Absolution

I walk beyond the fatal shore

to see what gaze can bring

and dance like a disciple

rescued by the leader’s ring

will he answer all my prayers

and welcome me to home

and be the man I always hoped

would save me from alone

the wind howls in the morning mist

and hollers strident dreams

when I walk past that fatal shore

nothing is as it seems

the distant cry from moonlit sky

the sudden chance that storm

would tolerate another cause

and keep so many warm

I hear it in horizons –

yet to see what can become

like a photographic still shot

abandoned by the sun

as I walk by it feels so shy

yet heats toward the core

sensing a shimmer out at sea

I’ll never want for more

and if my treasured trove is found

I’ll welcome others in

vow to remain a measured strain

absolved of all my sins.

More thoughts

So the same sex marriage saga is still going and I’m still shading under that tree I mentioned a fortnight ago. Needless to say it seems to have been over-ridden by a ‘dual citizenship’ saga of late. Our members of parliament have decided there’s no need to be an Australian citizen alone and have been found out to also be Kiwis, Poms, Italians, Canadians and other such citizenry.

The High Court has thrown some of them out of parliament altogether and given others a second chance. Funny how things work.

If you’re interested go here bbc.com and you’ll find out more.

For the poets among you, please find below a few more thoughts of mine I added to cosmofunnel.com for your added enjoyment.

What’s reflected from the mirror?

Cosmo1

I took a photo with a camera

Cosmo2

Have a great weekend!

O. 🙂

Are these the words?

Are these the words I needn’t say?

You say them for me when you pray

You kneel upon a wooden floor

Sit on a bench they call a pew

And talk to those who cannot share

 

Your presence in the holy room –

Who sacrificed so you could live

And care for those who cannot give

What they receive to those they love –

 

Who treat them like a waveless shore –

They cannot see you anymore

But where they go there will be care

And one day they will see you there

 

Yet now, the congregation flows

Singing hymns we all would know

From the hymn sheet given them

 

And once done, in sight, the choir sings

A hum is heard from those ahead

Then the scriptures will be read

By the Reverend that fine day

 

And if a Bible you don’t have

No need for you to worry, so –

One will sure be given you

 

And inside that holy room

Where words are said for me through prayer

I wonder whether I could share

The sentiment being written there.

the path less travelled…

He rose above the helpless throng
He was only one among a crowd
He heard a calling, 'twas a song
Timely, he could not disregard

You've come to me for rationale
You've come to me for saviour
No-one else can take the stand
You've come to me, the one you favour

The steps on which we stagger
From one level to the next
Like climbing up the corporate ladder
Feeling e'er, between, betwixt

The next step up he could not see
The frond led him to the money tree
Ladder of wealth, mendacity
The pathway opened unto me

Who and what and where we were
Why and how we hit upon
Invited, I failed to confer
I took the path less travelled on

Night-time

Night-time wouldn’t show itself

Until Sunshine moved away

Like a road-way that disappears in flood

Like a child who will stray

 

Night-time hid away God knows where

Like a sock hides in a shoe

Not wanting to come out and play

Like when I played hide and seek with you

 

The pages turned as Sunshine faded

Sunset became the star

New chapter aglow, best time of day

People came from near and far

 

To hear and see the sweetness, cheer

Sunset brought to all

Listening for the climax

That would entice, enthrall

 

Sunset’s colours made the day

Surely to behold

Night-time felt alone, left out

Dark, upset, anxious, lonely, old.

I built a home

in honour of those who have…

I achieved where many others failed –
I’m satisfied though many others aren’t.

My path told me to walk the path I could
And led me away from the path I can’t.

And sacrifice instructed me to stay
As loss, oh loss, would lead me to succeed.

Certainty would meet me along the way –
My flower’s blooming from my garden’s seed.

From the camping ground to caravan,
From the beach-head to the sea, I’ve been
Taken on a path; my very own.

From the safety of a nucleus
To a nucleus of mine – come walk
With me on my path – I’ve built a home.

(a snippet from an as yet unpublished poem, ‘I built a home’.

Home alive

Passion breeds poetry – what follows is a section of a piece written recently about an experience of mine a few years back and the people that gave me my second chance…

 

Hospitals have lost their welcome mat, and

Are quick to change the patient in their bed.

When I have stayed I’ve tried so hard to walk

Back out the door. But they’ve told me; “wait, you’ll

Be needing surgery, instead.”

 

But what must it have been like for those I left at home?

Parental sacrifice means you put your loved ones first.

A sense of loving others before you love yourself

Is the essence of belief in what I call

‘The family stone’.

 

My scar is a reminder of my second chance to thrive.

Thank goodness it’s been given by those who

Love me as I am. They’re the ones that hold me,

That mould me into me. They’re the ones

That got me home, alive.

My first time

It happened. I’d heard people talk about it, in writing groups and elsewhere, but had never felt the emotion that overtakes when it happens to you.

The other day, a friend of mine rang me up and said; “Guess what? Your book isn’t in the book-store.”

“Of course not,” I replied. Patience, dear friend, patience.

“No, you don’t understand. I asked if they had it and they told me it had been sold.”

“Well are they going to get some more in?” I finally retorted.

But the feeling inside was one of wanting to jump out of my skin. My book? Sold? Like…wow!

I heard a story recently from another writer who told me that she went into a book-store not for one minute expecting to find her very own book on the bookshelves. But that’s exactly what happened. She picked it up, took it to the man behind the counter, and said;

“This is my book.”

And he replied;

“Not until you pay for it.”

There are many more stories very similar I could pass on, but the essence of the story is that no matter how many books you have published, the feeling of seeing your book on the shelves of a book-store will never fade.

It’s the passion we feel in actually writing the book that contributes to the sentiment we feel in seeing it bought. The process is a hard one, as I know only too well. But if it wasn’t hard, then why would we bother? And the old line never falters that hard work never hurt anyone. Besides, the harder it is, the better we feel.

So my first time is over. There’ll be a second – and a third. But I only wish I could have seen the expression on my face when my buddy called to tell me the good news. I guess the strength of feeling contributes to the quality of the manuscript. If we didn’t feel strongly we wouldn’t try hard. And if we didn’t try hard our chances of succeeding would be slim indeed.

If you wish to purchase my first publication, click here:-

http://www.zeus-publications.com/prism%20-%20an%20anthology.htm

NB: If outside of Australia, ‘Prism’ is available at all good on-line bookstores.

No vacancy

‘No vacancy’, her sign said

As I strolled by a second time

‘Why?’ I wondered.

Was her mind closed to adventure?

Or just closed?

I’d seen her in happier times

When her and I were one

‘I love you’, her lips said

I smiled, looked into her eyes

And held her hand.

Happier times than these!

Now, only lonely, all alone

Where had I gone wrong?

I looked, in awe, down the road ahead

And what did I see?

A car at speed? Oh, no!

A traffic light, changing to green? Oh, no!

A jay-walking pedestrian? Oh, no!

A couple, on a park bench,

Standing. Kissing. Holding Hands

Oh, yes! That’s what I saw

That’s all I saw…

“Sorry, sir – there are no rooms spare.

Did you see the sign? No vacancy.”

Huh. No vacancy

My heart had had no vacancy

Since the first day we met.

You were still there

You’ll always be there.

Live to fight

Feet, coloured yellow –

Move at speed –

Shades of green

Adorn the ground

 

Billboards changing –

Take your seats –

We’re bouncing in the round

 

Seagulls take up

Residence

And coach on high alert

 

Dropping veterans

For youth to build –

Fans think it will subvert

 

What once was strong,

Like Coventry –

He was primed

To out-perform

 

Ah, the good old days,

They held it high

But now, they’re out of form

 

The President –

Encompassing –

A culture that is rife

 

With a cold (or is it flu?)

That’s prevalent –

Ubiquitous, despite

 

The ability to cheer

To love what angers some

To shout and yell in support

Of the mid-fielder, on the run

 

He carries the ball down the spine

The team-mate, to his left, is clear

The handpass is perfection –

A hip-and-shoulder, and he’s near

 

The man who carries everyone’s

Expectations in his foot

He drops the ball, he kicks it straight

His goal, the scene-stealer, to boot

 

The scene gives of

Fanaticism –

Objective over-ruled –

Zealousness a special treat –

Tastes like a helix – like a spool

 

Beyond the backdoor arguments

Of avarice and spite

The paper-pushers run an industry

Constructed from the contract’s might

 

The microphone – required

It’s written on the page –

Held out to reach a sonic pitch

That keeps the player sage

 

Back ‘on deck’ and it is tight

Precision wins the game

The difference between

Right and wrong is

Written in a name

 

Will he go on to stardom?

Does he even have a say?

Perhaps! But if, and only if

Free agency’s the way

 

The crowd erupts – the game is won

The team’s theme song must be played

Everyone’s a winner as

The dollar sign’s displayed.