To begin with I existed In a black and white life. Good on one side Bad on the other. As my chosen path Ricocheted me, between The dark and the light. A little bit of each rubbed off and onto me. With age, the dark only seemed to get progressively dark The light eventually went out the further in I ventured. So here I find myself A path of my own creation. Neither black nor white Simply a peaceful shade of grey. Now I wear the colour with pride It's a battle scar. A sign of struggle and success Of love and pain. I am happy with this life. My experiences have shaped me for sure But they have not broken me... Yes, I am satisfied with grey.
A pale sky watches my face,
waiting for me to open my eyes.
A gentle breeze tries to rouse me,
but only manages to make me smile.
The whispering trees enter my dream
and remind me of the ocean.
My eyes open and see china blue,
and emerald green,
and a translucent turquoise sea,
and golden sands gleaming.
The heady fragrance of frangipani
Reminds me of her…
Aubergine clouds fill my mind.
My heart aches Prussian blue.
My mouth tastes ferric red.
I miss her more than sunrise orange.
Gentle waves of melancholy Wash against my mind. Never enough to pull me down - They serve to remind me Of past happinesses, And joys yet to be experienced.
(a clutch of Haiku)
I saw a flower Break beneath a waxing moon It was her first time * I misunderstood And find I should have cared more I breakfast alone * The sheets do belong To the one who deserves them She recalls my name * In a certain light I am considered handsome We make love at night * Through a web of joy We dance the tarantella two crazy lovers
Sometimes I’m like that cat Alone in the box. Am I alive Or am I dead. Waiting for somebody, anybody To open the box, To interact And look inside. What if I’m dead? That wouldn’t be the best. Or would it? No more mystery And I’d be out of the box. Somebody would know. Therefore my existence, Even in death, Would be validated. What if they look inside And I’m alive? That would be good - Wouldn’t it? I’d be able to talk to someone. I’d be out of the box. It would be nice - As long as I had the choice To get back in the box Whenever I needed to.
As politicians moisten their lips And prepare periodic messages To chasten questioners. Their febrile speeches leave wanting Those with open eyes. And merely catapult words not actions Into gaping political holes. Tearing sanguine thoughts From confused minds. Leaving strong perceptions flaccid And hearts to hang pendulous - Broken and deceived. When all that is required From these pouting lips Is some truth to hold on to In these times of strife.