No man or beast, angelic friend,
or sweetheart of the heart’s desire
can lift the burden, ease the pain,
or change a state of mind.

But there always was and still is
the self that knows no other way
than up with good and down with bad
until the climb turns night to day.

And in the light of clarity
effort begets its own reward
that creeps into the psyche, see
and turns a servant into lord.

And so of lords both here and there
they set a standard for us all
and soon upon the highest stair
life will be as once before!

Helen / 6 November 2009

Related Poems

• And so…
• Golden orb
• The dot!
• Just a trickle
• The maze

Sadly so the time will come
when hands of flesh and bone
will destroy their paradise
and place them in a strange place
cold apart alone.

They will move according to
the dictates of sheer ignorance
and pretend at their contentment
from morn until the full moon
of awakening.

Then the tree man will shed his bark
and settle into gentleness
and the witch will cast her spells
into the garbage can
and together they will stand
as the plain and ordinary.

And the plain and ordinary
like the simple you and me
no statues carved in stone
but breathing, feeling, entities
en route to stardom!

Helen / 11 August 2009

Related Poems

• I AM!
• Thinking love
• Glory be!
• Spirit will
• Limitation

Little is known of the “far ahead”
perceived as just a dream
but when the grass turns brown
and the ground a hardened mass
footsteps falter, pause, then stop
at the point of contemplation.

And so of crossing the divide
between the easy and the hard
I wonder if my bag of tricks
holds a carpet full plush pile
to soft land me on hardened ground
but, lo behold, no one can look
when unaware of change.

To suddenly be “there”
and know there’s no retreat
like a mission aborted
stabs at strength and fortitude
unrelentingly.

And so of walking on, on, on,
across the barren and the hard
I wonder if, I wonder if,
I wonder if I should,
but then I remember,
remember the dream!

Related Poems

• Stairs
• Golden orb
• The dot!
• Just a trickle
• The maze

The not to care an evil “thing”
that grabs me by the throat
and squeezes, squeezes, squeezes,
until I backtrack and retreat
into my withdrawal.

And withdrawal is a shady spot;
I recline there like a sloth
on all I hope and wish would be
until finally the moment comes
of the shine within
of a better, greater, grander orb
than ever seen before.

But too that orb is known to move
here to there and then nowhere
because I can’t believe
orbs of happiness can be
independent of life’s happenings!

Related Poems

• Stairs
• And so…
• The dot!
• Just a trickle
• The maze

This power like a furnace burns
to heat up mind’s intent
and send it searching in the rough
for the perfect whole.

I’m rather fond of commas
because maybe there’ll be more
and it’s like I’m finely tuned
to continually anticipate
that blessed other half
until I come to know
a full stop makes a half
completely complete.

I can end most anything
with a simple little dot
but until I dot the “I”
I’m searching in the rough
not destined ere to find
what I’m searching for!

Helen / 4 March 2009

Related Poems

• Stairs
• And so…
• Golden orb
• Just a trickle
• The maze

and dark the days numbered one on to three

that harbours and hides the immortal truth

from the ordinary man in the street.

And as I peered through the eye of the storm

the knowing of more spread fulsome and free

like love breaking through the shackles of life

and losing the chains of anxiety.

But it pays not to count the days, months, years,

or wonder who calls an end to the storm

when given free reign to rage undisturbed

until peace the end result of it all.

I stand in the midst of my raging storm

aware of the sun playing hide and seek

but it tempts in vain this one in the know

that for every storm there’s a better “me”.

The sun plays its games; dark clouds have their day,

and I surely am in awe of this storm

that shakes, rattles, rolls, a once neutral state

and brings a new dawn right to my front door.

And I heard it knock persistently sure

again, again, over, over again,

for a new dawn is love born of a storm

trained to knock and knock over again!

Other Poems by Helen

• Poor and Needy, Lonely, Sad
• Magic is dead
• It’s meant
• The pain of loss
• Death Row

like the past from conscious minds

that drops each day more and more

until we’re on our way

into uncertainty.

It’s the future not yet visible

that calls with hopefulness

at the start of heartless winter

yet sometimes there’s the fear

only one alone can feel

that drapes around the shoulders

unexpectedly.

‘tis of no avail to shrug and moan

or think the future grand

for the “been there, done that,”

gone to ground

but to square the shoulders so

brings a moment’s respite

from the weight of loneliness.

It’s only after all a threat

that if believed becomes real

and in between the weave of threads

there always is the love

unseen but known to be

that grows again the leaves

and lightens the feel

of untenable fear!

Other Poems by Helen

• Shawls and blankets
• Money! Money! Money!
• Guinevere
• The memory of love
• Love and Time

like large and open vaults

ready, waiting, able,

to tempt a woman’s mind

into priceless memories.

But no matter land or sky

there always is a forceful power

that lifts me up and out

onto the straight confining

and dull normality

of this present life and times.

And how beautiful a pothole

that contains the best of times

and I’m guilty more and more

of unexpectedly

dropping in to feel again

how it was back then.

Mind’s playground in the sky

holds more potholes than the land

but when I’m in it’s like I’m out

from what I can’t abide ~

and so of potholes who can say

they do not aid survival?

Other Poems by Helen

• The call of intent
• Where is the river
• In the grip
• Energized
• Just a trickle

obscured but partly so by wayside flowers wild,

and I paused to feel and enjoy reflected memories

glinting, gleaming, glistening, in the field of hope.

Confused it seemed familiar as if I’d spied before

a diamond in the broken bits of a tall wine glass

snapped from the stem by time’s acquired disdain

and discarded on the run from emotive states.

Perhaps an uncut crystal,

a clean and fresh dewdrop,

and  wary I walked forward

from where I was before

to get a closer look.

But diamonds are too precious

to be thrown away,

crystals too far buried

beneath the surface of a life,

and dewdrops glisten only

for too short a time

to warrant the delay

on my walk that day in May.

And yet I paused, and yet I moved,

until finally the clouds brought in the rain

to hasten my withdrawal

from the onset of insight.

(Photograph by Frank Bennett, New Zealand)

Sometimes peaceful I go back to see if it’s still there,

sometimes I have to wonder why I stopped to stare,

but most times my tears distort so grand a view

to leave me looking down at the same familiar ground.

Diamonds, crystals, dewdrops,

and I’m a silly fool

for believing, knowing, sensing,

they’re a part of you and me!

Related Poems

• The heart
• Winter to summer
• Confession of sky
• Love’s punishment
• Mystique and Magic

can you see how the light flickers and dims

like strength of purpose showing the way

and then succumbing to thoughts of the day?

Oh, this stallion of life must be reigned in

and tethered to stakes of determination

to see to the end the decision to love

and to manifest dreams into reality.

“Fine” said the one of deafening sound

up there in the sky where promises stay

“But the do it and make it and stick to the rules

not known on earth for having much worth.”

And so comes the rain as a fillip for brains

that harbour inside small grains of truth

hoping, you see, to grow mountains from hills

and harvest the crop of forever love.  

And love is a maker, a mover, a shaker

that releases the tied into obvious life

and brings the future right into today

quicker than lightening flashes in sky.

But all can wait by the rivers of time

for we are the hills growing mountainous love

one second, one minute, one day at a time,

until dreams are real and love is believed!

Other Poems by Helen

• Purporting to be real
• The spark of truth
• The tree man and the witch
• And so…
• Wishes