleep comes again to settle
the state of one who weeps
but again the dream comes marching
through the veils of consciousness.

Stirred awake it’s not to say
she no longer weeps
but her focus now enlarged
encompasses this “double-up”.

Weighted she’s a woman, maybe you, maybe me,
rationalizing, justifying, and trying to explain
how dreams intrude and supersede
yesterday’s dismay.

But finally and indubitably one deep breath
and shrug of shoulders, flick of head,
blows all the puzzle pieces
out the doors and windows.

She doesn’t rush to gather them
because she knows like I do
dreams are simply nature’s way
of mixing up realities.

Armed now with breath, head/shoulders straight
and un-weighted with that dream 
she turns to face the rising sun
sure again that dreams aren’t real!  

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Gypsy unseen

That gypsy unseen opened her heart
and for a moment thought she could fly
but no wings appeared to lift her up
into the sky of her only desire.

She studied her wagon and how it swayed
weighted down with her goods and chattels
and how the power that pulled her along
seemed no longer interested.

Still she moved going nowhere slowly
not ever stopping to look and to feel
and made her way to the river bank
intent on reaching the sea.

She’s still there today camped in dismay
and there within the pervading silence
she asks for the strength to pray
for those ever elusive wings.

But the trees had nothing to say
and the river still wends its way
down to the sea beyond the reach
of gypsies who cannot fly.

Sad to say the tale ends that way
but in the movement of rivers to sea
you’ll hear the prayers of that gypsy unseen
and you’ll know she’s stronger today!

Saturday, June 9, 2012


Like a lover missing me
the place I once called home
enacts its vibrational pull
and there’s a backward twist
to my forward gait.

It stands in a mist that never disappears,
in the clouds joined one unto the other,
or beneath the earth in a glorious cavern
or just somewhere unimaginable.

I cannot draw the outlines
or sketch the inner chambers
but there’s a bearing down  
of truth and happiness.   

But truth, yes, truth,  so intermingled 
with this land of signs and wonders
remains for you and me and them
completely unattainable.

So like a lover missing me
home waits until the time is right
to say finally and truthfully
 “Come unto me and I will give you rest”.