Saturday 28 February 2015

AMNESIA:


Moonlight bathed within the hollow of her neck,

Where her secrets now gently gathered,

Breezes touched the stray lock upon her cheek,

Where forgotten kisses were once planted,

Sunshine caressed her now wrinkled old brow,

Where all her past worries once slept,

Memories tiptoe through lonely places of her body,

Where life within passion, once dwelt,

Raindrops now rinse away everything forgotten,

Where once she knew who she was.

 

GREY AND GOLD:


She hovered upon the edge of reason,

Where souls have forgotten to dance,

To a place where shadows sadly weep,

And happiness hangs it´s head in shame,

Trudging upon pavements cracked & grey,

Beneath teardrops of embarrassed skies,

Into tunnels of regret, where even rats pray,

When turning the wide corner of darkness,

A stranger then smiled at her & said “hello”

And her sad world turned from grey to gold.

Friday 27 February 2015

TAKE THAT HAPPY MUTI MAMA: (Muti=medicine in S.Africa)


Take that happy muti Mama, not prozac nor the gin,

It will help you Mama, to take life hard upon the chin,

Take that happy muti Mama, not rolled nor in the pipe,

It will help you Mama, & sad tears, from your eyes wipe.

 

What is this happy muti child, if not from pill or bottle?

You say it will help me child, when I´m so fit to throttle,

You say I must take it child, but not in pipe nor rolled,

You say I must obey you child & to do what I am told.

 

Take that happy muti Mama, a healthy dose each day,

Love´s that happy muti Mama, & feeling is the only way,

Take that happy muti Mama, in laughter, smiles & song,

Take it all from nature Mama, that way you´ll not go wrong.

 

I WILL TEACH YOU:


Child, give me your eyes & I will teach you,

How to see the world & horizons far beyond,

How to watch old stars, which do not abscond,

How to see the sun & moon, within shifting skies,

Child, trust your sight to me & give me your eyes.

 

Child, give me your ears & I will teach you,

How to hear songs, sung by bats, Angels & birds,

How to listen to ancient legends, of wise old words,

How to hear secrets, lost through passing years,

Child, trust your hearing to me & give me your ears.

 

Child, give me your tongue & I will teach you,

How to drink of nectar & dewdrops that shine,

How to sup ambrosia & rich red summer wine,

How to taste fruits of love when kisses are sung,

Child, trust your taste to me & give me your tongue.

 

Child, give me your heart & I will teach you,

How to love human beings, every bird & tiny beast,

How to give your most, with no expecting of the least,

How to adore yourself too, before you deem to start,

Child, trust your emotions to me & give me your heart.

 

Child, give me your soul & I will teach you,

How to run with wolves wild & follow all your dreams,

How to replace with song, your sad & frightened screams,

How to be just who you are, in your all & infinite whole,

Child, trust yourself only & learn from your very own soul.

 

 

Thursday 26 February 2015

BERRIES:


Give me berries, black, pink or juicy red,

Shed from tree, bush or hedgerow bed,

Staining lip, chin, pink & probing tongue,

Down throats & breasts, their juices run,

Soused in brandy & within custard clotted,

Bathed in syrup & by all birds, so besotted,

Nippled rosy, within double cream attired,

Aphrodisiac scarlet & by all lovers desired,

Sugar sprinkled, those juiced jeweled gems,

Excess supping, filling bodice & bursting hems,

Blue-blood royals, dripping juice, popped & bled,

Give me berries of onyx, garnet & crimson red.

FLORAL FRIPPERIES:


Please dance me through fine floral fripperies,

Through golden fields of phlox & blood red poppies,

To places where small love-lorn violets gently weep,

To where lupines whisper secrets to forget-me-nots,

And dandelions pay homage to the long necked rose.

 

Please dance me through dark green emerald forests,

Along cool banks of stoned, reeded & giggling rivers,

To where bluebells tickle ferns & golden daffodils silly,

To where hiccoughing brooks tease old mossy cress,

And petal quilts are stitched by nature´s nimble fingers.

 

Please dance me through a safari of fine floral senses,

Not through imprisoned blooms in shop, stall, bed & pot,

But to where wildness runs amok, within sap filled veins,

To the places where flora reigns, rampant within her lust,

Dance, dance, dance me, to places where flowers are free.

 

Wednesday 25 February 2015

GODDESS OF SCENTS:


Goddess, she be woman of elements & of scents all,

Those reeking, clinging & cloying, yet not apt to pall,

Of all that swells & smells, upon every breeze & squall,

Of all the oozing & seepings, of life´s every gore & gall.

 

Goddess, she be woman of waters, lake, ocean, salty sea,

Brined virginal juices, menstrual flooding of riverbed scree,

Perfumes of the Maid, Mother, Crone, the Triad of all three,

Scents of all the Goddesses, of all women, of she, you & me.

 

Goddess, she be woman, of all brought forth upon this earth,

Old dusty, musty sweatings, within the struggling of new birth,

Odours of leaking milky-ore breasts, denying hunger´s dearth,

Whiffs of dear life clinging & hanging on, for all it´s really worth.

 

Goddess, she be woman of sun, heat & all burning searing fires,

The spewing of brimstone, molten coals & vomiting hot desires,

Stinking fetid cleansing, of old bones upon death´s ashen pyres,

Bypassing smoke´s quivering nostrils, within life´s renewed choirs.

 

Goddess, she be woman of all winds, breezes, gales & flighty air,

Her ozone breathing for us all, upon this earth, for us to share,

Pure breath, upon which birds soar, within the wisps of her hair,

Perfumes of the Goddess, & nothing else upon earth compares.

FALSE ALARM:


Early spring is now here, we thought it oh so very near,

Winter is now very dead, within our sad & wooly heads,

And in each curled up bloom, bees singing new soft tunes,

I hear footsteps of fresh spring, as the chirpy blackbird sings,

The sun is shining very dear, though rather weakly, I so fear,

Flowers reek so rank & scentless, gales blow, still relentless,

In Spring´s fickle false alarm, can dreaming do us any harm?

Tuesday 24 February 2015

WHEN:


When North winds blow, wise birds will know,

When blue seas glister, all waves will whisper,

When grey storms squall, great trees will fall,

When wild beasts prowl, old forests will growl,

When sweet deers prance, butterflies will dance,

When old rivers sleep, green willows will weep,

When the eagle flies, then all our sadness dies,

When new bud blooms, the earth will sing tunes,

When all stars shine, fat grapes will give wine,

When white clouds drift, high heavens will shift,

When dewdrops glisten, floral flowers will listen,

When waters flow, then new saplings will grow,

When you love me true, then my future I´ll see,

When all is then done, there will still be the sun.

INVISIBILITY:


Please grant me invisibility within its purest form,

So that I may install myself within the heart of birds,

So that I may travel through the veins of wild beasts,

So that I may curl myself around the kernels of seeds,

So that I may hover upon the edge of your tender kiss,

Please grant me invisibility so that I may simply just be.

Monday 23 February 2015

DILAPIDATION:


Sunlight slithers as a snake, between old loosened slats,

And through the splintered slits, scarpered furtive rats,

Damp mouldy fingers; caress depressed & weeping walls,

Footsteps of the dead, forlornly dance through icy halls

Dilapidation, upon the voice that softly calls.

 

Scuttlings & skitterlings, of all bugs & worms soft creeping,

Old doors off hinges, in draughts, their woes, sadly weeping,

Windows cracked & dirty, web-lidded eyes of days gone by,

Within aged muted shadows, old silken breezes softly sigh,

Dilapidation, upon the voice that sadly cries.

 

Slated eaves now slackly loosened, by bats grey wily tongues,

Step by crumbling step, disintegration, of wood-rot sulky rungs,

Jade ivy waltzing greenly, in-between grey & mossy flagstones,

Whispering ancient secrets, of all those, now merely old bones,

Dilapidation, upon the voice that now groans.

 

LITTLE FINGERS:


Tiny little fingers folded, upon entry to his earth,

Each counted with temerity, by Papa at his birth,

As pink as mermaid´s kisses, gentle & rosy pale,

Each fingertip with small shell, of tiny perfect nail.

 

In talcum folded prayer & clenched in sweaty sleep,

All his tiny dreams, within tight fist he´d safely keep,

In sweetie-sticky fingers, bugs & worms would wiggle,

Tickling his tiny pink digits & reducing him to giggles.

 

From grubby little grasps, sharing lollies with his buddy,

Together with scraped knees, little fingers always muddy,

Yet at night, around my neck, & in tender tendrils curled,

The love from his little fingers, around my heart enfurled.

Sunday 22 February 2015

HER NAME WAS ROSE:


She once had her name, such a long time ago,

She lost it in pasts, upon the winds that blow,

When she wed she became “The wife” & “Dear”,

By her husband´s side, she stayed always so near.

 

She once had her name, now so lost on life´s path,

Foregoing her dancing, for the warmth of the hearth,

With birth of new babies, Mama became her name,

Knowing that her life would now, never be the same.

 

She once had her name, now buried under the past,

Leaving her wondering, where all time went so fast,

Now as the grandmother, she was known as just Nan,

Her old name felt forsaken, surely that wasn´t the plan.

 

Her identity within each name, changing with her age,

Dear wife, Mama or Gran, morphing with every stage,

Everyone calls her these names, yet nobody even knows,

She is her own person & her name has always been Rose.

 

Saturday 21 February 2015

SPRING IS IN THE AIR:


Don your floral petticoats, let´s dance & gaily sing,

Walk through old woods & hear the bluebells ring,

Tiptoe through snowdrops, feel your wee toes wiggle,

If you listen carefully, you´ll hear the new roots giggle.

 

Don your hat of daffodils & let´s dabble in gold dreams,

Waltz besides blue waterways & paddle in cold streams,

We´ll run through green forests, along their leafy trails,

We´ll watch little squirrel´s, wag fluffy springtime tails.

 

Don your lupine slippers dear & let´s follow catkins flying,

Amble through old oak trees, where cheeky imps lie spying,

We shall chase the Easter hares across their verdant fields,

Let´s observe & enjoy, as spring, it´s new-born magic wields.

 

MALEDICTION:


Be gone with you pain, fetid ulcer & sore,

Away with putrid enemies, aching & more,

Disappear, you scorching & burning old scars,

Away with all suffering & sinning that chars,

Be banished all predictions & omens of liars,

Go away to be cleansed, within purity´s fires,

Be gone all that irks & produces icy sad fears,

Away now, all gone, within prayers & shed tears.

Friday 20 February 2015

NO SIGN:


He marched into war, one heavy step at a time,

Amid death & destruction, he stood on a mine,

Returning home with no feet & leaving no sign,

A man without footsteps.

 

He was born without hands, in sad thalidomide time,

His mother cried on seeing him, “Dear son of mine”,

He grew up without ever touching, not leaving a sign,

A man without fingerprints.

 

He lived in dire poverty, in a place forgotten in time,

He grew up thinking, “I´m nobody & nothing is mine”,

Without recognition nor love & never leaving a sign,

A man without a shadow.

 

SOUL IS HER NAME:


She sees the wild wind & its messages told,

She feels the moon & the embrace of its hold,

She hears the old earth & the shift of its words,

She speaks in silence & the language of birds,

She walks the dust paths where no man goes,

She flies far skies where the fire- dragon blows,

She tastes ambrosia of high mountain streams,

She knows deep secrets of old witches’ dreams,

Soul is her name.

 

Thursday 19 February 2015

TEA COSY PETE:


Starting out his life, within the school of all elite,

Then ending up known & famously, as Tea Cosy Pete,

A friend of bishops, paupers, stray beasts & small birds,

Always having for strangers, smiles & kind gentle words.

 

He was educated in manners, as only a gentleman true,

Genteel to the end, & kindly to many more than a few,

Called Tea Cosy Pete, due to the woollen cap on his head,

Which he would lay upon cold pavement, used as his bed.

 

Now a bench with your name, gifted by all kindly townsfolk,

Placed where you once sat, now empty, sacred & bespoke,

Upon passing that place, everyone saying their silent hellos,

Then about their busy business, off rushing past, they all go.

 

Now you have gone old Pete, within the whisper of breeze,

No longer treading sidewalks, where once you´d cold freeze,

You knew more of this world´s life, than we will ever know,

Dear Tea Cosy Pete, we´re so very sorry, to now see you go.

 

 

CARERS:


Passion has flown, & now no longer lingers,

Yet, holding onto love with wrinkled old fingers,

Merely hoping to find, what life has cruelly taken,

Waiting, from the nightmare, to one day awaken.

 

Love is still there, but has now dwindled & cooled,

Replacing words of desire, with babbling so drooled,

Memory lost in time, with promised oath & long life,

Converting to carers, the patient old husband & wife.

 

Wednesday 18 February 2015

GILDED:


She was gilded in gold & garnets, of rich & rubied red,

Sapphires & emeralds she wore, in crown upon her head,

Diamonds listened from ears & turquoise upon her finger,

Pure pearls upon satin breasts would sit & silently linger.

 

She was gilded in metals of wealth, sadness & sorrowful woe,

Praying upon velveteen cushion, asking God, “Where do I go?”

Her prayers were answered, with the shedding of every jewel,

God told her, “Leave banality behind, within this world so cruel”.

 

Stripped & denuded of metals & those precious expensive gems,

She robed herself in humility, silent prayers & rough linen hems,

Within the grace of God she unwrapped, & in faith, gently unfurled,

Feeling wealthier in humble prayers, than when richly gilded & pearled.

 

RECYCLED:


Recycled unhappiness, then in happiness it converts,

Recycled dark scowl, then into the smile it diverts,

Recycled resentment, then into tranquility it´ll brew,

Recycled sad raving, then finding contentment anew,

Recycled all of life´s outpourings, of dreary dull sadness,

Recycled all darkness & sin, into light, colour & gladness.

Tuesday 17 February 2015

HAIL TO ALL GOD FEARING MEN:


Hail to all men who shun lying, opting to be frank,

To those who follow dreams & not the charging tank,

To all those good men, who open tight closed doors,

To those who say, “I´m sorry”, for all their erring flaws.

 

Hail to all men, who as well as lust, know about true love,

To those who know to wait & not impatiently rough shove,

To all those good men, who turn the other un-slapped cheek,

To those, who know being kind, is not sign that they are weak.

 

Hail to all those men, who chase away demons & black fears,

To all those men who are unafraid, to shed their hidden tears,

To all men who care, for the aged, the child & tiniest little beast,

To those who never kill for fun, for ire nor banal gluttonous feast.

 

Hail to all men who wonder at nature, & secrets of all the birds,

To those who love all poetry, & know to shun the cruelest words,

To all good men who replace the gun, with scribing of the pen,

Hail to all those blokes, chaps, guys, dudes & all God fearing men.

 

 

GONZALO:


I have a sweet little friend, who greets me every dawn,

A chirpy little blackbird, who welcomes in each dawn,

He sings outside my window, upon adobe rooftop tile,

Opening up my eyelids & producing sleepy sunny smile.

 

He´s a dapper little fellow, in onyx suit with yellow neb,

As he sings his songs, with respect, he nods his tiny head,

He serenades me in Spanish, beneath sunshine & in rain,

And he told me in his warbling, that Gonzalo was his name.

 

Gonzalo sang of butterflies, & worms, beneath the loamy soil,

And of olive groves down south, producing green & golden oil,

He sang of sad dead bulls, in bullrings, turning now to lowly dust,

And he told of dark eyed Don Juans, of their lost & unrequited lust.

 

Gonzalo sang of stories, where he´d been & where he´d still to go,

Singing in flamenco, within clicking notes, both high & mighty low,

Then he would fly about his day, taking with him, all my sorrows,

Promising that he would be back, to sing to me again tomorrow.

 

Monday 16 February 2015

MEMORIES:


Child I have birthed you, into very humble & poor home,

Where money is scarce, & hunger always prowls & groans,

Where cold wind leeches bones & your tears turn to ice,

But my child I promise you, your memories, I will make nice.

 

Child I shall gift you memories, to make you laugh & giggle,

I´ll dance you warm with love, to make your cold toes wiggle,

And with every barefooted step, you shall walk a happy mile,

My child, though I have no coin, I´ll try hard to make you smile.

 

Child I shall make you sweet memories, to last your life in joy,

I´ll deem to make every memory for you, a happy & lasting toy,

Your sad dried crusty hunger, I shall replace with story, hug & kiss,

I´ll replace poverty with memories child, so feast you´ll never miss.

 

Child I shall leave you memories, so that when I leave this world,

Store them in your being & within your heart they´ll be unfurled,

So that when life gets too hard, you may take them out & smile,

Knowing that with happy memories, you can walk a million miles.

 

BOLT:


You are the secure bolt within my oft unhinged life,

Bolt that holds the nut in place, stopping all my strife,

You are the only one, who makes me sit bolt upright,

Bolt of thunder & lightening, blinding my loved sight,

You are the bolt on the door, of my welcoming heart,

Bolt of security that I need, knowing we´ll never part,

You´re bolt of silk enfolding me in diaphanous cocoons,

Bolt I wrap within prayers, to send to far milky moons.

 

Sunday 15 February 2015

AND YET:


He doesn´t understand a single word I say,

He wants to be quiet when I want to play,

And yet, I love him.

 

My food is not at all what he enjoys to eat,

I love good shoes, but he walks in bare feet,

And yet, he loves me.

 

He loves everything in white, while I love black,

He wants everything neat, while I prefer stacks,

And yet, I love him.

 

We´ve nothing in common, uncharted territories,

We´ve overcome barriers & made our own stories,

And yet, we´re still so in love.

BE STRONG:


Be strong for me, I need your strength,

For all of my life, no matter it´s length,

Smile, for I need yours, when mine slips,

I so need your kisses, to warm my cold lips.

 

Be strong for me, those times I am spineless,

Your presence I need, to be forever & timeless,

Please laugh, for I need your happiness & glee,

I need your heartbeat, so the strong one is me.

 

Saturday 14 February 2015

MAY I ASK YOU TO DANCE?


May I ask you to dance?

Where all displeasure is written,

Upon cracked walls of iniquity,

Where old hearts are smitten.

 

May I ask you to dance?

Where all sins are committed,

Upon sad souls of dissolution,

Where love is never admitted.

 

May I ask you to dance?

Where smiles leave unhappy faces,

Upon dark shadows of lost sunshine,

Where death lurks in all living places.

 

May I ask you to dance?

Where there is unhappiness & pain,

Upon all the dead, grey & dreaded,

Where it ends & we may begin again.

NATURE´S LAUNDRY BASKET:


Multi coloured bloomered petals, hanging out to dry,

Fluffy clouds whitened & bleached, floating in clean sky,

Vast washing cauldron seas, of hubbling-bubbling tubs,

Scrubbing foam sheets white, upon rocks in spumy suds,

Starched straight river reeds, stiffened without a wrinkle,

Dewdrops of rinsing moisture, upon dusty grasses sprinkled,

Fabric softened flowers, perfumed in nature´s vibrant scents,

Rippled lakes now ironed, removing creases, pleats & vents,

Forests & mountains dusted, with whitening frosts & snows,

Sprayed aerosol of breezes, through dripping trees now blow,

All in nature´s laundry basket, is now pristine & neatly folded,

Nature´s dirty linen, by God, now recycled & cleanly moulded.

Thursday 12 February 2015

TIME MARCHES ON:


Time marches upon blown winds, you & I move on,

To another place far away & within a different song,

Leaving behind, all deeds done & what´s been seen,

Old regrets, unlived dreams & what has gone & been,

Our history, upon sepia pages of words once scribed,

Within the fuzzed drunken stupor, of old wine imbibed,

We, mere poetry, upon the tongues of poets long gone,

Here today, but tomorrow with time, we go marching on.

SHE:


She patted stray puppies & sang songs to old crows,

She talked to red foxes, beneath country hedgerows,

She whispered green poems, to willow´s jade fronds,

She smiled gently to toads, wallowing in cold ponds.

 

She tiptoed through dry leaves & over mossy old stones,

She shared with black ravens, their kept secrets of bones,

She spun shawls divine, from small spiders webbed silk,

She danced beneath the old moon´s, pouring of soft milk.

 

She was nobody´s lover or friend, & still nobody´s fool,

She was an enigma, just a reflection, in life´s fickle pool,

She was merely dim memory, of all dreams passing by,

“She,” all those claiming to see her, were accused of a lie.

 

Wednesday 11 February 2015

SEEDS:


He gave her seeds, from his warm sunny climes,

Telling her, to take them back to her ice clad home,

 “Dig them in deep, within hard soil of your yearning,

When sun kisses your dreams, you´ll have sweet limes”.

 

She received his seeds, wrapped in old silk & sweet kisses,

She planted these treasures, within Spring´s waiting arms,

The seeds sprouted & grew, reaching to England´s grey skies,

With every seed of juiced lime, she dug deep in her wishes.

 

Against the adversities of ice & sour acidity of green limes,

The seeds of hope grew strong, away from far sunny lands,

Their longing & yearning buried, within deep iced-cold souls,

Knowing they could grow with love, in inclement hard climes

 

FRIGHTENING:


Oh, love can be such a frightening place,

From first moment I set eyes upon his face,

The first smile he bestows, from carnal lips,

First kiss of passion, from where I take sips.

 

Will this love last forever or merely fleeting be?

Can it be painless, or sting as the treacherous bee?

Will this new love stay, as pretty as it stands today?

Or will it turn into a place, from where I´ll run away?

 

Will this precious love, turn into sad spiteful hating?

Nestle within arms of Heaven, or Hades in awaiting?

Shall gentleness be spoken, within his tender words?

Or will it be spat upon spittle, of foul mouthed turds?

 

What are love´s odds, the roll of passion´s fickle dice?

Will it be warm place forever, or turn to crackled ice?

Love can be that frightening place, for every living being,

Yet, it´s the only element in life, that is all & ever freeing.

Tuesday 10 February 2015

THE EARRING:


Oh, how that I yearn to be your earring,

Suspended, from delicate shell of your lobe,

Dangling down, upon your soft magnolia neck,

How my pearled heart would sigh at your breast,

Your perfume, tantalizing my quivering senses,

And with every gentle nod of your beautiful head,

I´d caress your cream skin with my nacreous fingers,

My heart would beat faster, being so close to you,

And with every sigh of your breath, I would tremble,

Oh, if I were only your earring, within your sweet ear.

THE LAST ONE:


You may keep it all & now keep all the rest,

But to me, please leave the last, just the best,

I want only your last caress, your very last kiss,

The last dance, silica sigh & shed teardrop of mist,

Wax lyrical poetry to me, as your ultimate words,

Let your final song be in the voices of vanishing birds,

Let me be the last vision of sight that you´ll ever see,

Please my darling, just save your last breath for me.

 

 

THE DIG:


I unearth your very small & such delicate head,

Now releasing you, from your deep earthen bed,

I peer into gone eyes, of worm devoured sockets,

Seeking past answers, from sightless vacant pockets.

 

Are you really she, who once walked upon this earth?

She who loved, laughed & long ago, once gave birth,

She who once smiled & with your flesh well rounded,

She who was once so vital & with life, so abounded.

 

I touch your delicate & now nameless small bones,

With a blessing & a prayer, I return you back home,

Beneath soil´s clay loam, within cemetery’s dark hole,

All your being interred, except your perfect small soul.

Monday 9 February 2015

YOU FICKLE FRIEND:


Oh what can I say about you, my old fickle friend?

You who comes quietly to visit us, towards the end,

You, who nips & tweaks old joints & tickles old fancies,

Then away with frivolity & time, disappears & dances.

 

Oh what can I do about you, my old fickle friend?

You, whom I see in the mirror, of our let´s pretend,

You who arrives, in deep ruts & wigged clad snow,

Then with iced fingers, beckons me, to follow & go.

 

Oh what can I say to you, my old fickle friend?

You, who to death, now forever, want us to send,

You, by any other name, is still merely called age,

Yet you, I still prefer to know, as gentle & wise sage.

 

BLOWINGS:


Please blow my old ashes upon distant Brecons,

While my good God deliberates, decides & reckons,

I shall dance my stepping around old Chalice Well,

While God with his Angels, decides on heaven or hell,

I´ll lift my red-dead skirts & then let fly my torn veil,

I shall whirl, twirl & tumble, upon soft breezes & gales,

I´ll not be awaiting God´s verdict, for my old Celtic soul,

Please let my old ashes, upon yon Welsh Brecons blow.