Friday, April 28, 2017

My Season






The once innocent in me
didn’t know I’d lost the key
in an emptiness that seeked
highs and lows that dove and peeked,
I was led into a prison,
choices made, I didn’t listen,
didn’t understand the frisson,
couldn’t see what I was given.

But the answers live in me,
understands this misery,
shed my tears so I could be,
I accept what I now see,
with love, so has been written,
give yourself to fill what’s missing,
what I see is not illusion,
it is meant, it is my season.





Thursday, April 20, 2017

The Delicate Equilibrium



picture source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/317714948692088565/





The battle within me has never ceased,
my wounds lash out, the innocents receive,
tempting demons I know can destroy my heart,
live the lies on my skin, carved by you in the dark.

I’ve seen the truth when freed from your lies,
felt laughter as it flew, changed light dark skies,
lived my dream, it may seem, were it not the truth,
side-by-side, pain and pleasure, within, they me rule.
















Thursday, April 13, 2017

In the Fog of Absent Minds




picture source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/375909900134671289/



hidden pathways overgrown in the fog of absent minds
forgotten ways to a hallowed space sealed in by secret’s kiss
bound to the other’s presence, locked into intimacy
burned for, patiently waited for, to finally be fulfilled.






Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Dream.





  
Dream, my son, and dream big,
look beyond the boundaries of the impossible,
do not bow to the critique of dubious voices,
erase the lines drawn by previous generations,
don’t take today’s rules into tomorrow.

If you see it in your dreams you can create it in your waking world,
let instinct be your guide, let your heart be the judge,
write your book in the silence proffered by the midnight moon,
then step into freedom and let your life attest to the truth,
there’s more out there, another way, another life rewarding,
nothing endures forever, be a part of the wave growing all around you.



Thursday, March 16, 2017

Under silver clouds reaching down......




picture source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/494129390339069163/



Under silver clouds reaching down, I stand before you,
this is who I am, all revealed for you to see,
for you to receive my gifts of light and darkness,
my visions, energy and passion,
every truth I believe in, exposed for your inspection.

I accept you as you are,
I grant you my trust, my self, my love,
treat me gently as you lead me, I will follow your direction,
let us walk the path divine, rain on me your all devotion.




Saturday, March 11, 2017

Lonely House



picture source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/140315344621126069/


In an ordinary street stands a square double-storey house in the centre of a large piece of ground.  It’s surrounded by tall proud pines that sing in the wind and fill the air with their clear green presence.  A low stone wall braces an ancient mesh gate standing slightly ajar, random stones leading to the steps of a deep veranda.  She has seen this house many times before, never seen a soul in the wild garden, not a car, sometimes a cat sunned itself on the wall.

She didn’t know why she entered here, late this Friday night.  She didn’t know who would answer the door, or what she would say, but the light of the moon propelled her forward without thought, without fear.  Her footsteps made no sound as she crossed the polished red cement to the front door.  Her knock was soft but self-assured, not a tremble in her hands as she waited, then she lifted her hand once more and turned the brass doorknob.  Unlocked, the door swung open in a silent rush.

Soundlessly she stepped inside into a seemingly empty space.  A large threadbare Persian formed an island on the wooden floors, on the mantelpiece above a fireplace three candles flickered, casting a warm glow.  Long lace curtains floated with the breeze, moonlight dancing with shadows shy in the ballroom, their midnight dance.

She absorbed the room, her eyes searched the dark corners, a wingback chair over there, a guitar leaning against the armrest, a low table with an empty glass, a dirty ashtray and silence, the deep slow breathing of a sleeping house.

She moved toward the back of the house, past a half-closed door, a bathroom, into the kitchen, wooden tops, table and chairs, the back door standing open, it always stands open.  Turning back she went up the stairs running her hand over the warm smooth banister, following her instinct, as if she knew what she would find.  The smell is the same, the energy familiar, even the rhythm of her heartbeat is in sync with the breath of a motionless form on a bed half hidden from the shimmering stars.

“……it’s been 5 years,” says a voice from the past, again the silence, the sound of a distant car, “I have seen you, walking past….. sometimes you slowed and looked up to this window…… you never stopped.  I always wondered what you were thinking, why did you look, what did you look for.  And when you walked past I wondered when you would stop, knock on my door, 5 years….. why did you come here now?”

And still there's only silence, stretching time out of proportion, a deep, deep sigh fills the air as she turns over in her sleep.





Thursday, March 9, 2017

There are days......






  
  There are days I need the solitude of an empty home, devoid of people, sound and demands, when I only need the wind flowing in from over the ocean to brush its cool fingers across my skin.

  There are days you cannot hear me sing over the thunderous rock music of the 60’s, as the drumsticks in my hands pound out their rhythm beating in my veins.

  There are days I must submit, a total surrender to my hedonistic inclinations, when you can play with my desires as freely as the wind draws on the canvas of my limbs.

  There are days I must immerse myself in the select company of those with comparable thoughts, similar energy and insight, get lost in conversation, coffee and laughter in the too-rarely felt timeless state of well-being.

  Then there are days when the all-familiar shadows draw near, drowning hope and redemption, a drenching mist leaving nothing I see or feel untouched,

  and there are days I need to be the silent observer at the edge of your consciousness, reading your words, inflections, your movements, strength and need.

  Some days I’m at peace in this world I know I can change, some days the wounds are too deep and my life drains away.




Wednesday, March 8, 2017

Mindful





picture source: https://za.pinterest.com/pin/375909900126133320/



Wicked spirits are active in my thinking this day,
advocating reckless decisions,
stimulating greed and self-indulgence,
the tempting feast of impulsive behaviour,
with the knife of discontent firmly twisted in my need.