Friday, May 31, 2013

Prayer of Uncertainty

I am certain
Of my uncertainty
Of this I’m sure
I don’t know what to do
Or what I want
I’m sorry I’m in such a muddle

After half a century
One would think
I should be sure and certain
Yet truth be told
Now I’m on the down ward slope
I’m full of doubt and disbelief
I’m sorry I’m in such a muddle

Ancient Faith said
Ask and you shall receive
And so I asked and asked and asked some more
But I did not receive
I thought I had enough belief
I thought my trust was strong enough
But seems I must have had some uncertainty
I’m sorry I’m in such a muddle

Modern Sages advise me
To visualise and see
They give techniques to draw to me
What I want.
Yet what if what I want
Is not what I really need
And what if what I really need
Has consequences I do not see
I’m sorry I’m in such a muddle

I am confused and in a muddle
I am certain of my uncertainty
And my vague ambiguity
Would be nice if I could visualise
And draw to me a wealthy man
And happy job
Or did I mean a happy man
And wealthy job
Or was it the man who was the job
And happiness wealth
You see I’m confused and uncertain
I’m sorry I’m in such a muddle

And so I ask that perhaps
Within the next half century
You might un-muddle me

And grant me certainty and bliss

Friday Drinks

Ponderings from Beaufort St – 31st May 2013

As he marched by
It was his boots
That drew my eye to him
Boots that once could have
Adorned a woman’s foot
As adder-like she snaked up
The corporate ladder

Now they, square toed
Decked out his feet
And clipped across the street
While by his side with equal pride
Was his best mate
Whose nature was spirited and sweet

His mate’s first name was Jim
His middle names
Beam With
His surname
But in Aussie style
It was hyphened to JB

T’was 8 o’clock and while the workers
Rushed to desks and ringing phones
JB and his best mate strode with confidence
To find a sunny spot
Where they could toast the
Last day of the week and warm
Their chilly bones

Now I, I like my friends
Spirited but not so sweet
And 8am is not
A social hour for me
So I will have to wait
Till me and my mate

Can toast the ending of the week

Thursday, May 30, 2013

Orpheus' Call

The haunting of his lyre
Coils around
Wind’s symphonic sound
Orchestra of soulful sprites

And in the rests between the notes
Before Wind takes up the refrain
The golden lingering lilt
I hear again

This rhapsody of ache
The cadence of loss
His sound
Echoing through the cave of time

It calls to me
In haunting silence
Captivating and enthralling me

It tempts me
Enticing me
To meet him
At the fissure of time

There at that opening
Where time fragments into light
And Cerberus lies
Tamed by the magic of his sound

Yet I more
Odysseus than Orpheus
Must to the mast remain
And stay awhile in this space

Still I hear and
My soul does ache
To sit in silence
Lost in wonder at

The golden lingering lilt

A Poet's Bad Day

It flows around me
Forcing its restless energy into me
Words seek to climb
This helix vine from swampy mess of mind
To blossom in some chancing rhyme
Instead word-buds shrivel on the stalk
And slouch away in disarray

I’m left to grapple
And wrestle into structured verse
Restless tentacles of words
That slip and slide and disappear
Into the muddy mess of mind
Laughing at my struggle to translate
The ineffable

And from this grey quagmire
Fear in slimy dress does rise
In teasing leer at my predicament
She chokes my confidence
Lisping her sweet temptations
Why bother, your scribbling’s to transcribe
Who cares if they are read?

So I take a breath
And steady my doubting soul
I remind myself I write, because I write
And with that thought I’ll face
My fear and discontent
I’ll put it into rhyme
And write it down.

I’ve wrestled into structured verse
These disappearing buds of words
I’ve managed rhymes
Of seven lines
The ineffable will have to wait
It’s beauty to translate
I’ve done the best I can

Tomorrow is another day
Perhaps my thoughts will rise above
The muddy mess of my mind
And skip along with beat and rhyme
And fear will have released her grip
The beauty of the unspeakable

Transcribed into words

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Fiddle Sticks of Thoght

They fall in a heap
But they’re supposed to fall in line
Rational ordered and complete
They can be lined end to end
Or built one on the other
I don’t mind
They just have to be straight
Consistent lines

This heap will not do!
Random stack of messy sticks
Lying cross ways, at an angle
All a tangle
Scattered, with no thought of order
Piece meal thoughts
Fractious, restless

I must tidy these thoughts
Catalogue and categorise
Tab and tag
File and sort them out
Carefully I pick one out
A single thought and place it down
I know where I put this thought
But now it’s gone

I try again
Another thought to sort
I lift it from my mind
But this thought
Knocks another
That moves and hits another
Oh fiddlesticks

These disordered thoughts of mine

Face on the Footpath

Ponderings from Beaufort St – 28th May 2013

It was lost and forlorn
Lying, looking up at me
A face amongst the myriad marching feet
It did not flinch or winch
Just looked in flat surprised

I wonder how it reached this spot
Did it slip between his grasp
Or slide from wallets fold
I wonder what the owner felt
Searching for his face

Was it his?
A copy of his face
Passport picture perfect
His permit and his freedom
That blank stare of officialdom

Perhaps it was his lover
A memento of better days
When love was warm and tender
A reminder, that blank stare
Once gazed into her eyes with wonder

It looked up
As I looked down
A passport picture on the street
And I wondered what the history was

Of that face upon the street.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Untitled # 2 - Experiences of Depression

Coiled she waits
With frozen expectancy
The first fluttering of my eyelids
She slithers between lashes
Spreading her grey sticky slime
Feeding on my fusty night breath
Drinking its bilious, sour odour
She greets me with delight

Succubus of energy
Drained before I stir
I wait, hoping
Some fragment of energy
Her in-breathing will have fled and
Grant me strength to rise
Yet, thoughts coagulate and shrink in dread
Before the rising light of day

I, I want to sleep
Rip van Winkle’s sleep
Undisturbed and unperturbed
While life slips slowly by
But sleep no rest provides
For leaden thoughts
Ooze through fretful ponderings
Of my mind

I must face this day,
This grey, pallid day
Ashen, sallow and washed out
Waiting in the ante room of life
Perhaps this fog will lift
Perhaps I will walk with vigour
Perhaps I will join life
But not today

Today I wait
Once more
Molasses leaden
Grey, dreary, fatigued
Depressed by my depression
Till I can sink once more
Into oblivion

Throughout 2010 I experienced episodes of depression, this reflects my experience.  I have entitled it “Untitled” as I recognise that people experience depression differently

Fingers of Prayer

Upwards they stretch
Taunt twigs of impassioned pleading
Beauty stripped
By yearly age
The garments of their covering
Windswept into memories
Of greener days

Gnarled and knotted
The elixir of hope that rose
Branching upwards
Straining with fervent faith
Drains down
Sinewy, venous
Skeletal like tracks

Whispered scratching
Coded prayers cast on winds
Asking gods of wind and rain
To be gentle in the winter of discontent
That in the spring,
They’ll don once more
Leaves, fashioned green

Monday, May 27, 2013

Is it enough?

Is it enough
When sun and moon pause
Suspended in celestial sky
The greater and the lesser light?

Is it enough
When light displays and dances
Threads of silken rays
Through leaves burnished gold and red?

Is it enough
The symphony of birds
Song sung from hearts
Unburdened, unconcerned?

Is it enough
This riotous bounty of nature
Its uncontained magnificence
Cast with wanton extravagance
To saturate the senses
And marinate the mind
To soak the soul
In sensual indulgences

Is it enough to break the web
Of fears and uncertainties
Of calamities I've conjured in my mind

Is it enough to break the chains
Of loneliness I've crafted for myself
To breach the battlements I have built
To keep the others out

Is it enough to break the hold
Of my inferiority
That nature so bold should
Be a part of me.

Is it enough?
The question comes to me
Is nature’s bounty
To take me out of me?

When I have left my fears
And condemnations far behind
When I have broken down the battlements
And the hold of inferiority released
Then my soul will rise and sing

And joining with natures fecundity
It’s prolificacy and beauty
My soul will proclaim
It is enough
It is enough for me!

The Jester's Hat

Ponderings from Beaufort St – 27th May 2013

She was a woman of a certain age
She’d past mid-way tween mother and crone
A fading queen, on whose head
A jester’s hat sat
Red and blue, pointed
A starfish crown

T’was 8am
On Monday morn
And she outside
The local church
On low stone wall
Her baggage packed.

Perchance she played the fool for God
Grown bored with mankind’s sin
Tired of human misery
And leaden weight of hope
Perhaps God could face his week
For she had made Him laugh

The moon had passed its peak
But had not set
Perhaps it’s pull still strong
They shared some lunar link
That filled her mind with laughter
She a jester to the Queen of night

Perhaps she’d reached that age
Where conventions lose their grip
Less concerned what others think
Free to be herself
And Queen of all she saw
She donned her Jesters crown

So to the fading queen
Queen of the Night
Queen of all she saw
Queen of Jester’s crown
Who dared to try and make God laugh

I tip my non-existent hat

Thursday, May 23, 2013

The Alchemy of Pain

First the cut
An unexpected wound
In the fabric of our frame
Shaking our serenity

In our pain
We twist and turn
Lash out and shout
Seeking someone to blame

Yet the wounding is
The necessary part
The start of
The alchemy of pain

We must endure the pain
Tying our souls to this stake
We must undergo the purifying fire
The chemistry of transformation

Then our tears must flow
Through cuts and scratches of our soul
The salt of tears much cleanse the wounds
Left by purifying fire

Tears must wash our soul
As sands are ocean washed
For in the wave of tears
The debris of the fire is cleansed

In the space
Of fire and water
A hollowness is formed
Through which the spirit wind does flow

And in the echo of the spirit
If souls are stilled
We start to understand
The alchemy of pain

For while we think
We’d like our lives
Trouble free and grand
Pain is a necessity

In the wounding and the fire
In the water and the salt
In the echo of the spirit
Pain is transfigured

Through the vein of pain
A thread of gold now runs
And in an aching soul
A space is formed

And in that silent space
By alchemy of pain
Beauty in perfection blooms

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

The Seer of the Word

He comes in silence
Lightness, incandescent intensity
Covered by ethereal shadows
He ponders while watching
As if to weigh my soul

An apprenticed wordsmith
Concentrating on words
Their place, their texture
Hue and colour
Their tautness and their tightness

Their rhyming sequence
The beat and thrum of verse
The beauty of imagery
Rawness of sentiment
These things that take my time

He is unperturbed
By concentrations determination
Unimpressed by effort and will
He stands and listens
To the stillness

And pointing between the words
To spaces
To galaxies of emptiness
And universal hollowness
He raises a questioning eye

I know the question he asks of me
He asks of every Seer
Have we endured the spaces of our soul?
And journeyed through the galaxies of our pain?
Have we stood in ecstasy at universal beauty and joy?

For we who fill the spaces with our words
And capture butterfly emotions
Then pin them down with heavy words
We who are the Seers of words
Must first have stood in Silence.

The Early Morning Announcer

Ponderings from Beaufort St – 23rd May 2013

He sat atop his pinnacle
I really mean
The pinnacle
It was the aerial
From which he spread the word

He puffed his chest
Light glinted on his suit
Polished black and sleek
He cocked a greedy eye
And gripped his post once more

He checked to see
His underlining was neither
To high up, nor to far down
For where his lackey perched
Reflected on him

With everything in place
He lifted his head, opened his mouth
And cawed
I blinked,
He disappeared

He was displeased with his voice
He was a crow after all
Perhaps his underling had crept up
And knocked him of his post

Perhaps he was fed up
With early morning hours
Perhaps there was no news

He wanted to announce.

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

The Soul's Ache

The gentle ache of my soul
Reverberates to ancient
Silent chords
Strummed from eternity
Into time’s chaotic folds

My soul stirs to its sound
With earth bound wings would seek to rise
And pass into the light
Beyond the veil
Beyond time’s chaotic folds

The echo comes to me
My soul leaps in ecstasy
And in the whispering silence
My lover’s voice I hear

Come to me, my love
Swathed in eternity
Ancient lover of my soul
Wrap me in ecstasy
Fill me with delight

And when my human form
Fades and wastes away
Take my soul
And dance with me
Into eternity

Dance with me
Ancient lover of my soul
Dance with me to silent chords
Strummed in eternity
Take me beyond time’s chaotic folds

Monday, May 20, 2013

The Family Fight

Ponderings from Beaufort St -21st May 2013

There’s nothing quite like a family fight
The lover’s scalpel tongue
Cutting to the bone
And vinegared words
Into open wounds
Are poured

Oblivious to the neighbours
Or decorum’s dignity
The screeches ring out
Loud and clear
Acerbic jaws and
Snapping claws

So I was a witness
To this mornings family fight
‘tween distant relatives
Beaks and feathers in fury flew
And missile bodies
Collided in mid-air

I wonder what caused this tiff
Did crow laugh at magpie warbling song
Or think his family from the wrong side of the tracks
Did crow try to steal magpie’s breakfast
Of cold greasy chips
Or perhaps he just outstayed his welcome

Whatever caused the fight
It was intense
Crow tried to tactfully escape
But Mags would have none of that
They twisted, twirled, coiled
Around each other’s flight

And I,
I did what we do
When families fight
I ducked my head
And scurried on
And left them to their flight

Untitled 1

She dressed in opulence
Unconcerned at stares
Drawn by her extravagance
Swathed in golden hues
Of texture light filament

She lit the skies
Of grey drawn men
Yet some her beauty missed
Consumed by worries and
Gun metalled burdened care

I marvelled in her confidence
Her beauteous profligacy
Unconcerned that fading light
Would hide
Beauty such as this

Her jewellery burnished gold
And in her garments
Cerise and crimson glowed
Hints of mauve based on
Cerulean sapphire blue

Some would think her mad
Her beauty indecent waste
Some would pass un-noticing
Humanoids evolving into
Extended ipads

But I, for one saw her
As I walked home from work
And I for one marvelled
At her luxurious lavishness
No mad old dowager she

The setting sun
In all its splendour
Reflecting light
Astounding beauty
Gracious gift of glory

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Leaves of my mind

Ponderings from Beaufort St - 20th May 2013

They lie discarded
Curling, frayed
Choking the pathways of my mind
Listless, lifeless and inert
Moldering autumnal thoughts

I scuff at them
To see if from their scrunching,
Some brief creativity may spark
But sighing
They crumble and disintegrate

I’d like to think
My thoughts were bursting buds of
Inspiration green
My contemplations were
Of spring’s strength and vigour

I’d even settle
For ideas of summer’s warmth
Yearning passion
Meditations on
Sun’s fullness and heat’s lust

Instead my thoughts are weary
Damp and dank
They lie, cluttered, muddled
Leaves of fading possibilities
Choking the footpaths of my mind


She stands and blocks
My every turn
Words form and dissipate
Ideas fragment
And disintegrate

I want to write of certainty
Of sureness and conviction
She smiles
And all I get is
Indecision and uncertainty

I want the words to flow
From wells of my unconsciousness
Instead they sputter, splutter, spark
She vaguely nods
And watches words cease and choke

I want to write of love
It’s elusive, mysteriousness
I want to write its depth and heights
She stands in grinning silence
As love dissipates

I ask her if she’s mad at me
If I’ve offended her
She gives me one more thought
Then changing her mind
The thought dissolves

I hope in her silence
I may sleep
Once through the night
Yet as though to mock me
She wakes me yet again

I stumble and sit
Before this screen
Waiting for her inspiration
She laughs
Words disintegrate
Ideas dissipate
And all I get is indecision and uncertainty

I sigh,
My muse is having fun
I think I’ll slip back to bed
Perhaps, perhaps
I’ll get some sleep

Perhaps when I awake
The words will flow again
Perhaps she will be kind to me
And having proved her superiority
Will grant to me 
The gift of her musing

It is 1:45am the end of a frustrating Sunday where ideas formed and then died still born.   It is also the beginning of another day, so hope springs eternal.  Perhaps my Muse will be kind to me today.

Saturday, May 18, 2013


Etched on my soul
Faint, light passing touch
You come to me
From realms beyond my sight
My essence feels your touch.

Still the torrents of my thoughts
And breathe your ancient breath
Cross the filament of my soul
That I may catch the echoed sound of
Love’s incantations faint and brief

Come to me
And kiss me
With impressions soft and light
The mystery of eternity
Engraved upon my heart

Let me linger in your arms
Spirit wrapped in love’s hold
And may my earth clad human frame
For one brief moment in time
Loiter in the rapture of your embrace

May I not escape into rational thought
Nor flee into logic’s hold
May my soul
Sing back your love
Ancient Lover of my soul

Thursday, May 16, 2013


Ponderings from Beaufort St - 17th May 2013

There was tension in the air
A tautness, tight and fierce
The cars were racing down the street
To find a parking space

The clouds lifted up above of me
Billowed silently without stress
They simply followed nature’s laws
And gently grew and changed their shape

He raced across the street in front of me
In quick staccato steps
A man intent, absorbed in tensions grip
He dragged in haste on cigarette

The leaf, gently let itself fall free
Autumnal coloured and without sound
It simply followed nature’s laws
And floated to the ground

And fleets of buses,
Crackling with synthetic sound
Charged in fretful anxiety
Timetables to keep

Sunlight, gentle rose
Without sound or stressful fuss
It simply followed nature’s laws
And lit the shadowed walls

So my friend
Go gently midst the haste
When taut and tight
And with staccato steps
You race from here to there
Stop and
Simply follow nature’s laws.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

The Single Rose

Ponderings from Beaufort St – 16th May 2013

He crossed the street
With choc milk in one hand
For breakfast on the run
And in his other he held
A rose

A solitary man
A single rose
To give his one true love
I wonder why he chose that one
Or if the rose had chosen him

It wasn’t red
To say I love you
Or pink to say, thank you
It wasn’t the yellow rose of friendship
Or orange bloom of eagerness

It was a single white rose
Of simplicity and purity
A symbol of innocence
And I wondered if his love was
Such simple, diaphanous devotion

Perhaps he hoped it would be
He wished and yearned that
In the giving of this bud
Love’s pledge and promise
Would innocence and devotion keep

Perhaps he hoped for something else
That I knew nothing of
Yet in the bud carried cross the street
There was a wish, a desire
And I wished for him, his wish

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Abandoned Home

Ponderings from Beaufort St - 15th May 2013

It lay abandoned and forlorn
Dust balls playing tag
And cockroaches tripped
The dark fantastic in
Dancing scurrying feet

Eerie laughter echoed
In whispering drafts
That seeped through
Gaps in windows
Warped and aged

And floor boards eased
Their creaking joints
In sagging fitful repose
And remembered happier days
When they were taunt and tight

The doors that closed
Modesty to guard and
Whispered secrets to hold
Now immodest frames
Hang limp and loose

When I walked past
This morning
The home was gone
Mausoleum of memories
Replaced by patch of sand

Monday, May 13, 2013

Cask (ed) Aside

Ponderings from Beaufort St - 14th May 2013

It lay on its side
Alone and forlorn
Cast aside,
It’s gaping hole, haven for wind swept leaves
To huddle against mornings icy chill
In melancholy memory of
Greener days of spring

Now discarded
Useless flotsam
Fouling busy street
Once it held
Carmine, passionate red
Elixir from the gods
Who decreed

Grapes fermented
And in moderation taken
Should warm the souls of men
To add a glow of erudition
To conversations ebb and flow
And take the chill of loneliness
And dull the edge of weariness

Somewhere an eye lid struggling open
Squinted against the pain of light
And neural pathways
Inflamed and festering
Protested against the puzzling pieces
Of incoming thought

Recollections form
Of Carmine red too quickly drunk
Of friendships turned ugly
Of fights and cruel words
Of inferiorities unleashed
To rule with
Mean despotic superiority

Recollection recalls
A bladder ripped
In greedy grasp from cask,
Then tossed aside
Elixir drunk with passion great and hopeful
To still the screaming torments
Of his soul


I was walking to work and passed an empty wine cask.  It was lying there ripped open and the bladder of wine long gone.  The above is my ponderings on the empty wine cask!

The Half Iron Man

In honour of my daughter who completed her second half iron man on Saturday 10th May 2013.


They came under cover of the darkness
In answer to some ancient call
Entering sacred ground
Where metalled steeds did wait
And on the alter of lucky towels
Placed before these steeds,
Shoes of speed were aligned
Gels and drinks were placed strategically
On steeds trim flanks
So air did not impede their speed
Along metallic tracks

Wives and partners looked on
Their love in second place
For on this day
T’was all about
The warriors of this race
And as the sky lightened
To greet the rising sun
They cast aside their outer clothes
And into rubber squeezed
Then national anthem sung
As sun blinked in surprise

They rushed into Poseidon’s realm
A foaming, frothing mass
They fought each other
To gain some space
So rhythm they could attain
To try and warm their chilled thin skin
Till rubber layer kicked in
Through 1.9km they swam
A long baptism
Through Neptune’s realm
Then dragged themselves up sandy shores

With shaky limbs
They sought to peel away their rubber skin
But like a butterflies cocoon
It bound them tight
They pulled and pushed and stamped their feet
Eventually they were free
To climb upon their metalled steed
And sought to borrow Hermes wings
To speed them on their way
For 90km the distance of the charge
Of this light steeded brigade
They pushed themselves to endurances outer limits
Trusting themselves to metallic momentum

When distance done they parked their steeds
And changing Hermes wings for feet
Like Marathon of old they ran
Yet no message of victory or defeat
They brought
Simply the determination to complete
This third and final race
Their bodies pushed beyond endurance
Some ran, some stumbled, some shuffled
Legs numb and cramped
And stomach sick
They hit the wall
Yet lurching through
Till 21kms were done

The crowd willed them on
With a final cheer
They raised a weary hand
And crossed the line
Spent they lay
Beyond exhaustion
Yet with dawning jubilation
They had done the race
And won

And I looked on in wonder

Sunday, May 12, 2013

The Harley at the Gate

Ponderings from Beaufort St - 13th May 2013

I stopped and waited at the lights
Before ambling on my way
Turning my head to the right
I saw him on his bike
Waiting at funeral parlour door

His bike, was black and shiny
A long low Harley
Powerful, muscled beast
It growled and grumbled
At being held in check
The rider, leather clad was all in black
His face in anonymity hid
Scarf wrapped in black

The door rolled up and into yawning space
He rolled his growling beast
Had he come to collect
Some Recalcitrant soul
From Parlour’s home

The lights changed
I scurried on my way
And pondered whether death
Had gone up-market
Trading in his horse
For metalled beast
Had death given up the robes of drag
And clad himself in modernity’s garb

The day will come when death and I will meet
And when he rolls towards me
To knock me off my feet
I hope it’s on his Harley
He comes for me
Walking to work I pass a funeral home/parlour which is on a corner of the street.  This morning as I waited at the lights one of the workers, well I assume he was a worker,  dressed all in black waited on his Harley to enter.  There is something deliciously ironic about seeing a black clad biker in a Harley going into a funeral parlour!

Friday, May 10, 2013

The Feather

Ponderings from Beaufort St - 10th May 2013

I passed it on the street
Dank and limp
A shadow of its former self
Sighing in wind’s bleak draft
Seeking some will to rise and lift

To once again attain
The glory
Of faultless flights of grace
Lifting in exultation
Soaring on rising drafts

Yet drab and dirty grey
It lay in isolation
Perfection cast aside
Useless, lifeless, graceless

And as the bird did rise
Did it look down with grief
To see it’s feather float adrift
Or was it with relief
To let new growth occur

I pondered on this feather
And wondered
What ancient feathers of my mind
I must release to soar on rising drafts
Of life’s potentialities

What anxious fears and worries
Lies dank and limp within my soul
When with courage and with grace
I could let them go and
Wing the thermals of the possible

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

The Note

I was speaking to Ricardo DeOliveira the other day about his love of music and then Nikk Driver posted a beautiful comment about music 

performance characterises minimal movement, when love stands still you can still hear the echo of infinite dimensions...."

Both interactions started me thinking about the beauty of a single musical note struck in love.  The following is my attempt to capture this.  Apologies to both Ricardo and Nikk where I do not do their love of music justice.

He leant into the instrument
His body strummed to its sensual feel
His fingers caressed its strings
With light and gentle touch
His ears caught the gentle hum
As notes quivered with delight
He took a breath and stilled his soul
Then with movement slight
He struck the note

It lifted in graceful flight
And rose in sublime tonality
A clear and simple sound
It soared in pure simplicity
A single note struck in love
Its clarity profound
And rising to itself
Reverberated all through time
And reach into infinity

It ascended to eternity where
Angels stilled their wings
And bent their heads to listen  
To sound so pure, so light
Yet, one more time it lifted
Then into silence passed
And in that silent space
The universe held it’s breath
Waited, hushed and stilled

And faintly through the eons
The echo did resound
And back it rolled
To the man who sat
And with slight movement
Strummed a single note
A note of love

The Stranger

Ponderings from Beaufort St - 9th May 2013

I’d ambled along my usual route
In vague and sleepy trance
Hoping I would wake
Before the morning meeting with my desk

She turned and asked me for directions
A strange clad woman not from here
Her face obscured with doctors mask
And eyes in shades did hide.

I point out the way to her
But still she stood perplexed
And in the end I sighed
Inviting her to walk with me

The people stared in perplexity
Me windblown and dishevelled
Her in lonely, fearful desperation
Trying to converse

Was she an angel in disguise
Sent to see if I would pause
Or scurry by
In somnolent trance

The truth is more prosaic
Simply a student who’d lost her way
She’d landed in this city
From Korean spring to wintry May

I showed her where to go
And watched her walk away
For fifteen minutes of my life
A stranger crossed my path.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The Affair

Ponderings from Beaufort St - 8th May 2013

I confess to an affair.
My regular partner is reliable and strong
Though at times he is acidic in tone
But she, she was alluring.

I didn't mean to betray but
I’d noticed her before
Half hidden, shy demure
Her eyes dark, smoky, inky deep

Her skin, porcelain white
Her figure round and firm
A figure inviting to be held
And cupped in loving tenderness

Her sweet perfume
Heady with sensual allure
Though I tried to remain faithful
I’d thought of her to long

That fateful day
We met
I gazed into her smoky eyes
And raised her to my lips

Dam, that’s good coffee!
I have my regular coffee haunt but walking to work I noticed a new coffee place and immediately felt the 'temptation' to try their coffee and miss my usual haunt.  Hence the poem.

Monday, May 6, 2013

The Parking Ticket

Ponderings from Beaufort St - 7th May 2013

She walked in regal solemnity
Up to the errant vehicle
Scratched her cheek
And gazed in dispassionate judgement
On the ill-parked car

She was no officious officer
She had shown grace
She waited on the footpath
Turned her head from side to side
But no owner came to right his wrong and plead his case

She wrote the misdemeanour
Onto electronic pad
A record for the future
She slipped the ticket, almost
Lovingly onto the car

I wonder if guilt is God’s parking ticket
Slipped into the neural pathways of my mind
A ticket to remind me of all my faults and wrongs
Of when I’ve parked illegally
Or in one spot have stayed too long

I wonder what God does
With all the earnings from prayerful penance
Paid for release from tickets of guilt
Does he repave the streets of gold
Or build more mansions for more souls

I wonder if I’ve got it wrong
And guilt is not God’s parking ticket
I wonder if perhaps
God stands on the footpath
And turns His head from side to side

Looking for……