September 24, 2014

 

 

A bond so strong is broken;

now the process of letting go.

Until we meet again, my heart,

no other love shall know.

 

 

 

 

Bright colours shine and dance like fire,

awakening dormant, past desire.

 

In duplicate, a wide division;

a trick that comes with double vision.

 

Yet heartache hidden, too cold to melt

a frozen block, that God’s hand dealt.

 

And all the weepers and the wailers,

stand by the dock, waving to their sailors,

 

Some may return, but no guarantee;

a fickle ruler, is that tempestuous sea.

 

No favouritism, no chosen one,

can escape their fate, from this day on.

 

So with saddened hearts they turn away,

as tears like rainfall force their way,

 

from welled up eyes, that almost say

‘Please bring my loved one, back someday’.

 

And in agony they homeward flock,

to sit-out the wait, for the dreaded knock,

 

at the door, by he, officially sent to say,

‘Forgive the news that I bring today.’

 

Though they pray each night on bended knee,

a homecoming re-union, there may never be.

 

And bright colours shine and dance like fire,

awakening dormant, past desire.

 

In duplicate, a wide division;

a trick that comes with double vision.

 

And heartache hidden, too cold to melt

the frozen block, that God’s hand dealt.

 

 

 

 

 

September 20, 2014

 

 

On the darkened path

to a fetish dream,

laid bare, emotions,

in agony scream.

 

When a brilliant brain

spinning out of control

seeks out mercy’s angels

who, half naked stroll,

 

around him,

menacingly tantalising,

in an awakened dream,

that left him fantasising.

 

(The power too great

at such a dizzy height.

The loneliness up there,

in towers of ivory white.

 

The expectation unreal,

at summit level.

Daunting is the path;

haunted by the devil.)

 

So for just one hour

they occupy his mind,

wrapping him in silken threads,

as his hands, they tightly bind.

 

And offered by the matrix;

life’s gas and air,

when pain too great, and life,

too much to bare.

 

Releasing pent-up stress;

so great the power.

Cometh the man,

cometh the hour.

 

‘Do with me what you will;

exploit my every whim.

Release my pent up stress.

Turn down the lights to dim’.

 

‘Too much, too much,

oh god, too much.

The sight of all that flesh

that I dare not touch’.

 

‘My own High Priestess;

the Ruler of the day,

make me sit and beg;

I promise to obey’.

 

‘Beat me to a pulp,

with your feathered wand.

I promise to be good.

I promise to respond.’

 

The supreme Goddess of Love,

bring me to my knees.

You have my heart and soul;

my only wish to please’.

 

Gone are unanswered emails

left for tomorrow,

in this world where dominance,

strips bare, life’s sorrow.

 

until strength found

once more, to carry on,

in this relentless world,

from where we’ll soon be gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh the joy of a witness

when insanity strikes;

the convenient bystander

that no defence likes.

 

Oh the happiness felt

when support is around;

the willing comforter there,

when little sense found.

 

Oh the justice at last

when all looked but lost;

the angel in disguise

on a path indeed crossed.

 

 

 

 

 

And she the one

who favoured thrift;

a steadying oar,

when the boat adrift.

 

And she the one

who favoured caution,

and knotted ends

to life’s contortions.

 

And she the one;

a safe pair of hands,

who balanced the books

before final demands.

 

And she the one

who others took for a ride,

when in an act of greed,

committing, professional suicide.

 

And she the one

empowered by need,

took hold of the reins

and did succeed.

 

 

 

 

The lows so low,

no recovery sought.

Any hope of a future

amounting to nought.

 

The nonsensical reasoning

that idle time bought,

until vision arrived

and life’s blessings taught.

 

In helping others now suffering,

and in a trap caught,

was the very best medicine,

and quick relief, brought.

 

 

 

September 17, 2014

 

 

She told me they’d

stopped her seeing Earnest,

because her Father thought

him to be a bit tapped,

and when she finally got

engaged to Albert,

they raised their hands

and clapped.

Then Earnest joined a circus,

and sadly fell off an elephant,

whilst not wearing a hat,

and Albert made a good husband,

so no more was spoken about that!

 

 

September 16, 2014

 

 

No evidence seen

of teeth marked gnaws;

(ice cannot be entered

until it thaws.)

 

So this being life

with all it’s flaws;

no pheasants present,

they caught jackdaws.

 

Then went about

their daily chores,

knowing the cauldron’s

contents held sinister claws.

 

And in the cauldron

of lost cause,

simmered withered hopes,

through metal gauze,

 

now riddled with rust;

too long the pause,

when stop/start action

gained little applause.

 

And though the cauldron

broke no laws;

old as time excuses

from open jaws.

 

 

 

September 6, 2014

 

 

He was normal as nine pence,

wi’ a full tuppence change.

Tho’ the tanner in his hand,

he would have to exchange,

 

or press button B

like a fruit machine hit,

to collect a few coppers,

and a thre’penny bit.

 

He was rich wi’ a florin,

and king wi’ ‘alf a crown.

but the farthings were heavy,

and weighed his pant’s down.

 

 

 

That man of words;

heart ruled by head,

who she, he beckoned,

to his bed,

 

in heady times

of miss-spent youth.

In wilderness days

of outspoken truth.

 

That man of words

with needy passion,

who she dallied with

in outrageous fashion.

 

And who in urgency,

showed no shame;

a Degree had he

in the ‘mating ‘game.

 

That man of words

with spirit reeling;

strong memories still,

inhibit the healing.

 

Who in answer to

another cuckoo’s call,

once more did conquer,

though from grace did fall.

 

That man of words,

who from Byron quoted,

cast her aside

when to another, devoted.

 

But, in all honesty,

if truth be shared;

it was only ever for

himself, he cared.

 

 That man of words,

who deemed himself a bard,

with a restless nature,

and who had scant regard,

 

for the debris left

as amour turned to ashes;

and who was later exiled,

and given fifty lashes.

 

That man of words;

a ‘one off’ or not?

Only time will tell,

for that rebellious swot.

 

But wise advice,

as daylight starts to fade;

best stay indoors,

or be afraid!

 

That man of words;

back on the prowl!

A tale or two, could tell,

that ever watchful owl,

 

who quietly sits,

absorbing all;

and the first to know,

who’s out on the crawl.

 

That man of words,

heard beyond the grave,

lives on amongst us

in menace, to misbehave.

 

And as the owl hoots,

to acknowledge his arrival,

heads are shook in wonder,

at his survival.

 

That man of words

oft found lying down,

now back in force

to regain his crown,

 

and moving nearer,

with his whispered curses;

lest we should forget

the heartache, he still nurses.

 

That man of words, who

through promiscuity reigned,

(capturing imagination;

an outlet, for those pained),

 

will not lay rested

as the owl knows so well;

for he too, gets ‘day release’,

from his own personal hell.

 

That man of words

who feathered his nest;

then gave back to the world,

it all, in his final bequest,

 

will not be acknowledged,

until the seedlings grow,

and future generations,

his work, all come to know.

 

 

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