White – the ‘blush’ of new beginnings

Some say we must experience loss before we can truly love another. If that’s true then the two go hand in glove, like a picture in a puzzle, like the final piece of that uncompleted jigsaw. Like the face without a frown, like the red nose on the clown.

The two sit there, ever so quiet, one chair for each as the moon shines and the stars are seen in the brightest night.

“I love you,” he says to his sweetest, holding her soft hand.

“Me too,” she replies, blushing, rushing to maintain a semblance of what is real.

But this is real – now – the only real thing to her is him: a life lived with him beside her, and within.

She lived a life of solitude until then – a life never to be in solitude again. For tomorrow is the beginning of a life ‘conjoined’: brought together, forever and until…

Grey – the colour of compromise

Compromise lives in uncertainty’s world: a sense of not knowing what path one should take: to look forward with a smile or back with a solemn frown.

Who’ll guide me, who will listen? Does anybody care? I look left, I look right: is anybody there?

Trudging through the mud each day, after rain: its heaviest of all. I shout out to a shadow – hear my call! I just want that shadow to hear my voice, to listen and accept. The first to accept my point of view is my best chance yet…

Of finding my way to the whiter side of grey. I face many bends in the road that lies ahead. Yet find my way I will and I’ll live to love again. The road ahead’s the ‘whitest’ road I’ve seen.

Black -the symbol of grief

A sense of losing what, once, was held so dear: what, once, was held so close to the heart. Oh, how to live, to begin again: to start to feel life hasn’t ended yet?

But how to leave this path of loneliness? How to see a bright light shining through? How can one love again after such a loss: how can one put aside the memory of you?

Yet memories need not be e’er forgotten: they are as much a part of our soul as of our heart. Without cherished memories, what is life to us but an empty, shallow chasm filled with dust?

Poem – Taxpayer Thomas

Taxpayer Thomas’s wife would be on tenterhooks
Wondering what her husband’s response would be
Would he be dejected, shout and yell
Or would he dance and prance with glee

He’d toil away at a job disliked
To pay his family’s way
So he saw his refund as his hard-earned reward,
‘A reward for my troubles,’ he would say

‘Not just your way,’ his wife would add,
‘But paying for those that cannot work,
Like John & Debbie Tucker,
And poor old Nelson & Mary Burke.’

Tom’s finger pressed against the page,
Against the envelope
Pushed it open, took out the note, and said;
‘S**t, it’s gotta be a joke.’

‘Honey,’ his wife said, excitedly,
‘It’s not like you to be obscene.
What on earth can be wrong?
What can it possibly have been?’

‘Look what they’ve done,’ Tom replied,
‘They’ve added a chart to my refund check.
It tells me where my tax dollars go.
Oh, what the bloody heck?’

By now Tom’s wife was adamant
Her husband had gone quite off his tree.
He hadn’t spoken like this before,
Not since his days at sea.

The chart, it was before him
In colors blue, yellow, red and green.
Twenty-three thousand went on welfare,
He wished he hadn’t seen.

Seventeen billion dollars a year
Went on Disability alone.
He’d seen it in the paper
Yesterday, when he was home.

Tom, (well, the taxpayer in him at least)
Threw the paper to the floor,
And said to himself (as you do);
‘I can’t take it anymore.’

His wife was always careful
To see the other side.
‘How could people less fortunate
Get by,’ she said, she sighed.

‘The welfare system exists for a reason
And we taxpayers pay our share.
But at the end of the day,’ Tom’s wife thought,
‘Someone has to care.’

She quietly put her arm around
Her husband’s shoulder, on a whim.
Gently, surreptitiously,
She knew she could mould him.

Tom’s wife could feel him releasing
All his inhibitions and frustration.
He was no longer concerned, she felt,
About the social welfare of the nation.

At last Tom had come around,
He could see the other side
Until next year (when his refund came again)
And he’d have a hissy fit, and cry.

Poem – Oliver

Oliver strolled to the highest mountain
To seek out a magical sight.
It was a mountain greener than the greenest of pastures,
It spoke of goodness and light.

From the mountain-top Oliver saw the cliffs,
Far to the west they stood.
On top a four-leafed clover found
By the wee man wearing a hood.

A clover was lucky, four-leaves to be sure,
So rare that to seek and to find
Would give good luck for time immemorially,
Attached to the finder and to his kind.

A wee little leprechaun has special powers to search
For what others find barely at all.
Faith, hope and love, a three-leaf clover can give
But the fourth leaf keeps one enthralled.

Oliver the shoemaker can hide the clover away
In his shoe, and there it will stay
Until others attach themselves to the little green man
And they try to take it away.

Then the others ask after the leprechaun’s gold,
Pots of it they think he does have.
“You’ll never take it away,” the little man says.
At the end of the rainbow it’s safe.

But the wee little man could not hide the truth,
A lie he never could tell.
So he moved his pot of gold from the end of the rainbow
Down to the water well.

The Jester had listened, intently he’d heard
All that had come from the ‘crowd.’
He had nothing to add other than harmony, verse
And with that he sang this out loud;

“Roll over, roll over, that four-leaf clover
Become the leprechaun’s friend
Roll over, roll over that four-leaf clover
Can’t wait to see Oli’ again.”

Poem – The apple tree

He sat alone amongst the many

Soulful, stifled, unknown to all

As if a shadow followed him in sunshine

As passers-by, unseen, did fall

He sat alone amongst the many

Touching though they could not feel

Speaking though they could not hear

He shouted as if to declare;

‘I’m reaching out to those in need

But it’s me who needs protecting

The multitude could not feel, hear or see 

No-one that day would follow me.’

He sat alone amongst the many

He sat there as twilight followed day

Knowing someone, somewhere, would assist him

Knowing someone, somewhere, would one day say;

“I’ve been you when you were me

I’ve been near the end, alone and lonely

Believe, have faith, prey mercy be

Come take my hand, all you need, only

Is a friend from the pit, from down below

Who’s been there once, twice, thrice before

Starved, deprived of pictures, words

Starved of truth, forgotten, poor.

Yet I’ve walked sun-filled streets free from harm

To feel shackle wrap ’round my arm

So I reach up toward the sky

‘Cos there I find the reason why.

‘Release me,’ I cried, enjoy the day

I know not any other way

When shackle’s gone, life surrounds

Sickness and fear no more abound.

Fear and emotion I wear not well

Estrangement, loss, a wishing well

Espouse free thought and free expression

As I share with you my true impression

Safe and harmless it may be

Undervalued, uncared for, freedom lost

My smile, at best, a need to see

Save other from life’s needless cost.

What we harvest we, in time, reap then sow

No matter a good harvest or a bad one be

Beyond the pit come follow me

The fruit will grow on your apple tree.”

Poem – helping hand

A hand reached out in time of need,
Rain in time of drought.
Fingers interlaced, accede,
Bud blooms from planted seed.

A hand reached out, come what may,
In time of loss, of sorrow.
Transfixed, hand in glove. To stay?
Or would, once more, in time, away?

A hand reached out, no more the poorer
A descendent finding family.
To face, to feel, to touch, be surer,
With every waking hour. Purer?

A hand reached out to touch the glass
Through it could be seen the far horizon.
‘Twas a masterpiece from the past,
It’s value translucent. Would it last?

A hand reached out in time of need
Sun in time of flood.
Fingers interlaced, accede,
The town survived, the rain recedes.

Poem – After the Fall

Once I was in the womb

Before I made it to the tomb

What went between it matters not

Cherished memories, now forgot

 

Maitre’d to those with plenty

Entree served before main course

Do we get to partake at all

Or just bus and wait on you and yours

 

Transcendental or eternal

With alterations, grass is greener

Grass dies with season ending

Altered, dead, or just pretending

 

The fence makes another’s life look sweet

Fence impales sight

As I reach the fence, other’s life turns sour

Reality bites, pang of guilt felt – quite

 

Ill wind brings chill, cold light of day

Riches of another won’t go away

Pleasure lost, regret in tow

Envy present of friend and foe

 

Path hindered to resolution

Satisfaction’s path be true

To satisfy, life’s conundrum

Regret away, walk on through

 

Consider bird, or tree, or well-bound book

Duty, strain of thought, be gone

Pragmatic not Deterministic

Smile, if present, only wan

 

Well-bound book or bumble-bee

Man-handled or nature’s own

Rejoice on Satisfaction’s path

Regret be gone, enjoyment grown

 

Stow away on path to plenty

Plenty reached after the Fall

Satisfaction now on board

Cherished memories, now recalled.

 

Poem – Moral Absolution

I felt a pang of enmity

In shoulder and in heart

A pang that measures friend from foe

Who, once loved, now forgot.

 

But enmity and absolution

Couldn’t share the thoughts of one

A lover with a dagger drawn

Spells irony to some

 

To heal, to treat, perambulate

Attend to task at hand

Others would awaken

Compassion in that man.

 

Beholden love, beholden trust

Respect met Graciousness that day

Invited Care, Consideration

To participate, to stay.

 

Notice the feather in his cap

See the bird resting on the sill

Bravo those attending him

Thank God they always will

 

Give of themselves what’s within

Release, absolve, commute

Consider not the worth of man

But the moral absolute.

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