RECENT POEMS 5
An Unusual Day
When a world turns rainbow
and walls melt, and faces shine
with auras vibrating and gyrating,
it's time to take a break and sit
for your brain is taking off
on another awe inspiring trip.
When the carpet starts to rise,
and you fly out of the room
on wings of music to land
on a scarlet magic mushroom,
then it's time to take a break
and sit still to contemplate.
When dragons roam the skies,
and wild animals prowl with you
amidst garden paths and flowers,
while an ant greets you with a smile,
it's time to take a break and sit
very still lest you fall off the wall.
When the breezes kiss your cheeks,
and the leaves around you curl
while your hands have got tattoos
you never dreamed you had before,
it's time to take a break and sit
before you fly up, up and away.
When the day comes to an end
with you lying staring at the stars,
know that you've learnt a lot new,
which will change you subtly in time.
Now, though, it's time to take a break
and go indoors before you catch a chill.
***********
Memories
Sifting through memories
like flour through a sieve.
They fall as dust sprinkling
powder through brains,
coating long dormant cells
with recollections of loves,
of traumas, of joys, of hopes
and hints of lost dreams.
A speck sparks a laugh,
another a tear, one recalls
pain while another passion,
a life time's collection
in an album saved
with involuntary care
for proof of existence
in the private world of a mind.
Dipping in and out
like a swimmer in the sea,
oceans flowing in tides
lapping on shores
of consciousness for a while
to retreat to oblivion
when touched and recalled
memories conserved for all time.
***********
Mystification.
Chinoiserie renowned for its asymmetry.
Sincopation for its innovation.
Distillation for its evaporation.
Abstraction for its impenetrability.
Logic renowned for its classification.
Intelligence for its rationality.
Imagination for its perceptivity.
Acuity for its sensitivity.
Justice renowned for its equity.
Goodness for its generosity.
Wickedness for its iniquity.
Punishment for its severity.
Life renowned for its multiplicity.
Death for its finality.
Love for its impartiality.
Hate for its animosity.
Earth renowned for its receptivity.
Universe for its totality.
Heaven for its perfection.
Hell for its isolation.
Individual renowned for its separation.
Crowd for its inclusion.
Unity for its integrity.
One for its singularity.
Hope renowned for its sustainability.
Despair for its despondency.
Joy for its ecstasy.
Compassion for its humanity.
************
The Sense of Smell
To see with only the eyes
is to miss insight.
To hear without listening
leads to misunderstanding.
To touch without care
is to crush the other.
To smell without discernment
is to miss complexity.
If blind, we can see with touch,
if deaf, with vibration,
if dumb, we can speak
with hands for communication
If no sense of smell
we can only feel texture,
a loss like no other, for without it,
no taste, no sense in touching,
describing, seeing is all that is left,
an absent sense which leaves
a human being quite bereft.
So often the seemingly lesser
is mistaken as having less value,
but the opposite if most often true,
the world without the lesser
could be hard to construe.
So when we taste our next meal,
smell the scent of flower,
the grass after mowing,
the sea in the air,
rain on its way,
the scent of a woman,
the scent of a man,
smell the unpleasant,
the noxious, the foul,
the mysterious, the pungent,
or the scent of a memory,
ponder how dull life would be
without any of these in our world,
and note how many wonders
the sense of smell for us has unfurled.
*************
A Sweet talking Charmer
A sweet talking charmer with a roving eye,
he came into her life one hot July,
swept off her feet with his honeyed tunes
so charmed she oft gave way to swoons.
All Summer long, he sang as he courted her,
awaiting patiently her longed for answer
for he had fallen in love with the maid
when his first intent was just to get laid.
Now it was she who noted his worn doublet
and his ruby ring was just a tawdry garnet.
His gifts were poor and his chin unshaven
even if his words did arouse her passion.
His sweet talk began to drive her away,
throwing his plans into complete disarray.
Try as he might he could not win her back
unless he found a more foolproof tack.
He withdrew a while to consider his options
which would allay her mounting suspicions
that he was little more than a vagabond,
and she was being undoubtedly conned.
Time, he decided to reveal his true identity
and declare his love for this wondrous beauty.
As Autumn came, he turned up one day
with sumptuous robes in royal array.
Kneeling humbly, he told her he was the king
and offered her a huge diamond ring.
Whereupon she glowered furiously at him
and, with an expression dark and grim,
told him that he had deceived her for too long
and what type of man treated a maid so wrong.
The king was grieved and begged forgiveness
for his crass behaviour and his extreme rudeness.
The maid looked down at the king at her feet
and her heart melted to see him in defeat.
She raised him up and proffered her finger.
He rising, put on her ring, and then kissed her.
Her parents were delighted with his choice
and arranged a sumptuous feast to rejoice.
The two were wed when the Spring arrived
and the maid and he prospered and thrived.
The moral of this tale is if you want to just get laid,
come straight out with it and tell the maid,
but, if you fall in love, be honest from the start
or you could end up married to a right old tart.
**********
A morning out
Blue reflected morns,
waves on dimpled shores,
zephyrs sport on cliffs,
while birds float lazily.
Walkers stroll unhurriedly,
children play in soft sand
and all appears well
with the world,
and all appears well
with the world.
Flowers adorn the rocks,
along the river banks,
over hills and down dales.
Ducks rest idly on waters,
drifting on slow currents
while ducklings sleep.
And all appears well
with the world,
and all appears well
with the world.
A brief release from woes,
from troubles and fears.
A moment to relax,
to let go and find joy
in Nature's beauty,
to walk in tranquility
when all appears well
with the world,
when all appears well
with the world.
************
A Time for Everything?
A time for everything and everything in its place,
it is said. A goodly base to start to set the world
to rights, but wait, a time for everything is great
but who has time for that? And everything in its place?
On the premise everything has to be someplace.
Hard to set the world to rights when no one has time
for everything, and the someplace could be any place.
It would be an awesome, arduous task to keep apace
with everything in time, let alone find its perfect space.
Better to take a single thing and give it all my time,
then find a place for it where I can see it truly fits
before I can rest and observe the spot on which it sits.
After that, move on to the next thing, and so it goes on
until, at the end of my life, I can say ‘not a doggone
thing is out of place, I gave every thing time
and now each place is perfectly and truly sublime.
The fact that I've run out of time is neither here nor there,
though now I do wonder, with a smidgen of fear, where
I'm headed when my clock has ticked its last tock.
Will I be given more time to really take stock
of all I have achieved, or will I become dust
to blow away and settle someplace on earth if I must?
Does seem a trifle unjust to discover that everything
has its place and I am part of it, but drifting
now until I, too, find my perfect resting place.
There again, I could disappear without trace,
but that seems unlikely, now we know every atom
that is me will be recycled, and every stratum
of life will find a place for my atoms as I settle
in time right across the earth returning to the primal.
And, after I've left this mortal coil for good,
I'll find out then if a spirit in all was a falsehood,
or not. That'll be a strange place to be I think
a whole new learning curve where all must swim or sink.
*********
The Word
Words can wrap around us like balm
or cut us deep like razor wire.
Words can lift us up to the heavens
or dash us down to the depths of hell.
Words can explain the not understood
or describe the hidden from our eyes.
Words can mould our future selves
or remove the innocence of a child.
Words can sway the wavering mind
or bring to ferment the disillusioned.
Words can vent the foment inside
or spread malice in receptive ears.
Words can manipulate the masses
or pacify the angry and rebellious.
Words can drip honey from the tongue
or seduce the gullible for fun.
Words can empower the strong
or bring mouthpieces to the fore.
Words can lead men to war
or lead them to talk of peace.
Words are the great gift of humankind
or its greatest curse when abused.
Silence can be so sweet when right
but deadly when words could heal.
Between the sound of silence
and the cacophony of a zillion words
lies the reality of our being,
so far not explained in words
and silence has yet to answer our call.
*********
A Toast to Life.
Raise a toast to life,
lived to the full
or half or nearly
not at all.
Raise a toast to life,
lived in hardship
or ease or with
riches abounding.
Raise a toast to life,
filled with boredom
or pleasure or with
non stop thrills.
Raise a toast to life,
filled with hope
or despair, or with
dull resignation.
Raise a toast to life,
live it to the full
or half but never
not at all.
***********
A Saved Life
To save a life is joy.
Potential incarnate,
future interactions,
unknown now will be.
Events unfold
which would not be
had that life been lost
A precious gift
giving back a life
rescued from death
to exalt in being
once more.
A life changing event
for one and all.
Hidden connections
reveal a future
not seen before.
Entangled round
a life saved
bringing into being
other lives' fruition.
The tangled web
of life embraced
in a single life,
not lost but saved.
The mystery of being
rejoicing in existence
touches all forever.
************
The Light
The light shines bright and clear
Blink and it's gone
Attention required
Constantly
It shines
For you
Not me
Open your eyes and see
It reveals the truth
For you
Not me
Your reality
Standing in the light
Bright and clear
Safe inside
Right inside
Where only you can be
Rejoice in it
For it's a gift
A light to guide you on your way.
**********
A body imperfect
To have a body imperfect
is the present participle annoying.
There are a few choice adjectives,
none suitable for saying or printing.
The verb for doing is limited,
in the extreme, more disabling.
Frustration curtailing desires
while reducing more than allowing.
To grow old is a pain, but normal,
to be deformed always, an affront.
So irritating and so demeaning
especially with no adequate treatment.
With ever decreasing energy,
a future that looks decidedly bleak.
A body that refuses to work,
getting daily progressively weak.
With a body imperfect screaming,
a past time for fools, time to learn
patience, acceptance, tranquility.
Not a chance, fight, shout, burn.
There's nothing acceptable about it,
it's a pain in the butt and degrading.
Waiting to slow down to zero,
a fate undoubtedly worth evading.
So the grammar of battle coinciding,
a clash of wills, a body versus brain.
To the winner keep walking, moving,
to the loser a rapid decline into pain.
No choice, go down all guns firing.
A quick exit before all has fallen apart.
No need for regret, pity or sorrow,
it's simply the time now to depart.
**************
The Weather
As changeable as the weather our moods,
when the horizon looms clear on a blue sky day,
we can stride forth confident we're on our way.
When soft clouds appear on a gentle breeze,
we still smile, certain we have no worries.
When clouds thicken, our progress is more careful,
we're less sure, aware now of a need to be mindful.
When the clouds turn grey and it looks like rain,
we tread more cautiously our hopes to attain.
When storms set in and darkness shadows the day,
we temper our progress, fearful we might lose our way.
When the thunder ceases and the sun breaks through,
we're filled with hope that we can start anew.
All through our lives the weather reflects our moods,
come rain or shine, sleet or snow, hail or frost,
we go from high to low, hot to cold, certain to lost.
In temperate climes, moods tend to be sedate.
In tropical climes, moods tend to be passionate.
In colder climes, moods tend to be introspective,
but whatever the clime, the weather holds us captive.
In all its journey through earth's evolution,
the weather has decided Life's progression.
It can stop it in its tracks, nurture it, feed it,
and Life obeys its decisions as is befit,
for the weather is the ruler of its dominion,
with Life co-operating in a perfect endless union.
***********
Like a bite
Like a bite that itches
a memory twitches
reminding of undesired
events, a happening
best forgotten consigned
to the bin but now risen
in need of scratching.
Stay your hand be still,
grit your teeth until
the sensation ceases
and the memory fades
as its poison degrades
breaking into pieces
to vanish once more.
What a curse is memory
but what a joy when happy.
The secret is to resist
the urge to scratch
when bad and dispatch
them back to oblivion
and relax, breathe easy,
for, in the dispelling quickly,
peace returns once more.
***********
A Chance encounter
A chance encounter world's apart
entangle mysteriously and make
bonds across a life time
A spoken word out of the blue
opens a cavern closed before,
drawing another in.
A smile unexpected lights up
another's world, piercing darkness
bringing hope flooding in.
A gentle touch heals old wounds
restoring trust and casting out pain
lightening a burdened spirit.
A tender kiss on lips gone cold
lights a fire igniting a heart
love is born anew.
**********
Time was and Now
Time was when I was young
Time was when I had dreams
Time was when I had hope
Time was when I looked good.
Time was when I was afraid
Time was when I was alone
Time was when I was lost
Time was when I was angry
Time was when I was single
Time was when I was free
Time was when I love parties
Time was when I could dance.
Time was when I had a job
Time was when I earned a wage
Time was when I had money
Time was when I had the eye
Time was when I had friends
Time was when I lost them all
Time was when I found more
Time was when I lost them too
Time was when I was young
Time was when I had dreams
Time was when I had hope
Time was when I looked good.
Now I am no longer young
Now I can no longer dream
Now I am losing hold of hope
Now I am definitely looking old.
Alternatively…
Now, I am no longer young
Now I can still have my dreams
Now I can still hold onto hope
Now I am old but still looking good.
************
A Gift
As I walk around the house, aromas fill the air.
In the kitchen, in the morning, warm milk and cereal,
later on, the rich perfume of coffee and then,
for lunch, the smell of ripe camembert cheese,
sweet pickle, beetroot, cucumber and hot cups of tea.
Up the stairs, in the living room, flower scents
delicate and fragrant fill me with pleasure.
Then on to the top floor, and the bathroom
where the aroma of shampoo and conditioner,
scented soap and clean washed towels
make me inhale deeply with sheer delight.
The bedrooms give off a warm clean body smell
faintly tracing deodorants and shaving foam
from the en suite in one and the scented drawer linings
in the other, and cedar when the wardrobe is ajar.
Then downstairs again to the conservatory,
and there find flowers attracting bees and hover flies
as their particular perfume draws them in,
and, on into the garden, where the beds, the shrubs
and pots pour forth their perfumes for the joy
of all who enter there, and each call out to insects
to come pollinate their hearts, and I sit breathing
deep and rejoicing in the wondrous sense of smell
without which my world would be so much poorer.
Later, the kitchen will play host to a multiplicity
of aromas as the dinner is prepared, and induces
hunger, and the satisfaction of it sated as the smells
call us to the table where taste buds mingle aromas,
and what is on your plate becomes alive with sensations.
How rich our worlds with this gift, a sense of smell
for it can bring in equal measure, pleasure, pain and disgust,
but priceless and precious in its value nonetheless.
***************
The House
Picturesque they called it in the brochure.
I stood outside the house my heart sinking,
it wasn't as described that was for sure.
Derelict came to mind with the roof leaking.
For a while I contemplated not going inside,
then something drew my eye to a window,
I saw a curtain move it could not be denied
but the house was empty or supposed to be so.
Cautiously, I approached the worn front door.
I knocked and stood waiting nervous now.
Nobody came but I had a key so I could explore.
When I walked in I stayed upright somehow.
A smell of lavender and roses wafted around.
Each room I went in was immaculately clean.
I was filled with a sense of peace profound.
Upstairs the bedrooms were quietly serene.
The room where a curtain moved was a nursery,
pretty as a picture and full of games and toys.
I stood in it overwhelmed by the mystery
how such an outside could hide such joys.
I left that house, calling the agent as I went
when he answered, he went very quiet.
I told him of the happy time in it I'd spent
then he said he'd arrange another visit.
The following day he and I arrived together.
The agent seemed agitated I knew not why
until he opened the door and I saw squalor.
I gasped with shock and he let out a sigh.
Five prospective buyers had seen the property.
Each one returned the key wanting to buy it.
Each described the same wondrous things as me.
He concluded it was haunted just a tiny bit.
I turned and ran and never came back again.
To this day I see the beauty of the house inside.
No amount of study tells me of the why or when.
It had been owned by an old lady who died.
I did find a house that suited me perfectly.
Try as I might though, none matched that house.
Forever I would have to settle for almost or nearly.
It was my only experience of a true haunted house.
********
Step back from the world.
Step back from the world for a break
Let your mind roam free of concerns
Nothing will change when you shut it out
It's necessary for your sanity's sake.
Step back from the world for a rest
Let your mind roam free of worries
Nothing will change if you're not there
It's a necessary relief when stressed.
Step back from the world for a play
Let your mind roam free of fear
Nothing will change if you take time out
It won't even notice you've gone away.
Step back from the world for a retreat
Let you mind roam free of doubt
Nothing will change if you can't change
It's learning to stand on your own two feet.
Step back from the world for your own sake
Let your mind roam free where it will
Nothing will change in such a short time
It's a necessity to take a real newsbreak.
Step back into the world for its sake
Let your mind roam free in tranquility
Nothing will change if force is used
It's time to gently shake the world awake.
***************
Walk gently through the world
Walk gently through the world,
Leave no heavy footprint when you go
Clothe your being in compassion
And gather into your heart the whole.
Walk gently through the world
Leave only the softest touch when you go
Clothe your being in kindness
And gather into your heart the one.
Walk gently through the world
Leave only tender thoughts when you go
Clothe your being in tolerance
And gather into your heart the lost.
Walk gently through the world
Leave no wounded when you go
Clothe your being in generosity
And gather into your heart the hurt.
Walk gently through the world
Leave no burdened when you go
Clothe your being in succour
And gather into your heart the weary.
Walk gently through the world
Leave it better than it was when you go
Clothe your being in unity
And gather into your heart the lonely.
Walk gently through the world
Leave it without regret when you go
Clothe your being in the spirit
And gather into your heart one and all.
******************
The Sojourn
The child was a waif, no more than a thigh high,
ragged clothes hung on her frail frame
as she trudged along the dust dirt road
her face set against the scouring wind.
Few people noticed her as she passed by.
At the break of dawn with her belly groaning,
no food was there, just a sip of water
when she looked down at her mother
her three brothers and one dead sister,
there had been no time for proper mourning.
Her father had gone promising to return.
He said he'd find them food to eat
after the rains failed for the third year.
She believed him dead of hunger too
when she set off on her long sojourn.
Her journey ended when her legs gave way.
Kind hands picked her up and fed her,
washed her then laid her on a bed.
She told them of her family at home,
they listened and assured her she could stay.
For a week she lay between life and death
before she was able to stand up to leave,
after begging for food for her family.
Kind hands restrained her gently
knowing all would have breathed their last breath.
Drought, famine and war scourge her land
year after year and help is at hand
but too late for her own family.
Now she's just one more orphan
gazing out over a parched, barren wasteland.
Inequity such as this is an utter mystery.
How one can be born to so much
and another born to so little.
Only when resources are properly used
will there exist any true and lasting equality.
**************
Privet memories
A humble shrub, the privet,
with a perfume that sends
me back in time to days
when it seemed the sun
shone most of the time
and life was good, full
of fun and play and school
was forgotten when home
again. When the rain fell,
it was down to the basement
full of treasures, magazines,
books, pictures, games,
and boxes packed with secret
stores of I know not what,
and in the garden was privet
that every year wafted a scent
around that would imprint
upon my brain memories
sweet and undisturbed
by too many thoughts
of pain and stress in days
of real childhood, now able
to be restored when passing
privet bushes everywhere,
and, inhaling deeply, recall
a time when I was a happy
little girl before the world
invaded my safe shores
and I could never return
to that innocent place again.
*************
The Endless Song
Life isn't tidy, it isn't neat,
it can't be categorized, labeled,
boxed or sold. It can sweet,
it can be harsh, cruel, fleeting,
it can be joyful, playful, happy.
It might be exciting, thrilling, chilling,
stimulating and extremely trippy.
It could be boring, exhausting,
and downright annoying, irritating,
infuriating, embracing, enticing,
totally unpredictable, and dreary.
At times, morose, moody, sad
or exhilarating, awesome,
dirty, low, sordid, or plain bad,
but it's all we have, nothing else.
We came into being, and that's it,
we live a life with its highs, its low,
its mysteries and blows, no kit
to build another, this is our lot
and love or hate it, it has value
because life will out no matter what,
and it's free with no charge due.
So make the best of what we've got.
It doesn't demand thanks, praise
or adoration, just the silent plea
replicate me, so that days
may turn into years, centuries,
millennia and on for so long
as life can multiply, rejoicing,
celebrating its cosmic endless song.
*************
Jealousy
There's a streak of jealousy in me
with its emerald eyes and envious
yearning for what another has
and knows it will never be mine.
I cannot stop the feeling.
It rises up unbidden and bridling
when I see something I would
love but, in my life, would be
impossible to have in any way,
size, shape or form and I turn away
mournful that what another has
is far more than I will ever have.
It seems excessively unfair
that others should have so much
and me what seems to be so little.
Not in every aspects of my life,
but, certainly, in some that will
remain forever unfulfilled,
so leaving a space I cannot fill,
but do not think about in general,
until I see or hear something
that sets the streak rising again
to rip my world apart, spread
a discontent that cannot be sated.
And I will know that I must go
away and sort my head out.
I'll try to forget all about
the things I cannot ever have,
and count my many blessings,
but, always, knowing that one day
again jealousy will raise its head
leaving me feeling bereft and sad
that my foolish yearnings
for others' good fortune is petty,
not pretty, and definitely a waste
of precious time, and undoes
the chance of ever being close
to anyone with that good fortune.
So, often, my loss, not theirs,
but then they have so much,
and their lives are so rich and full,
my absence would never ever
be missed. There is a vacuum
I cannot fill and so I'll carry on
being jealous and full of sadness
for that is, regrettably, the way I am.
*************
The Fire inside
There's a door that has to open
to let the spirit in. It's a fire
that burns so bright it can blind
those who cannot see, who prefer
living in the dark out of sight.
Who refuse to shine, to open up
and let the spirit in. It's the source
of life, the catalyst, the flame.
The bringer of thirst for justice,
for peace, for harmony, for freedom
from strife, for co-habiting with nature,
a mediator, a co-operator, a meditater,
a thinker, a facilitator. It brings
wisdom, compassion and peace.
With steadfastness born of loyalty,
patience and fidelity, it anchors
passions in gentle restraints
to bring the rational to the fore,
holding the dangerous at bay,
and, opening wide the eyes,
lets the windows of the spirit
reveal the underlying unity of all
and, in the seeing, carry all
who fear to open up until
the day when we will reach
our purpose as the fire burns
away the dross to reveal
a new stage of existence.
And, like a chrysalis, we'll open up
to take flight in a universal light.
Always there, but blinding
in its brilliance for the larvae
that we were, now free
to soar, explore, in liberty
to expand our consciousness
in the spirit's ever loving care
until fully and gloriously aware.
*************
The Brew
A little light relief she said
handing me the corn head.
It was green with yellow dots.
I'd never seen such spots.
They were scattered over it
and smelled quite a bit.
Put it in a stew or a brew,
she said then withdrew.
I stared at it rather scared,
I was feeling unprepared.
Never having seen it before,
I was feeling very unsure.
I chose to put it in a pot
then poured water very hot
on top and sat down to wait
to let it slowly luxuriate
and release its essence
when I noticed the fragrance.
It was an exotic heady perfume
that seemed to fill the room.
One moment I was in the kitchen
then my body began to thicken
and I was flying, I was a dragon
heading up to a starry heaven.
Slowly, I returned to reality
surveying the pot with gravity.
Quickly I emptied it away,
wondering if I'd flown today.
A little light relief she said,
think I'll walk next time instead.
*************
The Grey People
The world is full of grey people,
grey people who hold the reins of power,
dull people, boring people, fat people,
short people, ugly people, lean people.
None who excite, none who you admire,
none who strike you as efficient,
proficient, effective or reflective.
All are ambitious, duplicitous,
conniving and extremely manipulative.
Hardly conducive to earning trust
for they seem to crawl out of the woodwork
appearing to be just the ticket,
but very soon the reality dawns,
they're just not playing cricket.
Their own personal aggrandizement
is the purpose behind their words,
which now seems to be a requirement
for any entering the world of politics,
alongside the ability to bore to death
the populace with promises never kept
though sworn to keep with their last breath.
And manifestos covering hidden agendas
pour out and you try turning them off
while they drown the electorate in miasmas
liable to kill off the will to live
if they get inside your head, like a virus
they spread, and, suddenly, you're passive,
helpless, infected with their particular bias.
And you've lost the game, they win
by being totally grey, totally innocuous
but deadly, because you're prey to their spin,
so the next time you see the grey people
just say you're one of the grateful dead
and deaf to their hypercritical ways,
and you're content to stay a true deadhead.
*********
The Sprite
It's a sprite, a funny creature.
Is it one from the future?
What! I caught it in one of my traps
covering the area on the maps,
where we saw the strange light.
Never expected to see this sight.
Don't put your finger there!
It could strip your hand bare.
I'm not a sprite, you dollop,
Let me out, and I'll give you a wallop.
I'm vertically challenged, you dolt,
I'll sue you for grievous assault.
I was on a private hunting trip
when I got caught in your trap's grip.
I demand you let me out now,
as I'm not a sprite, it's safe anyhow.
He does look like a dwarf.
I saw one once on the wharf.
I think that we should let him go.
He doesn't seem like a dangerous foe.
All right, but stand right back
and hold onto that large sack.
Why? In case he really is a sprite.
You prat, I'm human all right!
I'm going to undo the catch.
Come out slowly through the hatch.
Hey, you're rather cute being so small.
Hell, get away, okay, I think you're tall!
Get that stick to hold him at bay.
Hey, his skin is turning grey?
He broke the stick with a single blow.
What do you mean, you didn't know.
I think we caught an alien.
Run! What, you're frozen.
Move, you idiot, run for your life,
I've only got my pocket pen knife.
That's it, run, damn, he's fast.
I know, we shouldn't have trespassed.
Too late now, just run like hell,
because that thing's growing as well.
Humans are really so very dim.
Pity both of these were so slim.
Could have done with a bigger meal,
but wasn't expecting them to squeal.
Must remember that in future
and silence the next human creature.
Now, these clothes feel weird
but I quite like wearing his beard.
************
Call Centres
Rein yourself in, tightly bridled,
adrenalin flowing ready for battle.
Can't let it out, must keep it in,
letting it out will only bring ruin.
Deep inhalations, calming thoughts,
details at hand, dial the number,
cheerful voice welcoming,
keep teeth from grinding.
A list ensues as long as your arm,
press the right key or repeat again
and you're through, no, you're not
you've more keys to press
and so you do, and you're through
but no, you're not, you're in a queue!
If not 0800, you're paying for this call
so your stress levels rise as music
plays crap in your helpless ear
interrupted with an automated voice
saying ‘your call is important to us,
thank you for your patience, we'll
answer it as soon as one of our advisers
is free', and the music returns once again,
and you sit there counting cobwebs,
picking fluff from your sweater,
blowing dust from your keyboard,
making faces, swearing out loud,
shouting abuse into the mouthpiece
‘Where the hell are you?' You scream,
after your tolerance level has come
and gone ten minutes ago, and now
and then the voice comes on, repeating
the message and suddenly you're through,
you sigh with relief, or groan with despair
if the accent tells you you're in India
again, and will have difficulty
understanding a bloody thing
because you never learned indenglish
at school, or it's someone up North
whose accent is thick and you can't
understand what they're saying
unless they speak slowly and loud
to give you time to decipher their words.
And your brain cells are numb,
your backside is numb from waiting
around and then you must tell them
who you are, why you're here
and what they can do for you
for the third, fourth or even fifth
time, and they answer civilly
but you can hear the tone is
practiced tolerance verging on total
indifference, because their last call
was the same, and the one before,
and the one before that all day,
every day, and we're all going
insane in our own desperate way,
and then we both conclude
that a solution has been found
and it's been carried out
and is there anything else they
can do for you today? And you go
and put the phone down,
screaming inside, because you've
no idea whether they've done
what they said they have done,
and you go back to waiting to see,
while swallowing little pills to ease
the stress or deciding to live
in a bloody forest in a tent,
and hunt your food, drink water
from a stream and never touch
so called civilization ever, ever
again, oh, and jump on your phone,
kick the TV and break the radio,
drop the desktop computer or lappie,
and hey presto, you're nearly free!
**************
Seasons
Listen to the breeze rustling through the trees,
see the sun glinting on verdant green leaves,
watch the dew drops sparkle on buds and flowers,
enjoy soft puff ball clouds drifting lazily along,
hear the swish of crops dancing a gentle ballet
as the breeze whispers through on this Summer's day.
Listen to the blustering gusts shaking the trees,
see the leaves twisting in the showering rain,
watch the green fade to gold, red, and brown,
look at the forest floor with its carpet of decay,
notice the berries ripen then be carried away
as the gusts cavort around on this Autumn day.
Listen to the wind howling through the trees,
hearken to the rain pounding on the soil,
watch the lightning searing through the skies,
hear the thunder rolling over hill and dale,
see the clouds fleeing in billowing disarray
as the wind vents its fury on this Winter's day.
Listen to the zephyr wafting through the trees,
feel the warmth of the sun after ice cold days,
sense the new life bursting through the soil,
see the grey skies surrender to the blue,
rejoice when a new born world holds sway
as the zephyr exalts with joy on this Spring day.
************
The First of the New
They were so mismatched,
they had to be hatched.
Those two weren't born.
Conceived before dawn
in the dark of the night,
spawned out of sight,
they sat there deformed,
their bodies transformed.
The great egg shattered
with grey shell scattered
as they emerged shrieking,
their birther screeching,
and the alien spawn
glowed bright like neon
as they opened their maws
showing teeth like saws
and devoured their mother
so they could grow bigger.
With their first meal over,
like a conjoined ogre
they split into two
flapped wings and flew
from the nest, their intent
to spread over every continent.
And that was the beginning
of the great mass spawning
of an unknown alien life form
that moved as a single swarm
across the world like a storm,
like a ravenous toothed worm,
once it reached full term
grew into creatures hard to believe,
oddly named as Adam and Eve.
**************
Triptych on a Rose
Stark branches frost laden
spear the drear chilled day
where the light is hidden
beneath leaden grey clouds.
First buds pierce the branches,
leaf green tips shoot through
finding life amongst the thorns.
And what was dormant grows
abundant in its fertility, stems
give birth to a rose bloom,
a majestic queen, scarlet robed,
bejeweled with the morning dew.
Petals strewn on soil, chilled
with leaves scattered, torn
from stems dying now, winter
closes in and the rose dies.
**************
Leaving Home
A time of hope, of excitement and expectation
fills the youthful heart when stepping out
into the world for the first time, exhilaration
at having freedom, independence, new friends,
and parties, to indulge where once limitation
was the order of the day, and something
completely new, a job with wages, remuneration
for work done, and it's all yours and yours alone
and life is for living not with fear or hesitation.
Then reality kicks in. Life becomes routine,
your world of work marred by office politics,
and the parties become few and far between.
The freedom you have is still there but now
there are fewer people on which to lean
and your parents are seen as demanding
because they treat you as if you're still fifteen.
And then you meet somebody and fall in love
which brings a load of problems not foreseen.
As time passes, you might decide to marry,
then discover living with another isn't easy,
and there are lots of arguments over money,
but, on the whole, hope is boosted once more
when you find your wife is having a baby.
How life changes once it arrives, your life
undergoes a metamorphosis from man to daddy,
and you're hopelessly besotted with your child
whether boy or girl, either can make you happy.
And then maybe one or two more might be born,
and you find yourself with huge responsibilities,
many of which can make you utterly careworn,
but you carry on toiling for your family
as your life ceases to be your own, and you mourn
for the days when all was carefree and easy.
But, there are times when you know when torn
between leaving and staying, you love them all
and know these feelings as demons before the dawn.
At the end of the day, they will all go away.
The children will fly the nest to join the world
on their own, and like you, they'll find their way
through the pitfalls and pains, losses and joys
to make lives for themselves, and you'll allay
their fears if they call for comfort or praise,
or give them money if broke once again, and pay
for something you never had but they must have
and smile, at least you're still useful in your own way.
*******************
It is a light.
It is a light that burns so bright,
a lamp to guide you on your way.
Always keep it in your sight,
it is a light that burns so bright.
A protection from the dark of night,
a beacon guiding you through the day.
It is a light that burns so bright,
a lamp to guide you on your way.
A light not all on earth can see.
Born deep within, a sacred fire.
Nurtured in the spirit's foundry,
a light not all on earth can see.
Wrought in the struggle to be,
it comes from a longing and desire.
A light not all on earth can see,
born deep within, a sacred fire.
Follow it through your life.
It will never lead you astray.
Through happiness, pain or strife,
follow it through your life.
When your troubles are rife
it will smooth them all away.
Follow it through your life,
it will never lead you astray.
****************
Lay down your burden
Lay down your burden and sit back,
you've strayed off the track.
Rest up for you are very weary,
lay down your burden and sit back
you've lost your way briefly,
you need time to ponder wisely.
Lay down your burden and sit back
you've strayed off the track.
I've food to give you sustenance,
water for your thirst and guidance.
You've walked so far, you're fit to drop,
I've food to give you sustenance.
Sit down beside this rock and sleep
for I know you have promises to keep.
I've food to give you sustenance,
water for your thirst and guidance.
When you awake, you'll see the way,
you had not gone very far astray.
I've made you a map to guide you.
When you awake, you'll see the way.
I'll be with you until you're home again
and shield you from the wind and rain.
When you awake, you'll see the way,
you had not gone very far astray.
*************
A time of flux
Peaked mountains and dales in Wales ,
high tors and rocky fjords in Scotland ,
rolling hills and great moors in England ,
mist laden hills and shores in Northern Ireland
make up the land of Great Britain .
No longer so great, now shrunk in size
as its empire reached its zenith then its demise.
A Commonwealth still survives
held by slender threads of loyalty
to a royalty now diminished in its authority.
A United Kingdom struggling now
to keep the united going somehow,
with Scotland and Wales seeking independence,
no longer desiring to be in residence
in a kingdom heavily weighted in favour of England .
We live in a time of flux, of change,
with peoples seeing their identities estranged,
their nations swallowed by the more powerful,
their lands taken over by the more forceful,
and rebellion stirs in hearts once more.
At a time when unity should be coming to the fore,
there is a terrible urge to return to what was before.
A desire to have and to hold ancient lands,
an erroneous belief in god given homelands,
and, in the claiming, whole lands fall to warring.
A time has come for reason, of peaceful co-existence.
It demands tolerance, understanding and inter-dependence.
Enough blood has soaked the earth for territory.
Where peace has failed to come, there is no glory,
for the dead protest loudly they have all died in vain.
We break our bonds of unity without considering
the effects upon our young and upon their offspring.
Handing on a fractured world, lands returned to fiefdoms,
with neighbours seen as threatening their freedoms,
a sad inditement, and the end of true civilization.
*************
In the days of old
In the days of old when knights were bold
a fair young maiden was strictly controlled.
She would be courted on bended knee
with sonnets delivered ‘neath a blossoming tree.
Clothed in shining armour with squire behind,
the knight would dismount with manners refined
while the maiden waited with blushing cheek
for him to open his mouth and speak.
She could not answer aloud but her fluttered lashes
was worth more than all the world's riches.
Her chaperon kept a hawkish watch over both
for the knight would first have to plight his troth.
Failing that, the maiden would be whisked away
and locked in her room without delay.
Invariably, she would be wearing a chastity belt
so her discomfort was most heartfelt.
With her father holding the only key
she looked to each knight to set her free.
The one who courted her with promises sublime
would surely win her heart over time.
Trouble was, he could be called away
by his king or queen without delay,
and on would go her chastity belt once more,
it was for her own good her husband swore.
The conclusion is, these days of old,
were fine for knights but for maidens controlled
they were one great momentous bore
and definitely not fun unless you were a whore!
***********
Let's rock
Tick tock let's rock
I had a horrible shock
When I took stock
And had to mock
My tattered frock
No good for wedlock
Need to go shopping
But the rain's dropping
No use primping
This frock needs dumping
No use moping
My tears need wiping
My car is a wreck
The oil needs a check
I'll break my neck
Can't cover the cheque
What the heck
The shops are such a trek.
Tomorrow I'll go
And search with gusto
For my trousseau
But I'm out of dough
So I don't know
Just seen out the window
There's a rainbow!
************
The Selfish Gene
The selfish gene the experts claim
is the purpose of existence,
which naturally produces resistance
to a purpose so cold and meaningless
as reproduction in an endless
repetition of the codes embodied
in all life they have agreed.
We are coded to protect our own
they say, so that ours alone
will survive into the future,
it's the purpose of Mother Nature.
What seems to have been left out,
is that we're all linked about
150,000 years ago, when a few
humans made a huge breakthrough
and spread across the earth,
eventually each one giving birth
to every human life on earth today.
So, the conclusion you could say,
or so it seems that way to me,
is that all of us inside are family,
and that requires protection overall
from one and all, a might catchall.
Not what the experts had in mind
but somewhat better to be kind
than to kill off the feeble and the lame.
This conclusion, they claim,
is a necessary task undertaken by the fit
by ridding the world of a surfeit
of sickly lives, and ensuring
that the healthy clones go on surviving.
A depressing lack of compassion
in this process of reproduction.
Such an outlook diminishes life.
Promotes only bitterness and strife,
removes all that's fine and good,
destroys a sense of brother and sisterhood,
as humans abandon the idea of love,
and hope. Time to review the above
and start to see all of us as family,
one body made up of the many,
with the earth our home, our shelter
a place of safety in time of danger,
and genes a product of pure chance
that has led all life a wondrous dance.
*************
Rebellion in the blood
Stirrings of rebellion in the blood,
of disillusionment and resentment,
of frustration and dissatisfaction,
of anger and contempt pre-empt
the rising up of people from apathy,
indifference, fear or paranoia
to make known their grievances,
out in the open for government
to witness, be unable to deny
that their authority is being
challenged, being questioned,
being confronted, being threatened.
Politicians thrust into disarray
call on police to restore order
and look on as the people stand
their ground refusing to go away.
And then resort to brutality,
battering people into submission
but, when the masses have little
or nothing to lose, they'll react
with equal venom, equal force,
fuelled now by rage, by indignation,
by the injustice of a system
that has failed them over and over
again so see their rebellion
as timely, unable to be stopped
for their blood is on fire.
Their purpose, the fall of government,
of the incompetent, the rich,
the leeches, the elite as they face
the forces of the law who must
be torn for they are manned
by ordinary people too, but sworn
to defend government and state
over and above the people's needs
and wants, and so they charge
with tear gas, batons, water cannon,
with dogs, horses, and guns,
until the people turn and run,
only to retreat to gather strength
for another confrontation until
both sides gather up their wounded
and consider all their options.
While the politicians look on
with mounting alarm to wonder
whether it's time to call it a day
and do as the people say,
‘Go, go, go away, you betray,
cheat, lie, connive, conspire
with only your aims in mind
and they're not good for the people,
only for the rich, for the elite,
for corporations, for the greedy,
rapacious, and the criminal.'
And the people stand their ground
refusing to give way for they smell
triumph in the air, and the beginning
of the end of their rebellion
so long in coming, but they got there
in the end when rebellion
stirred in their blood to set
their spirits free on the day
they had finally had enough
and refused vehemently to go away.
*************
I grow wiser
I grow wiser as I grow older
I said then laughed and laughed
because it simply isn't true.
The older I get, the less I know.
I cannot be certain of anything now.
When, once, I thought I knew
so much and was wise beyond
my years, but it wasn't true.
All the things I thought I knew
fell apart and left me wondering
if I ever knew anything at all.
Sat back and thought
some more and found I did
know some things that were new.
One being, never believe anything
to be true because something
is sure to come along and prove
it's wrong. That's growing
wiser I thought as I grow older.
Then I fell into a hole wide
and deep believing in nothing,
and happy in that floating world
of doubt and disbelief until I found
a rock to stand upon and named it
‘Not this, not that', and if I cling to it
I won't be duped or led astray.
So I have grown wiser
as I've grown older, well that's
what I say to myself each day
then I laugh and laugh
because it is a simple truth.
**********
The System
There's an underlying pattern to all things
worked out by computer experts
who take a bit of this and a bit of that
and add it to a program, add in feedback,
looped that is, and what have we got,
we've got a self-regulating system,
which looked really clever and fine
and became the standard model
for the workings of the natural world.
That, in time, metamorphosed
into the workings of all life,
including homo sapiens, who exist
in this self-regulating system,
and who can be regulated too,
but not by self, that would be too much
to expect. No, homo sapiens must be led,
must be manipulated, must be fed
propaganda, lies, be deceived
into believing that the world
is the best possible one for all.
Except the majority see that the ‘all'
is very small in number while
they, the rest, must struggle to fit
in to the system devised for them
by bankers, computer experts,
politicians, corporations, lawyers,
and anybody else able to get
their snout in the trough,
which is big enough for just the few.
Meanwhile, the many sit wondering
just where the world is going,
because it looks to them
as if it's going to hell in a hand cart
and they've got no say, no way
of stopping its descent, but the many
are assured the system is working well,
it's infallible, fail safes are built in,
it's self-correcting, self-amending,
self-propelling, self-destroying,
self-annihilating, self-destructing,
there has been a technical fault,
do not adjust your screens, your screams
have been noted, don't panic, have some tea,
take a pill, we'll be back online very soon,
here's some music, it's a happy tune.
**********
Blow the dust away
Blow the dust, blow the dust of ages away.
All that gathers it, blow the cobwebs away.
Blow the dirt of centuries from ancient scripts,
blow the cobwebs of history off the words.
See beneath the dust secrets long hidden
in the dark, beneath the dust, lost from sight,
concealed from prying eyes, arcane mysteries
for the discerning mind to unravel, to put right
errors of the past when myth and magic
lived in symbiotic union until ripped asunder
when all was plunged into the depth of night
by those who claimed the light, the insight
to see that ancient rituals must be buried,
must be banned, must be crushed, driven
underground, and myths manipulated
to bear witness to the new, and the dust
grew on the days of yore when spirits
roamed and sprites and gnomes and faeries
gathered in the woods to sing and dance
the nights away, and hid from human eyes
during the bright light of day.
So blow the dust away, blow the dust
of ages away, and learn what lies beneath
the bringers of light and truth, they live
in the dark, blinded, branded, blinkered
as the ancient rites and ways seek recognition
once again for myth and magic never left the land.
They were buried beneath the dust of history,
temporarily lost from sight, but will have
their day again when the edifices built
on sand crumble into the dust to die
withering on the vine of arrogance and pride.
Then the King will mount his unicorn to ride
the land with elvin bridges crossed,
when all is war torn and troubles tossed,
to reunite the symbiotic union once more,
and find the Queen who sleeps beneath the sward
awaiting wakening with a kiss from her beloved Lord.
Then the faery tales of yore will be reborn
to bring to birth long forgotten dreams
and hidden gifts will restore what has been lost
when myth and magic weave their schemes
in deadened minds when the dust of ages
is blown away and all those minds escape
their dark and dreary, age old cages.
***************
Here comes the rain
Grey and drear as rain pours down,
running rivulets down window panes.
Misting views as you sit gazing out
knowing how much better it is indoors.
Nobody stirs in the empty roads.
All are safely inside their homes.
No trips to the sea today, no journeys
along traffic laden motorways
with the only travelers being
those who are heading homeward
watching windscreen wipers
flick back and forth to enable them
to see what lies ahead, and the wind
blusters like a bully in the play ground
swirling branches and foliage around,
pushing letterboxes open in front doors
so that you think somebody is knocking
to come in, but it's only the weather
playing havoc outside as it tries to get in
and disturb your warm, dry haven.
Now we'll stay inside until more clement
weather returns and the sun comes back
to warm the earth and yet, how needed
is this rain for parched is the soil
and thirsty the plants, shrubs and trees
now lapping up their life's blood
with silent pleasure as it pours down
from sodden clouds grey and sullen,
forbidding and unwelcome by some
but, embraced by Nature after a long
dry spell of none.
***************
The Date
Sitting in the rain
with my brain whirling.
Is my hair looking good?
Have I shaved close enough?
Do I smell all right?
Are my flies zipped up?
Have I got enough money?
Does that zit show too much?
Why is my mouth so dry?
Think I need a drink.
Will she turn up?
My watch says she's late.
Not by much, but late is late.
The bus stop is dirty.
Maybe I should have met
her outside the cinema.
Not suggested here
with the fish and chip remains,
And somebody's sick,
and the empty coke can.
Her bus has come and gone.
My gut feels sore.
I really liked this girl.
She could have rung
to say she can't come.
I check my phone.
No texts, no call, the next bus
is due soon. I'll wait till then.
I can see it coming now.
My heart is thumping.
It's stopping…
and I can see her!
She's smiling at me
apologetically as she gets off.
‘Sorry, I'm late.' She says
and I say. ‘No worries,
you're here now.'
Shall I take her hand?
Yes, I will and I do
and she holds mine tight.
I'm in heaven!
************
Loneliness
Loneliness invades us all sometime.
It makes us feel set apart,
not one of the crowd. The crowd
that is accepted, adored, recognized
as being there, of value, having worth
while you sit in isolation wondering
what you have done to be cut off,
to be invisible in the eyes of the people
passing through your life.
You reach out but no hands
reach back to you, so you withdraw
into a shell, protection against
the wounds of rejection and look out
through wondering eyes
at the world passing you by.
No one escapes such times
It strikes all even in the midst
of company that we're alone
embraced in flesh and separate
from the other who we may love
with all our heart, but know
that there's a barrier there
no one can cross. Life
is lonely for everybody
in the depths of our beings,
but it can be filled in giving
and receiving, if only the giving
is received, when not, then hurt
comes and scars are left behind.
Remember those who are alone.
For they may not have chosen
to be that way. A face may not fit,
a shape may deter, a manner
seem strange, but all need love
and company to be whole,
So reach out even in your loneliness
and try, and try again if pushed away.
Somebody will recognize your worth
in your acknowledging of theirs
one bright sunny beautiful day.
********
A Touch.
A touch and you cower back.
I see the suspicion and distrust
in those eyes that won't meet mine.
I see now that you've been hurt,
been wounded, been abused,
and, though my touch, was gentle
and well meant, it was too much
for one like you who needs to learn
to trust again, to see that people
can be kind, can have your interests
at heart, and will not raise a fist
in rage if crossed or drunk,
or simply because you exist.
I will be patient, will sit with you,
not reach out until you ask
to be embraced, to be held,
until you see the world
through less weary, wary eyes,
and, when your anger has abated,
and healing has begun slowly
over time then we can walk
together a step at a time
until the light returns to your eyes
and trust has found a home
in you, and I can take your hand
without you cowering back again.
********
Pass it on
You can't take it with you so pass it on,
pass on your love, your hopes and your dreams,
pass on your compassion, your creativity,
your thoughts, your ideas even your pains.
There's a world out there in need of them all
and in the giving, so will each return to you
multiplied over and over again as you reach out
and touch other minds and hearts yearning,
learning, inspiring, educating, suffering,
as you hold them so they hold you
in arms strengthened with courage,
protected against the dread of loneliness,
of neglect, of abandonment, of rejection.
Come into these arms and they will hold
you tight as you have held me and I will
love you, I will guard you from harm,
keep you safe in my heart, come rain
or shine, storm or dark, I will be there
with you for we are one, and while I live
I'll pour out myself like an oblation
on the altar of love for it's a cold, cold
world if it's not there. As you love me
so I love you, throughout my life
I can't take it with me so I'll pass it on, and on, and on.
*************
Shadows
The light throws shadows,
shadows that move with us
through life where hidden
selves reside, ones we keep
inside, some dark, some pale,
all apparent only in the light.
At night they disappear
absorbed in the absence
of the sun but sometimes
come out in the bright moon light
but this fleeting sight
is not for waking eyes.
These shadows roam in sleep
stirring from the deep
to rise and rouse fears
of the unseen and keep
the sleeper restless in the night.
When the dawn comes again
these shadows retreat
and the light's shadows assert
their right to be present once more.
What would we be without
our shadows, whether cast
by the sun or moon, they are
companions in our lives
as necessary as the air we breathe,
as complex as our minds,
as mysterious as our existence.
I am a shadow of my former self,
you can say until you find your way
and then your shadow recedes
to let you shine in the light of day.
And so it goes on through life,
the interplay of light and shadow
forever there, forever vying
for dominance but one must
always win for when neither
is there we are no longer here,
just a memory of our former self
carrying all our shadows
away forever unknown to posterity.
************
The Trial
‘Speak now or you will never know peace.'
My tongue cleaved to my palate dry as bone,
fear gripped my heart and set me trembling.
How could I say what I had seen, alone
I stood before the chief his eyes boring
into me, urging me to speak, to reveal
the person who had protected my life
and, in the doing, I would have to seal
his fate for he had slain with his knife
my attacker who was about to kill me.
My family stood around panic stricken.
My father urged me tell it all and walk free
for he did not know why I stood frozen.
I turned to look around and met a gaze
so filled with sadness and unspoken terror
as my beloved brother stared in a daze
at the prospect of being called a killer.
Then I knew what I must do, I found my voice
‘I struck the man with my knife to save my life,
he was trying to kill me so I had no choice.'
A gasp of shock when round the room,
I heard my brother's sharp intake of breath
as I confessed to a murder and sealed my doom.
The penalty in our clan was death
for taking the life of a man in his prime.
I cast a warning eye towards my brother
as I saw him open his mouth to admit his crime,
but I silenced him by explaining the murder
to the chief. He listened until I fell silent,
then raised his staff of Justice for all to see
‘I've heard enough, this is my judgement,
the girl defended her honour, she can go free.'
I stood there mute with gratitude and shock
and thanked the chief from my heart.
My family beamed with joy as they took stock
of what had happened as the chief took my part.
My brother, dumb with disbelief and relief
hugged me hard with a whispered ‘thank you'.
When we departed from the court I saw the grief
of the mother of the dead man and her hatred too,
and knew she saw my brother's guilt
but had to be aware her son was not innocent
of his crime. Revenge for his blood spilt
would be on her mind that much was patent.
I could not say a thing to ease her pain
so walked away regretting this terrible day.
One none will ever forget or repeat again.
The man who died was intent on having his way
and I was too weak to stop him, so my brother
did. Now he will have to bear the burden
of knowing that I bore the slur of killer
of another for him. His face was ashen
in the morning light as he and my family
went home on the day my life could have ended
instead I was free and so, to my great relief, was he.
**************
The Way We Are.
The way we are, the way we look,
the way we think, the way we dream,
the way we weep, the way we mourn,
the way we laugh, the way we scream,
this is the mystery we call life
but still we do not comprehend
what it is, why we're here,
where we're going, and is it real
or just a higher being's dream.
We wake each day with things to do,
we fill each day then go to sleep
and lose ourselves in darkness
for several hours to wake again
and repeat, repeat, repeat routines
that we could do now in our sleep,
and, every now and then, we stop
and fill the day with something new
to break the monotony of our lives
from driving us insane and making
it all seems pointless and inane.
But underneath it all, there lies
a deeper mystery of being
where we become more than the sum
of ourselves, where we fly on silvern wings,
soar the heavens in a space far wider
than the world we inhabit in the flesh
and rise above the mundane
to embrace the magnificent, the awesome,
the wondrous and the dreadful
and, in that world, we conquer fear,
become bold as knights of old,
rejoice like children faced with the new
and never grow older because always
young, ever learning, ever yearning
for completion one day, one way
or another, and always just out of reach
but holding out the promise
of becoming whole, eternal
and beloved by all.
************
The perfume of a name
Jonquil, jasmine, jacaranda,
sweet sounds of flowers
imparting perfume in the name,
wafting it on the air
to spread beauty and pleasure
from delicate to profuse.
A magical scent drifting
on the wind enhanced
at the end of the day
to fill gardens as dusk is falling.
And time to sit in the soft breath
of a breeze, in silent
contemplation of a sanctuary
designed by hands lovingly
nurturing flowers with perfumes
inhaled with delight
during the day, but especially
at night, and take joy
in a companion appreciating
the garden built with love,
a place of harmony within
where the heart and mind
finds peace and rest along the way.
**************
A Time to Play
Looking back is hard to do.
Times remembered hold
no great attraction now.
The present fills the world
with contentment such
that remembering dies.
Cares can come and go
passing through unhindered
to dissipate into thin air.
A time to play and laugh
at the absurdity of life
and observe it passing by.
************
The Sap of Life
When young we stoked the fires,
full of passion and burning desires.
We lay down in a field of corn
after which a son was born.
We coupled as the bells pealed,
this time a daughter it did yield.
Then we frolicked in the hay
declaring come what may
the fruit of our loins became three
with another son joining our family.
And as the years passed by
we threw caution to the wind to lie
with each other time and again,
until children came like rain
and our family grew in number.
And the wife grew rounder
every year until we looked around
and realized our offspring did abound.
Now fourteen graced our table
which really was quite ample.
I looked at her and she at me
and both of us had to agree
it was time to take precautions
as we looked at the meager rations
shared between us for the meal,
our poverty was hard to conceal.
So I took a trip to the clinic
and had the snip real quick
for nothing would keep me and her
from coupling in our lives together.
Now our kids have kids of their own
and we look on the fruit we have sown
with pleasure and with pride
for every single glorious ride
was a feather in our cap,
and, though it's slower to rise, the sap
is still there when I see my wife
wiggle her hips and I come to life
at the sound of her laughter
because she knows exactly what I'm after.
**************
The ‘could have been'
Rose Anne was her name
she had one thing on her mind, fame.
One day she met a talent scout
who said that he could help her out,
so she ran away at almost seventeen
unaware she was ‘a could have been'.
The talent scout turned out to be a cad,
in fact, he was downright bad.
He took the innocent Rose Anne
and, in the city, sold her to a man
who promised he would make her rich
by putting her in a popular pitch.
Poor Rose Anne soon understood
that the talent scout had been no good,
but, try as she might, she couldn't escape
from the man heavily into abuse and rape.
After walking the streets for year or so
she finally found away out of the ghetto.
With nothing to show of her wish for fame
and having now lost even her good name,
Rose Anne came home to a hearty welcome
and nothing was said of her search for stardom.
She took a job in a local store
and found happiness came with less not more.
A year later, she married the owner
who adored every bit about her,
and now they have house full of joy
with two lovely girls and a handsome boy,
but, Rose Anne, recalls, once in a while,
how easily she had fallen into a life so vile.
With words of wisdom she tells her girls
to beware of handsome men and churls
who could sweep them off their feet
but were really full of cruelty and deceit.
The girls nod and tell her not to worry
but she does because they're so very friendly.
The moral of this tale with a happy ending
is never trust a man who says he's sending
you to the stars for you're the best
without first making it a priority to test
he's not a bastard in disguise,
especially if you're not streetwise.
**************
A whisper in the dark
A whisper in the dark,
a murmur in the park,
a chat in a square
or seated on a chair
in a café drinking coffee
or a calming cup of tea.
A word of disillusionment,
voicing a predicament,
quietly aware of danger
or the glance of a stranger.
Discontent born of repression
and continuous suppression
of opinions and views
with frequent curfews.
In these whispered words,
there are hidden hazards
for no one can be sure
the listener is secure
and won't betray you,
because fearful of the few
bold enough to speak
of what they seek
And so it goes on everywhere
where revolution is in the air.
A desire for something better,
an end of an oppressor,
and the birth of something new
where everyone can have a view
without being beaten
or imprisoned for words spoken.
One day all may be free
but corruption and cruelty
will have to be overcome
before the desire for freedom
is achieved by countries
burdened with dignitaries
and leaders in love with power.
Currently, there seems no answer
to ousting those rulers
idolizing wealth on their altars,
sacrificing their people and lives
and holding countless human captives.
*************
The Fat of the Land
Sun, sand and sea makes me want to run
wild and free, but now I have to be pleased
with a slow stroll and a rest every now and then.
I see the young with bodies tanned and slim,
well, most, for there are quite a few who could sink
the Titanic if they hit it swimming in the sea.
I don't envy these young ones for they sadden me
because there are pretty faces swallowed now
in mounds of fat and well shaped bodies
wrapped in Michelin tyres, and I cannot see
why they keep on eating, which they do
for they are quaffing fish and chips, burgers,
ice creams, cakes or munching sweets galore.
What has become of our world when there
are so many young eating their way to early deaths,
who cannot run, or barely have any fun,
and who, if they lie in the sun, closely resemble
beached whales. It seems to be getting worse
not better too. Every visit to the city reveals
the mounds of flesh are expanding, the bottoms
definitely spreading and bellies flopping
and I sit there wondering when is it going to end?
Will they all explode one day collectively?
And who is going to warn us when this happens
because it will be deadly to be near when the fleshpots
of this world grow and grow then go off with
an almighty bang sending fatty tissue bursting
into the atmosphere, bringing an end to the age of fat
in one foul swoop. Looking around me with alarm,
I think it will happen soon.
*****************
For my dearest love
Light of step, my dearest came to me,
her heart afire with love for such as I.
I know not why I earned such a gift
but I stored it up with a miser's thrift
for it was more precious than the air I breathe
more wondrous than all I saw around me.
Her eyes sought mine and I fell into their depths
for in them I saw myself reflected
and held in such esteem I quaked with fear
lest I could not live up to this one so dear.
Her lips found mine in a kiss full of tenderness
as she embraced me with warmth and passion.
And so it has been this way for many a year,
and still I cannot believe she's mine
for she has made my world dance,
satisfied my heart without askance,
taken my body and made us one
and born our children, a daughter and a son.
Now I hold her hand once so warm now cold
for in the early hours of this sad morn
she had to leave this mortal coil and me
and my tears flow so much I cannot see
for I don't know how to live without her
for she has been my light, my love, my dream.
Farewell, my beloved wife, my lover, my guide,
farewell, the mother of my children, my healer
farewell to the one who has shared all with me
and asked so little in return except my love given thee,
I will follow when it is my time but until then
I will rejoice in the memory of you, my dearest love.
**************
The Foundling Child
I heard the sound of weeping
as I walked amongst the flowers
still adorned with early morning dew,
and before the sun had risen,
though its glow was clear just below
the horizon, and the dawn chorus
was music to my ears until I heard
the sound of woe and sought it out
with curiosity and not a little haste.
I seemed to walk for many minutes
before I saw her crouching in the grass,
now left to grow tall with wild flowers
blowing in the breeze casting red, blue,
yellow, white and purple hues through
the field where I found the source of tears.
A child, no more than six or seven,
with dark foreboding eyes and blackest
hair, dressed in rags and most unclean.
She cowered when she saw me,
but I called out soft words fearing
she would flee before I reached her.
I paused while we observed each other
silently now for her tears had stopped.
Then, with careful tread, I drew closer
and she stayed put, eyes pools of brown,
her skin swarthy implying gypsy blood.
She, full of doubt, me, full of concern,
we faced each other as the sun rose.
Both of us were bathed in its golden glow,
no words did the child and I exchange
but merely stood together and watched
the sun in majesty ascend to its throne
on that early morning when I took a walk
and found her in the field of wild flowers.
Uncertain what to do, I reached out
and offered her my hand. She took it
and together we returned to my home.
That was ten years ago. Now she is a woman,
graceful of body, beautiful of face,
and I love her as my own, my foundling child.
No one came to claim her, and, being all alone,
I took her in. Not one day of regret
did I have in all these years for she has
brought me happiness and joy,
and I have brought a smile to her face
and laughter to my house.
I bless the day I took that early morning
walk and heard the sound of weeping
and did not turn away, for, to this day,
I sense that she and I were meant
to meet upon that dew soaked morning
before the sun had risen and I had
not proceeded on my way.
*******
The Doll
Button nose and rosebud mouth,
eyes of blue and painted cheeks,
hair so fair once brushed with care,
now tangled and chopped, a dress
pressed and clean but now seems mean
for there's no one to love this doll.
A gift once wrapped in bright paper
and laid beneath the Christmas tree
for a beloved child, whose delight
at her discovery made the day
wondrous in every way, but she
has grown now and gone from home.
And so the doll lies untouched,
forgotten, reaching out her rigid arms,
and, finding no response, remains
a mute reminder of times past,
which everybody knew could not last,
but hoped that they would not go
by quite so fast.
Time to return this doll to her resting place,
tucked into the shadows of a closet
amongst the other remnants
of a daughter's presence and wipe
the tear away. They're all still here
should she want them for her young
when they're old enough to play
with such as they.
**********
And down comes the rain
Pit Pat Pit Pat
Pitter Patter Pitter Patter
Chit Chat Chit Chat
Chitter Chatter Chitter Chatter
then the sound like pebbles
on a window pane
and down comes the pouring rain.
Not a sound I like to hear.
The source of disappointment,
a plan deferred or cancelled
then a period of imprisonment
while the heavens poured out their bounty
ill timed and unwanted invariably,
because we could not go out to play,
sometimes for an hour and sometimes all day.
Nobody minds the rain at night
but, during the day, it's just not right.
So, now, when I hear the first pit pat pit pat
I give a groan because I know
I'm not going to be able to do that
which I had planned
and now reluctantly canned.
Today, the sun is shining
and that's the way it should be
in the Summer down by the sea.
************
Dreams of better things to come.
Going back in time to a day when songs filled the air
and drifted in the sunlit gardens as we smoked
dope to the sounds of head music, and the children
ran around through the trees and shrubs and the dog
lazed on the grass by our sides.
A time when life seemed able to be changed, a dream
of better things to come, a world free of fear, lived
in harmony with Gaia and money was just something
to get you through the day, and there would be
no more war. Oh, dashed hopes were lying beneath
the surface of an idyllic scene as we lay on the grass
our heads flying on the sounds of music drifting
in the sunlit gardens.
Now, we've exchanged that dream for the god
of money and war and our young lie dying or dead
in far off places blown to bits because the dream
went sour, and the nukes still are here, and beating
our weapons into ploughshares was thrown out
of the window alongside sharing the resources
of the earth. What has come to birth is a long, long
way from the dreams we had when songs filled the air
and drifted in the sunlit gardens as we smoked dope
and believed that things could really change.
Still believe it can but the faces behind the scenes
must all die off first and then we can build a world
fit for humans and our children, so some of us
still dream of better things to come one day.
***************
The Mind
A rhyme, a rhythm, a verse,
a poem, a tune, a piece of prose,
as the mind expands and grows
so creativity becomes ever more diverse.
A painting, a film, a sculpture,
an oil, an adventure, an abstract,
as the mind seeks to extract
the essence of life in a structure.
From caves concealed from sight
to tapestries woven in silken thread.
From pottery created by the unread
to porcelain so fine it let in the light.
Inquisitive, endlessly creative,
the mind climbs to the heights
through agony and ecstatic delights
to reach the real it believes held captive.
From the darkest corners of terror
to transcendent thoughts and dreams,
the mind carries its hopes and schemes,
some are right, some a terrible error.
But when the mind stops seeking,
stops creating, stops imagining
so will it die, bringing an ending
to the finest asset of life existing.
*************
A Thin Skin
Sensitivity is a curse.
It makes life feel much worse
than it really is.
So what if you get rejected,
pushed aside or neglected,
shit happens.
How to develop a thick skin
when mine is painfully thin
has always escaped me.
I tell myself it doesn't matter
but still feel frustrated anger,
that's such a waste of time.
I'm going to change.
I won't let slights rearrange
my head anymore.
From now on I'll just shrug
and give myself a hug,
and be happy that I'm me.
*************
Hidden Worlds
A dreamlike state where shadows play,
whispered thoughts indecipherable
waft through the networks of the mind.
Rainbow colours drift in convoluted patterns
weaving fractals into webs of life
and time flows unnaturally slow
in a dreamlike state where shadows play.
Another state of being temporarily
there where the eye is deceived
and the mind altered to taste sound,
feel textures, stroke colours and see
worlds within worlds, where the earth
reveals secrets not witnessed before
in another state of being temporarily.
Not for the faint hearted this world
where long held perceptions melt
and doors open wide to show
that life is a myriad of surprises
with depths as yet unplumbed,
concealed behind a façade of normality
and not for the faint hearted this world.
Astonishing in their complexity,
their vibrancy and construction
hidden worlds within minds
distracted constantly from seeing,
hearing, tasting, touching what is there
behind the eyes where light and shadow
become astonishing in their complexity.
************
An Unbidden Memory
A memory stirs unwanted.
An old wound opens to taste the air,
unbidden it rises up rancorous,
full of desire to be born again.
No clue why it was roused
but it's here now expectant
in its presence, inviting
a tearing down of the shield
placed there to stop its ascent
into the mind where it can sow
its poison and bitter acrimony
for a wrong done, perceived
or too real to deny and easily
recalled because emotionally
charged still. How a memory
returns to haunt is a mystery,
for when it comes it was not
called upon, nor was it there
a moment before. The flotsam
and jetsam of the unconscious
refusing to die, to be vanquished,
seemingly forever existing
in the dark corners of the mind.
The only solution is to ignore
it, to send it back from whence
it came, to cauterize the wound
with rejection before it festers
and bleeds into the conscious
mind again. With all speed
close it off, and, over time,
perhaps, starved of sustenance,
it will lay down and die
for good one day, or at least
remain forever anchored
in some part of the mind
where its poison is drained
and nothing will be left behind.
***********
A good day
A day when the sun shone,
a breeze blew and the sky
was feathered with clouds
on azure blue. A time to walk
amongst the trees and flowers,
to espy bees and ladybirds
gulls, ravens, lapwings
and pigeons, to name but a few
of the wild life basking
or busy on the green lawns
and riverside. A tranquil time,
no need to hurry, a stroll
around the shops and back
to our favourite café for lunch.
Then time to catch the bus
back home to relax and catch
our breath after a lovely way
to spend a goodly part of the day.
***********
A Minor Hiccup
Just a small hiccup in the plan.
I know I said the world would end
today at six o'clock , but it seems
my prediction again is down the pan.
I've worked out the dates with care.
Twice now I've declared the end
and it seems I've got it wrong again.
It really doesn't seem very fair.
Why put a code within the Bible
if all our studying come to nought?
I was so looking forward to the Rapture,
now people will say I'm really unreliable.
Nothing else to do right now but lay low.
There are a lot of people poorer now.
I think I'd better find a place to hide,
somebody is threatening me so must go.
************
The Electronic Age
The electronic age is here,
computers, mobile phones,
printers, IPods, scanners,
to name just a few, fill our world
with gadgets galore, almost
against the law now not to own
one or more, and all is well
while they're working
but bloody hell when they glitch
or break, and all information
contained in some can be a bitch
to find again, if ever, because vanishing
into the ether is a trick data can do
and leave you climbing up the wall
as you try to put your world to rights
that, suddenly, came unstuck,
and there's really nobody to call
unless you've money to burn,
because the charge per hour
could take you on a short holiday,
and, if a real problem, on a cruise
with sufficient booze to drown
your sorrows, or raise your mood
from blue to rosy pink as you down
one more for the road or sea,
and never ever want to see another
gadget again, but know you will
because most of us can't live without
them anymore, buggeration to them all
but when they work, I actually do
really like some. I blame the programmers
for all the glitches as they insist
on improvements when none were needed.
We really should tell them all to stay away
from what is working and let us enjoy
our gadgets that we know, and sometimes
love. Please find something else
to bugger up and leave us to relish
those happy moments that we cherish
when all our gadgets work just fine.
************
An ancient tree
Roots twisted, searching, rotating,
thick, fibrous and ancient
spread beneath a tree
standing now for five thousand years
or more. The striving for nourishment
for water, for any sign of encouragement
to survive as it stretches up branches
bent and blown by the winds of time,
with tough leathery leaves sucking
moisture from the air, clinging
tenaciously to its parent like a child
on its mother's nipple, seeking
sustenance in the short months
of growth when the life can still
exist in the leathery leaves
of this ancient, world weary tree.
And it has seen so much travail
in its long tough struggle to survive.
Beaten down on occasions to barely alive
but Nature rescued it with rain again
and again until now it stands majestic
in its age, in its determination
not to be blown over by cruel winds,
dessicated by drought, burned
by fire or frozen with the cold.
Now, it is acknowledged as so old
it is worthy of honour, protected
and kept secure lest humans
care not for its ancient limbs and cut
it down for wood for their fires.
Its roots spread far and wide
beneath the surface of the land
keeping it alive in its yearning to be
as Nature embraces her ancient tree.
***************
In the silent woodland
In the silent woodland depths
where trees can fall and nothing stirs,
where ivy climbs from ground to sky
weaving round trunks gnarled with age
that seldom see a human soul pass by.
In these dark depths life abounds.
In leaf laden ground insects scuttle,
woodland creatures make their home.
In Spring, wild anemones prosper
And fungi grow each with crowned dome.
A place where humans fear to tread.
Where gnome and fairy dwell
in solitude, and the unicorn calls
unheard and, occasionally, trolls
lumber through as the night falls.
A solitary path winds its way nowhere.
For any unwary traveller, a trap,
for the occupants, a route through
the tangled web of trees and roots
to abodes concealed within the woodland hue.
Dark and drear it appears to be
but so deceptive for there in its midst
birds sing, bluebells ring, rabbits run,
and every season brings a new display
lit by the rays of a jubilant sun.
In the silent woodland depths
where trees can fall and nothing stirs,
where ivy climbs from ground to sky
weaving round trunks gnarled with age
that seldom see a human soul pass by.
****************
The Bathing Bird
Water dancing in the sun light.
A tiny cascade over ornamental
rocks revealed a beautiful sight,
the sound so delicate and gentle.
A bird bathing beneath its flow.
Spreading wide each feather,
putting on a wondrous show
to cool down in the warm weather.
A peaceful scene of pleasure,
each cascade shaded by a tree,
all to be viewed at leisure
and flowers to add sweet serenity.
A precious moment to treasure
when everything was right,
the water, the bird and the weather,
found a unity to our great delight.
****************
The Merry go Round
The lives of some creatures
seem short and unduly harsh
but for others their lives
seem long and relatively soft.
With the former, life is brief
but maybe lived to the full,
while the latter, the length
could mean there's time
for a gradual unwinding
and a slower process of learning.
But all are subject to the whims
of Nature who can eliminate
or save, protect or neglect,
making life a lottery for all
with some living and some dying.
A strange and wondrous world
where nothing is really as it appears.
Where we can be disappear
without warning or hang around
waiting for life to end and death
to release us from this merry go round.
Whichever way a creature lives,
the reality of existing at all
should make it a celebration
for all, because whether chance
or good fortune, predestination
or pre-determination, life
is a gift, a boon, a weird
and wonderful adventure.
So, whether short or long,
slow or fast, harsh or soft,
Nature designs us all to survive
come what may, even if we live
for decades or for only a single day.
***************
A place to call your own
A quiet Sunday evening, still embraced
in the light of the day, a soft sunlight
now with feather clouds painted
on a clear blue sky. Two people
stand talking by their front door
while a silver car glides silently
down the road heading for the gates
and off somewhere.
Gulls ride the thermals and there's
an air of tranquillity here and peace.
A place where children play
in their gardens, or on hot Summer days,
out in the road kicking their ball
back and forth not disturbing anybody.
A cat strolls lazily along seeking
shelter and finds a space in the fence,
sliding through with ease to vanish
from sight out on its nightly walks.
There is no noise here as a rule,
just the occasional sound of dustbins
being emptied or an engine purring
and, very occasionally, a cat sets off
a car alarm, which quickly gets turned
off again and peace is restored once more.
The gardens are neat and green
with a variety of plants, shrubs and trees.
The grass is kept mowed and flowers
adorn tubs outside doors and in rockeries
to add splashes of colour and scent
for all to enjoy. Here is a place we call
our own for now, our home where
we spend our days, where routine keeps
the jobs done, and where play
is the order of the day in the main.
A good place to be for him and me
and here we intend to stay,
for a good while anyway.
*************
A pendulum Swing
A glass half empty or one half full,
a pendulum swing between the two
has me either content or blue.
Never can find out why the glass
will suddenly seem empty
when little has changed in reality.
But it does swing back and forth
altering my mood from self-pity
to happiness in a single stroke
when my world can go from broke
to appearing very in tact and whole.
It might be nurture, or my nature
or both, but, by nature, I was always
naturally buoyant like a rubber ball
bouncing back when life's hard knocks
brought my world crashing on rocks
that would have wiped out most.
But I could pick myself up,
dust myself down, and start all over
again. So, nurture was probably
to blame, a combination of gloom
and doom and sin and not being
perfect, half emptied my glass
to make my existence seem crass.
Fortunately, in my later years,
the glass has begun to be half full
far more frequently than empty,
so I'm grateful that my nurture
has been overcome by my nature,
and I can sit back now and enjoy
a time of contentment and peace.
Might have been a long time coming
but as it has finally awakened,
I don't intend to waste a second.
************
Madness and Myths
Myths can lead you astray
like finding five thousand
year old honey, still edible
it was believed. Stories
of old embroidered, rewritten
and emended fill our heads
with half truths or lies,
or misinformation spread
about to build up a legend
and coat a character with
an aura for our edification
that was not merited or earned,
but which sustained a hero
or heroine down through
the ages until they become
mythical in their dimensions.
The reality being they rarely
existed at all, or were ordinary
so had to be blown up to be
noble, brave, or plain foolhardy.
But whatever the truth,
it has been lost in the annals
of time. Now all we have left
are stories, so often taken as real,
which is tantamount to being
insane. For belief in a myth
leads minds astray and away
from the real into fantasy land,
and that's where so many
dwell today. As they have
in the past, so they will
in the future for the real
is too painful to bear, so escape
is the only solution but deadly
for sanity and reason, leading
to the depressing conclusion
that the majority of humans
prefer untruths or lies
to the real, glad that insanity
remains firmly in place
and will defend their beliefs
to the end, even if it means
the end of the human race.
***********
Albion is my land
Albion is my land, my heart's delight
green and lush with hills and dales,
flowing fields and lakes and moors.
Born in my blood, this place on earth
I call my home, deep rooted in its soil
my spirit dwells in its ancient past
to its present day. It embraces me
and reminds me that, in all its history,
it has protected my ancestors
through wars, plagues and famines
leading them back again to prosperity
so that I might come to be today.
A land where time has not
stood still but plunged right on
to grasp the new with both trepidation
and exuberance combined, until now
when it staggers beneath a weight
undue, but will survive come rain
or shine as it always has and will do
so again. And Albion will always
be my land, my heart's delight
a land now shared with the many
and the few, which, in time, will
be built anew and see the day
when all within its warm embrace
will cherish it as their home and land
and ensure that no harm will come its way.
For Albion 's heart is broad and strong,
beating with the blood of peoples
indigenous and conquerors, but knit
together now as one, and so, as it
has always been, in time, the land
of kings and queens, lords and ladies,
squires and serfs, freemen and women,
the immigrant of every race on earth,
a rich and sumptuous broth to nurture
with care lest it turn sour with wrath,
for, if for no other reason, Albion
has earned its people's deep respect
for it has served us well throughout
the ages, and will forever be
my heart's delight in every aspect
of its long sojourn through time
and space, it is home for all who
dwell therein on this beloved island
protected by Neptune 's home, the sea.
*************