Friday 28 February 2014

DON´T GIVE ME NO CITY:


Don´t give me no city, where suited men bleat,

Don´t give me hard sidewalks, cruel to my feet,

Only floral-clad fields, where the clover is sweet.

 

Don´t give me traffic fumes & noise of town blare,

Don´t give me the hoards, with look of vacant stare,

Only the places, where folk are gentle & so very fair.

 

Don´t give me bright lights, where neon blinks & spits,

Don´t give me haunts of garbage, where birds daily shit,

Only blue & murk free skies, where ebon starlings gaily flit.

 

Don´t give me places, where money´s spent & zilch is lent,

Don´t give me hardened places, where angers go to vent,

Only where words are of love & are really, truly meant.

 

THE ECHOINGS OF CHILDREN:


Walking through the corridors of time, the echoes I hear,

Those echoings of children now gone & are no longer here,

The pitter-patter of tiny feet, once padding my heart´s floor,

The little squeals of delight, that sadly, are not here anymore.

 

The echoings of children, in their playground´s happy playing,

Sleepy night-time stories & their “God bless Mummy”, praying,

Errant kites, high flapping, upon those childhood giggling skies,

Released & lost up to the heavens, upon the teasing breezy sighs.

 

Peek-a-boo, Ring-a-o`roses, all those sweet voiced nursery rhymes,

The classroom chants & games, innocent echoings of past times,

Rumblings, tumblings, scrapings, of all those tiny tear-jerked knees,

Soft murmurs of midnight dreamings & the escaping little sneeze.

 

Oh for the echoings of children, those small passing, flighty beings,

Their voices in old walls, sadly, outlive their swift-gone seeings,

Memory of chatty sticky hands & on small nape, sweaty little curl,

Words echoing of, “I love you lots, you´re my best Mum in the world”.

 

Thursday 27 February 2014

CLEANSING:


I peer into the mirror & what do I see?

A woman made up, but is it really me?

I unclip my hair, I comb, long silver-grey,

Now for my face, to cleanse makeup away.

 

Foundation smoothed softly, all over my face,

Covering defects & wrinkles in magnolia base,

Cheeks brushed softly, in faded petals of rose,

 A soft sprinkling of powder, upon shiny nose.

 

Eyes coloured, lids garbed, in liner & black kohl,

Mascara on lashes, to complete the look whole,

Brows neatly arched & marked for elegant face,

Highlighted bones, leaving just the right space.

 

Bright lips smiling, in cherry red & softly kissed,

Recalling lovers long gone & now sadly missed,

Outlined, penciled & then patted matte smooth,

With hanky perfumed & of lace, soft to soothe.

 

With cleanser upon my face, a white creamy veil,

With cotton pad I wipe, leaving cheeks milky pale,

My face, with the woman I know, slowly disappears,

Revealing the real me, alone with all my worldly fears.

 

Brows gone, eyes drooping & every wrinkle be seen,

Every line, groove & rut, life has sure been mean,

Lip thin & mouth turned down, nothing else to say,

Left wondering why, that young girl had to go away.

 

Wednesday 26 February 2014

YOU´RE NOW MY PAST:


Dear Mamma & Papa, this letter´s for the two of you,

It´s a mere missive of appreciation, well now overdue,

I just wanted to thank you, for all you´ve done for me,

For all the times you were my eyes, when I refused to see,

Thank you for spurring me on, when I said I ´d had enough,

 For when you held my hand, when the road got really rough,

For teaching me the right from wrong & always for the best,

And for how to take the best from life & how to leave the rest.

 

I have stumbled, I´ve risen & now walked into my future life,

With all life has to offer, the good, the bad & often the strife,

And I have left you both behind, in my memory´s adult mist,

But please never doubt, that you are dearly & daily missed,

I thank you both, for the child I was & the adult I now am,

With you in my past, I´ll be fine, whatever life has planned,

I´ll take you with me, in who I am & the deeds that I will do,

And for it all, I thank you both, as it has all been due to you.

THAT LEAVING PLACE:


Leaving, always leaving behind that place of the leaving,

That place, where cord left behind the womb, hot heaving,

That place, cheek of the child, where mother´s kiss was left,

That place, eye of bereaved, from where tear was sadly wept.

 

Leaving those places behind, only joyful in the due returning,

That place of the adieu of lovers, with their hearts so churning,

That place, of sad farewell salute, where the soldier turns away,

That place, where children leave, where they once used to play.

 

Leaving that old familiar face, of that loved one no longer loved,

That place in society, from where the poor are unfairly shoved,

That place of longing, where through our past, we all once trod,

That place, where we all leave our footprints in the sand & sod.

 

Leaving, feather from bird, petal from bloom & the falling leaf,

The bullet leaves the gun, as does the dagger from the sheath,

The tide leaves the shore; the sun & moon leave behind the sky,

That place we always were, to where we came & now say goodbye.

 

Tuesday 25 February 2014

ORACLES, RUNES AND ANCIENT MOONS:


I am seeking the truth & the reasons for me,

Purpose of my life, of all I cannot & all I can see,

I am trudging always, from pillar to post & back,

Garbed forever in doubt, in sin´s ashes & old sack.

 

I walk through mosque, temple & church with steeple,

I go talking to the Gurus, Masters & all kinds of people,

I ask also of the Imam, the Seer & the self confessed Sage,

And I even talk to the Priest, in his dark confessional cage.

 

I seek through the oracles & the old tossed wooden runes,

And in the throwing of dried bones, under African moons,

The dark Spanish gypsies have told me, it´s not to be found,

Not within the blood of the ox, nor in the baying of hounds.

 

It´s not in the potion of witches, not in their wands or herbs,

It´s not in astrologer’s stars, nor within the flying of birds,

Not even in the asking of cards, does the tarot truth tell,

Not in the existence of Heaven, nor the burning fires of hell.

 

I trudge into the forest where the Druid keeps his oak Grove,

Where he chanted in shadows of dappled gold & old mauve,

He looked deep in my eyes, saying, “If you´re seeking your whole,

It´s only by looking inward, that you´ll find your heart & your soul”.

 

OF ONIONS AND ICICLES:


It´s now the end of winter´s cruel nip, as icicles begin to slowly drip,

Down the fascias of frowning eaves, off branches yet bare of leaves,

The last of onion´s pungent stew, soon, salad leaves kissed with dew,

The cauldron stirred with steam arising, ladle uneasy in its surmising,

Due, bounties of springtime fruits & exchange our boots for lighter suits,

Now under foot there´ll be no frost, merely stones with moss embossed,

End of chilblains & sore red bunions, we´ll sup on chives instead of onions,

No more scarves, gloves & socks, just silly-strapped sandals & floral frocks,

Days are numbered for drippy noses, we´ll now be sniffing fragrant posies,

We shall open windows & fusty doors & let the sunbeams grace our floors,

As spring her magic paint brush weaves, trees begin to flaunt green sleeves,

Tiny buds now stretch from beds, soon to breathe, nodding winsome heads,

It´s the time for salads, jaunts & bicycles, no more onion stews & icy icicles,

Farewell dear winter & hail to thee, it´s now time for us to run warm & free.

 

Monday 24 February 2014

HATS AND HALOS:


With cowl wrapped head, she arrived at birth,

Bequeathed with wisdom & welcomed to earth,

With font-blessed droplets, her name bestowed,

On tiny head, bonnets with love, stitched & sewed.

 

Upon childhood ringlets, plumes & dress-up crowns,

Daisy-chained coronets, chased away teenage frowns,

Her dancing prom, in tiara of crystals, clipped in place,

On arm of her father, upon head, in wedding veil of lace.

 

Years passed, with her head in scarves & hats adorned,

Clasps, ribbons, bows, feathers & all but Satan horned,

In illness, turbans, titfers & hats, in all forms & shapes,

For every occasion, bad hair days & getting out of scrapes.

 

Day arrived, when her head turned, to snowy-silver-white,

Back bent & mantled in widow´s weeds, black & very tight,

She knew that her time had come & that she´d have to go,

In the mirror of time, above her head, she saw golden halo.

SWAN SONG:


Is it she, or is it me, the lonely swan, or illusive girl?

The soul who glides unseen, down where mists do swirl,

Where the dawn-clad river sidles sly & softly whispers,

Where old willows weep & dappled sunbeam glisters.

 

Are they hers, or mine, those teardrops upon old stones?

Dewdrops weeping, for passing of winter´s solitary bones,

Under moss-kissed arches, beneath the milk-garbed moons,

Where ancient Druids see my fate, cast within old Runes.

 

The swan glides down, to where silent river darkly seeps,

Where, over bridges, furtively, eternal ivy softly creeps,

Is it my voice, or sad song of the swan, I hear now crying?

It must be her, for she only sings, when slowly she is dying.

 

Sunday 23 February 2014

HEART AND SOUL:


I will not ever go where the sad dog bays,

I cannot face the place with no sun´s rays,

I will not go where the beaten child plays,

These things hurt for the rest of my days.

 

I cannot go where poor donkey is whipped,

I cannot face the fact that man has slipped,

Nor those, whom life from bottle is sipped,

These things, leave heart & soul sad stripped.

 

I will not look into the beggar´s bowl & eyes,

Nor dry the tears of child, asking his “why´s”,

This does not make me humane, nor wise,

For these things, it´s merely myself I despise.

 

Before God, now upon my old bended knee,

Asking Him desperately with an earnest plea,

“Lord, help me to change all these things I see,

So that I may become, in life, a much better me”.

 

GLARE:


Take me to where no harsh light glares,

Where there´s shade & sun doesn’t bleach,

Take me to where no one openly stares,

Where tender eyes never connive & leech,

Take me to where no loud music blares,

Where melodies are soft & to soul can reach,

Take me to places where there´s justice fair,

Where prisoner´s heard with no need to screech,

Take me to where raiment´s whole & never tears,

Where the cloth is soft as sand upon silken beach,

Take me away to Heaven & to God´s sweet lair,

Where I want to go & where I, to my Lord beseech.

 

THAT NIGHT:


I remember that night we met & you kissed my hand,

When we walked on warm beach, upon moonlit sand,

When you touched my cheek, beneath the falling rain,

That night, you whispered words & removed my pain.

 

I remember that night; we waltzed on the day we wed,

When you gave me sweet love, upon our marital bed,

When we strolled in Paris, beneath boulevard moon,

That night, you serenaded me, your unforgettable tune.

 

I remember that night, when our new baby was born,

When you talked me through pain until birth of dawn,

When you told me you loved me & stroked my brow,

That night, long-time ago, but it is as if it were now.

 

I remember that night you left, no choice of your own,

When I had to let you go & then stay here all alone,

When I held your hand & said, “You know I love you”,

That night, I thanked you & away to heaven you flew.

 

Saturday 22 February 2014

PERFUMED PATHS:


I stepped out this dawn, expecting to be slapped in the face by frost´s cheeky fingers, to be berated & blinded by wind´s cruel blasphemy, to be prodded & sodded by winter´s last stubborn slush. But as I tentatively put one foot in front of the other, I felt it, a nuance, a shifting, the wet blanket of winter had been lifted. During the night, God had uncorked & opened spring´s perfume urn.

Seeds were splitting, pods cracking, buds unfurling, blooms uncurling, trees were shimmying in their new pretty dresses, saplings stretching their young armed branches. There were diamond dewdrops instead of rain´s teardrops, sprinkled upon hedgerows & golden smiles were bestowed upon pathways by the benign sunshine.

I wended my way down pathways of perfume, scents tickling my senses. Olive groves & fruit orchards scenting the air, orange blossom, Spanish azahar & lime kissed breath, burnished kumquats, golden quinces, tamarinds & almond blossoms garbed in pink & white filigree, all feeding my soul. Jasmine & lady of the night, Spanish the dama de noche, wafting around me, new roses gently calling my name. The ancient & wise old olive & carob trees exuding their scented oils, of earth & deep chocolate, whetting passing appetites, yet un-sated.

I walk over the hill, escorted by the fragrances of wild herbs, lilac lavender, laurel, thyme, sage, rosemary & more, all caressing my passing bare legs. The blackbirds garbed in ebon plumes & lemony nebs, heralding the arrival of spring, love & new life. The sky above, a cobalt canvas, spattered with golondrinas, those little Spanish swallows, dipping & darting. The cacophony of these tiny winged choristers, echo in the balmy breezes that mantle my soul. I espy a shy rabbit peeping, a cavorting squirrel in an overhead pine tree. I pass a moss-kissed & giggling stream, where I see a scarlet dragonfly dipping & sipping & the little green frogs sitting upon wet rocks laughing & mocking my clumsy humanness.

I walk under a canopy of trees where the dappled sunshine gaily plays with the cool mauve shadows. A pine cone falling with a thud, a nut rolls, a feather glides, a petal floats. Out of the emerald copse, over the butter-cupped hill & I arrive at the seashore. A cyan blue sea sighing gently, as it is tickled by an impish breeze, which produces upon it´s voluptuous body, shivers of white foam, those magnificent white steeds upon its crest, hailing in new tides & paying homage to the mother moon. The orgasmic perfume now morphing into the pungent & brinily ozonic & heady scent, which sends me into the spinning vortex of seasonal change.

A turquoise butterfly alights upon my waiting hand & I am truly blessed. I dance, I run, I spin, I sing & deeply I breathe. God has uncorked the perfume urn of spring & now there is no turning back.

 

Friday 21 February 2014

GIVE AND TAKE:


It was a love she loved, but he only abused,

She gave all she had, while he merely used,

She gave him babes, while he gave her slaps,

She called them games, but he set the traps,

She filled his plate, but he just spat, not ate,

She warmed his bed, he would just berate,

She tried so hard, but he just gave her hell,

She asked him why? - But he said all was well,

She asked Ma, who said,” It´s the bed you make,

Marriage my child, is just a game of give & take”.

 

I HAVE NO RIGHT:


I have no right whatever, to call you mine,

You´re only here on earth, by right divine,

I´m merely here, so as to walk by your side,

But at the end of the journey, we shall divide.

 

I have no right whatever, to call you my man,

In this life, I´ve pledged just to hold your hand,

I´ve promised to love you & to keep your hearth,

So take my hand & heart, let us walk life´s path.

 

I have no right whatever, to own you, dear son,

Only to protect & guide you, through rain & sun,

Merely to love & cosset you, until you are grown,

Then, the strings I must cut, to leave you alone.

 

I have no right to ownership, only life´s kind rental,

And I´ve tried to do it with love & be ever so gentle,

Now they´ve all gone away & to God, now I shout,

“Please tell me dear Lord, what was that all about?”

 

 

Thursday 20 February 2014

HE NEVER KNEW:


HE-

For a small pittance he worked & daily he toiled,

Returning home at dusk, dust-clad, wearily soiled,

The love for his wife & children, was always eager,

Despite poverty & his pay packet, always so meager.

 

SHE-

Daily she awaited him, with open arms & heated hearth,

As he nightly trudged to his home, along his daily path,

Waiting for him, a hot meal, a ready touch & a gentle kiss,

She ensured that at home, he felt there was nothing amiss.

 

HE-

He never ever knew of her sacrifices, with love & daily made,

He never even knew, that she was ever & often so very afraid,

He was only so proud of the home; she so very lovingly kept,

He only knew he loved her, but not, that alone she quietly wept.

 

SHE-

She was the one, who drank, from the old floral cracked cup,

Who ate from broken plate, with hidden chip the other way up,

She´d top & tail frayed sheets, she would, sew & secretly darn,

She thought, what he didn’t know, would never do him any harm.

 

HE-

He never saw the newspaper, which was stuffed within her shoes,

Leaving her poor old feet, through the holes, so icy cold & bruised,

He never saw the hole in her coat, the one that had never been new,

It was loving him as much as she did, the reason that he never knew.

 

THEY-

He left this earth, his wife & hearth, on one very cold winter´s dawn,

Life taking its cruel toll & left her a widow, to sadly & quietly mourn,

And then while watching his ashes, as away on the winds they blew,

She thanked God above, for all that on earth, he never really knew.

 

THE CALL OF THE LONELY SOUNDS:


I hear your voice in the lonely sounds,

In baying of the old abandoned hounds,

In mists from where the turtle doves coo,

In sounds of one, where there should be two.

 

I hear loneliness in the wind & sighing breeze,

Within the whispering secrets of wise old trees,

In the silent teardrops of the soft morning dew,

It is within these sounds, I hear the call of you.

 

I hear it all, within the sea´s waves glistening,

Within the silence of my being, quietly listening,

In the howl of lone wolf, at the midnight moon,

It´s in the call of the lonely sounds, that I hear you.

Tuesday 18 February 2014

LET ME MEND YOUR WINGS:



Come to me my little one; let me mend your tiny wings,
Let me remove those hot barbs, left by life´s cruel stings,
Let me dry your tears that run down your sweet cheek,
Come to me my little one; you´ll never again be weak.

Come to me my little one; let me mend your tiny wings,
So that you may go to places, where the blackbird sings,
Let me touch the sore place, where your small soul aches,
Come to me my little one; let me still your heart that breaks.

Come to me my little one; let me mend your tiny wings,
I´ll show you Heaven´s door, where Angel´s voice now sings,
Let me hold you close to me, I´ll enfold you within my arms,
Come to me my little one, you´ll never ever come to harm.

THOUGHTS OF YOU:



My old thoughts of you merely go tumbling down,
By-passing the regrets, teardrops & saddened frown,
As cascading pebbles, tumbling down mountains & hills,
As icy raindrops, dripping down window´s old panes & sills.

My thoughts of you, splash into the waterfall´s cold pool,
All taunting, mocking & calling me the deaf & blinded fool,
Memories crashing like waves, upon brine-hardened rock,
Oh how harshly, my love for you, you cruelly crack & mock.

My thoughts of you drift away, upon thoughtless breeze,
Just as old dead leaves from Autumn´s unforgiving trees,
To the places where kisses, like scree, turn to cold stones,
Where our love, dead & buried, turns to bleached bones.