Thick cotton wool inside my mind,
Slowing down the thinking
So nothing seems to be quite real
Like the effects of heavy drinking.
It sits there right behind the eyes
soporific loopy juice exuding
Too dense to let the sunlight in
all rationality precluding.
It blocks the feelings like thick fog
All the synapses start slowing,
Shifting to an unknown gear
Where the anxiety starts flowing.
And then your lost in nothingness
With personality dismantled
In a life devoid of feeling
Where thought dies freshly scrambled.
Like the shadow of a spectre, waiting but not visible
whose presence I can sense but how is inexplicable
Wondering when you will step out in clear sight once again
To bleed the joy and colour from the landscape of the sane,
For a bleak and lonely jail that that imprisons without bars
where the torturer takes pleasure in reopening the scars
rubbed raw by insecurities that taunt as an accuser
and stalk among the nightmares like a serial abuser.
Until the brain becomes befuddled, in lethal fast quicksand,
With no hope of extradition from this dull gray hinterland.
So though I cannot see you, I cannot deny the tension
Awaiting your assault and the effects of such mind venom.
Luminescent, ablaze with the last bright vestiges of life,
as if returning all the light absorbed on endless summer days, now in this last stubborn display, shinning to delight the eyes of hearts that dread the approach of winters bitter melancholy.
Soon these gnarled and twisted boughs will drop their brilliant plumage,
gently layering the earth in a crisp yet fading blanket of decay revealing in stark silhouette the tall skeletal scaffolding that Spring, and later Summer clothed in verdant green array.
And birds on annual sojourn circle in delight the mirrored Mere,
that rains have filled, reflecting now the gray of autumn cloud, and earth grown hard with the sharp starch of burning frost protects the buried seedbed under autumn’s calloused shroud.
Pink and white swirled high on wafer cone
Fragrant fish and chips in paper wraps
Castles in the sand where youngsters dream
Slot machines entice from near arcades
Deckchairs striped on golden open sand
Couples hand in hand along the prom
Doughnuts dipped in sugared cinnamon
Shorts with legs so pale they almost glow
Thoughtful faces staring out to sea
Speak all the ingredients of holiday
Loves’s invitation whispered on the edges of the breeze
for no one, yet in grace issued for everyone
that receptive hearts may once again delight
In the grace of pure unbounded acceptance .
The rays of morning sun warm the Pallid skin
and remind the true self of the gift of original blessing
Wherein each life is an opportunity to unfurl the soul
within such radiance that we dance in unabashed freedom.
So break the calloused fetters which bind the fearful heart
let hope once again be the lens to examine purest beauty
And In the glory of unsullied refracted glory
celebrate the truth bestowed when love saw ‘it was good’.
September sun refuses the first advance of autumn’s kiss,
melting any hint of frost into glistening morning dew.
Lifting the suggestion of chill before the skin has time to feel,
Basking, in the warmth of summer’s borrowed day.
Light on crested water dances, dappled animation,
Pointing to the place where ocean washes sky.
absorbing its gray into her steely murky tide
So that heavens dazzle, robed in ever paling blue.
Fight, O burning orb, that summer may linger yet,
for all too soon autumns nails will rake the trees
and earth will once again prepare for sleep,
fight to hold your sway,
delay, we pray the end of seasons’ reign.
The tufted dunes, like tattered panpipes
allow the wind to voice her melancholy
lifted for the heart by the broad vista of the sea
and the lazy gliding of fearless chuckling gulls.
Here the drumbeat of time is muffled
by the singing of awakened creation
engulfing the longing searching soul
with the lullaby of wondrous triune glory.
The sand beneath the feet gives way
inviting each footstep to stay awhile and wonder
as the senses are flushed of unnecessary angst
and the true self glimpses joyfully the creator’s love,
as here in this place, another world is revealed.
She waits, damp in the stillness of a new day,
and lifts her dew laden wings high to greet the sun. The warmth ripens her colours that no artist can capture nor the most skilled poet find the words to describe. Then, when the moment is just right and the chrysalis just a memory, she catches the breeze and rises high on nothing but hope.
As we turn away, the horns of celebration loudly blare,
and tear escapes my eye, betraying the pain of this farewell.
Here amidst the union flags and flowing cheap champagne
I stand, a spectre at the feast, wishing it could be another way.
You were my brother, but now, at best a distant friend,
across the sea, behind a bordered wall you stand,
and here as bulldog barks aloud of treasured hope,
I feel deep emptiness surrounded now by nothing but fools gold.
In the shadows, as the Westminster bells begin to toll,
the warmongers watching from the wings wring delighted hands,
as the extremists fuelled by nationalistic fervour brace,
and begin again the march which leads to Auschwitz’ hidden gate.
The promise of the day on the distant horizon
Where the parting clouds reveal an indigo sky
and the clarity of the light speak of the waiting warmth of sun.
Here even the suggestion of rain carried lightly in the wind
only exist to coat all creation with a breathtaking depth of lustre
and the seagulls haunting cry completes the score of nature’s symphony.
Here in this familiar place time takes on a different dimension
and the urgency of expectation is dispersed by the outstretched sea.
and where every footfall is a delight, not an obligation
the weary heart is reminded of its oft forgotten song.