Anticipation

As the temperature rises I know it is time

to revel again in anticipation

and how soothing it is to again project

all dreams into the everyday.

Perhaps it is fruitless some would say

for history attests to no dreams today

but, oh, when the birds sing strident and clear

I can’t help but picture you here.

But the picture is hazy for now I see

light blue from the chocolate brown

and I find there’s a subtle but definite twist

in my long held belief in the truth.

But mind, my mind, embedded in life

has succumbed to the strange and bizarre

and covers the heart with its reasoning

in attempts to still the beat.

And quietly I sit in anticipatory mode

listening with fine-tuned heart ears

and I know the beat’s deep, deep, down

too weak now to rise from the covers.

How sad when mind steps in to conduct  

the music of heart’s true rhythm

to make of the calm and harmonic

a blaring and off-key cacophony!

To and fro

The news of the day repeats, repeats,

until instilled in my brain

and grows and grows to overspill

into the chamber of grief.

Now this chamber of grief is overfull

from the years of love’s desertion

and so it becomes a slow seep and creep

into my now life force.

This force must fight to the death

to retain its true attributes

and I wonder from whence comes strength

that fortifies the weak.

And so in the midst of this battle

I stand a woman unsure

as to where to place my bet

in these times of diverse theories.

And so it goes; a to and fro

until the force withdraws from the fray

and life grins wickedly

at its next innocent victim!

Beasts of burden

Though miles have been accumulated
on my journey to demise
I’m granted no advantage
on subsequent travels.

It’s an advertising gimmick
made to catch the unaware
and force upon the trusting
the burden of cynicism.

Weighted so we walk the trail
for surely in the backpack
there must be memories
of that once-upon-a-time.

But busy, busy, I can’t look
for sustenance not made whole
in this world that doesn’t honour
a traveller’s many miles.

And there’s no flexibility
or willingness to bend
the unwritten rules
that govern everyone.

So this is life, a tyrannical dictator,
that like an evil wizard
slowly, slowly, turns the young
into beasts of burden!

Final goodbye

The final goodbye creeps sneakily sly

like a snake in the wilderness does

and stalks the edges of innocence

until it is time to strike.

Patient are snakes and final goodbyes

because the strike must be deadly true

to reach the unprotected core

when it is least expected.

Strike and I'm dead; I don’t exist

like an extraordinary mystical vision

seen and then lost in preposterous life

always present like traffic lights.

Now traffic lights can’t assimilate loss

or empathize with the deprived

so those who should proceed onward

stand immobilized on the line.

They don’t hold up traffic, oh, no. no. no,

because people like me and you and them

are plain and simply mystical visions
seen and then, of course, lost!

The last waltz

When the last waltz has stopped

long before the lights have dimmed

no cash, down-payment or card

can reclaim its extraordinary magic.

And yet the cry goes out; dance, dance again,

until the clouds take to the hills

hoping there to find deaf ears

and rest happily in ignorance.

Peace reigns for a time and half a time

but then a thought begins to grow

in the, oh, so white and fluffy

to turn them dark and sombre.

How long it takes for clouds to think

remains for me a mystery

but finally thought turns into action

and they return again.

No one can hear their silent creep

because noise would make of their eavesdrop

a complete and utter waste of time

for those with work to do.

And then they listen; yes, they hear

the same old cry as once before

and that’s the reason why we have

quick and sudden cloudbursts.

Clouds, you see, must blanket cries

with all at their disposal 

to not make of their return

an unwise decision.

And how like humans to take to the hills

and bury their heads in the clouds! 

I want to know

I want to know what it’s like

to have extreme heart control

and keep love’s basic attributes

imprisoned behind bars.

Is there a fight for breath,

a decided lack of exercise,

and nourishment not suited for

eternal growth?

And when the nightmares come

is there a cry for comfort

and can the eyes dismiss

the downward fall of tears?

Is there a reach and stretch

beyond the physical

seeking there a reason

for imprisonment?

Or does love simply die 

and stripped of memory interned 

deep within the psyche

to not ever rise again?

Before I buy, beg, borrow, steal,

please tell me what it’s like

and most important definitely

does it work for you?