Category: imagination
Heart the metaphor
What is this about the heart An illusion in love, used so much in art Songs and sonnets, plays and books Breaking hearts, heart sick Love is a product of … Continue reading Heart the metaphor
Love songs and poems
Listening to the love songs
reading the poetry books
love should be out there
can’t be overlooked
take my breath away
love at first sight
these are the prizes
if the authors are right
looked around the corners
under the seats
in my life, that sort of love
seems to have me beat
take a deep breath, what do I smell
old socks , damp washing on the line
where are the roses or jasmine
romantic and fine
I think I have
had the sparks and the flashes
but not the full thunderstorm
or arel those songs and poems
so far from the norm
Is companionship and friendship
a more sustainable refrain
am I searching for unicorns
pots of gold, bubbles in champagne
I want to taste the sweetness
of honey on my tongue
yes still I am searching
for a cliched romantic world of my own
Then I look up as a shadow drains the light
you walk into the house smiling
perhaps my shining knight
am I wasting my life on improbable profiling
Is my love with me
but my mind doesn’t see?
I am confused, who can help me?
Fantasy and reality
Fantasy and reality side by side grow
boundaries blur where is the plateau?
starkness of words translated into pictures
holes in the substance, filled in, no glitches
Subconscious embellishment start a glow
bad habits, never witnessed, don’t spoil the show
endearments uttered are stored in memories box
intense and important, they become a paradox
She needs her emotions stirred, to feel a connection
his drivers very different, need inspection
married to other’s, they met playing a game
chatting and sharing life in a cyber domain
She’s desperate for love, her happiness compromised
she grabs affection and excitement, it makes her blind
he looks for flirtation, moves through lusts revolving door
enjoys the immediate journey, never requiring more
Intimacy inevitably grows with the sharing
Could be great, if their perspectives were pairing
she loves that he calls her by that special name
unaware he calls, all other girls the same
He is wrapped up and interested, its no ploy
but soon he will be bored and move to another toy
her one in a million man will gradually pull away
Leaving her devastated and crying at close of day
Riding the Storm
The air feels heavy with foreboding as colour leaches out of the daylight greyness turns coppery and progresses to near darkness Lightening flares and strobes across the sky as thunder … Continue reading Riding the Storm
My home
Inside my bag are packed the things
that fill my heart with joy
the faded, threadbare shawl
that whispers
a tinplate soldier toy.
Inside my bag wrapped well in cloth
a tiny mirror fragment
immortalised inside that glass
the ghosts of those I love
Some memories are intransigent
Inside my bag stowed very safe
two engraved silver napkin rings
a wooden bowl of cedar wood
an ebony black queen a
reminder of past sins
Inside my bag I have my home
memories, from days gone by
I lost the rest, I am alone
I will be till I die.
The hostel for the homeless
Is where I rest my head
My bag stops my neurosis
My home sits under my bed.
Idle Dream
An Ottava Rima second stanza added
a,b,a,b,a,b,c,c
Those moments that I have, for idle dream,
Are not spent, in the pasts celestial halls
might …have … been, won’t change for all I scheme
it just means locked doors and closing walls
dream future new, or lose my self esteem
condemn myself to run the wheel, outdoors
a need to cherish memories is great
can learn from the past before t’is too late
My idle dreams help me merge my various forms
and in my mind shape who I want to be
I escape into a space free from storms
find treasure, sit, relax under a tree
take a magic carpet, away from all the norms
No time to spend in angst for that’s the key
Those moments that I have, for idle dreams
Are saved for the happiness schemes
Museum of the mind
Frozen in time, behind windows of glass
in the museum of the mind
Events from the past
But how clean are those windows?
From the thoughts we revive
When we dredge deep, in minds’ recesses
for treasures or lines
Have some of the mirrors
become distorted,begrimed
As we struggle to focus, to keep them alive.
We use tricks to remember
the good and the bad
Hurt and misery, etched deep a recurring repast,
Happiness in a golden glow,
romance set in amber, meant to last,
special moments, scattered around, hallmarked with glad
so many more stamped bad or sad
The museum of the mind is
stuffed full of concepts
But do these pictures and words
truely represent or project
Are some things forgotten
have we added some lines
Are they a true picture or sanitised and swept
Frozen in time behind windows of glass
In the museum of the mind
Events from the past.
I am the curse I am the legend
This is a Terzanelle with a rhyme pattern of
ABA¹, bCB, cDC, dED, eFE, fFAA¹
The water ripples dancing silvered
Joining and flowing to become the sea
I am the river rushing tempered
If you listen hard you can hear my plea
I am the curse I am the legend
Joining and flowing to become the sea
I am destruction I am resentment
If you listen hard you will hear my screams
I am the curse I am the legend
I utilise a siren’s schemes
To lure you to a fate you can’t forsee
If you listen hard you can hear my screams
I grow and expand as I hit the sea
As I roll and I crash, my power forms
To lure you to a fate you can’t forsee
Forever revenge will conjur up storms
As I roll and I crash my power forms
The water ripples dancing silvered
I am the river rushing tempered.
