August 31, 2016

 

 

So free the mind of everyday clutter.

Forgotten are days of woe.

No returning to muddy waters,

on a tug that sailed long ago.

 

So free the mind of knotted seaweed,

that the hippocampus knew well.

Now the mind on a voyage of discovery,

without baggage, as heavy as hell.

 

April 14, 2016

 

 

And people came, hoping to fit in;

a new life willing to begin.

 

No sea too risky or too deep,

to sap their strength – no time to weep.

 

Each one battling fear and fright,

for a chance of freedom – knuckles white.

 

Survivors of life’s cruellest game;

to live in peace their only aim. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and sunlight came today;

I gave myself a break,

away from a self absorbed existence –

a breathe of fresh air to partake.

 

and vision came today;

depression to replace.

My mind flooding with ideas,

I re-joined the human race.

 

and hope came by today;

a future I could see.

Solitude, a draughty corridor,

that nearly was the death of me.  

 

 

 

 

December 26, 2015

 

 

The bench, my own

just for tonight.

Warm wooded slats,

the soul, to excite.

 

Free from the draught

of winter’s bite,

and wind blown leaves,

and doggy shite.

 

 

The bench, my own

til morning light.

The sky my ceiling,

twinkling bright.

 

No mortgage plan.

No rent arrears.

My shower – rain water,

hiding tears.

 

 

The bench, my own;

I slept well last night.

And awoke with new hope;

the aroma right.

 

Near my arm, a Big Mac:

I knew there was a god.

And a can of beer tied with tinsel

left by some kindly sod.

 

 

 

 

November 1, 2015

 

 

I daily wait

at water’s edge.

My open heart

to him I pledge.

 

The point at which

we two last kissed,

I return to daily.

I can’t resist.

 

To recall the moment,

I never tire.

His love alone

all that I desire.

 

Please God let

his ship return.

And sight of bow

replace the stern.

 

I daily wait

at water’s edge.

My open heart

to him I pledge.

 

The one for me,

the only one.

My life on hold

since he’s been gone.

 

 

 

October 6, 2015

 

 

Oh mind that sees me

short of rest,

in the wee small hours;

I do protest.

I need this time

to clear my head.

In the wee small hours

whilst in my bed.

 

Oh mind that keeps me

from shut eye,

in the wee small hours,

disturbed, I lie.

I need this time;

give me a break.

In the wee small hours,

for pity’s sake.

 

Oh mind that sends me

on the same dream,

in the wee small hours,

I awake and scream.

I need this time,

to keep my senses keen.

In the wee small hours

grant me, sleep serene.

 

 

September 24, 2015

 

 

And towards the junction of the road,

undecided, dear Erasmus strode.

Three choices had he at this brow;

go left or right, or return home now.

 

But going left just wasn’t right;

the west not on his satellite,

and if going right, all that was left,

would the eastern star find him bereft?

 

So although freedom, Erasmus yearned,

from the unknown, his back he turned.

And no other option had he now,

but to seek out middle ground, somehow.

 

 

 

 

 

And as we tread

the road to nowhere,

our onward journey

not in vain.

For with each step

around every corner

waits a new adventure

life cannot explain.

 

And as we tread

the road to nowhere,

a mistimed plan

can change the day

For with each step

around every corner,

courage of conviction

sees us pave the way.

 

And as we tread

the road to nowhere,

New horizons

ours to own.

For with each step

around every corner,

a trusted hand awaits;

we are not alone.

 

 

May 2, 2015

 

 

and the window of

her soul; double glazed.

To keep out the sound.

To keep in fire, that blazed.

 

and the window of

her heart; single paned.

To gather moisture,

from cheeks, tear stained.

 

and the window of

her mind; thin plastic.

To scratch the surface

of a life, fantastic.

 

and the windows of

her eyes; fresh air.

No defense has she,

for she is not there.

 

 

 

 

Is it anger?

Maybe.

Is it pent up

stress?

Is it

the end result?

Is it

collected mess?

 

Is it

the challenge

of the

high wire?

Is it

nostalgia,

setting

the soul on fire?

 

Is it

a platitude,

said to

fit in?

Is it

roaring passion

hidden

deep within?

 

Is it

life,

in it’s

rawest form?

Is it

the needle

in the eye

of the storm?

 

 

 

 

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