November 30, 2014

 

 

Why goad the one,

with your clenched fist,

who cannot see

through tears of mist?

 

Why force your power

onto one so weak?

Hold back your words:

Don’t even speak.

 

Why goad the one

who means you well,

with no hidden agenda,

or wares to sell?

 

Why not back down,

and compromise,

and see the joy

within their eyes.

 

Why goad the one

who cannot deliver?

Their Achilles heal,

shaking with a quiver.

 

Why start a dual, and be,

an unrepentant sinner?

When different worlds’ collide,

there can be no winner.

 

 

 

 

And the devil produced

a large iced bun,

in the hope, to temptation,

we would succumb.

 

And the nutritionist

said ‘Oh no, no, no!

All that fat and sugar

will have to go.

 

And the devil returned

with chocolate truffles,

to slow down our pace,

to lethargic shuffles.

 

And the wise nutritionist;

back in the race,

suggested fruit and pulses,

to increase our pace.

 

And the devil re-appeared

with his trump card,

of Jam Roly-Poly,

laced with artery-blocking lard.

 

And the frustrated nutritionist,

shook her head in despair,

whilst sitting alone, eating salad,

with sliced avocado pear.

 

And the devil, still taunting,

waved a chocolate digestive,

and a slab of stollen,

just to be festive.

 

And the food nutritionist

sank to her knees,

after eating a stick of celery,

with cottage cheese.

 

And the devil ate all the cream,

that had been left to curdle,

then collapsed and died

at the final hurdle.

 

And the smiling nutritionist,

with the race won,

sipped pomegranate juice,

to toast a job well done.

 

But the devil incarnate,

always waiting there;

tempting and goading,

the sweet-toothed unaware.

 

And the well meaning nutritionist,

raises her hands in admission:

She’s on a hiding to nothing,

on this hopeless mission.

 

 

 

 

 

November 23, 2014

 

 

At the country property

auction sale,

I met a man who

looked quite pale.

 

His fortune he had

all but lost;

many heirlooms sold,

much to his cost.

 

At peanut prices,

to a bargain hunter:

An eagle eyed

impulsive punter,

 

without compassion

for those in need:

Each deal nailed down,

at breakneck speed.

 

All memorabilia

from childhood days,

bound for hands of a stranger,

then lost on selling bays.

 

Until the last item

of the day,

when good news about

to come his way.

 

His castle bought

by this same oil tycoon,

with no plans to live there

or to evict him soon.

 

He was told he could stay

completely rent free,

until the time came,

when dead, he be.

 

He was promised that everything

would remain the same,

including the family crest

bearing his grandfathers name.

 

The tycoon’s only stipulation;

the exclusive use of the left wing,

for family and friends

he may occasionally bring.

 

And the promise that the castle,

which was sadly in decline,

would be brought back to life,

retaining it’s ‘resident’ blood line.

 

As no better person was there,

to oversee it’s restoration,

and no better greeter to the public

than this man of reputation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like a trickle of water

that started the flood.

Like a prick of a finger

that released the blood.

 

Like a backward glance,

after walking away.

These things all start off,

in the smallest way.

 

Like a crumb of comfort

from newly baked bread.

Like a handshake, polite,

that stayed in the head.

 

Like a brush of the shoulder

from an accidental collision;

the anticipation there,

in the mind’s inner vision.

 

Like a first blade of grass,

from a newly sown lawn.

The workload to follow,

is no idle yawn.

 

Like a wish of a lifetime,

when young and a teen.

Like a tip of an iceberg;

the danger unseen.

 

 

 

 

November 22, 2014

 

 

When shadows creep

under moonlight’s beam;

no swans apparent

on the stream.

 

The water still,

at dead of night,

as forgotten souls

exert their right,

 

and dance along

the grassy bank;

half crazed when on

some ghoulish prank.

 

Performing handstands,

and back somersaults:

Rejoicing in escape,

from ancient vaults.

 

And in wild abandon,

floating through the air;

bewitched and spooked

by starlight’s glare.

 

Until, exhausted,

they fade from sight,

as fast as they came,

back into the night.

 

For when order left

and chaos came,

one last wish granted,

and life, never the same.

 

For in death, as in life

the soul never rests;

appearing out of the blue,

like uninvited guests,

 

who will return;

they always do.

Their purpose being,

to get a glimpse of you.

 

So when shadows creep

under moonlight’s beam,

and no swans apparent

on the stream,

 

do not back off

or turn away;

see them as mortals,

who found another way.

 

Face them, head on.

Look them in the eye.

Do not cower away,

or let them think you shy.

 

Say ‘Hello my friend,

I once knew you well’.

And I promise you this:

They will run like hell,

 

when their cover blown,

and you are seeing,

one who thought them self

an invisible being!

 

For when order left

and chaos came,

one last wish granted,

but with no time frame.

 

 

 

 

November 3, 2014

 

 

Oh, the horror

of that disease!

As yet no cure

can science tease.

 

Oh, the saviour

of minds exploring.

Help from above,

we are imploring.

 

Oh the sadness

for those so near,

to see them daily

shed a tear.

 

Oh, the loyalty,

and love waiting there,

for those lost in a world

they are unable to share.

 

 

 

 

 

And all above

and all below,

cast out by

a single blow.

 

No testament.

No evidence.

No smattering

of common sense.

 

And all above

and all below,

gone from this land

as rivers flow.

 

No warning came.

No chance to defend.

No plans prepared

for journey’s end.

 

 

 

 

By the babbling brook

where he took she,

for the first time

to dip her toes with glee.

 

By the waters edge

where he lay with she,

but being far too wise,

she did decline his plea.

 

Over the rickety bridge

did she push he,

to drown his passion

in the hope, sense he’d see!

 

 

 

 

To sit around a table

filled her with dread.

She had ancient demons

that hung around in her head.

 

As a child, she was offered the top

off her Mothers boiled egg:

Such poverty witnessed

when she had to beg.

 

And if lucky, the crust from

some newly baked bread,

with a smattering of dripping

before going to bed.

 

The dining table, a place

where bad memory’s lay,

that still lingered on,

until she passed away.

 

 

 

November 1, 2014

 

 

So much was said

that was not real;

such pitter-patter,

such crazy spiel.

 

Oh, judge them not,

you higher power,

that sees them

in their final hour.

 

So much was said

that was not true,

in an effort to shine

and others outdo.

 

Now all their actions

in total counted:

In the end, not a fortune,

was there amounted.

 

So much was said

in loud voices spoken,

but then without choice;

a promise broken,

 

before hands bound,

with no escape,

and no lea-way out

of old red tape.

 

So much was said,

at the offset,

when ‘possibility’,

the onside bet.

 

Oh judge them not,

you higher power.

Let their souls know peace

in their final hour.

 

 

 

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