FEAR:

I am so afraid, that I´ll run out of words,

That they will fly away, like errant birds,

That my words will spill like winter´s wine,

Maybe melt like chocolate & knot as twine.

 

I am so afraid, that my words will away & run,

That they will forget the song, the dance & fun,

That, as deserts, they´ll be left scorched & dried,

That away with oceans, they will flow with tides.

 

I am so afraid, that my words, with winds will blow,

That down flowing rivers, they will escape & flow,

That with passing age, my words, away shall wend,

Finally, leaving me alone, without my only friends.

PLEASE PICK ME A POPPY:

Please pick me a poppy, for the soldier who fought,

For the words we never said & the ones we ought,

Please pick me a poppy, for every love we have lost,

For every impossible cause, no matter what their cost.

 

Please pick me a poppy, for the woman, man & child,

For all who are tamed & for those, still roaming wild,

Please pick me a poppy, for every beast & feathered bird,

For every song upon the breeze & for every written word.

 

Please pick me a poppy, for all, & everyone upon this earth,

For all those leaving life now, & for all those meeting birth,

So please pick me scarlet poppies, one for every single day,

Until you hold in your full arms, all of life within bouquets.

 

DANCE ME NAKED:

Please dance me naked,

Stripped of swaddling & tight corseted garb,

Barefooted & light, away from leather so hard,

Remove my suspenders & fine stockings of silk,

With your hands on my breast, as pale as elk´s milk.

 

Please dance me naked,

Liberated from ribbons & old belt of rough cloths,

Petticoated merely, in the breath of Druid´s moths,

Caressed by ringed fingers, of gold ancient moons,

Mantled only in soft kisses, of those invisible tunes.

 

Please dance me naked,

Without chattels of judgement & rags of tight blame,

Just your hands on my flesh, without feelings of shame,

Caped in sinew & bone, wrapped & beribboned in vein,

Dance me naked in skin, away from banal fleshy pain.

HIS LIFE AS AN ONION:

His life as an onion, was sad, insipid & vapid,

Without salt & pepper, it was tasteless & sapid,

He hid from entire world, within skin cold & pale,

Protected from life´s barbs, of stone & sharp nails,

Humanity´s cruelty, made him cringe, bow & despise,

And when shedding his shell, brought tears to the eyes,

He wept acrid brined teardrops, with first cut & each slice,

And nobody knew him, yet they all deemed him “not nice”.

THE CRYSTAL ROSE:

You are a rose, of deep blood red,

You are a rose, of peach petal head,

You are a rose, of lilac summer Junes,

You are a rose, of satin pink perfumes,

You are a rose, of suns, yellow & gold,

You are a rose, of petals in fuchsia bold,

You are a rose, of delicate dusks & dawns,

You are a rose, of moons producing yawns,

Yet in icy winter cold, no matter your hues,

You are crystal rose, garbed in frosted dews.

 

HE KISSED ME:

He kissed my hand, with sweet respect,

He kissed my cheek, with friendship kind,

He kissed my lips, with gentle yearning,

He kissed my brow, with quiet concern,

He kissed my breast, with passion burning,

But when he kissed my chin, I knew love.

INVITATION TO DINE:

Please come away with me to dine,

To feast on oysters & quaff gold wine,

At table garbed in stiff linen of white,

We´ll while away gentle hours tonight.

 

We´ll feast off fine china sprigged in rose,

Beneath the table, our toes touching toes,

With starched napkin, you´ll dab your red lip,

From the finest crystal, you shall daintily sip.

 

When we´ve supped replete from silver spoon,

And exchanged snuffed candle for golden moon,

We shall waltz back home to our sweet loving bed,

With stars in our eyes & “that” tune in our heads.

THE SOLITUDE OF SNOWFLAKES:

Smiles of sunshine may touch my cheek,

Rivulets of raindrops may quench my lip,

Dainty dew-droplets may pave my path,

Milky moonbeams may soothe my dreams,

But give me only, the solitude of snowflakes.

UNASHAMED:

She wore her shame like an embroidered gown,

And upon her golden head, her guilt ridden crown,

Mantled in embarrassment & garbed in her fear,

From her cloaked temerity, she would shyly peer,

She, enveloped in accusations of being so wrong,

In all that she did & was, within her silent sad song,

Within her religion, her sex, her colour & her shape,

Within her very existence, by society, sorely raped,

Until the day arrived, when scales fell from her eyes,

When she found her own truth & she finally realized,

She then dropped her mantle, together with shame,

Standing naked, free, & ready to start all over again.

 

GRACE:

I give thanks to the wind,

And to the seed, within its blowing,

I give thanks to the farmer,

And to his hand, within his sowing,

I give thanks to the sunshine,

And to the soil, within its seeding,

I give thanks to the raindrops,

And to the love, within its feeding,

I give thanks to the bent backs,

And to the collecting & ripe reaping,

I give thanks to daytime growing,

And to the land´s now final sleeping.

RINGS:

Upon every finger, she wore gem-stoned rings,

Her hands given flight, in bejeweled soft wings,

“My rings represent all of life´s secret symbols”,

Protecting against its barbs, rather like thimbles,

One of the Goddess, in smooth silver & pearl,

One of mother-moon & around my pinkie it curls,

One of father-sun, in scarlet rubies & Welsh gold,

One of black onyx, where my night secrets are told,

One of oceans & skies, in sapphires of deep blues,

One of diamond drops, all the clarity of iced dews,

One of emerald moss, as in our earth´s green land,

One of eternity´s hope, within love´s golden band,

One of all tiny stars in the night, that glitter & shine,

One little ring, softly around each finger entwined,

Symbols of life´s magic elements, of life & all love,

Of jewels beneath the earth & of the sky up above.

UNSUITABLY ATTIRED:

Her eyes were garbed, in earth´s sorry plight,

Her mind was mantled, in her desire for flight,

Her shoulders were caped, in a hunch of doubt,

Her being she wrapped, to keep the world out,

Her persona she dressed, in other folk´s criteria,

Her soul was gowned in halls, of her own hysteria,

Her footsteps were shod, in her reluctant tiptoeing,

She traipsed through life, in uniformed unknowing,

Then the winds of change, soon pulled at her soul,

She was told in her dreams, to become again whole,

She packed life´s portmanteau, with all that she wore,

Putting her old past away, within time´s fusty store,

She stood nakedly bare & at last, now suitably attired,

Smiling in the mirror, she said, “Now I am nobody´s liar”.

 

GHOSTS:

Am I the only one, who can really, truly see them?

Those folk, who quietly appear before me & then,

Disappearing softly, just as soon as they had come,

Leaving upon cold mists & a soft whispered hum.

 

Those ghosts, spectres, spirits & dark scary spooks,

Told as myths, around firesides & tales in old books,

Gently touching my cheek, with fleeting night fingers,

Blowing kisses in my ear, with breath that softly lingers.

 

Tell me, am I the only one, or can you see them too?

All those loved ones, belonging still, to me & to you,

The ghosts of those dead people, now so long gone,

Disappearing in our dreams, prayers & forgotten songs.

THE MESSAGE:

He found the message in the bottle,

Washed up on the cold & icy beach,

Bobbing up & down upon the waves,

It was just within his grasping reach.

 

He opened the message in the bottle,

It came with butterfly & golden curl,

The writing on note, was so delicate,

It came from a small & invisible girl.

 

He read the message in the bottle,

“If you find my butterfly, please let her fly,

Upon my lock of hair to keep her warm,

 Alone in my cold country she would die.”

 

He touched the message in the bottle,

Butterfly stretched her wings upon his hand,

That little girl so far away, cared just as he,

Both knew she´d be safe in his warm land.

TALES:

He told old tales, from his ancient hand,

Of life upon & beneath, his desert sand,

Speaking in clicks & gestures of wings,

On Kalahari winds, his word flies & sings.

 

He spoke of old beasts, now so long gone,

Telling his tales in dance & dust-filled song,

From waving arms & thudding feet, he told,

Stories, legends & tales, from his Africa old.

 

He told of roots that healed & magical herbs,

He spoke of secrets kept, by beaks of birds,

Every tale a picture, from his dancing fingers,

Leaving in minds, our lost world that lingers.

I KNOW IT´S YOU:

I know it´s you, when whispers wallow,

Within gliding swans & flight of swallows,

I know it´s you within the dappled trees,

Within the silver songs, of the singing seas,

I know it´s you.

 

I know it´s you, when all birds go flying,

Within gentle breath, of breezes sighing,

I know it´s you, warm, in caressing oceans,

Within my heart & my love´s emotions,

I know it´s you.

BEING:

Oh for the bliss of not wanting nor needing,

But for merely watching, seeing & heeding,

Oh for the bliss of not plotting nor scheming,

But for merely sweet loving & softly dreaming,

Oh for the bliss of not worrying nor desiring,

But for merely observing & gently admiring,

Oh for the bliss of not striving nor yearning,

But for merely listening to life & learning,

Oh for the bliss of not lusting nor thirsting,

But merely for being with joy, fit to bursting.

I AM:

I am Nothing,

I am All,

I am Human,

I am Him – I am She,

I am You – I am Me,

I am Christian – I am Pagan,

I am Jewish – I am Muslim,

I am Sikh – I am Buddhist,

I am Hindu – I am Taoist,

I am Black – I am White,

I am Yellow – I am Brown,

I am Fat – I am Thin,

I am Short – I am Tall,

I am Rich – I am Poor,

I am Ill – I am Well,

I am Alive – I am Dead,

I am Nothing,

I am All,

I am Human,

I am More,

I AM.

BLESSINGS UPON THE SETTLED LAND:

The sun smiled upon the settled land & said,

“May your bounty bloom & grow.”

 

The wind tickled the settled land & said,

“May your seeds upon my lips blow.”

 

The rain caressed the settled land & said,

“May your thirst ever be quenched.”

 

The blooms adored the settled land & said,

“May your air be perfumed & never stenched.”

 

The moon whispered upon the settled land & said,

“May you sleep within the arms of growth.”

 

The Goddess embraced the settled land & said,

“May you ever trust in me, I´ll give you my oath.”

GRANDPA I HEAR YOU:

Grandpa I hear you, I know you are near,

Your violin I hear on breezes, chasing my fear,

You may be in heaven, yet still here at home,

I know because you told me, I´d never be alone.

 

Grandpa I hear you, I know you´re still around,

Your old violin I hear, in all nature´s soft sounds,

You´re in pattering of rain & sweet voices of birds,

I know because you told me, in your very own words.

 

Grandpa I hear you, at night & in bright sunny day,

Your old violin I hear, while in the sunshine I play,

You´re in my midnight dreams, drying my shed tear,

I know, because I hear your violin & know you are near.

 

VOYEUR:

Tonight, I watched a man making love,

To the love of his life, as soft as a dove,

He caressed her curves, with fingers of silk,

Touching her satin skin, as smooth as milk.

 

Slowly, under his touch, she began to sing,

Through his ardent love, he gave her wings,

As she trembled & groaned, she began to fly,

With a smile on his lips, the man closed his eyes.

 

Slowly, softly, in crescendo, she gently moaned,

The man knew then, her body, he solely owned,

Being made love to like that, could never be sin,

Watching rapt, I wished, I was that man´s violin.

DESIGNATION OF ANGELS:

At The birth of my sons, I designated Angels,

To forever watch over & to care for them,

To support their tender & growing stems,

To hold them up, as they learned to walk,

To unravel their words, as they started to talk,

To show them, all that they´d need to know,

To be behind them always, wherever they go,

To teach them about life, one step at a time,

To open their eyes, to all the good & sublime,

To tell them stories & to teach them songs,

To help them up, when all things go wrong,

To lift them up, when they stumble & fall,

To guide them both, through life´s long haul,

To soothe their brows, when troubles chafe,

 Angels promised me, they´d keep you both safe.

SMOTHER LOVE:

I want to wrap you my son, in rays of gold sun,

Mantle you in moonbeams & spider´s silk webs,

To protect you from danger & all the world´s ills,

And when you are soiled, I shall wash you in snow,

I shall rinse you in raindrops & early dawn´s dews,

When you stumble & fall, I shall kiss you with blooms,

I shall caress your pains, with soft feathered plumes,

Son, I want to cosset you with love, forever & a day,

Yet, I know as your mother, I must let you fly free,

To be the strong man that you were destined to be.

PLAYING WITH WORDS:

My friends the words come second to none,

With those whom I play, to merely have fun,

Playing with people can leave one feeling cold,

With their teasing, mocking & cruelty so bold.

 

Lovers ignore the quiet subtleties of wooing,

Those one trusts, are so swift to go shooing,

Words can make love in just the right places,

Filling the loneliness & grey empty spaces.

 

Within words I go dancing, one step at a time,

Waltzing in small letters, & songs of sweet rhyme,

Dreaming with words & with all that is written,

With words I am friend & in their love, I am smitten.

 

WHITE:

When you ask me what I regret about dying,

I´ll answer upon breath, of transparent sighing,

I regret, that I shall not see my hair turn white,

That white clouds in my eyes, will blight my sight.

 

I regret not seeing, the last snow´s iced glister,

Nor hear no more, the soft moon-moth´s whisper,

That the milk-pearl upon my neck, will die with me,

That I shall never see grow, the new planted tree.

 

I regret not my stumble, nor translucent pale skin,

Nor the loves I have had, nor the sins I have sinned,

As I reach now, for those mountain´s white peaks,

I know that I have found upon earth, all that I seek.

 

I´ll regret nothing, as I now walk back to my home,

It is just myself & my soul, merely us two alone,

Towards the white light shining & softly beckoning,

Confident that God will be just, in his reckoning.

 

THE FORGOTTEN ONES:

Only the forgotten ones are well & truly dead,

When their images disappear from forgetful heads,

Their names are not spoken from our dry dusty lips,

The dead are then forgotten, when the memory slips.

 

The forgotten are those, who lose their way in dreams,

Those, who are no longer now, part of daily schemes,

They are the ones, who´s faces, we find hard to recall,

The dead are then forgotten, when our guard quietly falls.

 

You, I shall never forget, with your image in my heart,

Your name upon my lips, shall be uttered as they part,

Your face within my dreams, I shall wear upon my sleeve,

You´re dead, but not forgotten, & will never, while I breathe.

CHEERS:

The king enjoyed his whiskey sours,

The knave refilled his glass with port,

The Gran never missed her happy hours,

Cheers to all, every, kind, type & sort.

 

The slatterns quaff their gin at midnight,

The winos sip from cartons, in lonely park,

The hobo, from brown bag, kept out of sight,

Cheers to all, be it in the light, or in the dark.

 

The lady sips a cocktail, with olive & a cherry,

The mama smacks lips, over cream head of stout,

The men love spirits, & beer to make them merry,

Cheers to one & all, now who´s turn is it to shout?

 

WAR:

This is war raged by the human race,

Country contra nation – nation contra country,

Women contra men – men contra women,

Beauty contra ugly – ugly contra beauty,

Youth contra age – age contra youth,

White contra black – black contra white,

East contra west – west contra east,

South contra north – north contra south,

Pagan contra Christian – Christian contra pagan,

Jew contra Arab – Arab contra Jew,

Poor contra rich – rich contra poor,

Fat contra thin – thin contra fat,

It is war, war, war, whichever way you look,

Yet never to be found, within any Holy book.

BUT HER LIPS WERE ALWAYS PAINTED IN RED:

She was accused by mama, of being as ugly as sin,

She was as bony as twigs & more than stick thin,

Her papa dismayed & would shake sadly his head,

Saying, “Oh my dear, there´s no way you´ll wed,”

But her lips were always painted in red.

 

There were no roses, upon her transparent white skin,

She had no friends & in this life, she never could win,

All the men turned away, from her tangled wild curls,

Preferring to dance, with more comely & prettier girls,

But her lips were always painted in red.

 

Nobody had ever loved her, but she didn´t really care,

She´d never felt she had to be, merely half of one pair,

She was her own woman & that made her so strong,

By loving herself, she knew, she would never be wrong,

But her lips were always painted in red.

 

THE DANCE OF THE TOMBSTONES:

The tombstones are dancing, to celebrate death,

Moving to life´s music, giving all dead new breath,

Rejoicing in the breezes, of God´s sweet breathing,

All hearts beneath the earth, sighing & soft heaving.

 

The tombstones know, that no real death occurred,

That it´s not the end, when the bones are interred,

So they joyfully dance, instead of shedding sad tears,

Knowing deep down, that there is no need for fears.

 

The tombstones know, that the journey continues,

In another place, reforming, in ectoplasmic sinews,

They dance through past time, as life on earth flies,

The wise tombstones know that real life never dies.

 

TIP-TOEING TOWARDS THE SUN:

Tip-toeing gently, towards her friend the sun,

With her soft feathered footsteps, one by one,

Over the silent blue wavelets, a step at a time,

She glided with grace, over dance-floor´s brine.

 

Upon staircase of sunbeams & golden stepped rays,

With each dainty step, she picked out her small way,

Playing with her ankles, briny´s frothy white hems,

Her gown of the oceans, soft sparkling with gems.

 

With the light in her voice & the breeze in her hair,

She´s Tip-toes gently, upon rosy day´s dawning stair,

Sprinkling diamonds of dewdrops, to welcome the morn,

Baptizing the day, with her name of Aurora, sweet dawn.

 

 

RAVEN´S RENDEZVOUS:

They all sit in silken huddle, of soft ebony cloud,

Within dim shadows of cawing, discussing out loud,

About tombstones, graveyards & things of the night,

Of things we´ll never understand & of life out of sight.

 

That rendezvous of ravens, all plotting & sly planning,

With obsidian eyes spying & forever, death scanning,

With their wind whispered feathers & glinting jet nebs,

They are guardians of lost worlds & friends of the dead.

 

Those black ravens are now gathering, to discuss you & I,

All squawking & dark talking, before away they shall fly,

Plumed rendezvous of onyx, now all huddled together,

Omens afoot upon whisperings, of black ebony feather.

 

 

MY WAY:

My future, is the one that has not yet gone,

My past, is the path, I have long travelled on,

My present, the stopping, upon road of now,

My journey, I´ve travelled, yet I know not how,

My highways & byways, traipsed & well trudged,

Stepping life´s dust, leaving prints well smudged,

Leading me to the crossroads of life & now, death,

Where I stop awhile & then take a deep breath.

JIGGEDY-JOGGEDY:

When life gets you down & drowns you in bog,

Take it by its fickle horns & go for a joyful jog,

When folk don´t listen to you & don´t give a fig,

Put on your dancing shoes & dance a merry jig,

When things look murky & hidden by dark fog,

Merely pee on it & move on, as would any dog,

When the branch you sit on, is really just a twig,

When falling to the ground, a cosier nest you´ll dig,

When the prince you kissed, turned out to be a frog,

Then upon your ardent passion, just add another log,

And when from living´s old keg, you take a bitter swig,

Remember that life is beautiful & is still ever so big.

 

A ROOM WITH A VIEW:

When I am dead & you must bury me deep,

Do not lay me on a hill, that is far too steep,

Do not put me in ground, that is plain & flat,

Do not sweep my ashes, beneath life´s torn mat,

Please just give me a room with a beautiful view.

 

When I am dead & you must place me in the box,

Do not leave me in the path, of skulking red fox,

Do not block my dead sight with a concrete wall,

Do not close me within mausoleum’s icy cold hall,

Please just give me a room with a beautiful view.

 

When I am dead & my time has eventually come,

Place me upon site, where I can feel the warm sun,

Where the moon & soft stars, will light my last way,

Put me in a place, where I shall then, eternally stay,

Please just give me a room with a beautiful view.

 

When I am dead, please come & sit close by my side,

Together we shall feel the breezes & watch the tides,

 Put me in pretty place, near old trees & ebbing seas,

So when I am gone, you´ll still want to sit close to me,

Please just give me a room with a beautiful view.