Monday, May 27, 2013

As gypsies do

That gypsy looked as gypsies do
into the heart of silence
hoping there to see
golden threads of happiness
purported to be real.

Lo/behold, a mass of many colours
starting bold and vibrant
and ending pastel, dull
and she started to unravel
still hoping as all gypsies do.

Not here, not there, but somewhere, yes?
And she looked again as gypsies do
way beyond the pale
and there in quiet repose
cross-legged on the seat of time
sat pure happiness.

What time, what time, she didn’t know
there was no day, month, year
and she returned to move again
from here to there like gypsies do
unfettered and uncluttered.

No golden thread can be entwined
with the bold that turns to pale
but it is there waiting, waiting,
for the sure permanence
of all things combined!

Thursday, May 16, 2013

The 16th May

There’s nothing wrong with the 16th of May
for it did in the past birth a special resolve
but wrapped it up in flesh and bone
before sending it into the world.

There it lived for a number of years
with inklings of the absolute truth
and a sense of all the mystery realms
that intruded into the physical world.

There were times when resolve was strong
but settled back into weak states
seeking there to be like the rest
unknowing, unthinking, unfeeling.

Its fa├žade was broken one day, one day,
but it held on for the lives of them
and pushed against love with all its might
like the drowning would look for air.

So drowns now resolve that sought to be strong
and with flesh and bone weakened by age
it cannot now rise and be counted
as one who bowed to the call.

But not yet dead resolve still lives
in a fantasy world of next time around
seeking solace and comfort in an uncertainty
in attempts to make everything right. 

Oh dear, oh dear, right won’t come again
when wrong has ruled a lifetime!

Monday, May 13, 2013


And those times of hoping, hoping,
too fluid to remain within
compartments of the mind
trickle down to ground
there to be trodden on
by life’s sheer disdain.

But it is the month of May;
there’ll be no rain today
and consciousness degrees
a time of watering
from now until the summer
brings in the clouds and rain
to flood our hope filled fields
and make them be as if were not.

And if we pack and carry hope
there’ll be a weakening
and down to ground it will fall
and again be no more.

Yet and yet hope can’t be
a discarded entity
and it clings ever steadfastly
to all of the hopeful
until they too fall to ground
and be as if were not.

How stupid, how senseless,
but who can say hope does not
while alive fight to survive?