(untitled) #22

floating down-river

now stilled – beyond the rapids:

the time we once shared

Advertisements

(untitled) #21

Perhaps assisted by Patti’s feline-themed entry:

Seize Upon The Silence

It is five-am, with little light,

some would say the sky is dark:

before the chorus of the dawn

no birdsong yet – do hark!

But look again, just out there,

where trees all silhouetted stand,

proudly jutting from the earth,

into the night-sky fanned:

an array of branches reaching out

into the darkness – pray!

Is it not for catching moon-beams

that the leaves, all angled, stay?

How can the leaves have silhouettes,

unless the sky is bright,

with the faintly glowing silvery,

constellations of star-light?

Is it that we just don’t notice,

or do we choose that we don’t see,

that softly glowing, heaven’s light,

comes shine – or do we sleep-

walk through each day where ,

so many sights be seen,

that for the simplest beauty, then,

our eyes no longer keen!

So seize upon the silence,

but seize by letting go,

and see that all around you,

is a soft, celestial glow!

A New Reality

The problem was that the problem was here

sometimes not so bad, but now quite severe:

that usually, on waking, in the early morning,

I would wait for hours for the day to start dawning.

It would stare me right-back in the face from the mirror:

pale-faced and black-eyed but still looking for cheer –

and irises blue – sky blue – still full of hope,

but then back along the long hall to bed would I grope.

But as I try to retreat, the room that I’m in

suddenly moves and jars – starts to whirl and spin:

I reach out for the wall – but the wall isn’t there –

my fingers reach hopelessly, strafing the air.

Reality blackens and beginning to stall

through a hole in the floor that wide opens – I fall!

It matters now, not, which reality I’m from –

for the world that I was in – and all in it – has gone:

and the new, darkened, reality – this seething black bin

reeks of evil and monsters all crawling with sin.

Here I’ll fight to survive, whilst I look for a door

that will bring my consciousnous back to the world-from-before

and back to the body that lies, still, in the hall

where it lays empty and lifeless and cold from the fall

but that meat is unwelcoming – for my heart has now stopped –

so from here to another plane-of-existence I hop.

From one world, then, to another, a new reality I leap –

but the wisdom I find in each place shall I keep,

and finally bringing it back from the distance I range,

I know only this: this world has to change!

Fishes Like Poems

Poems like fishes all come swimming past –

so many, innumerable, all going so fast:

I’d like to try catch-one but shoaling they fin

into a whirling ball, silver, all wild in a spin!

In a blur they wheel past me and gone in a flash –

in the silent, still water – not even a splash,

but in the comforting clarity, enveloping fold,

of the crystal clear water its not even cold.

So floating I drift with the tides and the lace

of intricate seaweeds, across oceans I chase:

below fantastical chandeliers, by the sun lit –

the tentacled colonies of jelly fish – I flit.

In the depths a rare shadow: of hope a faint glimmer

in the distance before me – spy a brilliant shimmer!

One day shall I catch one, one day to be sure

will I land my fine catch upon a far golden shore.

In The Corridors Of The Mind

I walk the corridors in my mind

wandering just what may be that I may find

hidden among the debris there

just fallen, tumbled, but laid bare.

Or what lays hid behind the tall dark door

of debris strewn will I find more?

But no – beyond the statues hewn

and busts and fragments fallen strewn –

the room has no ceiling and – I say –

lies not empty, but filled with hay!

And there behind a large hay bale

so dark in contrast one can’t fail

so see it shining in its own dark way

a spinning wheel amongst the hay.

And what is this fine golden thread

strewn round the room of hay instead?

Just who might do the spinning in

the dark each night – Rumpelstiltskin?

But while he works what debt be paid

for these riches magic made?