we make the noise

we make the noise. pic

 

a marquee on the lawn in bright autumn sunshine

gathers into its celebratory space a host of opinionated people

the squeezed earth a silent witness to this intrusion

where gossip and mirth are part of the fairytale

on these occasions we must bless one another and bask

in the shared luxury of a gilded cage

but a shadow is cast, drawn like a membrane

that renders ghostly figures to dance on canvas

like puppets and marionettes in fields of smoke

whose backdrop in truth is rubble and ruin

the desolation of being lost on one’s own soil

and being hated for simply surviving

so my thoughts meander as I smile in this cocoon

unsettled on behalf of defenceless souls in war zones

as all around me lips pucker with effrontery at the injustice

they perceive in their gilded orbits

of barriers to carefree lives

Go lightly

Go lightly. poem.pic.

 

buried deep

fingers weave and leave

traces of the suffered

the lost and the all too painful

 

they knead and pummel

vibrate with a conscience

so insistent that patterns emerge

behaviours begin to inhabit

 

the soul

so much that we are simply

hosts to feeling –

the carriers of sin

 

but

the kindly magistrate of truth

will spin a yarn and let me off

wrapped around in ragged lies

 

the cloak of shame so dismal

evoking sewers and silent movies

all black & white – so noir

he’ll lift the veil and laugh

 

a sentence in a swarm of words

all dazzle and blame

will coalesce and rinse themselves because

we all deserve a pardon

A rider on the swells

A rider on the swells

A rider on the swells

So the poet in me speaks

Is this an accretion of sighs?

Or has today given me spoils,

an accretion of smiles?

I am forever riding the crests of waves

Being sucked under and below

Roiling back and forth

On an incessant tide

That rides with a roar

And recedes with a screech

Leaving me naked

Abraded by events and thoughts

That linger or are lost

Are careless with me

Posing questions

Leaving a little occasional wisdom

On the simpering callousness of life

Or the warm glow of love

I am the given. I shall not resist

Though hark at me

When so many souls are perishing at sea.