October 18, 2014

 

 

Oh mirror of the inner soul,

that magnifies life sevenfold,

and holds the secrets there within

away from even next of kin.

 

Oh mirror of the inner soul,

in times of trouble, you console,

and make us what we are today,

by keeping back reflections sway.

 

Oh mirror of the inner soul,

together we will forward stroll,

through truth and lies and alibis,

and sobs and tears and wasted sighs.

 

Oh mirror of the inner soul,

falsehood you never will console.

The blinkered look, the honest stare;

thank god the mirror, always there.

 

 

 

 

Out of making the best

of a time of despair,

came riches untold

when raw love left to share.

 

And though some thought boredom

would surely strike;

none of it, they found,

for they were both alike.

 

And managed quite well

their new situation;

adjusting in no time

without any complication,

 

into an easier routine,

where irony caused fun

and things, once important,

disappeared with the sun.

 

Leaving them to focus

on the bones of the matter,

during walks in the park

and a good in-depth chatter.

 

Having no-one to report to

or actions to explain,

was worth every penny

lost down the drain.

 

For in finding freedom to be

who they wanted to be,

turned into a gift,

from life’s ‘giving tree’,

 

And when stripped bare of assets

they then could see light;

thanking god that the clutter

at last, gone from sight.

 

With possessions all slung out,

along with the dust pan;

clearing the way for a future,

that was never in the plan. 

 

 

 

September 30, 2014

 

 

I saw a dog

sat on a trampoline,

keeping it’s

underbelly clean,

 

and free from damp

and dirt and grime,

basking in the sun

waiting for mealtime.

 

 

 

 

There’s a cottage that will do for you,

that’s become vacant, due to the death,

of elderly spinster Miss Bromsey-Howard,

but when you see it, don’t hold your breath.

 

It’s tucked away at the rear of the pub;

just up the hill, and off to the right.

She never allowed anyone entry,

so prepare yourselves for a mighty fright.

 

The only form of heating you’ll find,

is by way of an ancient cast iron range.

And I advise you to visit in daylight,

as under your feet, will run creatures strange!

 

It’s where American soldiers found shelter,

and survived many a wartime air raid.

And where her mother entertained them lavishly,

whilst Bromsey-Howard was with his brigade!

 

The soldiers supplied ‘smokes’ to the villagers,

and kept the lassies in nylons, so fine.

And some said that Miss Bromsey-Howard,

was born with a yank through her spine!

 

So if you’re looking for a place historical,

and are prepared for many set-backs.

The price should be very agreeable,

if you can live with a good few, wise cracks!

 

 

September 29, 2014

 

 

Their thoughts

quite different,

as they stroll along

in mutual harmony.

No need for words;

each one quite

content with loves

silent rhapsody.

Although their talents clash,

they choose to agree to disagree;

giving space where needed,

as they stroll along

hand in hand,

in disciplined harmony.

 

 

 

September 24, 2014

Whilst listening to

the air so still,

that swirled around,

as if at will,

She heard a buzz

within her head,

and turned, and said,

‘Is that you, Ted?

 

That moment came

through the air so still,

from Ted, a reminder,

to forgetful Lil’,

that it was six weeks,

since he be dead,

and his beloved goldfish,

had not been fed!

 

That prompt, one of many

through the air so still,

(often telling her not

to forget her pill),

proved that the love,

felt by, her faithful Ted,

lived on beyond the grave,

and he was by her bed.

 

 

 

 

As dawn approaches and

the morning noises kick in,

and the body awakens

to the clang, of industrial din.

It is good to know that sleep

befell a cluttered mind,

and after hours of restlessness,

peace, was there to find.

 

Another day, another hope,

another flower to see.

Another prayer said quietly,

that free from grief we be.

As onward goes the fight

to heal the scars of time,

where signs now in evidence,

that we are past our prime.

 

Another day, one day at a time,

caught up in the daily grind.

Then a kettle boiling madly;

a pleasure so defined.

A cup of tea, a mug of tea;

the best start to the day.

Followed by the aroma of bacon,

to set us on our way.

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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