Through the Rabbit Hole

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I’ll gladly follow the bouncing white rabbit

through hedges grown high

and openings grown closed,

deep, deep, deeper into the maze

to where the sunlight turns a misty grey

and the moonlight paints me into a luminous puppet,

controlled by fantasy and sheer indulgence.

An impish reflection dances through ferns,

splashes through cola brooks

and dances with kangaroos

through the scent of sweet  blossoms

that open the door to wonder,

transforming the chaos of a rambling mind

into a playground carousel of magical sounds

and lights…

free from restriction, free from restraint,

free from our neighbours bounds;

and delight instead in the tea of laughter

with the joker, our host for the night…

Tortured Dreams

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And the darkness stead’ly marches through the distance, coming near,

bringing in its claws the madness of the despot who craves fear,

one who feeds on blood-red tears shed by cowering broken men,

broken by the bonds of heartache so entrenched they cannot fend

off the nightmares of the days long gone, playing in their mind,

seeking dogged retribution from a fiend they cannot find,

for the darkness takes their man, without question, without thought

to the one who’s left abandoned, tortured dreams their new cohort.

Visions of the Past

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Even when the world’s imploding

and all avenues seems blocked,

when each friendly hand seems tainted

by the knowledge that is locked,

in instinctive base reactions

programmed in your darker days,

that you need to stop and wonder

if you see true through this haze;

that may mask the real depiction

of that which is ‘fore your eyes,

can you benefit the sinner,

cut the truth from latent lies?

55 - Forever you

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I wish I could, for one last time,

hold you near and hear the rhyme

your breath of love leaves on my skin,

and feel the trust you have within,

for me to be the one you chose

to spend your time with, ‘til it slows,

I whisper my devotion true,

‘Today, tomorrow, forever, you.’

Dark is the Night

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You came to me in my dreams last night,

you sat on my lap and you closed your eyes,

it was 3.33 when with tears I awoke,

no night is as dark ’s when the heart is broke.

A Piece of my Heart

We have a little Levi, a 6-year old African Grey Parrot, who, against all odds (for what do you know, I didn't believe myself to be a bird-person) has crept real deep into my heart.  Levi has now been sick for 7 weeks, and between building stress at home and this very nasty virus, he has not been getting better.  He's gone to hospital today, to stay for a few days, to be fed as he's so dehydrated and weak, and hopefully turn this whole thing around... Please keep him in your thoughts... this hurts...

It is in the gusting breeze

under dust-filled hazy skies,

in the fever pitch of chaos

that all sanity defies,

that a menacing cold darkness

a long shadow now imparts,

bringing home the fear of losing

a piece of this breaking heart.

It’s the hounds of hell that wrote,

down my spine in blood that’s red,

with their nails a word of warning

as towards me they have sped...

Now I pray my tears of love

wash away their cold intent,

'cause I can't release this piece,

that the Gods to me have lent.

The Sins of our Fathers

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From the day we are born

our innocence’s replaced,

by the sins of our fathers,

which we lived and retraced,

on a path of learned experience

we accepted as the norm,

as we’re moulded none too gently,

without realizing the harm.

And we touch each other daily

with the wounds that deeply bleed,

sometimes hear a warning echo,

yet continue without heed,

in the perfect life we've woven

with the thread of deep denial,

all the time the heap gets bigger,

as the guilt we now stockpile.

Yet the circle needn't close,

you can write an ending new,

treat the demons to a gathering

with the truth to them undo,

lest you wonder in the dark hours

of a moonless night alone,

why the children joined the circle,

for the sins that we now own.

In the arms of a Willow Tree

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Last night I was summoned by the waving arms of the willow tree,

the one that stands at the rivers edge, bathed in the setting sun.

It was their branches that reached out, swirling through the star-drenched waters

to murmuring angels, before opening the door to a realm far beyond.

My bare feet walked the dewy paths of moss the brightest green,

butterfly wings brushed against my cheeks and the breeze swirled through the air

in colourful tails. And that is how I became that carefree child,

filled with curious and exciting ways.  Or was it the air, sweetened with nectar,

or the dusting of silver on my naked skin in the moonlight

that opened the gateway to a freedom few experience,

to a realization only some acknowledge,

that the passing of days is indeed a liberation

of the senses that know more than the mind.