Poetry is
The art of the heart
Written in the lifeblood
Of the soul.
Complete me!
Cries my heart-song.
Make me soul-
Deep happy, hums
The depths
Of my being.
Always are there
When I need you,
Know what to say,
Caress the stresses,
Smooth the wrinkles,
Keeping toil-wrought
Demons at bay.
Break all my pretensions, into
Digestable pieces, rake back
Sand-coated crunch-tastic woolly
Thinking, freeing me
To be me, each
And every day.
Intrigue me,
Intoxicatingly true.
Complete me,
Just being you.
Awkward pain percolates
Nicely disturbing my writing, a
Perfect peace broken by long
Gone wilting, dog gone annoying
Is what it is. Why are we so obsessed
With each other’s lives, continually
Comparing, contenting ourselves in
Our differences, that which singles us
Out, truly out if we are
Truly different?
Yet still that sense of
Unease, discomfort, could be
Food, protein or sugar deficiency,
Or simply that earlier disquietude, still
Chain chipping, Chinese drip torture,
When I should be working on my novel,
Still annoyed at myself even though
The annoyance is gone, I am not the only
One, am I?
Am I?
Seagulls tease
Of oceans far
Reminding me
Of salt memories
Of splashing waves
And sandy beaches
Of happy summers
Decades gone.
Yet still the thought
Of happy childhood
Echoed in the large birds’ cry
Taints the sharp cold bite of morning
Under the faint grey blue sky.
Cold hard pitted concrete face,
Stretching, ground-up, from base
To horizon-busting lip, still just me
Standing still, running a hundred
Miles an hour, if not stressworkplay
Then exercisewritetalkthinkseebe
When along comes family, my
Big sis, to come pick me up, help
Me clean, straighten, organise
Re-arrange, until the peace settles
Down over my shoulders, the
Grand stone facade cracks and I
Have to go run and hide, find some
Space to cry, because the damn is
Busting.
Tears hot and heavy, empty me of
Dread held tight, empty space
Filled with my very own inter-
Stellar dark matter, no more real
To me than the dark matter that
Holds the galaxies together and
Just as cold, to me this is the first
A time to realise that constant
Runningmovingdoingthinkingactive
Being is not any more healthy than
Stopping stock still forever more,
Then again I crack.
The impenatrable ferrous concrete
Of my own internal damn cracks,
No explosion, just a gentle rupture,
Until the waterworks come,
Reminding me that I am all too
Human, no more or less strong
Than any other.
Why cry? Don’t ask me, for
I could not tell you. All I learn is
That sometimes you have to stop
Be still, let someone else take
Over, to realise you are running
Straight into the ground. Take a
Step back, breathe, let go, for
Any semblance of control over our
Own lives is only the illusion of
Control, for in reality we are nothing
More than feeling pin-balls, bouncing
From one precarious noisy post
To another, forever hopingwishingpraying to
Receive some kind of sign
That this will be the last bounce,
Bump, grind, ringing bells in our
Ears and knocking us sideways into
Another dimension of confusion.
Are we really who we think we are?
Would it make any difference?
Still we bang on,
In our own personal way, chasing
That illusive ‘happy’ place, each
To our own, still bouncing from
Pillar to post, unsure of the latest
As we were of the first, that promised
‘Ease-up’ of pressureworklife never
Appearing, instead pressure ramps
Up, the pedal slips down ever closer
To the floor, one more step to our
Grave, the only end we will all
Ever share, still none the wiser.
Yet if we stop, let go, sit still,
Even for one moment, we may see
That life is not one long mad rush
Towards the inevitable crowning
Glory, the final rest, but a journey
Onwards deeper into our own
Personal road, our chosen path,
Until we know just who we are,
And hopefully, if we’re lucky,
Why.
The scent of winter settles
Calmly, gently, slowly, over
Un-tensed shoulders, a word
Remembered from childhood
Humour, Fridays spent at Synagogue
Dinner with the community,
Friends together sharing family time,
Good food, good company, good
Humour, good times, the echo of the
Core principle that warmed my heart
Still rings true today, through a life-
Time of ups and downs, a quarter
Century as a stranger in a strange land
Not quite one of the crowd, yet fitting in
At least somewhat, before a moment’s blurt
The feeling burst through the dam of self-
Preserve, reserve lost in a moment of passion,
Weary of too much control too much of the time
Let loose reality, so that is how I feel, good!
Now dealing with the emotional remit re-
Percussions pounding deep, soul crevasse,
So be it, abeegazunt, that is just the way, just so,
Just so. Still the summer’s tease of tomorrow heat
Sunshine frozen in a memory of glowing warmth,
Until all that is left is the dull ache of an old-young spine,
Joints de-lubed by Lyme Disease, impact and time, the real
Me coming through in many flavours, today, tomorrow, more
Hereafter, until all that is left to note, is the
Scent of winter’s bite in the wind, promise
Of summer dead and gone, ghost of a
Memory, now teasing winter out of
The woodwork, summer may be
Over, yet, abeegazunt, I am
Still standing, still here
Another year parted,
One more promised
Better still to come,
Still I stand here,
No longer alone,
Happy, two as
One.