Take a sprinkling of luck,

A dash of fate,

and what have you got?

Your very own birth date.


Did you ask to be born?

Were you planned?

Was the womb chosen?

Did you arrive on demand?


When you slid into life

were you greeted with love?

Were you perfect

seen as a gift from above?


At what point did you know

you would never be

all that was hoped for

in the eyes of your family?


Did you sit and cry

or see that the only way

to survive was to fight

and come out on top one day?


When you met brick walls,

did you give up

or batter them down

when you were a grownup?


If, from the start, fate

handed you a raw deal,

did you decide your destiny

was one long arduous ordeal?


When you won a victory,

did you see it as luck

or claim it as yours

won by boldness and pluck?


Do you still sit and moan

that you were born

no good and a loser

or see each day as a new dawn?


Whether winner or loser,

there's only one chance

to be all that you are

no matter what circumstance.


So wake up with a smile,

hold two fingers up

to the stars and drink

a toast from your half filled cup.


Fate is a bastard,

but can be a friend

if you see it with the eyes

of child, an ally to all in the end.




A life


I never had a particular dream,

I never knew what I wanted to be,

I never had a plan for the future

I never wanted a white wedding

I let life just happen to me.


All my life, I've floated

All my life I've gone with the flow

All my life, I've drifted,

All my life, I've let change happen

I let life raise me high and lay me low.


I watched life go on around me

I watched life dictate which way to go

I watched life decide events

I watched life pummel and caress me

I let life run the whole show.


Too late now to take control

Too late now to demand to be heard

Too late now to voice my opinion

Too late now to be all that I could be

I let life keep me anchored.


The dreams I've had are not new

The dreams began in my youth

The dreams now embrace all

The dreams I have long for peace

I let life reveal its own sweet truth.


Along the way, I found love,

Along the way, I found companionship,

Along the way, I knew joy,

Along the way, I found pain.

I let life teach me how to bear hardship.


And life goes on its own sweet way

And life has taught me as a child

And life carries me in its arms

And life has born me on its shoulders

I let life tame in me what was wild.


Now life is slowing down

Now life has given me rest

Now life has eased my burdens

Now life has given me time to play

I let life gather me tenderly to its breast.




What is Reality?


Reality is a holographic image,

a mathematical equation.

No need to wonder what your life

would be like if you had made

a different decision, you're living

it in a parallel world but don't know it.


Quantum mechanics turned concepts

inside out. Quanta can be in two

places at the same time, or many.

Observe them and they are fixed in one.

Contrary little things, secretive

not willing to divulge the reality

of their existence, forcing us

to confront the fact we may not be

what we think we are, in fact,

we may not even be at all,

won't that be a mind boggling ball

of fun when we discover reality

is just an illusion, and this Universe

and we are simply a projection

beamed from the furthest edges

of the Universe for the pleasure

of who, or what, and why?


Seems pointless arguing over whose god

is the real one when we, ourselves,

may not even be real. Even more so

going to war and slaughtering

each other for territory that doesn't exist

here or anywhere. Strapping bombs

to ourselves to kill fellow illusions

sounds absurd when faced with the idea

that nothing here is solid, just equations

repeated ad infinitum in various

designs limited in number but seemingly

different. Fractal patterns endlessly

repeated, beautiful, true mathematical art.


What gives this reality a feeling of worth

is that we touch it emotionally.

Our emotions make it solid. We love,

we hate, and all the degrees of both

that lie between these two sides

of a single coin enrich our lives.

Whether we're holograms, or equations,

existing repeated in parallel worlds,

in the end, we come into being,

and we will die, those two acts

are the only ones of which we can

be certain. What happens when we die

remains shrouded in mystery, with nobody

able to enlighten us, however many religions

claim to do so. Taken as a whole, they exist

to defer the terror of death and annihilation.

Offering a salve to the fearful, to the lost,

the lonely, and those seeking community.

But, probably, peddling illusions and fantasies

all as real as our world may turn out to be,

that is a fantastic, glorious, terrifying,

ongoing film show for some immortal beings

to keep them from going insane with boredom,

a real time soap opera for the gods.




To be Aware


To be out of sync with the world

is no crime, it means you think.

To stand on the outside and observe

isn't only the reserve of philosophers.

To try not to use up too many resources

is to preserve sources for those that follow.

To be aware of the needs of others

is to beware of self centredness.

To share what you have with another

is to treat the other as sister or brother.

To weep for the dead and the dying

is to keep your heart from hardening.

To will peace with all your being

is seeing all as one family.

To acknowledge your ignorance

is the cadence of humility.

To rejoice in the wonders of Nature

is to give a voice to our mother, the earth.

To take each day as a gift in time

is a way to find joy in the present.

To reach out to another in pain

is to be humane, a sign of a sentient being.

To be conscious that we're alive

is to be aware how wondrous is life.

To see the Universe as breathtakingly sublime

is to immerse ourselves in an awesome reality.

To be thankful each moment for living

is to be grateful to all that enabled us to come into being.




Your time in life


Take your time in life,

There's no hurry,

Time will pass

Fast enough,

Learn to slow down,

To take each day

As it comes,

And know

It'll never come again.

So fill it well

With love

With hope

And stir it with care

For each second

Counts for all

None is waste

All add to the whole.

So take your time,

And when the end

Is nigh gather

Up the joys

The pains

The wounds

And be glad

You came to be

For the time

You had on earth.




A New Birth


Like a wisp of smoke my spirits swirls

Like water I flow yielding in time

Like clouds, I drift on the wind

Like fire I burn bright as day

Ethereal in life, I touch the earth,

a time for rejoicing, a new birth.


Like a storm I rise with strength imbued

Like thunder, I roar and rumble

Like lightning, I strike with speed

Like rain, I fall straight and strong

Vibrant with life, I touch the earth,

a time for preparing, a new birth.


Like a mountain kissing the azure sky

Like a valley sheltering homes

Like a river meandering along

Like a forest embracing its trees

Celebrating life, I touch the earth,

a time for empowering, a new birth.


Like a butterfly's flight on tender wing

Like a bird's song in the early morn

Like a fox's bark in the dark of night

Like a bat's call in the soft moonlight

Sensitive to life, I touch the earth,

a time for gentleness, a new birth.


Like the stars that twinkle and glow

Like the planets that gleam in the dark

Like the galaxies that drift through space

Like the sun beloved of the moon

Awestruck with life, I touch the earth,

a time for humility, a new birth.




The Lost Battle


Life deals us blows, harsh and cruel at times,

we stagger beneath their weight wondering

why me? What did I do to deserve this pain?

One can be enough to leave us reeling

but they have a habit of turning up in twos,

or even threes, like torrential rain to batter us down.


Getting up again is harder than it seems.

When you're down so low, the world appears

too much to bear. Easier to stay down,

to hide yourself somewhere away from it all.

But life carries on around you relentlessly,

it does not stop for you, no time to recover,

to put a balm over the pain, you must get up again.


Helping hands can assist your rising,

but none can take the pain away from you.

Bewildered by the intensity of your distress,

the depth of agony the blows evoke,

you will stand like a sentinel on guard

at the doorway to your mind trying to stay sane.

In the face of overwhelming odds, you fight to live.


Most win the battle for survival, but some do not.

In a world devoid of hope, some cannot rise.

The will to live takes flight letting in despair.

In the loneliness of the battle lost, they sink

beneath the waves and flee from all the pain,

choosing death instead of life and wounding

those left behind forever by their leaving in such a way.


We cannot blame or judge another wounded

human being for losing the battle for life,

nor is it easy to comprehend the depths

of pain that led to their terrible decision.

All we can do is mourn their tragic passing,

and try to remember the wonder of their being

while sending them on their way with all our love.






The desire to be perfect

is ingrained in us all.

Trouble is, we're flawed,

from our birth to our death

we must struggle to be better

than we perceive ourselves to be.


How we see ourselves is not

what others see. The mirror

is warped when we view

our image or turn inward

and try to discern who we are,

what we are, and where we're going.


We're doomed to frustration

if we seek to iron out our flaws.

Take one away and two more

will creep in, a vicious circle

perpetually growing inside us

wanting freedom, but always in prison.


A well rounded, whole being

is the aim of any rational person.

What most of us end up with

is far away from our dream.

But, though it's unattainable,

as a rule, seeking it is why we're here.


So, when we see ourselves

in our own eyes, perhaps,

the flaws can be worn as scars

acquired in battles in our lives

when trying to be better than we are,

and accept that we're very nearly whole.




The Heart


The heart beats in rhythm.

It can leap with joy.

Flutter with fear.

Pound with terror.

Palpitate with nerves.

It can miss a beat.


We love with it.

Hate with it.

Adore with it.

Feel passion with it.

Feel cold with it.

Feel agony with it.


Without a heart we're not human.

We can have a warm heart,

A heart of gold,

A good heart,

A great heart,

A sacred heart.


It pumps our blood systematically.

Keeps our brain working.

All our organs functioning.

It can lose its rhythm and kill us.

It can start again after stopping.

It can fail catastrophically.


It is the generator, the source,

the powerhouse, a precious organ,

through which we experience

everything each day of our lives.

It lifts us up to embrace life's essence,

but, most of all, it holds us all in existence.




An uphill climb.


A positive outlook is all that's needed

to survive the most dire situation.

A negative outlook traps you in it

so all appeals to get over it go unheeded.


What escapes those who give such advice

is that many people carry unseen baggage

making the situation open old wounds.

So a positive outlook won't suffice.


To overcome the negative feelings

takes a gargantuan effort to restore

a tranquil mind and open heart

and allow the necessary healings.


It will happen gradually over time

when the open wounds have closed,

when the emotions are no longer raw,

but it will have been a long uphill climb.


In between, the mind will be busy

trying to see all sides of the situation,

to analyse what went wrong,

and reliving, luridly, past history.


When something cuts like a rapier sword

undoing hard won equilibrium

with a thrust both calculated and cruel,

peace of mind will take time to be restored.


Looking forward to the long uphill climb

is daunting when wounds still bleed,

but the only way is forward it is agreed

for forgiveness and love to return in time.




Passing softly by.


I tread my space with lightweight feet,

my imprint hazy and ill defined,

my touch slips through the air

passing softly by as if not there.


I shouted but only a whisper came

none heard or did but paid no heed.

I wept but no tears betrayed my cries

so nobody was there to wipe my eyes.


I slipped into time to slip out of mind

of those who should have rejoiced,

instead I fell through the cracks in space

and none looked with love upon my face.


Now I drift, feeling my way, holding one

or two to anchor me in this alien time,

a visitor to an earthly realm who came

not by choice therefore with no blame


I reached out and found few loving hands,

withdrew too sensitive by half to slights

and wounds intentional or otherwise

to treacherous words or outright lies.


The harshness of this world stabs at me.

Its cruelty breaking heart and spirit

leaving a shell longing to be free

but having nowhere left to flee.


I must sit and watch the earth

being raped by wanton hands

and like me, its pleas go unheard

by hearts too hardened to be stirred.


One day I'll drift away unnoticed,

a quiet exit from a life unmissed,

but I'll carry all within like a child

waiting to be born pure and undefiled.


A treasure for the Universe to hold

and cherish forever, a worthy gift

infinite in value, a sacred flower,

endless in potential and tender power.




A Hope


When you think of someone

and your heart aches with love

be content that you have one

you can place above

every other in your life.


Think how lucky is your life

to have another to embrace

be it husband or wife,

child or children, all a grace

not bestowed on everyone.


Gather up in your heart

all those who may be alone

and love those with no sweetheart

for it is hard to be on your own

at a time when families gather.


To all whose loves have gone

or who have passed away,

I send you love to lean upon

and may another come your way

to light your life once more.




The Grand Delusion


Self delusion takes on a life

when one has invested everything

in a belief that has been undone

by science and logical thinking.


When archeological digs turn up nothing

where a temple of a massive size

was alleged to reside and since destroyed,

continued belief seems most unwise.


When a diaspora is proven to be a myth

and only a handful abandoned the land

to travel abroad converting as they went,

means a great deal is built on sand.


When a claim to a land is based on a lie

that a deity gave it to warrior tribes

when now it's known they never left,

it just a story made up by scribes.


The myths have spread far and wide

perpetuating delusion and lies,

with added texts to support new ideas

upheld by priests, imams and rabbis.


There is nothing quite so dangerous

as continuing believing in an illusion,

it leads to paranoia and insanity

in adherents clinging to their delusion.


To wake up from this nightmare

with billions duped seems hopeless,

but it's vital that they abandon the lie

before they render the earth lifeless.


Believers look with pity on the awake or woken

seeing them as those who've lost their way,

but the awake or woken must continue to shout

‘It's all a myth' to hold the mad at bay.




The Essence of Me


If I try to capture the essence of my being

like snow in a fire it slips away.

My memories are not the core of my being

nor my thoughts that flow through my brain.

Each breath that holds me in being,

each heartbeat that keeps me breathing,

if they cease will the essence of me disperse?

Where does the residual energy go?

Neurons are still firing, cells still living,

will they continue for a while or die

when blood stops flowing through veins

as rigor mortis creeps in over time?

Is there another part of me that goes on?

And to where? Into the darkness of the void,

where there is no light for no eyes exist to see,

or is the darkness only perceived as such

because so bright it blinds that which goes on?

And how can you perceive with no brain,

feel with no body, sense with no body,

touch with no body, think with no body?

What can go on if all of me has ceased to be?

I can't claim a soul, too amorphous, too unreal.

A longing in humans for continuation,

for perpetuity, a phantasma for resurrection.

So what is the essence of my being,

an all encompassing gathering of me?

Perhaps I am one part of a whole,

made up of the many that, in time,

will know itself and, in that knowing,

I will come to know the essence of me.

Alternatively, in dying, I will simply cease to be.




Made of flesh and blood


Made of flesh and blood,

and a whole lot more

too numerous to mention,

I stand contemplating

my being, my existence

on this plane of life.

Am I more than the sum

of my parts, or just what

I see before me?

Can I open a door

into something called

‘mind'? Will I find

it separate from my brain

or merely a by product?


Am I dreaming the world

I inhabit? Are the people

around me living entities

or from my imagination?

If quanta can be in many

places at once, am I?

How can I ask why,

what, who am I

if there is no answer?

Will I cease to be

when death takes hold of me,

or will I continue

in another place

the quantum world

creates for me?


So many questions,

and no solid answers.

After 150 million years

of sitting staring up

at the stars in the heavens

and wondering what life

is all about,

I would have thought,

by now, somebody

would have found the

answer, but, clearly,

nobody has so I'll

just have to keep

on asking ‘What's

it all about, and

why the hell are

we here and

where's here?




I thought of a land


I thought of a land so free

of the agony of our mortality.

Where the air was clean cross dell

and dene and moorland fell.

Where mountain rose to kiss the sky

with pure white clouds floating by.

Where playful zephyrs rustled trees

before reaching the open seas

to play along the dunes on shore.

I thought of a land where war

was banned and longed for peace

would be achieved and never cease.

It was a dream, a hope

to enable humanity to cope

with the grim reality

of the shallow superficiality

we've created across the land.

Where we turn pearls to grains of sand

in our efforts to reign over all.

Where we grow deaf to Nature's call

that what we sow, so shall we reap.

Unless this earth we deign to keep

on trust, and heed the wisdom

buried deep within, some

catastrophe will befall the lands

and all our dreams fall from our hands.






Ghosts of yesteryear haunt the earth

casualties of war's fought for causes

lost in the mire of battle. The result

of errors made by earlier politicians

as they sat in smoke filled rooms

to decide the future of the world,

and, in ignorance and pride, signed

treaties doomed to failure, and then

went home to let the generations

still to come reap the fruits of their

decisions. Ever it was, ever will be,

when we place our trust in people who

see war as a solution to a problem.


Red poppies sodden in the blood of

parent's sons and daughters cry out

‘Enough, enough, enough of us have died,

if you must remember the dead, at least

do it with deep remorse that you threw

away our lives, it's time to learn

a new path, negotiation, co-operation,

understanding, and the way of peace.

Take care, lest your deaf ears ignore

our plea, the next great war won't

be the same as those gone by in which

we died. The Third one will be the one

to end all Wars, and with it, all of you.

Hold your poppies in your hands, and

see your loved ones scattered far and wide

born on the nuclear winds, and keep

in mind our words when so hard we tried

to warn you, as you sow, so shall you reap.

as you sow, so shall you reap.




The Word (1)


Spoken in haste

A word out of turn

Can wound to the core

A word in time

Can become a balm

When feelings are raw.


In times of despair

A word can calm

The hurt and ire.

In a moment of love

A word can lift the heart

With joy filled fire.


When wrath is high

A word as a curse

Brings only war.

To bring about peace

A word of sorrow

Can open a door.


Speak from the heart

With words

Well thought out before

Lest what you utter

Comes back

To haunt you ever more.




A Choice in Time.


I, who did not choose to come into being

have had to learn to make choices

without seeing the whole picture.


I entered into Time eager to learn.

I came, in time, to yearn for a glimpse

of the whole picture.


Where was it to be found? I turned

for guidance and learned from the blind

there is no whole picture.


I was told to look to a deity for a clue.

I wanted to believe He knew, but, if He did,

He did not give me the whole picture.


I do not understand how real choice exists

if what I have at hand consists of only

a fraction of the whole picture.


I think it would be better had I been told,

when young, that what I had been sold as choice

was impossible without the whole picture.


Then, I would have learned from an early age

not to seek a sage, but to have gone inside

and created my own whole picture.


I am beginning to do just that, but is it real?

I cannot say but I feel it must be done.

All of us need our own whole picture.




The Local Department Store


A miniature world:

.............................The nucleus keeps electrons, neutrons and

its quarks a space held in time by units employed

as workers

.............................The principle of uncertainty obliges all to

go round a vacuum never knowing why it must be

in circles

.............................The matter, broken into segments, presented

as order a place where only disorder rules and law


............................The strong attracts the weak ceases to become

a reality the face of overwhelming odds a past world

is dying.

............................The future, doomed to entropy, conjures up

new dreams a fantasy of rebirth and the desired renewal

of life,

............................The star clothes its body in a last frantic burst

of energy an age grown old it turns to where new hopes

are born

...........................And, with its remaining strength, refuses resolutely

to die.






A Time to Pause


A time to pause, to reflect, to ponder

the past, the present and the future.

A time for relaxing, playing, beginning

a new phase of a life three score or more.


A time to let go of cares, worries, concerns,

to gather up the treasures in your mind.

A time to contemplate the meaning

and the purpose of your being.


A time to share, to dream, to journey

far and wide, or close to home.

A time of leisure, pleasure and delight

that freedom from work endows.


A time to find peace in mind and heart

and serenity after years of toil.

A time to recall briefly in the autumn

Of your life a time when all will cease.


A time to retire from the daily grind

is a gift, not to be wasted with regrets.

A time recalled with joyful recognition

where two hearts can stroll together as one.






Walls enclosing fear and pain

keep what's in from escaping.

Bleak, the perspective of the used.

Whatever childlike joy was there,

fled before the touch of hands that

abused sacred places, and brought

to nought all whispered protests.

Pleas for the cessation of each

violation fell on deafened ears

intent upon satisfying an urge

for power by gratifying sexual lust

on a body too small for a man's desire.

The demand to act in ways not known

before became a source of agony not joy,

as could have been, in time, when love

was present, but it was absent then,

and always will be, in those stolen times

when innocence dies.


The abuse of trust echoes down

the corridors of time, bringing in its wake

a great tide of human stress and pain.

Every child born deserves to be loved,

holding as it does, the future in its care.

Let's build a better one by learning trust

again, despite the betrayals of the past.

Hope relies on its affirmation, and the ending

of abuse can only bring to birth a finer,

happier, and more peaceful earth, and lay

to rest the ghosts of those who did not

survive their own cruel and tragic use.




Ageing in Time


Watching the years go by has never scared me,

until now.

I saw my thirties come and go but did not blink

an eyelid.

My forties dawned and I believed that I could

live forever.

But something's changed within me as my fifties

fast approach.


It's the horrid realization that I'm about to join the

older generation.

Up till this moment in time, I've thought of myself

as young.

But I can't do that anymore once I pass life's

half-way mark.

I'll have to settle down, mature and behave

like an adult.


I don't feel ready to begin marking time until

senility commences.

I've got a multitude of questions demanding

satisfactory answers.

A mass of unsolved problems awaiting prompt

intelligent solutions.

And I haven't had a chance yet to show my

many talents.


Perhaps my sense of dread is mostly of my

own making.

But I cannot be wholly to blame, because it's

obviously apparent,

once you have to put fifty and plus on your

curriculum vitae,

you're dead! You've had it! You're definitely

brain dead.


Well, I'm going to be fifty very soon and I've

just decided

not to lay down and die, put up my feet and

gracefully retire.

Bollocks to that, I've just become free to

discover me.

I won't be dismissed as invisible matter. I'm

fighting back!




A Woman


A wife. a mother, a nurse and a cleaner.

a shopper, a plumber, a cook, and a lover.

an electrician; a decorator, and a whore.

a gardener, a mechanic and never a bore,

an accountant, a banker and an investor,

a driver, an artist, and a bloody hard worker.


Name me a man who can be all of these,

and far, far more, without any payment of fees,

and l'll acknowledge him on my bended knees,

but I won't have to do it, because he'll never appear,

since women are the ones who give birth and rear

their young. Long, long ago in yesteryear,

we must have decided that men were needed

for only one thing, and we fully succeeded

in bringing to birth a creature who impeded

every hope we had by refusing to do anything

but fight war after war. Now we're stuck with the thing,

and, what's worse, we seal the chain with a ring.


Never mind, men do do some things well.,,

I think I'11 continue to polish my halo,

and touch my hump for luck.

I know.. nobody's perfect, I came unstuck

with a faulty gene, but, in the end, I don't give a toss,


I really do like men a lot.


* * * * *




When my friends were in need

did I take heed? Oh yes

I would quieten all their fears

provide tissue for their tears

as they poured out all their woe

and told me they've never been so low

the hours would go quite fast

as they blurted out their past

and present problems in my ears

and I would listen as their years

sped through my brain and when

it was all out they'd have a cup of tea

and take their leave of me.


Now I am in need who takes heed

suddenly my friends are no where

to be seen if they had been

rnaybe they could quieten all my fears

provide tissues for my tears and

tell of time's healing as they know how

I'm feeling but their absence is clear

they don't want to be near

when death knocks on your door

and leaves you reeling on the floor

after the sorrow and the tears

they leave and you don't see them for years.


If I sound angry and bitter

it's a lie I'm just holding onto my

sense of humour and destroying the rumour

that my friends are hoping

I'm coping but no they've got

so much to do and it's just their lot

that todav it's the shopping tomorrow

the dog and they can't drive in the fog

so I'll light up a cig and watch

the moon as it's full in June and

if I can laugh when left alone

I'll be able to answer the door or the

phone with a smile should they

come back in a while.




The Call Centre


Oh what a brave new world we live in.

We're now in the age of computerisation.

Our programs are working, our faxes are on,

our phone lines open and we're ready to run,

but where, of where, have our orders gone?


It should be so easy but, sadly, it's not.

The whole damned scheme has gone to pot.

Errors and bugs keep invading the system,

and, try as we might, they will not stop

and, as for the orders, we keep losing them!


We say to the client, ‘we're so very sorry

for the delay, but we're trying our best to see

where your order went, but not for a while

because, at the moment, our screens are down

so we won't be able to access your personal file.'


‘I know we told you that your order would be

delivered today, but, if you can bear with me,

I'll try and explain that it's certainly on its way,

I put it through to the stock room after your call,

so I can't understand how it's gone astray.'


‘I've just got through to the manager on the floor

and, I'm sorry to tell you, I know it's a bore,

but we're out of stock. There was plenty about

but, unfortunately, my screen only shows what

we sell, I didn't know we were all sold out.'


‘Sir, Sir, you sound strange. Are you all right?

I know you're angry, but you gave me a fright.

The gurgles and gasps drowned what you said.

Do you want to re-order or leave it for now?

Sir, I can't hear. Oh, damn, the phone's gone dead.




When Youth has flown.


Does the body yearn, when youth has flown

and everything is slowing down

for a return of fire and passion?

Or does the gentler pace of life

bring with it a freedom from early strife?

Does the memory of youthful strength

and energy give way at length

to an acceptance of passing time?

And can the ageing of our parts

bring peace to our minds and hearts?


Will the autumn of our lives flower

with a new and joyful power

as we enter a time of letting go?

Will our newfound pursuit of pleasure

and hours to spend in leisure

bring with them boredom or delight?

Or will it bring release from past desires

And liberate us in the quenching of those fires?

And will our once busy muddled minds

find us with thoughts of quieter kinds?


As our limbs begin to ache and our muscles

groan with every strenuous tussle

with jobs once done with ease.

We'll hold onto our sense of humour grimly

As our sight fades to seeing all but dimly

Then we'll know that time is taking its toll.

Let us hope that when such time arrives

We'll look back on our lives

And know we've earned our rest.

But, still hope that we'll be compos mentis

When the hour comes to say farewell to all of this.


Whatever state we're in when youth is spent,

we hope that our lives are meant

to be full of dreams for those we love.

To pass the time in helping those in need

and, in our wisdom, nurturing the seed

of all who follow in our footsteps.

In the golden years when we have learned

that everything in life has to be earned,

may we know serenity at our journey's end.






The freak stood on the burning pier

Her soles glued to the spot.

A boy shouted loudly to a fireman

whose hose was less than dependable,

‘Aren't you going to save the lot?'

‘Sorry, lad, we've done all that we can.

We just can't save any more I fear,

so the freak, I know it's sad, but,

she, of all, is ..ahem... expendable.'




Better days to come.


A whisper in the ear, a heart racing

A memory of something long gone

Stirs once more the thrill of knowing

The sensation of a life embracing

Moment when we were young

And the whole world was ours

For the taking, and joy filled veins

Pulsed with fire and passion.

Did we not think all was possible

In those halcyon days of yore?

When youth hid dangers from eyes

Innocent and naïve, but hopeful

That life would fulfil our dreams

And walk gentle through the days

When we were young and the future

Held up the promise of better days

To come.


Now older and much wiser we see

With eyes grown dim in time

That life was a journey taken

With a bitter pill sweetened

From time to time with honey dew

That put our feet back on the path

So we could start afresh and renew

Our hope that life still held some joy.

With friends to lighten the load

We walked in company for a while

Then in solitude when their paths

Split from ours and we went our way,

And they went theirs, and we found

Ourselves alone and knew this would

Suffice for we had become as one

Hoping that there were better days

To come.




A Wrong.


Inflamed heart with passion

clothed in indignation

grasps my inner world

and turns calmness into wrath.


With eyes viewing a wrong,

a broth of anger stews

where once had been a tranquil

gaze, a troubled frown is there.


Voicing heartfelt condemnation,

where there is no resolution,

recrimination holds full sway

for being silenced and rejected.


A barrier that is unbreachable

subjected to constant overseeing

closes off criticism and censure

of the sane and thoughtful minds.


To sleep upon the matter,

all kinds of dreams ensue,

but, with the rising of the sun,

I find peace once more has come.


The wrong will persist and stay

while numb minds slam every door,

but I will watch with hope for the key,

which must be found one day.




Creator of worlds.


Time slips away dreamlike into the past

Lost forever moments of consciousness

Making things real that would not exist

Without an act of will to make solid

Something that was but an idea floating

In the netherworld of possible potential

And suddenly is real inside your mind

While outside of it the thing is born

The moment a self beholds the object

And, in observing, fixes it forever

The dance of life in space and time

Endlessly moving in a continuum

Until the end draws nigh and what

Was once a world ceases in the final

Beat of a heart and the last drawn breath

Of a self that came, and saw, and conquered

The odds of ever being born, triumphant

Birth, creator of worlds, lay down now

And rest, your work is done, time to return

The sum of your parts to the cosmic womb

For another life to be born, another world

To be formed, and so it goes on and on and on.