The War


‘That's a load off my mind,' he said

with a grin, taking off his heavy helmet

and placing it on the table, it tilted

under the weight, his head

was wet with sweat when he sat

weary from all the exertion

of a day's battle running the gambit,

dodging bullets, lobbing grenades,

and wondering about desertion

when death opened its jaws

then passed him by for another day.

It hadn't been advertised this way.

Adventure, learning new skills,

stretching your potential

and rising up the ranks to become

more than you are right now.

Providing, he thought dryly,

you can stay alive for long enough

if Fate will be merciful and allow

you to come home still breathing

and not in a silk lined coffin.

He poured himself a coffee

black and strong with six sugars

to boost his energy for another round,

exchanged a brief word with a draftee

shit scared and missing his Mum,

before retrieving his helmet once more

and going out again to fight this bloody war.




On distant Shores


On distant shores where dwells the stranger,

we live in fear of otherness and cultures

unfamiliar, and build walls to keep them out,

but demand peace between our peoples

and our nation while perceiving them as threats

to all that we hold dear. Never truly knowing

what that means, but there is a general idea

that what we have is better than the stranger's.


And so we keep the doors shuttered

should they come near, or dare to approach

our shores for fear that we'll be overrun

and have to share some of our good fortune

with the stranger, who seems uneducated

and poor compared to us because the work

they do is low and humble. It does not cross

our minds they may well be far more educated

than most of us, but the stranger is seen

as a lesser being, here to take welfare,

our housing, or do us harm and generally

seems to be a threat, though why, we're not sure.


Culture shock leads us to take flight,

the stranger has ways we find peculiar,

or even scary, their clothes are not like ours,

they believe in different things from us,

their gods aren't like ours, their rituals

alien and therefore threatening to be around.

Their language is not ours, their way of talking

loud, expressive unlike ours, except when drunk

we are not loud we think. Shut the doors,

the stranger demands too much, openness

of heart and hearth is too higher a price to ask.

And so we close ourselves off from learning

that the other's needs and yearning

are just the same as ours. Beneath the skin

we're all the same, just trying to survive,

by overcoming prejudice and staying alive.




The Heath.


The rocks like sentinels

line the route onto the heath.

Large and imposing, a mystery

where they came from

or where they go to either.

All along the way, sunlight

filters through the silver railings

by the water works and birds

sing out their Spring time melody.


A tarmac road gives way

to sand and earth, a natural path

to take you onto the true Heath

stretching for miles in all

directions, shining brightly

today under clear blue skies

criss crossed with trails

of planes and butterball clouds

with bird song filling the air beneath.


Few walkers out today, all is still

and all the signs of Spring

are there ready to herald it in

when temperatures rise

and cold winds drop to welcome

new buds on the trees and shrubs,

wild flowers in the hedgerows

and gorse and heather wait

for the kiss of warmth

to allow a riot of colour to begin.


A precious space on which to walk

and contemplate life and talk

of dreams, of hopes, of a concern,

and, in the tranquillity all around,

find a solution or a new way

of thinking and solving problems.

A friendly smile to fellow walkers

with a nod to their various dogs,

a pause to admire the wonderful views,

and always something new to learn.




A Dream


Laughing softly in her dream

she drifted upward, lightly

landing on a pink flamingo

tinted cloud with a silver

lining. Doves of grey

wove patterns in the sky

as she pirouetted full of grace

clothed only in her gypsy lace.


Above her soared an eagle

golden against the bright sun

majestic in its flight,

it spread its broad wing span

for her to climb upon

then rose heavenward

before it swooped down

and, bowing, let her off gently

before departing proudly.


Her body glowed with energy

filled with life's vitality

as she raised her arms

and opened her lungs

to release a call heard by all

with ears to hear, wild

and free it carried on the wind

to the four corners of the earth

and heralded a glorious new birth.




Gaia's return


A chariot born on the winds of desire

rises heavenward fired with love

for one to whom the gods would adore

if they could see her beauty, but alas

they are no more, but she lives

walking the earth with sylphan tread

and it, in turn, blesses where her feet

did touch with sweet scented flowers

to fill the air with perfume, an invite

for the bees to come suckle in their hearts

and fill their hives with honey fit for a queen.


The earth in form of Gaia, sublime of form,

leans down to drink from ice cold streams

flowing from the deepest sources

within caverns long hewn to cathedral size

and fed from glaciers of ancient days.

She rises up to see the mighty mountains,

sharp tipped and kissed with snow

traversing horizons amidst the low lying

clouds and mist hailing mystery and myth.

Then turns to see the valleys, deep and green,

and forests clothing land with trees

so old they recall knights and kings

who rode in battles bold through them

once on steeds emblazoned with their arms,

now long gone and silent for a while

before the warriors return to turn their peace

to torment once again and fell them

for weapons or for fires. She shed a tear

when she perceived their sad lament,

and moved on to pastures new, a city

shining brightly, looking pristine in its hue.


Ancient in her wisdom and her knowledge,

she stood surveying the human dwelling

with its sky scrapers and towers,

its busy streets and cars flowing

like blood through its veins,

and lights consuming power and energy

constantly without attention to the price

on the earth, and saw the people

scurrying to and fro like tiny ants

but not so ordered, mostly in disarray,

each seeking their own destination

caught up in their own purpose

with few seeing their impact upon her

as she smelled the air polluted

with chemicals and dirt, which hurt

her lungs and made her eyes weep.


She turned away, and walked in thought

until the night descended and contemplated

what to do to heal the earth of such abuse,

but nothing came to mind, the options

were too harsh for her to deem acceptable

so with a heavy heart, she gave one last look

at her realm and sank back beneath the soil

until a new day dawned when, once again,

she could walk the earth with delight

and relish the splendour of the sight

of healthy flora and a multiple of fauna,

and the only sound was Nature's harmonies

composed of the sounds of birds and bees,

and animals communing, when the cities

had all returned to the earth, and humans

learned to cherish Gaia as a precious gift.




The Errant Laptop


Patience is a virtue so I'm told.

It's printed somewhere in letters bold,

but I seem to fail almost every day

in either a small or big way.

Today, it's with an innocuous laptop

which has put me in a right strop.

They have to be the most annoying,

irritating, infuriating and piddling

machines ever created by geeks

who just enjoy being freaks

when it comes to writing software

that simply won't work for hardware!

I've stood on my head, kept my cool,

began to think I must be a fool,

but whatever I tried the glitch

was determined to be a bitch,

in other words, a pain in the arse

making all my efforts a damned farce.

Sadly, I've had to admit defeat,

I've tried reboot, re-install, and delete

and not a single thing has worked,

and, before I get, completely irked,

I'm going say ‘that's it' I'm away

because I need my sanity for another day.




The Stranger's Way


‘There's a light at the end of the tunnel.' He said.

I couldn't see it but took his word for it.

I didn't know him. He came out of nowhere

when I was lost and said he knew the way.

I wondered how as I hadn't told him where I lived.

‘Come on.' He said. ‘Follow me, it's not far now.'

The road seemed to go on forever, and every curve

hid what was ahead from view and I never knew

what was round each corner, but he walked

steadily in front of me assuring me all would be well

It sounded a bit like a hard sell, but being lost

I felt I had no alternative but to trust in him.


The sky was dark and foreboding, a drizzle fell

but he stayed dry I noticed while I got wetter

and wetter as it changed to rain, and then the wind

came, but he did not slow down, nor did he look back

to see if I was still with him. He began to pull ahead

and fear swept over me. I called out for him

to slow down, please, I can't keep up, but his gait

stayed the same and I thought I heard him laugh,

not a pleasant one, but with a suggestion of malice

in its tone. I stopped and, suddenly, so did he.

‘Why aren't you following me?' He asked.

I regarded him with consternation before replying.

‘I can't keep up. You walk too fast.' I said.

He gazed down at me. ‘You said you were lost,

I heard and came to rescue you. Keep up.' He said.


There was no warmth or compassion in his voice.

‘I don't need your help.' I said. He looked startled.

‘What will you do? How will you find your way?'

He asked, his demeanour changing to confusion.

‘I'll find my own way home.' I said. ‘Your help,

I fear, is far too costly. You're not giving your

help to me for free, are you?' I said. He frowned.

‘Nothing in this life comes for free.' He laughed

with the same tone again. ‘Surely a lesson

you've learned by now.' ‘Then I don't need

your help.' I said. ‘Return to wherever you came from,

and leave me.' His face turned into a grimace.

‘You think you can find your way home on your own.

Let me tell you of all the pitfalls and obstacles

in your way, and then tell me you'll find your way.'

I sighed now cold and very wet, but filled with a new

sense of well being, I smiled at him. ‘The only

way I'll find my way is on my own, not with

your help, or any other. My road may well be long

and hard, but it's mine and, if I do get lost a little

along the way, it's up to me to get back onto it again.

So, stranger, be on your way. I cannot accept

your help because I don't know you, and to trust

you would require a leap of faith you do not merit.'

‘Very well,' he said, ‘I'll leave you lost and wandering

in the dark, but, if you find one day, you're truly lost,

you only have to call, and I'll come back for you.'


And, suddenly, I was alone again. The road ahead

had reached another curve concealing my future

once again but now, with grim determination, I began

to walk ignoring the rain and wind and, as I turned

the curve, I saw the bright lights of a city in the distance

and smiled for, while the stranger had walked with me,

leading me his own way, I saw that I had not been lost

at all, but the darkness of the night had simply hid

what lay in front for me to see if I had continued

walking along the road that was mine alone,

and any who chose, with their own free will,

to accompany me. At that moment, the rain stopped

and the wind dropped and the sunrise broke over

the horizon, and the world was full of light again.




The Skies


Azure blue cloudless skies

lift our spirits and open our eyes

to horizons distant and new

and bring Hope with such a view.


Grey, overcast skies

depress us and close our eyes

to all that lies on the horizon

and has the ability to dishearten.


Puff ball clouds drifting in our skies

bring pleasure to the eyes

as they ride the soft breeze

with laid back consummate ease.


Thunderous dark clouded skies

bring fear and close our eyes

with dread of things to come

when Nature throws a tantrum.


The moods of the earthly skies

is reflected daily before our eyes,

a gift, a warning, a wondrous display,

a peek at heaven or at doomsday.


Sunsets and rises across the skies

bring fiery colours before our eyes

reminding us that every dusk and dawn

is a gift for those of us fortunate to be born.


Without the wonder of the skies

the heavens would be closed to our eyes.

Be glad there are no curtains

to conceal the stars in their gazillions.




Play On


Listen to the song in your heart,

to the beat of the pulse

that fills your world

with a rhythm from the start

to the finish of your life.


From a joyful melody

to a heartfelt lament,

from a calypso to a dirge

to a symphony,

each fitting a particular mood.


Without music we wither.

Nature herself writes it

with wondrous sounds

to set us all a quiver

when the harmonies resound.


The universe plays its own tune

with the dance of the spheres,

orbiting in unison

as they whirl in perfect attune

with space, time and matter.


Rejoice that music lives on

in our world when all seems lost.

It can raise us up when cast down

and calm us when sanity has gone.

Play on oh precious gift so sublime.






Does the acquisition of a tranquil mind

imply that all passions have been quelled?

Can you still have passion welling up inside

when you come face to face with injustice,

greed, destruction, war, corruption to

name but a few of our problems, heinous

to behold and could render the earth lifeless.

How can the mind stay tranquil when viewing

the multiplicity of problems facing humankind

today, or should we regard them as simply there

and, in time, will be resolved so turn away?


I have not resolved this issue yet,

I said when I was young, if I stop caring

passionately for a better world, a peaceful

one, I would have died inside, and become

a waste of time and space, something shameful.

Now, in the dawn of my third age,

I'm still on fire with yearning, for discerning

that which could be good, for discarding

that which is so destructive and trying

with all my being to retain a tranquil mind

but failing when I listen or see man's

inhumanity to man displayed before me

every day. It's not a lack of hope

that takes hold of me but a passion

full of fire and ire that there's still

so much stupidity and ignorance

raging round the world when the answer

is to stand still and really see

what we have, what we're doing,

and what could be if we only stopped

for once and see the other instead of only me.




Poor wee mousey.


Sneaky mouse you will not scroll

no matter how many times

I tweak it, the screen won't roll,

up or down, it just stays still.

Then I discover it is not you,

poor wee thing, you've fallen

prey to MS's traps for unwary

visitors to its domain. It lays

them for the unsuspecting

intruders by blocking certain

facilities like scrolling.

Competition in this life

makes life a pain for everyone,

particularly in computing

when software clashes

bring about annoying crashes.

When hardware just won't work

because incompatible with one

part and the system throws it out

before you've even clicked on run.

Sitting proudly is my monitor

alongside is the mighty tower

with all its innards working,

with Windows dominating

the scene and deciding

what will work and what won't,

it really is too much at times,

but that's the price we pay

when a single company

holds such world wide sway.

I wonder if we'll ever see the day

when every bit of software

or hardware that we buy

is greeted on every computer

with ‘Your hardware is now working

or your software has been installed

and we hope you have a great day.'




Sweeping the dregs away


Sweeping the dregs away

of past mistakes, abandoning

guilt for imagined failings,

clearing heads of half

forgotten crimes and minor

misdemeanours consume

some minds and makes of life

a hell, burdened with strife

struggling with a sense of doom

in a self-imposed purgatory.


Errant thoughts that plague

minds making nightmares

real, fantasies of wrongs

never done or perceived to be.

Sins unforgivable and heinous

turn out to be paltry

blown out of all proportion

by other minds suffering

from delusions of grandeur

offering absolution,

their mind sets a deformation.


The acquisition of serenity

comes not with torturing

the mind with images of hell,

but with acceptance of frailty,

of ignorance and circumstances

beyond control, where no blame

can be allotted for none knew

what would happen

when decisions were made

in the darkness of the moment

and bore fruit so wanton.


Time alone can heal the mind

by letting go of illusions

that wickedness is inborn.

One deeply cruel delusion

perpetrated for a purpose

of domination and control.

The liberation of the mind

from such a distorted view

needs to be the pursuit

of all caught within its net

and, maybe, peace will come

again to all still so beset.




The Journey


Infancy is a time for growth

When the world

begins to form you

in its own image.


Youth is a time for adventure

When all the world

lays wide open

before you.


Adulthood is a time for challenges

When the world

makes limits

on your options.


Middle age is a time for gathering

When the world

gives you space

to consider your life.


Old age is a time for reflection

When the world

ceases to be your oyster

as you contemplate your end.


Life is a time for becoming

When the world

opens many doors

then closes them all again.




The Light in our Lives


Reach out and touch a heart

with a love that gives

without asking a return

for we all yearn

to be cherished by another.


Reach out and embrace the other,

hold tight the one you love

for we all need a hug

by tender arms so snug

and be enfolded for a while.


Reach out and kiss the other

with lips that truly care

on hand, or lips or face

and see the other's grace

shining through their eyes.


Reach out to young or old

for no age does not need love.

Not a single human being

can thrive if it is lacking

for it is the light in all our lives.




Forsaken Knight


Forsooth, he said, you have quickened me.

He gazed with awe upon the maiden's face,

her body too so enwrapped with comely grace.

He fell to his knees to take her hand

wishing to declare his undying devotion

but she stared haughtily down on his adoration.


Stepping round him, she walked straight on

without a second glance at this strange klansman.

Bemused, bewildered and somewhat shocked,

the stricken knight rose to observe her departure,

perceiving his attempt to woo her being mocked.


Ire followed on with unholy haste to replace

that which so soon before was undying love.

Somehow, she had to pay for his disgrace.

Mounting his steed, he rode with speed

back to his kingdom far to the North

determined now to make her heart bleed.


For a month or more, he brooded deep and long

then decided to make a plea to his king,

his need of a high born wife now so strong.

The king, seeing the plight, of his mightiest knight,

promised to get him his chosen bride.


So, quickly sent the foreign king an invite

and a gift of great renown, a jet black steed,

chosen from his finest herd, and his request

that the maiden, oh so fair, could proceed

with marriage to his honourable knight.


The answer was slow in coming but come it did,

together with the steed. It was a rebuff,

too much to take. The thwarted king

declared a state of war and, in a mighty huff,

sent his army in to capture the haughty maid

and bring her bound and tied to his side.


Success was his, and the war was won,

His knight, with voice so loud, in triumph cried

‘All hail the king' as he rode into the castle

The haughty maid across his pummel

Weeping copious tears and feeling shameful.


Setting her upon her feet, the knight strode

up to the king and declared she was his prize

despite her scorn, on her his troth he had bestowed.

She, realizing this was her fate, bowed her head

and submitted to his will, agreeing to marry him.


Then great were the celebrations on that day

as the knight did take the haughty maid so trim

and, from that day, they became as one,

with him kneeling at her feet, and she berating

him for every little fault and failing.

He just smiled and took it all because a war

had been fought to gain this beauteous bride

who grew to become large and extremely round

and the knight grew deaf and extremely slender

from fleeing with great haste when her tongue

lashed him cruelly then returning wiser and older,

but still seeing only the maiden's face and comely grace.




Your own path.


In time, we come to learn

the hard way to discern

that life may be joyous

but also full of bitterness.

It may be exciting,

but also deadly boring.

It can be thrilling,

but also utterly terrifying.

It can sweep us off our feet

but also completely defeat.

It can wipe our hope away

but also restore it another day.

It will bring about the unforeseen

but also be mundanely routine.

Whatever the path we take

there can be no mistake

the one we're on is ours alone

chosen by us as our very own.

We can bemoan our lot

over what we've got

but every decision we made

is the price we've paid

to arrive where we are today.

So accept that this is your way,

rejoice that you've survived this long

without going too far wrong,

Now, set your feet on the land

and go on with life holding your hand.




The Drama Queen


In light quick mood she shifted with a zoom

from happiness to deepest gloom.

There was no room for in between,

it was all or nothing for this drama queen.


Flying on emotions higher than a kite

she swept across the heavens in her flight

knowing she was awesome to behold,

a mighty warrior so beautiful and bold.


Then down to the deepest depths of despair

she would plunge into her own private warfare.

None could approach when in high dudgeon

as her temper tantrums began to burgeon.


From high to low she lived her life

sometimes sweet at others wrapped in strife.

A pill could take care of these mood swings

but she declared they clipped her wings.


So the drama queen lived in extremes

existing in her nightmares and her dreams,

but no one could say she was boring,

she was both wondrous and thoroughly alarming.




The Turning Away


A gentle hand that drew me in

caressed my cheek and dried my tears

while I, deep wrapped in grief,

pulled back and shut him out.

Would that I could have seen

how deep the wound in his own heart

but all that I could feel was mine

bleeding and in so much pain

from being torn asunder

with no warning that our worlds

would plunge into an abyss

so suddenly there, a pit of blackness.

No tears he seemed to shed

while mine flowed unceasing

as I wailed and lamented our loss.

Shattered into a million pieces,

my mind could not believe

that he was gone, he would return,

not gone, not gone forever.

It was agonizing to conceive.

In time, I let him in again,

wrapped my arms around him,

caressed him and let him dry my tears,

but those times when I had turned away

had left their scars in both of us,

which time patches over but can never

completely wipe away or heal.




The Deities


We show our gods to the door

when they've served their purpose

and replace them with the latest model

ready to pick up the poor,

to convert past festive days

to new concepts and ideas

emerging out of the minds of men

to change the people's ways.


As history will bear witness

the new is rarely the better.

Bloodshed and mayhem result

before the new is hailed a success.

Then comes the hunkering in,

the destruction of idols of old,

the undoing of mind sets,

a priesthood formed to cast out sin.


And the ancient gods retreat

to lick their wounds and observe

how the new gods differ from them,

and watch the rise of a new elite.

Princes clothed is sumptuous raiment

strut in palaces lined with gold,

hands are kissed and men adored

as the new gods demand payment.


Each new manifestation of a deity

brings with it man's preoccupation

with power, domination, subjugation,

and an innate desire for immortality.

When the old refuse to yield

bloody battles ensue until one god

comes out on top or cedes defeat

by acquiescing and its fate is sealed.


One day people may grow weary

of these endless conflicts for supremacy

and abandon all these deities

refusing to be led up yet another blind alley.

But, until that day comes, the immortals

will continue demanding adoration,

putting conditions on their benevolence

before petty humans can enter their portals.


And people may realize that each new god

comes out of their own minds

embodying their current hopes and dreams

and their need to walk on paths untrod.

Then humans will reach maturity,

casting aside the childish,

the need for parental approval

and cease turning to gods for their security.




The Warning


Rosy red, an apple for you,

take it, dear, I'm offering it to you.

You fear to eat it, it's just a gift,

nothing bad will happen to you.

Don't walk away, this is a fairy tale,

my child, and I'm on your side.

I would die before a hair on your head

was harmed. You'll soon be a bride,

eat of this apple and it will put a bloom

on your pale cheeks, which I fear

you have acquired from sitting alone

in your castle tower for many a year.

You say your father warned you of me

but your father has no knowledge of me.

Who am I? You ask. I will tell you,

but, first, please take a bite from my gift

to you. No, ah well, I cannot tell you

then for you would never believe me.

Is the apple bewitched? You ask.

See yonder tree, my dear, I picked it no more

than ten minutes ago. There, take a bite,

taste its sweet juices from its core.

What, you feel rather faint. Sit, my dear,

the sun so bright has made you hot, sit

and I will tell you who I am be not affright.

Before you close your soft blue eyes,

look into mine, deep and clear, and see

your future reflected here. Be not afraid,

for do you not recognize me, child?

I am you, long grown into old age.

I came back to warn you of a grave danger.

The man you are to marry is not for you.

Find a way of saying no to being his bride

for he is not of this world inside. Say

you understand, my dear, and will heed

my words. A nod will do. That's good,

now close your eyes and sleep a while,

and, when you wake, you will remember

my warning about this man so vile,

and, please, for your sake and mine,

return to our father mild most hastily

and beg him rescue you from this monster.

There, there, my child, sleep in peace

for I must return before he misses me.




The Sanctuary


Not a word broke the silence,

not a sound stirred the old church yard.

A solitary cat stretched luxuriously

across an ancient tomb stone

making a lie that it was rock hard.

A zephyr brushed the leaves

to stir them into life but they just

yielded to its touch with a gentle bow,

a swallow sat on its nest in the eaves

while the church nestled amidst the trees.

Peace reigned supreme beneath the cedar

majestic in its realm, its branches

stretching out like age old arteries.

A wooden seat gnarled sat below

provided a place to sit and contemplate

the beauty all around and flowers' scents

wafted perfume in the air as thoughts flow

when all is still and calm in a sanctuary

from all the madness of the world.

A rare gift in the centre of a busy village,

a moss covered wall its boundary.

The mighty tree has claim on a heart

for now in the shelter of its shadow

the last resting place of a gentle soul

forever enfolded and never to part.




Playing with words.


Play with words, jumble them about

and what do you get? A poem, a letter,

an essay, a book or, something better,

a joke. Throw them in the air

and play catch if you can

chasing them as they ran

out of your pen, your keyboard,

your pencil and onto a screen,

a page, a scrap of paper to be seen

for the first time in their own space

making sense, nonsense, uplifting,

appalling, scaring, humouring,

hiding the truth behind rhetoric,

exposing lies and breaking down

myths and revealing the clown

behind the genius, the politician,

the egoist, the Royals, the celebrities,

the devious, ruthless, the authorities

on everything, the experts, the critics,

the novelist, the biographer, the men

of science, history, life, their acumen

judged by their handling of words

flowing from minds honed to manipulate,

cajole, influence, and procrastinate.

Such is the power of the written word,

the spoken word, the secret word,

spoken through the centuries but heard

is another matter, most go in one ear

and out the other without engaging

because disturbing, annoying, enraging

or alternatively inciting pleasure,

delivering a message, preaching a sermon,

a key speech, an incitement to be human.




Tame the wild spirit.


Tame the wild spirit that would take flight

Soaring to the heights of delight

And returning to earth with gifts from above.

A vision of love born on the wings of desire,

A Universe imbued with hope not an empty void.

The earth a womb with an immature foetus

Taking form against the odds waiting to be born.

All in flux, chaos yielding to order for a time

Then reverting to mayhem again for the new

To come into being. Stand still and die

All must change, all must grow or pass away.


Overcoming the primal urges demands wisdom.

Casting aside that which restrains, imprisons,

Anchors to achieve full potential demands courage

To set out on a path not laid out any more.

To walk blinded by a vision of light

Overwhelming night, a new insight.

A new dream, a new hope coming to birth

In pain and suffering, between thighs

Straining for millennia to achieve what could be

But is not yet, with cries and wails,

Full of pathos and joy, the new does not arrive

Without great travail and much hard labour.


Beware lest the night sets out to destroy the light

And brings to birth a still born foetus.

The signs are there to see, the warnings

loud and clear, but ears grow deaf

And eyes won't see, and lips are silenced

In the racket of a false reality taking hold

Of mind and heart, and leading feet

The wrong way. Ever onwards, life

Strides seeking the better, the new,

But death stalks not far behind ever trying

To swallow each new start, each new day.


All that remains is hope, an unending hope,

Unbroken, determined, fragile, but always there.

Lose that and all is lost, the new will never come,

The old will win, and death will triumph

Amidst a world full of infinite potential

Squandered and thrown away for nought

But a bag of tricks and cheap thrills.

So much to lose, so much to gain,

And always a choice between two sides,

Despair versus hope, the night versus the light.

It's the ongoing battle for all that is human.




Roller Coaster


Take away the joy, the hope, the fun

and what have you got? A great big

bore. Life isn't like that. It rolls

along like a roller coaster and none

of us know where it's going

as it climbs up to the sky

then hurtles down the slope again

with no rhyme or reason why.


Buoyant in the hope that life

is good, start each day with a smile.

If you open your eyes with scowl,

it will leave you full of strife

and growling angrily all day.

Get out of bed and greet the morning

for you've no idea whether you'll be here

by midday , let alone the evening.


Life has a habit of springing a surprise.

It doesn't wait to be invited

before something happens to shock.

So be prepared should this arise,

but know, it can carry you along

and, providing you hold on tight,

will make sure you arrive in a place

where everything is all right.


The roller coaster doesn't stop

it just keeps on going all life long.

With ups and downs, twists and curves,

and carrying you atop

its brightly painted seating.

So settle down and enjoy the excitation

and realize there's no getting off

until it pulls in to the station.