Latest Poetry

Optimism in troubled times ...

Thankful for small mercies ...

Oftentimes, I read. Words woven as stories, ideas, beliefs. Knowledge, a cage. My eyes look at the stars, My feet feel the dewdrop; with the organs within, without, I live every moment of life, in its highs and lows.  But I know the elusive truth, beyond all bondage lies beyond books, nature trails, and tales of birth and death.  ...

voyeurism by any other name? ...

One world. Different worlds. One situation. Many versions. Men, women, children, holding leaves in their minds through their eyes, beholding selected words, fruits, flowers, forming chosen haven, unable to distance, so the tree comes to light. The lack of vision, a white elephant.  ...

Confession of an ignoramus ...

Good, bad, ugly The Friday is here for good, a reminder  of his love for the light; his life, a work of art,  a supreme sacrifice,  he rose like a blooming flower, with bloody scars to unite with the source; for us, respectful, irreverent, after our toiling work,  successes, failures, thank God, it's another weekend of  resurrection.  ...

Bottom pic as to highlight I am now in the 'rear view mirror'  I have totally reworked the poem because it is often only when see it posted I see mistakes> Thanks to all who commented. The crux of the poem has not changed....only the expression here and there. x ...

Monosyllabic musings ...

A Dr Seuss inspired children's verse about a bad little boy ...

We become what we acquire; wealth, culture, faiths, appearances, behaviors rule us in an automated mode; display of puppetry of human flesh and blood, a knotty, invisible attachment, a habit, a condemned bondage, chaining like a wire, beyond all scope; a tail of an animal, or the serpentine intoxication tied around the throat; all possible hopes of breaking free from the non-existent string, to untie the erotic lace and unite with the infinite is overruled; in the guise of a bonding, the irrelevant lanyard lies ...

They can't survive on plastic ...

on the death of my father ...

This was originally the tenth station in a twelve stations of the cross sequence. I've taken it out and made it into an 'alternative reality'; partly influence by a play I watched years ago; setting the Passion in post war Palestine, and the occupying British standing in for the Romans. It worked quite well ...

Life’s joy walked in softly, secretly: gifted me contentment, light shone  in all things. For so short a time. It stole you away knocked me down, left me to crawl on the floor of darkness deaf to the song of life, imprisoned, held by the arms of the lost. A glimmer, a chink of light bleeds in, a false friend skilled in trickery or the song of a Siren to dash me against the rocks? ...