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.