THE ARTIST

In the place between what is real and for the commonplace
And the enchanting world of almost there – lost in time and space
I met an artist with magical, mystical amber eyes
Who sees the world each time completely anew,
Collecting an ever-changing record of experiences in every guise
He bewitches the soul of everything he captures
Be it recorded in images for those who wish to see
Or etched on the dark and warm delightful memory.
Always heading into exciting vistas and circumstance
With the curious yet aloof candour of the Cat
He engages in all of life's varied dance,
Taking joy from wherever and whenever he hangs his hat
He moves smiling on and reaches for the fresh and new.
Ask no questions of the Cat – privacy and secrecy are his domain
Take pleasure from his fleeting presence and value it's significance
Only in the amber eyes always moving onward, can he find true romance.
While Life's varied offerings remain caught like insects in the amber eyes
Fossilised and trapped forever by the sorcerer – that's where pleasure lies.
Intriguing how the Cat will readily go to water but never will get wet
There's a mystique about the contra flow and counterpoint, the cut and thrust
But at the end of it all, the experience captured, the Artist disengages and yet
It would be such an honour if the Cat would come and go at will
Knowing that in unquestioning acceptance by another artist the Cat can always trust.

My Love Affair with the Sea

I can feel the Sea’s ebb and flow run deep within my veins
Like a lover met long ago it has its pleasures and its pains
I tell myself I can turn my back and walk away
But all too soon the Sea has me once again in its sway.
As a small child she sang me soothing lullabies
At night she gently filled my soul and stilled my cries
By day I talked to her and played at the water’s edge
I learned her ways and became imbued with her knowledge.

As I grew older and grew to love the Sea’s every mood
Her mysterious voice spoke through my dreams and in my blood
Day after day, minute after minute, she throws herself at the shore
Always having to slide back again, regroup, and hurl herself once more
With endless patience she slowly claims for herself the land
Until one day where there was once red earth, there is white sea sand
I love to watch the way she lets go of things she no longer needs
Myriads of tiny shells form a kaleidoscope on the ocean floor
Jump into the waves and, dumped on the sand, part of the Sea no more.

I can recall the day when she took two of my brother’s friends into her thrall
On a clear summer day with ice cold Atlantic singing a seductive siren call
A tourist came too near and her waves claimed him for her own
The boy’s jumped in, swam him back to the rocks and put him safely down
The one boy, an epileptic, his disease triggered by the numbing cold
Lost consciousness, his friend stayed with him and side by side they were to drown.
On the dead the Sea’s deep creatures feed until the Sea releases her hold
Came the day the waves picked up the boys, threw what was left upon the shore
Identification fell to my father steeled by many years at sea and in the war
When he returned that day it was the first time I had ever seen him cry
I was never to forget that in the Sea was a very hard and cruel way to die.

But still the wild, wicked Sea in all her moods holds court over me
Her capricious laugh as waves break and beckon, calling me enticingly
Although I no longer venture where they can clutch and drag me too easily
Now an epileptic myself, I remember well the horror of all those years ago
It haunts my mind and how to conquer the fear of drowning I don’t know.
But the Sea and I are lovers still; how often the one you love the most
Is the one who can destroy you at will, but I love her regardless of the cost.
Her iridescence at night as the moon rides silver in her midnight blue
The limpid greens of her playful shallows, the deeper emerald hue
The millions of beings she sustains – life forms so varied, so enriching
Looking at the Sea and her ever changing moods that I find so bewitching
I know that her storms find their reflection in the storms life has thrown my way
And that her still, sweet, beguiling, calm and tranquil side is that which sustains my day.

The Boy in the Tree

For four years now I’ve driven past the Boy in the Tree
I don’t know who he was or why he means so much to me
But I remember well how my heart was filled with sorrow
The first day the flowers adorned that big tree so long ago.

They were fresh flowers then, a mute and poignant symbol of raw pain
There seemed to be two mourners who would never see the boy again
On the tree, exuberant floral bunches told of young love that ceased to be
And on the railing much darker flowers bore quiet and desperate testimony.

A mother’s loss I thought, borne as the worst of the blows
The tragedy of losing a child so deep only a mother knows
How many dreams and loving memories down the years
Were finally lost here forever, drowned in a mother’s tears?

Encircling the massive trunk as though with a lover’s arms
The bold beautiful flowers sang a requiem, whispered charms
Asking for safe passage to the land beyond, coloured indigo blue
The colour of healing, reaching out hopelessly, saying “I love you.”

How the days swiftly sped past as I travelled every day
Through summer, autumn came, and then winter held sway
And now finally the old oak at last seemed to join those left behind
Shedding leaves like sad tears, speaking of sorrow time out of mind.

When I passed I said a prayer for those caught up in this tragedy
And still the flowers changed each week, spoke of treasured memory
Summer returned, a year had gone and now new silk flowers on the tree,
A small brass nameplate, a wooden cross – love is true, they said to me.

Cards and blue ribbons wrapped the tree, a dark blue wreath the cross
Fluttering in the wind, carrying the sad and lonely tale of eternal loss
The flowers withstood the storms of winter, lasting through the rain
Reminding me of the Boy in the Tree and his lover’s and mother’s pain.

Last year I waited for the sad day, sometime late in November
On the boy’s anniversary, when those left behind would remember
All that he meant to them and keep burning love’s slow ember
Glorious new flowers on the tree, love eternal: all were stolen in December.

Day after day for another year in rush hour’s slow traffic I drove by
And each time I thought of the Boy in the Tree and wondered why
The thoughtless person who so heedlessly stole his lovely flowers
Had such a disregard for both grief and of life’s sad, unending hours.

This year the anniversary at the start of summer yet again arrives
But this time the grieving lover ensures the memorial survives
The blue ribbon is renewed and tied around two painted red hearts
The old oak tree stands, witness to a love that ne’er departs.

And yet as I go by I wonder still about the Boy in the Tree
And thinking back over the years it really seems to me
That maybe more than anguished memory he might now want to be free,
Let time heal the wounds still raw and hurting, so he can begin his next journey.

Holding the Rainbow

I always seem to think I can hold the Rainbow
Reaching out and take it as it touches ground
Spend hours trying to imprison the gaudy show
The crystal prism makes as it fragments light, so
Many colours scattered carelessly around.

Carrying friendships like water in my hand
Wondering how time has swallowed love
Try stop the hourglass as it pours out sand.
My life and loves confined to memories and
Souvenirs, now just a phantom treasure trove.

Haunted down the years by might have been
Exchanging the desire for the Rainbow’s essence
With the understanding I must accept the rain
Then a moment’s happenstance brings the unforeseen
And stalks the mind till once again I touch iridescence.

The life lived dangerously on the Rainbow’s edge
The kaleidoscope turns for a new and random show
Heedlessly I stretch out to take the gift and ascend the pinnacle,
Laughing with the faerie folk I dance again in the Rainbow,
Try to hold the delight, and so doing, break the Rainbow’s pledge.

Lessons learned in the Rainbow, never give more than what is asked,
Remember that the Rainbow must always turn swiftly back to rain
Smile with memory and laugh at the shimmering, incandescent past.
Locked in the furthest corners and in the shadows of the pain
Comes the stealthy afterglow; it was worth it, even when it could not last.

The Tiger and Owl in Past and Present Tenses

Summer drifts on the warm night air and still the owl’s soft cry
Echoes on the wind carrying to distant places where she longs to fly
Silently, sadly, swiftly she swoops down over the summer sheaves
Tears soft as feathers fall on the small scurrying creatures below
Hiding from habit, they slide under rocks and fallen leaves
Unaware that the owl is seeking other forms of prey
Now seeming both long ago and oh! so far away.

A whisper of sound on the air as she takes again to solitary flight
Deep in memory, she sees the picture of a warm and secret smile
Etched in swirling patterns of leaves and on the soft dark night.
Denizen of magic and of memory, he waits in the owl’s shadow,
Cloaked in mystery, the half-seen feline form stands a while
Moves quickly, tiger-stripes and gleaming eyes fiercely burn
Owl overhead glimpsing movement tries too late to turn.

Lithe and dangerous, now in a Cheshire Cat’s disguise
The Tiger prowls the starry night, the moon reflecting in his eyes
Warm things, wondrous things, soft things crouch in the dark and hide
The whispered caution floats through the trees and on the wind
All in his path live in awe; the wisest under camouflage quickly slide
Briefly the shadow of the owl’s wing falls across the Tiger’s face.
The golden cat runs swiftly on the ground while above the bird of night joins the race.

Their shadows meet for a moment; they are nearly one, and then they fall away.
The dangerous and mysterious predator swiftly turns to seek new and eager prey,
Preferring the cut and thrust of cat and mouse to that of easy sacrifice,
Regal, mesmerising, the Tiger’s beauty never fails the curious to entice.
He sheaths his claws; warm soft fur and gentle purr is now the instinctive disguise
Stretching, yawning, fangs fleetingly exposed, the Tiger is well pleased with what he’s found
The new collector’s item moves closer, lulled by charisma and the Tiger’s warm soft sound.

Across the night sky the owl’s silhouette blocks the stars shining light
As she soars above the Tiger’s path on the warm wind of the night
She lightly perches way up high, hidden in the tops of the trees
And slowly turns her head through memory a full 360 degrees
Knowing well with predators what is said and done is not all one sees
Smiles to think that the sinuous hunter once stalked the watchful bird of prey
Came quite close, then suddenly once the rules were broken, swiftly turned away.

In the dark velvet night the stars tumble and fall, under the rising moon
The creatures of the night rush into the shadows aware dawn comes too soon
The owl’s low haunting cry stirs memory of things long forgotten in the past
As she flies on in the secret indigo night, her soft voice a reminder nothing will last
In the undergrowth the Tiger still waits silently concealed in the dappled shadow
Night blood runs in their veins, creation in their minds; a kinship only these two can know
Both predators of the dark hours, one soaring in the sky, the other crouched below.

Living in the Place Between

It is an entrancing, magic place, the Place Between
Shelter from the world that is and what might have been
Neutral in the nicest way – going neither forward, nor back
Life in perfect harmony, equilibrium and equanimity know no lack.
There I let my spirit heal – deep and dark in the Place Between.

One can sit and watch the ebb and flow
All things come in here and just as swiftly go
Life’s traffic moving through, hastening on its way
Unaware of the secret place where movement has no sway
Every thought or action can be hostage to the Place Between.

I watch as others catch themselves and then fall
Sooner or later the Place Between claims them all
Surrounded in my haven by translucent memory
I watch them and wait till comes the day when they are free
But I will just stay here, the freedom of moving on does not appeal to me.

The things we left undone or thought we wanted to be
Live here in this place, stopped in flight for perhaps eternity
In the day to day not quite content, lives incomplete abound
But in this land of might have been true solace is to be found
Yes, in the Place Between I can hear the Universe’s timeless sound.

I connect at last with might have been
Pay homage to the mysterious great unseen
Laugh at the memory of things long past
Now free of the future, I’m home at last
In the Place Between this moment was all I asked.

The Searchlight Turns

For each of us the Searchlight turns and finds us standing still,
First Light catches us when young and eager for the thrill,
Learning to love and to give one’s heart away
As for those of us caught in the Searchlight’s first glare,
We give ourselves completely, risking all, we dare
To think our lives forever, trust that love is true.
Then the Light turns away, leaves us dark and cold
Looking into the distance we can see the new place lit
Our dreams in the distance like waves shattered into spray.

For each of us the Searchlight turns at a very different interval,
Taking with it, love and comfort, trust and innocence until
The time comes when the Light turns back catching us again.
We live with loneliness and anguish slowly fading day by day
Left only with the memory of what might have been and then
We lock up our secret lives, assured they will not come again
Find a way to walk in the dark, live our lives with compromise
Creatures of the night, we live in the shadow, pain in our eyes,
Till the memory of times in the Light are long ago and far away.

Then one day the Searchlight turns back catching us unaware
Caught in amber, we bask unsuspecting in the golden glow
Not realising this is just another interval in the long dark night
We hear the siren call, the distant foghorn’s intermittent cry
We think the eerie voice is calling our name, promising delight
This is the future, life as it will be – everything we hope to know.
But the Light is just another beast of prey, crushing those who dare.
The Searchlight turning finds me, lines me up, sets me in its sight
And uncaring, into the darkness tumbling, abruptly lets me go.

At the Rainbow’s End

Inside the rainbow live the faerie folk, laughing, happy, free
Shimmering, gossamer wings and cloaks drifting silently
But they are just protectors of the Master of Camouflage
Taking on the rainbow’s hue, lost in the spectrum, stalking slowly
Eyes ever-turning, constantly searching, he takes in all he can see
Invisible, invincible, he moves in the rainbow ever-changing, tirelessly
Lost in the colour, a slow moving shadow, a phantom hard to see
Sometimes he stops. I can feel him – he’s looking for me.

Voices like wind chimes, whispering, gently, merrily, softly
Dressed in glowing butterfly wings, the faerie folk run swiftly
Pulling the rainbow's colours behind them, swinging across the sky
Over mountain and hill, valley and dale, over the river and down to the sea
While the Master walks in the rainbow, ever silently, ever slowly
His eyes ever watchful, swinging like searchlights, move restlessly
Stronger than night time, unchanging as day, moving inexorably
Closer and yet closer - the Master, he is coming for me.

The faerie folk conspiring together, end the rainbow's march abruptly
Sliding down the gentle colours, they reach the river's end and gently
Part the many-coloured curtain so that there, in the river-rainbow arch
The Master, the Chameleon, changes to his true colours fleetingly
And thus revealed, his might mysterious, his splendour for all to see
The search is nearly over, I watch as he eyes me steadfastly
His beautiful golden tongue darts out, strikes my soul and impales me
Then he is once again the rainbow’s shadow and I, the rainbow trout, caught
At rainbow’s end by the Master, the Chameleon, in that place lost to thought,
Can do no more than surrender to the Master completely.

The Sea of Galilee

The eyes that see through history
Look out upon the Sea of Galilee
Waiting for the Fisherman, half unconsciously
Over the still water the imagined fisherfolk
Call and talk with easy cameraderie.

Cast the nets, reel them in and cast again
These lowly folk, friends of the Fisher of men
Salt cracks their lips, sun burns their skin golden
As the long day crawls by the boats ride the waves
Heading home at last, the last catch taken.

There He stands alone where the land ends
A meal cooked with care and love for His friends
Calm seas, good catches and safety He sends
Out on the water where storms take lives
He keeps them safe, against harm He defends.

Look through the palms out to the sea
Imagine walking on water the Man from Galilee
Captured through trees - symbol of the Trinity?
It must be more than coincidence that there are only three
That wonderful miracle some are yet blessed to see.

Lives Lived In the Rainbow

Lives lived in the Rainbow,
Dreams coasting on colours,
Hearts hostage to fortune,
Red, gold and green for you,
For me turquoise, indigo and blue
Destined to meet in Brigadoon.

The Rainbow walks in lands of dream,
Shifting, shimmering, faerie folk
Live in her ghostly colours,
Joined by those of us who meet
Only ever in the Rainbow’s sheen,
Hidden from the gaze of others.

The Rainbow moves and leaves the shadow,
Then quickly she glides from within the rain
Visible fleetingly to mere mortal eyes, and
Ever-shifting performs her dance across the land.
The artist’s soul soars on the wings of the rainbow
Delighting to be with the Faerie folk again.

Colour me with berries, red as the fire
Colour me with kumquats, orange as the sun
Colour me with honey, yellow as gold
Colour me with melons, green as the grass
Colour me with cornflowers, blue as the sky
Colour me with blueberries, indigo as the depths of the sea
Colour me with plums, violet as the amethyst,
Such is the Rainbow’s mantra, her softly whispered refrain.

Rainbow and her faerie folk laugh in the rain,
Dance in the sunlight, spreading her magic again
Oh how I long for the Rainbow to deck me in her hue
Cover me with colours, lose me in shades of blue
Circles red and yellow, those she’s keeping for you
Let’s meet in the Rainbow, fly on her wings
Live in the mystery, see what it brings.

The New Day Dawns –it is the Age of Aquarius

All my life I have lived within the shadow of the colour of my skin
In a country where no one of darker hue was ever acknowledged as kin
In a place where forced removals and alienation lived by my side
Where because of race, colour and creed, access to the vote was denied.
A place where guilt stalked my conscience as surely as freckles colour my skin,
Where my pigmentation guaranteed me a host of untold rights
Where, because of Caucasian heritage I was amongst the “whites”.

In the years of my childhood I fleetingly went to a “mixed” school
Then the apartheid government flexed its muscle and imposed its rule
The suburb was declared a “coloured area” and school moved away
We said goodbye to friends and hoped to see them on another day
Because we were so very young and innocent we did not realise
It would be nearly forty years before we could look them in the eyes
Stripped of our humanity, the government made us objects to despise.

My parents were born and grown before the apartheid laws ruled the land
Before it raised its evil head and tore the fabric of our country apart strand by strand.
And even though the colonial rule was discriminating of class and creed
Of the separation and classification into us and them there was no need
The values and mores of truth, justice and equality, and, above all democracy
Were part of our childhood and our youth and our parents’ everlasting legacy,
Brought up to believe that the only valid measurement and standard was decency.

But we lived our lives in this bitter, twisted environment where difference was to be feared
Under rulers that followed those who disagreed, swiftly making sure they were not heard,
Our friends went to die in far off foreign African lands for causes never known
Those who returned came back bitter and afraid, innocence and youth had flown,
Kept apart by laws whose contravention could mean death
One either fought the might of the oppressor or saved one’s breath,
Convinced that one day the wheel would turn and we could all stand together, not alone.

Many packed and left, taking memories and prejudice packed up in their bags
Deftly erasing memories of shanty towns and hungry kids dressed in rags
Going to new Caucasian countries where there would be less opportunity for hate
Of those left behind, some fell into the racist trap, devastating those less fortunate,
Taking a perverse pride in perpetrating acts of cruelty to horrific to enumerate
But were exposed by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission under our beloved Tutu
In horror we listened to atrocities committed secretly, worse even than those borne by the Hutu.

In small but precious ways we tried to break the rules, help those with nowhere to go
Regardless of creed or colour, waiting for the horns to signal the fall of the walls of Jericho
Treat all with respect and human dignity and, most of all, with a sense of equality
Building bridges tiny block by tiny block, reaching across the racial divide
Deprived of common language, the task ever more difficult but never set aside
The day our new democracy dawned and the queues to vote stretched for miles
My mother said for the first time she felt proud to be South African, her face all smiles.

But the gap between the haves and the have not’s like a cancer grows
Now the creed is status and the colour money – across all races it shows
Xenophobic attacks left populations of the displaced to tremble in fear
Samuel from DRC lives in our garage away from hate – it is safest for him here
But today the face of the world has changed in ways hard to understand
An African American president elected in America will change more than just that land
For the first time in history the Western world has opened it eyes and
Voted not for race but for democracy and the measure of the man.
In this troubled country, we with our bloody and horrific history,
How important this step is, is something we can truly understand.
For liberty, freedom and equality in this precious moment in history,
I raise my hand……thank you to the land of the brave and the free!

They Watch in Silence

Silent screams fall on deafened ears
Man’s inhumanity to man caught all too easily
In eyes widened at the horror, dried of all tears.
Comes a stage where only mute testimony
Bears witness to fratricide and lust.
Mask’s used through the years
Silver, copper, gold
Age-old patterns etched on frightened faces
Seen against the Holy red
Speak of blood split recently.
Gone are the days of the good and the just.
Keeping company in minor key
Dark Ganesh’s face looks on tranquilly.
Above saints, saddhus, Buddhas lined up
A fragile last defence against the cluttered Khurkuris
Hilts displayed in a threatening legion below.
Life’s pageant spread for all who wish to see
A latticed screen reflects the knot of eternity

A sign of hope caught in timeless photography

The Cheshire Cat at Night

At night when the owl swoops by on velvet wings,
And the bat tumbles around the inky sky,
When the nightjar takes flight with haunting voice,
When all kinds of enchantment fill the night,
And tiny insects on gossamer wings fly,
In that fleeting time when two worlds coincide,
Stealthy and secretive, unaware of the pleasure he brings,
The Cheshire Cat unfettered by imagination's flight,
Walks the warm indigo air leaving me no choice
But to reach out and try and stop the dawn's first light.

The moon's full face rides uncaring overhead,
Stars in school groups cross the midnight sky,
Their tinkling cosmic laughter faintly heard,
Shadows stretch and ease themselves below,
Scampering things and scratching things take flight
The Cheshire Cat moves among them soft and slow,
Trees bend obeisance to their regal feline friend
Arousing dozing wind chimes with gentle sighs
The world asleep does not hear him passing by
But in the dark there is the whisper of things unsaid.

As dawn streaks the morning sky so far away,
Time leaves night behind and ushers in the day,
The night turns unwillingly into a dark turquoise sky
All traces of indigo banished, make haste to pass me by
The creatures of the night swiftly find safe places to hide away
Fallen leaves roused by the morning breeze, try sleepily to fly,
In the East the sun’s blood slowly spreads its stain across the sky
Soft paws reach out to touch those of us who at night come out to play
The Cheshire Cat stretches and yawns, briefly straddling night and day,
Leaving just an enigmatic smile in mid air, he turns and melts away.

Galatea in glass – for Justin

Galatea in glass – for Justin

In the shattered turquoise shards of glass
Encased in images of silent domesticity
Your elfin face stares out wistfully.
Flaxen hair in careful disarray wildly
Echoing those desperate eyes searching
Fixedly for solace in the outer world
An eternal will o’ the wisp your image
Trapped behind reflections of the everyday
Ethereal for all time, the epitome
Of beauty, insubstantial, the longing to be real
Plain for all to see
Every man can hear you call from your
Subtle, mirrored frame – “rescue me”
Galatea in glass for eternity.

The Spanish Girl's Wedding Day

Not that the Sparkling Girl is Spanish,
But, incandescent in purple and blue,
Hair swept up, Andalusian in memory,
There she is – Lucy proud and true.
I didn’t expect the Sparkling Girl to vanish,
But, before my eyes she became someone new,
Fulfilled, statuesque, woman’s eternal grace.
Sum of all things gone before and those not yet in view.

Glad you caught the rainbow
And left behind the rain
Happiness this rich, life in full flow
Is now the Sparkling Girl’s domain.

The house on a windswept azure coastline
Pale blue shutters echoes of the Mediterranean
White walls richly decked in total simplicity
The Sparkling Girl, regal, poised looks Iberian
Glistening, shimmering captured forever in time
Storybook photos, memories etched in the mind
Wonderful child, gift from the Gods, part of the union
This, Spanish Girl, is the old life joyously left behind.

Live the life enchanted
Laugh the shadows away
Happiness, all that you wanted
May it greet you every day.

Sea, sun and resplendent finery delicate
As a dragonfly’s wing, all merge together
Making life’s beauty forever caught in memory
Today, like no other calls and can’t wait.
Blessed by glorious languid African weather
Caught at tide’s slow and secret change
Reach out and hold it – this is your story
Sparkling Girl, Spanish Girl, your happiness forever.
.

Everything's Moving

Everything’s Moving
Kaleidoscope colours, kites in the wind
Tumble down leaves, raindrops on glass
Wind on the water, clouds moving past
People in corridors, cars on the road
Everything’s moving, passing me by
Pause for a moment, see what you find
Nothing and no one, pointless to try.

Rainbows in spring, flowers in bloom,
Tiny ducklings and goslings swimming downstream
Foals in the field, lambs on the hills
Dragonflies run on water, bees hum in the air
Butterflies shed their cocoons, birds leave the nest
Everything’s moving, lost in a dream
Nature’s newborn, launched on life’s quest.

Children’s light laughter, mother’s soft call
New grasses push skywards, leaves dress the tree
Sunrise awakens, dusk eases sunset to sleep
People on picnics, people in parks
Everyone outdoors, out in the sun
Everything’s moving, dancing and free
And I’m out of the circle, out of the fun.

Indigo colours, the velvet of night,
Owl’s soft whisper, Dikkop’s lone cry,
Stars honey-coloured, spin with delight
Secret and stealthy, bats on the wing
Silently, softly night shadows slip by
Everything’s moving, watched by the moon
And me in the night, going nowhere soon.

The Tiger and the Cheshire Cat

Do Tigers purr when well pleased?
And what is it that can be said to please a tiger best?
But the tiger is really just the Cheshire cat in another guise,
Teaser and the Firecat is another subtle Cheshire jest,
Still the tiger stares, the world reflected in clear amber eyes.

Leave behind just an enigmatic grin
What better way to shield oneself from prying eyes?
The memory of the tiger hidden from public gaze
Danger concealed in the marmalade cat’s disguise
Not quite as harmless as everyone says.

Look around and just behind,
Drifting in mid-air just above the wall,
The Cheshire cat’s knowing eyes, a disembodied head
Disconcertingly smiles, reads your mind and knows it all
The Tiger licks its lips, the desire for power well fed.

Forever young is just a state of mind
The Tiger ageless stalks the corridors of thought
Soft footfalls, silken breath and only the Tiger’s shadow seen
Just the Cheshire cat appears when the Tiger is sought
You can find the cat, but the tiger lives in the places between.

Soft, silent, sinuous the Tiger’s stripes
Merge with the marmalade silk of the Firecat’s coat
Master of illusion the Cheshire cat slowly disappears
The echo of laughter swirls in the air as though afloat
On dreams of the Tiger’s strength, legend of yesteryears.

Once you find the place between, where Tiger dwells
Look past the Cheshire cat to find what’s behind the looking glass
In the places between, you’ll watch Life’s rich tapestry unfold
The place between where there is neither future nor past
Life is lived in precious present time, nothing new and nothing old.

Strange how happenstance, synchronicity and serendipity
Can bring the most precious gifts that in life you find
The Cheshire cat, the Firecat and the Tiger arrive unbidden
All for one and one for all, taming the Tiger of the Mind
Was always my quest, in the place between, Tiger and I are hidden.

Nicholas - not at ease but not moving,
unresolved issues put on hold.
Life locked into a welcome limbo
of almost silent companionship.
The bustling plans, the constant movement
in abeyance for just a while.
An empty space in a kaleidoscope of
changing company - a sanctioned opportunity
for no particular activity.
The clock ticks on, winding up or winding down,
heralding plans and people soon to approach.
concentric circles spinning ever closer.
You seem unaware or unwilling
to see how close they’ve come.
I stand and watch you caught in
briefly frozen time
And wonder how I became ensnared in
your magic net.
Nicholas - not at ease, but not moving……yet.

Weathering the storm

Encased in water the car travels homewards
Straining to see, the world is crying for lost innocence
Covering her landscape in torrential tears.
The wind is pushing the car on the road
Buffeting it with bad temper, throwing rain-shards
Against the window, howling through the cracks.
The wipers strain against the weight of water,
Ineffectually flailing against the rain’s insistence,
Birds blown off course reel in the sky,
Trees writhe and cringe under storm’s fury
Thunder claps, lightning crackles and sears
Nature is venting her fury at man’s incompetence
The elements in turmoil, despair at their fate
Ahead a faint glow through the pouring rain
Another lonely traveller out on the road again
Like me silently hoping to weather the worst storm in years.

Water's Song

I would love to be like water
Cloak me in waves, cover me in foam
Toss me up on the beach far from home
Nothing to stop me, nothing comes after
The echo of waves crashing, wind on the sea
The tide rushes in, grabs at the shore
Pulls in her sacrifices, living no more.

I would love to be like water
Abseil the cliffs, crash to the ground
Heedless of heights, lost in the sound
Nothing to stop me, tinkling like laughter
Tumbling down head over heels
Eternally in freefall, total freedom at last
Racing to the future, no fear of the past.

I would love to be like water
Still as a mirror, reflecting the moon
Whispering in the darkness, life’s quiet tune
Nothing to stop me, need ask for no quarter
Silent and secret, cloaked in sky blue
Life force of millions, denizens of the deep
Caressing them softly, lulling them to sleep.

I would love to be like water
Crossing the plains, heading for sea
Dividing the land, giving succour for free
Nothing to stop me, nothing to barter
Taking and giving life to all I encounter
Heading onward and downward inexorably drawn
Perpetually in motion, meeting the sea, losing all form.

I would love to be like water
Running hop-scotch over pebbles, laughing aloud
Embracing the raindrops dropped by a cloud
Nothing to stop me, now I’m rain’s daughter
Calling up to all the clouds in the sky
Feed me, please feed me so I can traverse the land
Spreading my wings of water, enriching the sand.

I would love to be like water
Sky diving from clouds, swing on the rainbow
Rock hard as hail, whisper soft mystery as snow
Nothing to stop me, get faster and faster
Spin in a rain storm, fly on the wind
Dancing and laughing I merge with the stream
Back to the beginning, the rest is now a dream.

outside looking in

Photographs and party dresses,
Friends all fall in line
Queen of the in crowd.
Smooth skin, long blonde tresses
None of that was ever mine.

Self assured, smiling elegance,
Ahead of the game
Never out of place,
You take control of Life’s dance
I can’t say the same.

The ebb and flow of adoration
Surrounds you like white
Pillars of bright light.
Compliments added to your collection
Not for you insult’s vicious bite.

Beauty is never ill at ease
Insecurity is just a word,
You’ve never had to please
Exquisite looks are all one needs
And praise is all that’s heard.

Strange to be an extra in life’s every scene
Life lived in the shadows
Standing in the wings
Accolades and applause only a distant dream
That’s just the way it goes.

A wedding day

Girl with the sparkling mineral water nature
Always smiling and keeping laughter alive
Eagerly running towards life’s every delight
Somewhere, somehow you learned to survive
Life is appreciated best by those have walked
On the shadow side, learning that day follows night.

Girl with the dark hair tumbling, hiding your face
Voice ever-friendly, transparent, sincere
Gentle with others, always ready to smile,
making all our lives richer, work a kinder place.
Your own brand of courage, kept hidden here
Tilting at windmills, you make the fight worthwhile.

Girl about to become someone’s wife
May all the delight and the wonder
Last for every day of this life
May your day be rich and resplendent
Starting the first day of the story already a family
rich in love and the joy of journey.

Girl with a mother’s soft eyes,
Dressed up in purple and rich, shiny blue
Colours of wisdom, and intuition’s wondrous guise,
May all that brings happiness and life’s rich hue
cross your path now and forever, touching you
with life’s delicate, honey sweet breath.
Sadness brings laughter, longing delight,
Adversity is joy in fancy dress, just wait for her to disrobe.

when flying was a dream

The Worst of Meeting You

Once again I stand at the crossroads going nowhere
Nothing much accomplished, nothing left to do
Funny how just when I knew I found direction
Moving forward was not the choice you gave me
Now l see that life is just happenstance.
Reckon that was the worst of meeting you.

Looking back at the road that I have traveled
It has been a one way street, no turning round
Every milestone another dream’s epitaph
Lives lost and paths not chosen now clearly seen
Now I have to face just how much I never found.
Reckon that was the worst of meeting you.

When first we met I knew you were a teacher
And thought it was for me that you were sent
Standing on life’s edge I saw the view
Now you say me that for me it was
Something borrowed not given, nothing meant.
Reckon that was the worst of meeting you.

Time drives yet another nail into the coffins of the past
Friends and fellow travellers failed along the way
Hoped still to redress ancient wrongs
Say I’m sorry; make up for things left unsaid
Well, now I know I can’t try change yesterday.
Reckon that was the worst of meeting you.

When you came I hoped to learn and understand,
Seemed like life was new, the roads went ever onward
But as I got near I found they were only rainbows
And you faded into the sun, leaving only dust
But for a short while I grew wings, I almost flew,
Reckon that was the best of meeting you.

barbed wire over Dharamsala

This was a quick pen drawing of something that struck me as symbolic of the lives peope live in McCleod Ganj, Dharamsala. This was over a tin roof belonging to one of the many Tibetan stalls. It struck me how the drawing emerged looking quite reminescent of Chinese line drawings. The tragedy of Tibet and the many thousands of her stateless citizens setting out to forge their new lives, trapped forever from return by the iron policies of ruling China. We were lucky enough to see a concert performed by TIPA the first evening we arrived. The next morning we went to the institute so John could buy a dranyen, the Tibetan "guitar". At first we were turned away, but when we said we had come to buy a dranyen everyone was so welcoming, even though they spoke neither English nor Hindi, so even our friend KD could not assist. we were taken to a most talented young man, whom I won't name. He was tasked with finding a dranyen for John. It was amazing to see how musicians speak one language they can all understand. The young man gave a dranyen to John and showed him the basic notes. Of course this is in the Eastern system and a different scale. As John understood I saw the look I've seen so many times on any artist's face. the sudden sharpening of the gaze, the increase in concentration as one recognises a kindred spirit. They were so at ease, both involved in the music, something they both treasured more than anything else. We asked whether the young man would go home for the holidays which started that day. "No" he said, with a very sad smile, " my parents are in Tibet, this is the only place I can go." And the tragedy was brought home once more, families apart never to see each other again - a superbly talented young man whose very talent is crafted by his experience of tragedy. We bought a CD on which he sings, a beautiful voice. I wish I knew what lyrics he had written, but they are lost to me. Yes, barbed wire over Dharamsala is sadly here to stay

lodhi gardens - a jewel in Delhi

The basic sense of delight and spontaneity in a person who has opened fully and thoroughly to him or herself and to life can provide wonderful rainbows and thundershowers and gusts of wind. We don't have to be tied down to the greasy-spoon world of well-meaning artists with their heavy-handed looks on their faces and overfed information in their brains. The basic idea of art is the sense of peace and the refreshing coolness of the absence of neurosis.

A wonderful quote from Chogyam Trunpa. It encapsulate the joy one derives from painting and watching the work grow, each new layer adding to the atmosphere of remembered or envisaged scenes.

Dreaming in Lodhi Gardens
Let me rest again amidst the humming bees
Let warm air drift around me, stirring fallen leaves
with its languid honey kiss.
Let me touch stones intricately carved hundreds of years
Before the country of my blood had built its first stone edifice
The lilting speech and laughter hang suspended in the air,

Women hurry by in brightly coloured saris
In India again – bliss.
Eternally curious green parakeets with bindis on their cheeks
Scrabble in the sand, pecking seeds fallen from the trees
Frenetic squirrels, tails too short, bodies too small
To be mistaken for their Southern counterparts
Rush, start and stop, and rush again between the birds
avoiding unwelcome contact with curved beaks.
Once again I wander through buildings older
than the known history of my country.
The gardens are lush and green
Havens of peace and tranquillity
We are free to stroll under lofty trees,
Watching kids in school uniform scampering
Up and down on the ramparts of the ancient building.
Tired, peaceful and at ease
I sit staring at the welcoming majesty of the trees
This one, under which I sat, this huge sprawling tree,
this one I’ll commit to eternity.

Our FirstTrain Departure from Delhi

I was remembering Delhi Station and thinking how the two trips we have done to India both had such exciting departures from the Railway Station.

The first trip we flew in to Indira Ghandi Airport along with the others of our tour, jumped into a bus and went for dinner at a very old Colonial-style restuarant. The dinner was served at a leisurely pace. At this stage we had two guides, one who was to take us on the train to Patankot, the other who was our "urban" tour guide. KD the second guide from Dharamsala was starting to look very restive, and I wondered why. It became apparent as soon as we were back in the bus. The traffic was horrendous - it was a major Hindu Holy day and everyone was on the road. We crept forward by centimetres and it was plain we would not make the nine pm departure of our train. After loud discussions between KD and the other guide, we lept out of the bus, carrying our luggage and weaving desparately through the never-ending lanes of traffic. Cars, buses, taxis, motorbikes, scooters, auto-rickshaws, bicycles, man-powered rick-shaws; all bore down inexorably across heaven knew how many lanes. We weaved and ducked and dived, wilting in the heat and under the weight of our international luggage. We were told not to allow the porters to take our luggage under any circumstances, so were fighting off a flock of red-coated porters all clamouring like magpies and screaming at us to give them the bags. The mad convoy rushed towards the station disregarding the everincreasingly frantic blandishments of the porters. On we flew and found to our dismay that we were at the wrong side of the station and we had to rush up and down bridge after successive bridge with only ten minutes to departure time. The Jammu Mail said KD always leaves on time. This voice of doom did nothing to assuage the rising hysteria. I had Nicki next to me - she was 72 at the time and in fairly frail health, which meant the madcap pace was far above her capabilities. Also, in spite of more than half her luggage going on to Bahrain by accident, she still had five suitcases and several bags with her. In fact she did our home country proud - blending in amongst the many bags every Indian national seemed constrained to carry. I landed up carrying three of her suitcases, whilr KD had my case and one of Nicki's. Ever on we rushed up and down bridges, yelling at the now very irate porters who could see a source of income giving them the slip. We had no idea why they were not allowed to carry our bags, but in a foreign country do what you are told was our motto. Of course coming from a country where if a screaming gaggle of porters descended upon you, you would assume that they were going to steal every item in your posession if you were fortunate, and assault you if you were not - we were very loath to trust people we had been told to avoid.

It was by now pitch dark and the lights in the vast station were not the brightest - there was a heavy haze, there were people everywhere - mostly men. Many seemed to have been sitting on the platforms since the railway was built. Suddenly our convoy ahead swept round the staircase they had just decended and vanished. For seconds we saw KD carrying Nicki's large, red suitcase on his head, then he too was gone. Vanished into the thousands of travellers milling on the platforms, inter mingled with the hordes of plaintively demanding beggars. Nicki and I had no idea which way our calvalcade had gone, we rushed vainly on, pursued still by porters yelling at us in broken unintelligible English. We called to several of the men on the platforms asking where the Jammu train was standing. We got disinterested, surly glares, but no response. We must have echoed all the worst from Colonial days bygone. Finally a man pointed two bridges away, indicating that was the platform we needed to aim for, but adding laconically "The train leaves at 9pm - you'll never make it". There was only one minute to go, thinking of home, Nicki and I thought "they can't leave on time in India - trains in South Africa are always late and look how chaotic this appears". We rushed onwards, both bright pink of face and short of breath. Down the last flight of stairs and there at last was our train, pulling slowly out of the station. Frantically we waved and yelled. Then we saw our group, everyone except John on the train all yelling at him as the train started to get up speed. then suddenly the train shuddered to a halt. Dozens of policemen emerged from all corners at the run, rifles at the ready. We were still too far away to make any sense of the commotion. Everyone was shouting at the top of their voices. Our urbane urban guide melted away soundlessly, leaving KD and John to face the police. KD looked quite pale in spite of his skin colour and was clearly unhappy as the policemen yelled at him demanding some explanion from him. John was as usual, quite calm, but unusual for him was clearly very angry. As Nicki and I staggered into view, still pursued by porters, everyone started pointing, gesticulating towards us. The two dozen or more policemen gave us a look of utter disbelief, but immediately dropped their threatening stance. Nicki and I swept past them - confrontations with the police/army being a familiar circumstance of our pre-democracy lives, we did not feel the need to be overawed by them. It turned out that KD, confronted by a very angry John, who was not prepared to leave myself and Nicki in a strange country unable to speak the language, and having no real idea of where we were and where we were meant to be going. He convinced KD that he must stop the train - although KD was of the consequences which he informed John would be dire unless they could persuade the authorities they had a valid cause for pulling the emergency cord. As the police saw us, their scowls lifted - here indeed was the frail old lady accompanied by another red-faced madwoman. They understood immediately how dire the situation had been and how Nicki above all could not possibly have been parted from the group, and left to fend for herself. They melted into a degree of friendliness and courtesy we would never have got from our armed forces, and wishing us well, dispersed, laughing at the idiocy of foreigners. I was, however, livid. I went on board and started to tell the rest of the group how selfish and craven they had been to be content to leave to women alone at night amongst all these men squatting hunched down on the platforms. It will be a long time before I forget the group's faces! I was mad as a wet cat and spitting fury worthy of any wild feline. attempts to pacify only fuelled the blaze. Suddenly the quietest woman on the trip had become a banshee. And I steadfastly refused to regain my sense of humour. Howver, when I found we had all lost our booked seats as people had merely commandeered them, I took pity on KD and helped devise an ammicable solution to the sleeping arrangements. What a day! and what an introduction to what I was later to learn is one of the most beautiful and safest cities in the world. Had we been left on a station at home under the same circumstances, we could have guaranteed we would be badly beaten up, if not dead by light of day.

This one's for you

This One’s for You

Wasn’t that lucky happenstance
when we live light years away
You in the country that stole my heart,
me in the country of my blood.
It actually took me by surprise just yesterday
That here we are you and me, both worlds apart
Both love writing and love life
You a wife and mother, me just a wife.

I love the happy joy with which you write
I see the kids in my mind and laugh out loud
Can imagine the stress, the parent’s plight
The boy’s answers might be unconventional,
But I think they do his parents proud
A boy that young in whom logic is so strong
Must be heading for a wonderful future -
How often the system gets the evaluation wrong.

Tom and Jerry, Mutt and Jeff – poor girl,
Jumping and hurrying in her head
Holding sleep hostage, making her toss in bed
Cartoon characters, animated,
around and round they whirl
how often a mother’s instincts work out for the best.
By giving in and coming from another point of view
How easy it becomes to give the TV bug a rest.

Cultures quite removed and customs so diverse
Amazing that one can so easily find common ground
Be it in a photo, painting or perhaps a verse.
You lift the curtain on your world –
Some things the same, some so very different, some profound
The closeness of family across generations and distance
So very different to the western creed of independence
How much warmer, sustaining and how much less loneliness

It’s in the ancient cultures that the real Global Village will be found

song for David and a painting by David

SONG FOR DAVID

Hey so you know what it is to be happy
Hey so you know what it is to be glad
So life is a glorious roller coaster
So why do you look so sad?

Everyday is a new day, every moment a joy
Give me a break - life ain’t like that
Don’t try to fool me
Pull wool over my eyes
I know what you’re thinking
I can see through your disguise
The world on your shoulders, the burdens of man
If that’s being happy - well, you can keep it, boy

Hey so you know what it is to be happy
Hey so you know what it is to be glad
So life is a glorious roller coaster
So why do you look so sad?

Time on your hands, you can do what you want
Savour the moment, seize the day
Know where you’re at
Get with the programme
How do you relate to that
All the right phrases and at the right time
I know that you’re searching, finding your way

Hey so you know what it is to be happy
Hey so you know what it is to be glad
So life is a glorious roller coaster
So why do you look so sad?

Don’t let them get you, you can’t save the world
Take care of yourself, treasure your friends
Believe in the spirit of man
Know that we love you

If I could

IF I COULD

If I could I’d hold you to my heart
Protect your spirit, help you on the narrow path
Waiting for the wheel of time
To spin our way again.
Sometimes I think what we might have been
or think we are, not destiny, keeps us apart.

If I could I’d hold you to my heart
The camouflage raiment, a finely honed disguise
Keep your distance, don’t invade my privacy.
Controls and secret boundaries
Now I’ve hidden me.
I know you see me only as I appear to be
pleasure seeking, one of Life’s eternal butterflies.

If I could I’d hold you to my heart
You look at me with eyes that don’t seem to see
That I know exactly what you need of me.

Sell my soul to the Devil

Sell my Soul to the Devil

How often and how easily we expose who we are
And who we want to be
Letting strangers in to the distant corners of the mind
Anyone can enter heedlessly
Ebb and flow, exchange and interchange –
Often what we get is not what we wanted to find.

How much do you suppose it takes to sell
my soul to the Devil?
I think that the damage lies in what we tell
Ourselves in the over-interesting quest
of who is really me?
Shadow play does not look evil
But of those who flew how many fell?

Let’s look around and try to count the cost
Stack up positive and negative
Take stock of all the things we gained en route
And then count those things we lost.
Somewhere in life’s eternal barter the deal was struck-
This you give to me and I will let you live.

If I believed I was about to sell my soul to the Devil
Would it give me pause?
Would I shift gear and retrace my steps back to
The starting point and pretend
I did not see Life’s enticing path and
Would it give me sufficient cause
For regret and sorrow, would I think of things to rue?

Looking back I find I got both joy and laughter
Learned some truths along the way
Got the chance to grow and learned to spread my wings
Found the joy in every day
Not being one to believe in happy ever after
Had some pleasure, and I’d do it all again
I have to say.

In the end we all learn that it’s all part of Life
There is no soul, no Devil
Just a wonderful impermanence: the ever changing show
And there is no good, no evil
Not even yesterday and no tomorrow
Now is all we have and there’s no point in strife
In the end there is no I to cherish
What gift can exceed the glory of that?

For Merle - moving on 17 Sept 2008

Merle – moving on
I remember all those years ago in the mountains
Merle’s laughter echoing around the kloofs and kranse
in the stillness of the warm blackness of the night.
She was all the things which I longed to be
dark-skinned, elfin and everyman’s dream.
A sense of fun and boundless energy
Crossing our separate cultures as though she
had her feet firmly on a bridge spanning the divide.
The bright stars swirling round seemed to follow her
Vibrant, alive, one of nature’s chosen few.
The rocks over which we scrambled
in the day seemed grateful
For her feet as they lightly trod and took flight
The cold, rushing mountain stream hurried by,
Stopping only to caress her feet,
Eager to contribute to her delight
Birds in the sky dipped and swooped
Then once more turned to gain height
eager to share in joyous bounty, freely given.
Now those distant days are recalled in memory,
Today’s she’s gone, taken slowly and silently
Gone back to become one with the earth’s dust.
Missed by me and all those she knew.
Rest in peace, wonderful woman of light.

black velvet cloak

Black Velvet Cloak
The soft brush of black velvet against my mind
Stills the echo of long buried hopes and tears
A gentle cocoon of safety from the present world
Held in strong but silent company
I gain strength to face my fears.

A cloak of comfort like the breath of owl’s wings
in the still black night, angel kisses for the heart
I hold myself in reverie and wrap the smooth
Black velvet around my troubled soul
Gaining peace in part.

In my mind’s eye the flowing mantle gently moves
Stirred by compassion like a gentle breeze
Velvet cloaks the panther hunting in the night
Soft and sinuous, the danger well concealed
But with me – he is almost at ease.

foam in the storm

the flatlands of France

the doorkeeper's door

The Doorkeeper

Doors, keeping one out or keeping one in?
The ones who guard the door can be like Cerberus
Fearsome to behold and quick to anger
Or they can guard doors of shelter, protecting all within
Portals of the mind as much as of the physical
the steward of the door is entrusted with all that's precious
How does the Doorkeeper decide who may gain access and when,
What mysteries are kept safe from the eyes of the curious
I dream of warmth like a glowing hearth,
laughter silver, like the ancient people's voices,
and a safe haven in any storm, a protective den,
down at the bottom of life's garden,
waiting always out of reach.
But yet might I hear the silver voice calling
The Doorkeeper is almost within my vision,
Perhaps he will come again.

for Rosemary - we remember

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember

My mind had turned to Rosemary unexpectedly
Out of the dark she came and paused centre stage
She seemed to wait for someone or something uncertainly
I sensed a tide of sadness washing over her, almost drowned
Wraith that she was, etched in my memory.
Wonder why it is that she is calling me,
Things undone holding her trapped
Between the place beyond and where she would like to be.
Well I remember how she graced the stage dressed in shining green
She smiled and dipped graciously – lady-in-waiting to the Queen
Consummate courtier, make believe for her came easily
Reality was not a place she would always choose to be.

There’s Rosemary, standing on a corner, going nowhere,
This time she sprang to mind as though I’d just
Found her, standing wondering which road to take.
It’s not the sadness of before, the memory of yesteryear,
There’s something unfinished, some decision she has to make
Before she can turn and dissolve into the eternal night.
What things and times gone by and not fulfilled
Keep her sadly wandering here
Forever caught in the place between present and past tense.
Somehow we need to set her free, let her go
Leaving the domain of wraiths and ghosts and the echo
Of what might have been, drifting slowly, away from here.

the one who is left behind when the light goes out

Retrospective - lessons learned too late

I have found how hard it is to lose one’s life,
The small things which I took for granted,
the infinite daily subliminal expectations,
how things used to be only noted by their absence.
Every minute, every hour I become more aware
How unappreciative habit had become
The repetition blunting the edge of gratitude
Making commonplace the extraordinary.

And unexpectedly the chasm looms,
Gone is the author of my life’s even tenor
The ache becomes deeper than the sea,
wider than the horizon, higher than the sky.
And now all these things that teemed with humanity
Have no substance, are lost, alone, empty
How could I know that when she left
She would take the whole of me?

All these years together, how I drifted into complacency
Knowing that our lives were drawing to a close
I made no allowances, carried on unfeelingly.
Then suddenly she was gone, fled this life
I did not think that I should be the author
and that her life would end so violently
Like holding a robin’s egg sky-blue in my
Hand, clenching my fist – shattered inadvertently.

The remaining years are far too long suddenly
Life’s hopelessness stretching to infinity
Nothing is important, what can living mean to me?
Without her life is lost, never to return.
All of nature’s beauty is calling her name
Places where we once laughed and loved now
Weep in the wind and cry on the rain
The sun has set, she will not come again.

the eyes through which one sees the world

This photograph was taken with the painting in mind. At Huyumans tomb in Delhi one is transported into a past both decorative, spiritual and, in contrast, palpably echoing of all the blood shed in those distant years. The pointsettias in the foreground were to have the delicate tracery of the lattice work in the tombs. The sharp red bracts told of spears and blood.

To lend light to the painting I muted the colours to blue, moved architecture and nature around to give a simple, decorative look, changing angles to draw the eye to the poinsettia bush as the dominant factor. In the end I got what I was looking for and luckily, as the photographer myself, trod on no toes in the translation.

for a magically talented friend

Mardi Gras Eyes

Mardi Gras eyes, laughter just out of sight
rich as maple syrup,
warm as only the wise can be
Mountain stream brown, reflections of light.

Etch images with your eyes, tell stories with your soul
Capture life’s litany
Each frame a gift to those like me
Collections made of days, chapters of nights.

I wonder if the essence of all you see
Stays locked in your mind
Ghosts of other’s lives and loves
Caught in the amber of your artistry.

I’d walk in the labyrinth, run in the maze
Of your memory
Collecting a scrapbook of images
Culled from your journeys, halcyon days.

Margi Gras eyes, laughter like velvet
Mind caught in crystal
You sing the song of the artist
In visuals no onlooker could ever forget.

**Mardi Gras -the day before Lent, celebrated in some cities, as New Orleans and Paris, as a day of carnival and merrymaking; Shrove Tuesday.

caught in the spider's web

Nicholas - not at ease but not moving,
unresolved issues put on hold.
Life locked into a welcome limbo
of almost silent companionship.
The bustling plans, the constant movement
in abeyance for just a while.
An empty space in a kaleidoscope of
changing company - a sanctioned opportunity
for no particular activity.
The clock ticks on, winding up or winding down,
heralding plans and people soon to approach.
concentric circles spinning ever closer.
You seem unaware or unwilling
to see how close they’ve come.
I stand and watch you caught in
briefly frozen time
And wonder how I became ensnared in
your magic net.
Nicholas - not at ease, but not moving……yet

tears like autumn leaves

MISTAKEN IDENTITY


I thought it was a road, it turned out to be a parking lot
In my hands I held a crystal ball but it was
just a bubble waiting to be burst.
The conveyer belt seemed to take me forward
but everything around me was really moving back.
Often what you’ve lost isn’t obvious at first.

Seems what you never had is what you miss the most
Shards and splinters of what might have been
carving initials on your heart.
The bright promise of the rainbow
is really just another way to look at rain
Reality not circumstance keeps us apart.

Close the windows, lock the door, throw away the key
Draw the curtains on the happy memories
they were never meant to last.
The sun goes down on hopes and dreams
fading swiftly, fleeing forever into the dark
Trust and innocence are relegated to the past.

Cobwebs of a life gone by like a maiden’s wedding dress
All gossamer and lace dressed for just a day
the magic fades all too soon.
Tears fall like autumn leaves and lie forgotten
on the ground swept over by the winds of time
Leaving only echoes of a long forgotten tune.

Love lost dances solo on a darkened stage
Movements to a sad and silent melody
the last act draws to a close.
What I thought was reality was just a pretty show
the curtain comes down, the players leave the stage
I’m on my own - Love’s Labours Lost, I suppose.

underestimating Neptune's wrath

the storms which hit us as August was ushered out, where quite spectacular. Unfortunately this often brings temporary insanity out in photographers and their ilk. Here is a bird's eye view (bird included) of a photographer with his tripod sheltering from nine metre high waves. Two people were rescued from the sea off the breakwater on Sunday. Hopefully he did not need rescuing as well. In the next shot, if the fishing fleet could talk, you would be able to hear the frightened scream as the wild white horses ride them down.

the stairs to oblivion no longer travelled

A Fragment from the Diary of an Epileptic
I’m tired and it has been a long day. Maybe it’s the time of the month, maybe it’s the time of the moon. It’s stalking me again. I must be vigilant. The beast is out there coming in to take a piece of my mind and my life. How to arm against it? Quick - take an extra pill - wait quietly and hope the beast will go.
No, he’s moved closer now. The giddiness begins. Just enough for me to feel it deep inside my head. Now I begin to use words out of context. Me, the wordsmith, the person who guards the power of words with an almost religious fervour. The words mill around inside my head and I try and catch the right one as it swims past me. But miss and stumble and correct myself. I look at the people around me and wonder if they think I’m drunk. I toy with an explanation but it seems too distant - I can’t quite get the enthusiasm necessary to care.
The room is brightly coloured, iridescent and surreal, shapes elude me and mutate around me. The beast is winning the fight. I continue to talk to the shadow people around me. I try to catch what I’m saying. I watch them to see if they notice that the beast has taken me to his liar. I wonder what I’ll remember at the end of this absence. I try to put up a struggle in my head. Try to leave the situation and go to bed. Go to sleep with the beast where no one can see him hijack me. I’ve left it too late. I am no longer me. I spin away and have no conscious mind anymore. My last thought is always the same. “ I hope no one notices, I hope I hurt no one by saying things I can’t control.”
Hours later I wake up in bed. I’ve got quite good at getting myself there over the years. I have a headache. It feels like the inside of my brain is shattered particles. The pain is intense. The world is fog and cotton wool and I try to move through it. Everything happens so slowly, it’s like straining against elastic bands imprisoning me. Time to pick up the pieces. I go into the day, pretending it is a normal day. The beast took the night. I remember watching myself talk to my friends, but that was early in the evening, before supper maybe. What happened next? Did I appear normal until they left? What did I do?
It’s too late to get time back. Try and screw up the courage to face the day, my life. Move forward, work out a game plan of how to find out what I did without people knowing I have no memory of the night. Pick up the pieces left behind by the beast. Pretend I don’t really care and am not frightened by the now absent hours. They are gone. I know from experience that no matter what people tell me happened in those hours, it will never strike a chord in my memory. They are gone forever, stolen by the beast.
Like a child learning to walk I pick my way through other peoples memories of last night, desperately piecing together a kaleidoscope which will remain forever broken.
And wait for the beast to fetch me again.