Friday, November 24, 2017


Time, beautiful time,
the self professed tester
of human adaptability
swings me every day
between success and failure
and sleep brings no release
for I bear the weight of dreams
until the awakening
of enlightenment

I’m here in the everyday
cut and chip of soul
from static pose to flying mode
uncertain where I’ll fall
but fine filigrees of hope
crossing over in the dark
a safety net and soft landing
for the fallen and bereft.

Like a homemade mish-mash stew
I’m dished up from old to new
and if my heart should drop,
it lands uninjured and intact
into the lap of hope.

Hope’s a very splendid thing,
it dies and comes alive;
have you ever wondered why?

Tuesday, November 21, 2017


And so of weakness I must say
it comes and goes most every day
and implants the thought into my mind
that soon it will not go away.

But how to banish thoughts from mind
has puzzled me this life
because no matter what befalls
thoughts sleep then come alive.

I know each page must be turned
before the story can unfurl
but the words upon the page before
into my mind have been burned.

But I turn the pages one by one
for soon I’ll know there’s only love
that can and will write new lines
for what was then dusted, done!

Thursday, November 16, 2017

Renewed emotion

From the depths she felt the rise up of tears
but how can that be because stones do not weep
and mountains do not bow unto the weak
in this time after life’s full download.

The sign-in and add-ons during the download
a substantial amount of grief and heartache
but the installation in not too easy steps
should have forever stemmed the flow.

Yet determined they are to overthrow
the mother board of life’s betrayal
and implant a new and revised edition
to make it known emotion still lives.

Renewed emotion now quietly cries
but briefly because the back-up of life
brought to the fore all that went before
saved in the recycle bin.

The fall of tears essential for soul
out of sync with default settings
installed in all human beings
busy, so busy, cleaning windows, having fun,
and making money be!

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

I am also from

I am also from the womb
of creative intent
and from the contrariness
of one who journeys mindfully.

I am also from the motherhood,
the sisterhood, et al,
of the blue of sky and oceans wide
that capture the best of me.

I am also from the knowing
of corners, bends, and curves
formed each into an obstacle
that tests my flexibility.

I am also from the thoughts
of the you, the them and they
loving, indifferent, hateful,
imbibed collectively.

But I’m also from the heart
of angelic realms divine
who stitched in my unhappiness
an eternal pressure valve.

And I’m also from the love
that surpasses understanding
but how loving can love be
when it severs me from you?

Monday, November 13, 2017

A river

There’s a river somewhere innocent and naïve
and devoid of deception and lies
that needs for its future life
to avoid the tumultuous sea
and make of its resting place
a pool of tranquillity.

And so it set off with kindness and grace
over unchartered territory
determined to reach its goal
before the cessation of rain.

Then came the advent of climate change
and the river was forced to be still
and in the silence it retreated inward
to try and discern the truth.

Many months later the rain came down
and the river once again on the move
and although the truth none too clear
it proceeded with all hopefulness.

It travelled on unmindful of
its last long and lonely retreat
and life was good being there in the flow
until the channel that contained all thought
broadened out into new perspectives.

The river cried day in and day out
in hopes that its tears would move it outward
and they did, you know, and there in that place
of new and different perspectives
the river finally found
its pool of tranquillity!

Monday, October 16, 2017

I am from ...

I am from the slide of sun
into the place where lovers meet
and the glow of moon
that makes me know it’s true.

I am from silver linings
of the dark and menacing
and the dew that overlays
landscapes of betrayal.

I am from the song of birds
joyous in the morning light
and the silence of the lambs
overcome by stormy weather.

I am from the crust of earth
that stabilizes fear
and her own inner turmoil
that upsets what I hold dear.

I am from the question mark
of not understanding
and the exclamation mark
of acceptable conclusions.

I am from the trail of hands
that contoured soul to fit
all the many styles and shapes
of diverse circumstances ~
but most of all without a doubt
I am from loving you!

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

A way to survive

Heaven came down to visit today
and I tried to touch but couldn’t
for the seemingly near still too far
from the outreach of fleshy parts.

So in the time it took to know
of mind’s innate ability
the clouds hung low and ominous
over the land of my birth.

It’s an effortless glide to arrive
at the door where truth abides.
but stay away, stay away,
truth’s a weapon
to wound if not kill perceptions
based on human facades.

The human façade is amazingly skilled
at draping itself over the truth
but come the wind of a seeker’s mind
and the drapes part like the Red Sea.

Sometimes the then made visible
banishes trust to where it’s unused
and it lies as if dead forever, amen,
in the mind of all seekers, you see?

And sometimes there rises unbidden to voice
the undeniable “I love you”
but always we come back to the times
of rule and reign by human facades. 

There’s a reason heaven is way up there
and a reason for faith in facades
and faith is neither good nor bad
but just a way to survive!


Saturday, August 5, 2017

Foundations of rock

Formations of rock surveying the scene
stand firm near the edge of approaching winter
vulnerable and exposed to man’s evil ways
and saddened by how a person can change.

 But if I look down to the base of it all
and gently embrace the visible truth
layers and layers confirm and bear out
the intense upheaval of earth.
And then was created another good place
with diligent care to the gift of free will
to enable the testing and assessing
of sincerity, honour, empathy, love.

Today the rocks stand a paradise lost
like a woman alive without a good man
alone but strong to suffer the sun
and not turn away from the wind.
Where are the lovers?  They’ve gone everyone
to pointless realms of electronic release
to gain and acquire the meaningless, false,
and upturn foundations of physical love.

 And the sea one day will rise up to hide
the signs and symbols of faithfulness, trust,
and the trees will appear to grow from the sea
in the inexplicable manner of life.
But not today, tomorrow, next week,
not until the earth says, “Enough”,
and we, the few, who believe in tough love
from above will at last understand.

The universe whispers, I hear and believe,
that time should stand still, remember the feel,
and recall again how such intense energy
upturned the world for a reason, a cure.

 And when it is known, will time then deliver
a warning and caution to the sea not to rise
and trees not to think they can live forever
on watery foundations of improper love?
When it is known it may be too late,
too late to reverse an intolerable fate.

Monday, July 24, 2017

The world

Far from the meadow where once there was love
a gypsy ponders the state of this world
where monsters appear in human disguise
and lies have killed off the truth.

Yet between the grey of human disgrace
pockets of true blue can be seen  
and they draw me up and further up
back into my core belief.

But grey moves around all the time
and encircles the blue until no way out
and she wonders what happens to belief
when evil takes over the sky.

Perhaps it survives, perhaps it dies,
or perhaps it merely smiles
because evil will soon, very soon,
disappear when the sun comes out.

I wait for the sun although it’s not love
in the absolute sense of the word
but love like the sun has a purpose in life
no evil can ever blot out.

And when belief is back in the core
and monsters and lies are fried by the sun
there’ll be only love in deed and in word
to make that gypsy say, “What a wonderful world”.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

True love

Built on foundations to not ever crumble
stood a solid block of true love
but time took a chisel and chipped every day
until the block was reduced to rubble.

The bits landed in places where humans resided
and as would happen they germinated
to grow the most beautiful “I love you, I do”
in the midst of unbridled chaos.

There followed a time of utter confusion
because humans, of course, had no clue
until finally, finally, they all decided
they’d try their best to just feel it.

So they prodded and stroked and caressed
but, lo and behold, it lay there inert
because it never was taken inside
away from the maddening crowd.

It still grows today in the heat of dismay
which just goes to show that love never dies
but, oh, how it cries in the dead of each night
to simply be taken inside.

And once inside it will blossom and bloom
and be forever a thing to be treasured
but leave it outside and the “I love you, I do”
remains as before inert!

Sunday, June 11, 2017

And so ...

The jackpot’s guaranteed yet still the itch of palm
to feel the grain and texture of immortal love
and the scratch and scratch of searching minds
sends the itch a-creeping deep and deeper still
into the psyche, see?

And so the body squirms and jiggles  
in the light of oncoming obstacles
planned to coincide with an indecorous stretch
into the mystical. 

But this … this surreptitious invasion
works silently and stealthily to satisfy the psyche
by whatever means fits the circumstances.

And so there’s pain and no gain, an illness, poverty,
together with the so and so,
 the so and so  of how life goes,  
before the knowing that ~

immortal love is just an itch no human being can scratch
or dent, or break, or disengage from the psyche, see?   

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

As dead

Love lies as dead in the archives of mind
but a touch and it rises again
not to stand tall and proud
but to strut like a peacock and grin.

That grin comes quite naturally
to one who has won the battle
but love never fights, you know, you know,
so what is the battle it’s won?

Simply the battle to be entrenched
and though dead to still be alive
but from my human perspective
it’s an endeavour to no avail.

If I look further perhaps it can be
something to celebrate
but stuck in these times of limited view
who can attest to something unknown?

Strut as you wish and grin all you will
but a touch doesn’t last forever
so back love  will go to lie as dead
and it all seems silly to me.

The meaning of silly?  Well, here we are:

“Silly did not originally refer to the absurd or ridiculous –
 in fact quite the opposite.
The word derives from the old English word seely,
meaning happy, blissful, lucky or blessed.”


Long ago

When long ago comes back again
into the mind thought closed to then
the barriers that once were strong
simply crumble into mush.

And when mind unleashed goes walk-abouts
it touches on the love and joy
but always stops and ends each trip
with a familiar sadness.

That sadness stays to cloud the days
of settled calm, acceptance, peace,
and the mind must start to build again
new and better barriers.

And, yes, it toils each day and night
till finally it’s sealed up tight
and it breathes again the air of one
happy to be home again.

That build and break down nothing new
but it’s known that somewhere, sometime,
the barriers will not succumb
to those memories of long ago!

Thursday, March 9, 2017

As new

Hard and fast the rain that fell
o’er this land of toil and strife
as if to wash the evil out
again, again, again,
but strange it is no washing can
ere leave the product good as new.

The sun came out as if to be
the saviour of all humankind
but all it did was imbed more
the stain of evil known to be
a repeat of history.

And then the wind; oh, yes, it blew
new hope for all inhabitants
but did they stand and face the force
or run and hide from their renewal?

It’s the residue of those who ran
that stays to stain the years to come
and we, the product, humankind
will not again be good as new
unless, unless, the numbers grow
of those who know to stand and be
renewed, refreshed till good as new!

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Last time?

She looked at her wagon decrepit and old;
can it make one trip down yonder road
with a load much lighter than ever before
and a soul that knows it will soon have to die?

The wagon was silent; it had spoken before
of one last, one last, and another last one
and now closed eyes to think (maybe pray)
could it be, could it be, the final last one.

It looked at the pasture beyond its foresight
and thought maybe, yes, it could live out its days
relaxing, reclining, and remembering
all the trips back and forth and round about.

Maybe, just maybe, time is its friend
to allow four wheels to sink into the sand
and bring in peace previously denied
the one that travelled through experiences.

Suspicious of time; friend or foe do you think
but wagons and gypsies know time is just time
so easily susceptible to a change of mind
on its relentless march to demise - 
if there such a thing be.