Thursday, March 16, 2017

Under silver clouds reaching down......

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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

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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


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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.

Friday, March 3, 2017

It is very simple. Actually.

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I’ve been a fool for so very long,
sharing counsel whilst disregarding mine,
the signals are clear this time,
revealed to me they have twice (make that 3),
in this moment to live, my instinct, in what I believe.

Monday, February 27, 2017

He belongs to the world

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He belongs to the trees standing tall in the breeze
singing a melody while they gently sway,
he belongs to the roots with open arms who embrace
the ground with their wisdom passed through the ages,
he belongs to air chasing clouds in the blue, blue sky
to feed your soul as you breathe in life,
and he belongs to the moon and stars scatt’ring dreams
bright with love and promise so you peacefully can sleep.

He belongs to the world, he was never mind to keep,
he belongs to all that’s open, past the boundaries and restrictions,
to possibilities bounding out before us,
to a dawn greeted with smiling anticipation
and the nightfall heralds a moonlit dance
across the soft cooling sea sand,
your freedom soothes the softly falling rain in the valley,
leaves a shimmer on the ground...

Sunday, February 26, 2017

Every thing is a choice

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Every thing is a choice, to accept or decline, to remember or forget.  
It is our choice to feed the line or to wander through silent forests, it’s our decision to follow the expected purpose of your forefathers, to accept their ways to be the one, the correct one, to follow.  
It is our choice to accept their words, to open ourselves to their knowledge and heed their warnings, but it is up to only us to decide how to integrate these with our innate being so we can still release the spirit of our creativity, intuition and magic and to live these possibilities, show others there are different ways to traverse these shores.  
Who knows, you may inspire someone to also fly free to their dreams the way you do.

Friday, February 24, 2017

Hell is Real

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Today I would give anything to drown in a mind-numbing fog where I can’t feel, no one can reach me, where nothing matters and tomorrow never comes.
But even that is gone, an unviable solution taken by the passage of time, denied by the knowing there is no escape, no temporary relief, and the only place I’ll find lasting peace is inside my self, if I would just open the goddamn door…