THESE ARE SOME OLD AND NEW POEMS
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.
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
Learn to slow down,
To take each day
As it comes,
It'll never come again.
So fill it well
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
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 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.
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
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
Well thought out before
Lest what you utter
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
.............................in a space held in time by units employed
.............................The principle of uncertainty obliges all to
.............................in a vacuum never knowing why it must be
.............................The matter, broken into segments, presented
.............................in a place where only disorder rules and law
............................The strong attracts the weak ceases to become
............................in the face of overwhelming odds a past world
............................The future, doomed to entropy, conjures up
............................in a fantasy of rebirth and the desired renewal
............................The star clothes its body in a last frantic burst
............................in an age grown old it turns to where new hopes
...........................And, with its remaining strength, refuses resolutely
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,
I saw my thirties come and go but did not blink
My forties dawned and I believed that I could
But something's changed within me as my fifties
It's the horrid realization that I'm about to join the
Up till this moment in time, I've thought of myself
But I can't do that anymore once I pass life's
I'll have to settle down, mature and behave
like an adult.
I don't feel ready to begin marking time until
I've got a multitude of questions demanding
A mass of unsolved problems awaiting prompt
And I haven't had a chance yet to show my
Perhaps my sense of dread is mostly of my
But I cannot be wholly to blame, because it's
once you have to put fifty and plus on your
you're dead! You've had it! You're definitely
Well, I'm going to be fifty very soon and I've
not to lay down and die, put up my feet and
Bollocks to that, I've just become free to
I won't be dismissed as invisible matter. I'm
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
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
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.