LET ME BE YOUR EVERYTHING:

Please rhyme me & let me be your poem,

Enfold me in your arms; let them be my home,

Please write me & let me be your life´s tale,

Let me be your everything & love me without fail.

 

Please sing me & let me be your sweet song,

Lyric me in your smile & let our love live long,

Please strum me & let my heart-strings sing,

Let me be your everything & fly upon love´s free wings.

 

Please paint me & sculpt me & let me be your art,

Matters not, in paint or clay, but to last & never part,

Please let me be your sight, your hearing, your breath,

Let me be your everything & I´ll be yours until my death.

 

 

TWINS CONVERSING:

Remember when we were still in mum´s womb?

We heard her wondering, “Will it be May or June?”

When we tickled her tummy with a squirm & wiggle,

We felt her hand touch us & then her nervous giggle.

 

I was the first born, arriving on the last minute of May,

You embraced first minute of June & we decided to stay,

Hence our names by mama given, of May & June Rose,

The fun began, as twins, with no plan for rest or repose.

 

Oh delicious confusion we caused of, “Is it me or you?”

I stole juicy apples one morn, still slicked with early dew,

Farmer Brown chased, shouting, “I´ll get you miss June”,

Not knowing, it was miss May, who ran away far too soon.

 

Only you would do homework, being always the clever one,

And I´d copy it down, but only after playing out in the sun,

At school, all our tests & exams took us only half the time,

Couldn’t tell us apart, “Who was naughty & which one shined?”

 

When it came to boys, oh, we would lead them a merry dance,

What fun, watching them, as in confused circles they´d prance,

Thinking that they were dating you, when it was really just me,

Or dating me, thinking that I was you & oh what fabulous glee.

 

Then came the weddings, when we were those blushing brides,

And each one of us a bridesmaid, always at each other’s sides.

Our babies arrived together & played as if they were brothers,

And like us, their mummies, were always there for each other.

 

I´m now an old woman & you, long time to heaven have gone,

But I feel you upon the breezes & I hear you within the songs,

My end too draws near now, upon this old & well lived earth,

I know you await to hold my hand, just like you did at our birth.

PRAYERS ARE HEARD:

Prayers are heard,

Through  mountains, forests, dales & fern clad hills,

From rural towns, cities, thatched huts & window sills,

Echoing over freezing ice-caps & hot dusty desert dunes,

From high on steeples, upon breath of hymn sung tunes,

Hush, heed the prayers.

 

Prayers are heard,

Within the fingers of the black- bent nun´s rosary beading,

On tongues of the sick & dying & soldier upon knees, pleading,

Upon the breath of the child, the mother & the father, crying,

In chanting of monks & Druids, carried aloft, on breezes, sighing,

Hush, heed the prayers.

 

Prayers are heard,

From Muslims in mosques & Buddhists, in temples of rosy gold,

From churches, synagogues & cathedrals, Gothic & so very old,

From Bushmen´s circle of stones, praying for their errant rain,

From the lonely, the abandoned & those suffering in abject pain,

Hush, heed the prayers.

 

Prayers are heard,

In solitude, whispered alone, or in big, congregated crowds,

In the silent dead of the night, or shouted, way out & aloud,

In the begging, in pleading & the thanking, in eternal gratitude,

In the hearts in the pious & humble, meekly & in quiet beatitude,

Hush, heed the prayers.

 

Prayers are heard,

In hearts & souls of all people & too, within souls of all beasts,

In begging bowls of the hungry & those at home with their feasts,

Within the breeze-kissed trees & within waves of the ocean´s tides,

In the depth of every living soul, the prayer is always heard inside,

Hush, heed the prayers.

 

 

 

THE DEWDROP:

As old night kisses new dawn, in its gentle farewell,

And the golden light, weaves it´s rosy & magical spell,

When old stars blink “goodbye” & the lark sings “hello”,

And breezes walk gently, upon their slippered tippy-toe,

When the world´s but a whisper & the earth softly sighs,

She can be seen curled gently, upon leaf where she lies,

Tiny as crystal, a bead pristine, pure & diamonded clear,

Held closely, to bosom of flora, who so embraces her dear,

Clinging to life with tenacity, till the sun beckons her home,

Little teardrops of leaf & petal, back to heaven must roam,

And her knowing, upon the morrow & with nothing to stop,

She´ll return, upon every flower & leaf, that tiny dewdrop.

 

 

RENEWAL:

The sad me, I shall leave far behind,

The selfish ego, I shall now turn to kind,

The sick me, I shall turn to good health,

The poor me, I shall now turn to wealth.

 

I shall swing high, from spider’s silken webs,

I shall sing together, with the blackbird´s nebs,

I shall slide down rainbows, of a million hues,

I shall sleep on soft petals, blanketed in dews.

 

I shall swim among the stars, upon velvet nights,

I shall follow lost paths, lit by the firefly’s lights,

I shall comb my hair, with the rays of golden sun,

I shall turn all my sad woes, into myriads of fun.

 

I shall bathe in the milk, of generous moonbeams,

I shall whisper sweet nothings, into lover’s soft dreams,

I shall scarve my old neck, in the spume of white whales,

I shall wear silver anklets, from the paths of quiet snails.

 

I shall perfume my breasts, in pollen´s talc of pink rose,

I shall sit with fat bees, upon hives, in honeyed repose,

I shall return to the world, rested, refreshed, & renewed,

I shall stand before me, free, uninhibited & totally nude.

 

 

 

 

PATHLESS WAYS:

 

Men making paths just go passing on by,

Mechanical wings leaving trails in the sky,

Leaving footsteps upon all roads they carve,

Claiming theirs, all that nature once scarved.

 

The winding, straight, macadamized or paved,

Intruding upon earth, sea & forests now shaved,

Oil-slicked trails upon the seas, lakes & oceans,

On highways & roads, leaving sickness in motion.

 

I, seeking now, only those illusive & pathless ways,

Where new flowers bloom & the tall grasses sway,

The paths, where no man has passed in foot nor eye,

Where only birds fly, leaving no trail upon blue sky.

 

To find these jeweled pathways, I must go to dreams,

Where no human touches seas, lakes & pristine streams,

Pathways, where no footprint mars nor leaves its marks,

In dreams, tiptoeing gently, over nature´s unmade parks.

GRANDMAS STITCHING MOONBEAMS:

Mama, where do all the Grandmas go, when they have to die?

My child, they all go to a far better place, high above the sky,

Mama, tell me, what do they all do there, with their daily time?

My child, they all sew, spin, sing, tell yarns & write fair rhymes.

 

Grandmas sit in heaven stitching, Luna´s satin silky moonbeams,

To scatter gently from night skies, in soft, silken milky streams,

They sew stars upon the ceilings too, of the dark & velvet nights,

So that all foraging little animals, will never be without their lights.

 

Grandmas weave their magic spells, of spangles, bright & shining,

So that all of us on earth, will stop our mourning & sad whining,

They paint all days in gold-dust & wash skies in periwinkle blue,

And my dear child, they do it, simply to always remember you.

 

Grandmas toss peridots, upon wild-wide oceans & olivine seas,

And they warm up the golden sun, so that winter ends its freeze,

They strew flowers upon fields & sprinkle rain to make them grow,

And upon high mountain-tops, they whistle for cool winds to blow.

 

Grandmas breathe pretty perfumes, upon the fragrant scented air,

In bergamot, rose & lilacs, to dance merrily, within your baby hair,

And when you smell the rinds of lemons, of oranges & sweet limes,

You´ll know that grandmas are near & you´ll remember happy times.

 

Grandmas knit rays of sunshine & sew those milky beams of moons,

And within the songs of nightingales, you´ll hear their happy tunes,

Remember child, whenever you see moonbeams & hear a happy song,

You will know that your grandmas are near, & have never really gone.

 

OH DEAR ME:

Oh dear me, how grey & thin, your hair has become,

You´re wrong my dear, it´s silver from moonbeams spun,

Oh dear me, how flaccid your skin, it´s your age I suppose,

You´re wrong my dear, it´s the velvet of softly dying rose,

Oh dear me, your old fingers have now become as claws,

You´re wrong my dear, they´ve held on to life with no flaws,

Oh dear me, your feet are so gnarled & look how they splay,

You´re wrong my dear, they have carried me all this way,

Oh dear me, your lips are pulled down by creases & bile,

You´re wrong my dear, that´s just an upside-down smile,

Oh dear me, in your eyes, I see woe, or maybe it´s strife,

You´re wrong my dear, neither, just secrets of a well lived life.

 

EVERY TIME I DREAM OF YOU:

Every time I dream of you,

A new Angel gets its tiny wings,

A new hatched bird learns to sing,

A rose-bud petal, gently unfurls,

A new babe´s hair starts to curl.

 

Every time I dream of you,

A shooting star caresses night skies,

Tears of joy run & escapes my eyes,

Moonbeams dance & sunbeams smile,

Old oceans whisper for mile on mile.

 

Every time I dream of you,

A hymn is sung & a prayer is said,

An old story is told & a poem is read,

The river meets its flowing streams,

 God is thanked, for peaceful dreams.

 

Every time I dream of you,

From the sundown, till the morning dew,

From when Venus blinked, till owls flew,

I wake, longing for my deep eternal sleep,

Because in my dreams, is where you I keep.

 

 

 

 

THE RAVENS WHISPERED:

The Ravens whispered softly within my ear,

Saying that I must never worry & never fear,

Saying that, “life is but a journey to the soul”,

In which we learn & grow, to become whole.

 

The Ravens whispered quietly, of secrets old,

Of sacred oaths & promises, never yet told,

Bidding me to follow, upon their ebony wings,

Taking me, to where the Gold Angel gently sings.

 

The Ravens whispered, “You have now seen it all”,

So let us fly away, up & above life´s old hard wall,

And away upon the Raven´s soft whispers, I flew,

To where God promised to make me, once again new.

 

THE DEAD ARE DANCING:

Listen to the silence of the moonlit night,

The dead are dancing, out of human sight,

One step, two step, hovering here & there,

A mere nuance, with a slight chill in the air.

 

Whispering of the breeze, stirring midnight trees,

The sighing of the earth & the moon-moth´s sneeze,

The trailing-soft-slipper-path, of the silvered snail,

The muted crack-creaking, of old coffin-lid´s nail.

 

It´s in the swoop of wing-tip & cold call of the owl,

It´s deep within the throat of the old wolf´s howl,

It´s in tip-toeing of the restless, searching for sleep,

It´s in ebony cemeteries, where the dead lie deep.

 

 

Listen to that place where golden dawn meets dew,

The dead are dancing, invisible & seen by very few,

Gliding through grey mists, to the tunes of lost time,

Disappearing with moonlight, when the sun does shine.

 

CHILD OF THE RAINBOW:

My pretty little one, who plays upon the rainbow,

My pretty little angel, whom I never got to know,

Belonging now among the colours, high up in the sky,

And just by knowing that, I shall dry my weeping eyes.

 

With your red cherried lips & your yellow golden curls,

Your violet dancing eyes & your dress of coloured furls,

Pleats of misty green & orange, of indigo, red, & blue,

Now every time I see a rainbow, I´ll know it´s really you.

 

You´re raindrops kissing sunbeams & settling on dawn´s dew,

A little angel, whom upon earth, never got to pay her dues,

Maybe one day you´ll return, to our waiting human earth,

So that I may once again, give unto you, all my loving birth.

 

 

PRETTY BOY:

Oh pretty boy, with skin of almonds hot roasted,

Of haughty pout & head held in stance so boasted,

How I desire to touch your syrupy nut warmed skin,

And kiss that winking dimple, in your sweet cleft chin.

 

Oh pretty boy, with ebony hair of raven´s inky plume,

Caressed in braid of jet, by oily fingers of full moon,

How I would love to stroke, that soft & silken skein,

As it curls around your nape, in drops of falling rain.

 

Oh pretty boy, with black eyes, from sunny olive grove,

Reflecting ancient paths, where you amble, wend & rove,

How I want to drown, within their dark & carbon depths,

Tip-toeing, stroke by liquid stroke & step by gentle step.

 

Oh pretty boy, bruised figs of mauve, your luscious juicy lips,

From whence my thirst I´ll quench, with liquid slaking sips,

How I want your sugared kisses boy, selfishly & just for me,

Like the dew-rinsed rose bud, inviting the passing honey bee.

 

Oh pretty boy, with sweat slicked brow, of hard earned toil,

Perfumed by old farmhouse stoves & God´s good loamy soil,

How I dream of sailing, within your mahogany rippled arms,

Oh pretty boy, dreams as these, will certainly lead to harm.

I WHO HAVE ALL-HAVE NOTHING:

I, who have all, yet have absolutely nothing,

I who have walls, but views they are blocking,

I who have cars, but I have no time to walk,

I who have a voice, but with no one to talk,

I who have roof, but the skies have now gone,

I who have art, but filling eyes that once shone,

I who have a bed, but it´s just for the sleepless,

I who have love, but it´s only that of the restless,

I who have blankets, but not warmth of the sun,

I who have orchestras, but old songs now unsung,

I who have taps, but have no time for cool streams,

I who have hope, but have now, lost all my dreams,

I who have light, but the moon, my side has long left,

I who have pets by my side, but I still feel so bereft,

I who have climbed to the top, but forgot how to sing,

I who have absolutely all, but I really have nothing.

I WHO HAVE NOTHING-HAVE ALL:

I, who have nothing & yet I have all,

I who have no home, but trees be my walls,

I who have no car, but strong legs to walk,

I who have no one, but with voice to talk,

I who have no roof, but just the starry skies,

I who have no art, but nature for my eyes,

I who have no bed, but just the grass & sod,

I who have no love, but have the love of God,

I who have no blanket, but the sun to warm,

I who have no song, but birds & bees in swarm,

I who have no tap, but waters in the streams,

I who have no hope, but all the time to dream,

I who have no light, but lit by the moon above,

I, who have no pet, but the pigeon & the dove,

I who have stumbled, but have yet to really fall,

I who have nothing, but in reality, I have it all.

PROMISED GIFTS:

To you, I gifted my maiden´s virginity,

You softly strummed it, upon your humming viol,

Vowing to protect me, from any man deemed cruel,

Promising to defend my honour, in man´s virile duel,

And from that day, within our love, flourished renewal.

 

To you, I gifted my young & yearning heart,

You then stroked it gently, so that it would never break,

Telling it, that you would give it as much as it could take,

Promising my heart, that by you, it would never-ever ache,

You said, that by losing me, there´d be too much at stake.

 

To you, I gifted my innocent, yet very old soul,

You whispered to it, so that it would never-ever grow hard,

Singing it songs & poetry of Druids, scribes & very old Bards,

Promising, that its precious life, you would always safeguard,

And by you, never would it shatter into a million shards.

 

To you, I gifted my being, my whole entire life,

You told it such precious stories, of truths & never-ever lying,

Always finding something new & never-ever tired of trying,

Promising my life, that you´d keep it within your sweet sighing,

And all these precious gifts, you gave, until my soft gentle dying.

 

NO:

We as nations, have now lost the sight,

Of every person´s basic & human right,

To food, clean water & sheltered roof,

Why is our poor world now such a spoof?

 

Every child needs good & free education,

It´s every sensible human´s expectation,

Every person has right to good free health,

Be happy with “enough”, without the wealth.

 

No living man on earth desires our dirty wars,

Nobody is interested in the settling of scores,

And no living creature needs the cruelty & pain,

From these terrible things, they can never gain.

 

No matter of what tribe, colour, race or creed,

No excuse for racism & man´s sad, corrupted greed,

We must let the rulers see & those who govern, know,

We will not tolerate & will stand up & say, no, no, no.

 

IT´S IN HIS EYES:

Mama, he asked me to go away with him & play,

“Why didn’t you child?”

Because it´s in his eyes & I knew I couldn’t stay.

 

Mama, he asked me to twirl away with him & dance,

“Why didn´t you child?”

Because it´s in his eyes & I couldn´t take that chance.

 

Mama, he asked me to marry him & to be his wife,

“Why didn´t you child?”

Because it´s in his eyes & would surely cause me strife.

 

Mama, he asked me to fly away upon the wings of swallows,

“Why did you child?”

Because it´s in his eyes & with him, that path, I would dearly follow.

 

KISS ME:

Kiss me in springtime, when April drops her showers,

And I´ll hold your hand, through all of life´s long hours,

Kiss me in summertime, when the sun touches blooms,

And I´ll waltz you, beneath the warm night-time moons,

Kiss me in the autumn-time, when trees are softly dying,

And by your side, upon your bed, I shall forever be lying,

Kiss me in the winter-time, when snow lies cold & deep,

And then I shall make you promises that I intend to keep.

I´M IN LOVE WITH A COUNTRY MAN:

I´m in love with a country man,

With Smokey Mountains in his eyes,

And sunshine within his golden hair,

With his gaze upon the distant skies.

 

I´m in love with a country man,

With old Kansas forever on his mind,

And bluegrass deep within his heart,

He´s from where folk are good & kind.

 

I´m in love with a country man,

Who´s soul´s embedded in God´s good earth,

Who´s music is harmonica, guitar & old banjo,

Who promised to die in the land of his birth.

 

I´m in love with a country man,

Like all who were serenaded by his song,

And now he lives in Heaven’s ranch of God,

But through his music, he´s never really gone.

 

MY GIFTS TO YOU:

If I give you a handshake,

Will you give me your hand?

If I give you a smile,

Will you stay, as God planned?

If I give you sweet words,

Will you give me your poem?

If I give you a caress,

Will you take me back home?

If I give you my heart,

Will you please let me stay?

If I give you my soul,

There´d be nothing you could say.

 

HE USED TO:

Does your best friend give you his paw?

He used to,

Does he lick your hand with soft velvet maw?

He used to,

Does he lay upon your lap, his sweet gentle head?

He used to,

Does he gaze at your face, with soft toffee eyes?

He used to,

Does he lick your tears away when you are sad & cry?

He used to,

Does he stay always nearby & sit close to you?

He used to, still does & that´s nothing new,

He went away, the day he died,

But he still walks close by my side,

Like he used to.

BALLADS, LULLABIES AND SERENADES:

Through a life full of song, he was lulled & soothed,

In old ballads, lullabies & serenades soft & smooth,

He was sung to by birdsong & summer drone of bees,

By the whispering gold leaves, amused by the breeze,

And by old tide´s symbols, conducted by wise moon,

By the waterfalls, wind & rivers, singing arias in June,

Raindrops fall & tinkle, resounding in sweet wet notes,

Cascading into streams & away to seas & oceans float,

“There is no due need for drum, string & flute, he said,

I have all nature´s musical tunes, embedded in my head”,

I have all the best ballads, serenades & dulcet lullabies,

Heed to the sound of the lapwing, as up he soars & flies,

Be still now & listen, go close to your lover´s soft breath,

No music sweeter, to waltz me unto my imminent death.

I AM:

I AM,

Not because I am clever, smart or intelligent,

Not because I am bright or extremely eloquent,

Not because I am pretty or even very beautiful,

Not because I am obedient or extremely dutiful,

Not because I am this particular size, or even that,

Not because I am wearing the right shoes or hat.

 

I AM,

Not for jogging, pumping iron or going to the gym,

Not for going to church to sing all the right hymns,

Not for winning prize, medal or acclaimed accolade,

Not for being talented in art or sculptures well made,

Not for competing, enrolling, joining & saving the earth,

I AM, simply because I was given breath upon my birth.

 

THE PORCH:

That place of first kisses & hot grimy gropes,

Of old rockers creaking, with nudging of ropes,

Babes lulled to sleep in the cool evening breeze,

Serenaded softly, by bullfrogs & birds in the trees,

That old place, from where all weather was judged,

Rain, snow, sunbeams & spit-hail that just smudged,

With full moons watched & falling stars well wished,

Place where secrets were told & lying fishermen fished,

Where photos were snapped & promises were made,

Where, in summer afternoons, balmy heads were laid,

That place, where new babes were taught how to play,

Where, leaving brides, from families, were given away,

The porch, heart of the home & very special warm place,

And as I sit here in my rocker, still brings a smile to my face.

 

IT´S ALL IN THE MISSING:

It´s all in the missing,

Of old parents long gone,

Of children for whom I long,

Of dead sons in war´s gong,

Of friendships gone wrong,

Of lives sung in old songs,

Of me having to be strong,

 

It´s all in the missing,

But it´s only for a single day,

But it´s just a line in a play,

But merely a melody astray,

But only as breezy tree sways,

But only, long as memory stays,

But always just a teardrop away.