Mellowed times in contemplation,
Moving moods and sweet evasion,
Suspended where the thoughts won't go,
Protected, washed and warm.
Relaxing in the calm of now,
Suspended from transition.
The moods invoked, the stories told,
Sitting here in contemplation.
So bright the foggy light
That expectation brings.
Frantic thoughts of coming dates,
Rich hues, and coloured schemes.
Expectation - Lord of Time,
He sets the mood,
He strings the mime;
Sowing tides and reaping change,
He's nurtured by reflection,
Conducted by the senses,
And Wearing tunnel vision lenses.
The window world:
Cold, hard, transparent.
Dictator of tastes,
Panderer to pride.
Smudged in the swirling colours
Of false assertion,
Aimed at reflection,
The source long-since forgotten.
They walked upon the mat of 'man',
This bread of mental sheep;
Embroidery rich and colourful,
Lay hidden 'Neath their feet.
These threads of life toiled selfishly,
To make the vision fit;
From earth unto the heavens,
They kept the mat from sleep.
These walls we put around ourselves,
These blankets of protection;
Beyond their bounds the unknown,
Poised in darkness,
The eye dilates, the light is dim;
We step forward,
To feel the call of other walls,
Inscribed with challenges,
Outside the fickle wind howls;
And warm with experience,
Perform our deeds,
The doors they shift and trap –
A wilderness of fences.
Our lives of tangled pathways,
Comforted by walls,
Like the waves upon the beach,
Eternally broken in rhythm,
Shattered, dissipated they retreat.
On the shores I stand,
Dreaming of the depths,
Of a place I hold so near,
And have never known.
How 'can I know life?
Feet fastened to cold earth,
Dreaming to give, and to drown,
To let the heart rule –
Guided by love.
Too sensitive, too proud, too weak.
City of Madness
City of madness, a warm wind blowing,
City of starkness, the bright lights lonely;
Our lives we live, lost together,
This boring beat goes on forever.
Morning breaks - the city sleeps,
Another day - the world to beat;
Daylight rises through yesterdays dust,
I'm a city cockroach, in work I trust.
Lunch-break and its half-way;
Can't stop, got bills to pay,
Choke on a sandwich, sniff some smog,
If I can't hack it, there's always the grog.
Jammed streets in the afternoon grime;
Pack the paper, leave the desk behind,
Another day - not too much fuss,
Who cares - is it them, is it us?
Alone on our mountain,
Hiding in the open,
Hearing what is meant,
Watching the trees sway,
Rabbits on the run,
Eagles on the hunt;
Which will live,
Which will die,
Which gets left behind to rot?
Arrh 'fresh mountain air –
To carry the breeze,
To live with the seasons,
To bend to honest toil –
In the heat of the sun.
A New Tomorrow
Blue-grey it woke the dark,
And birds began to sing;
Echoed waves whispered low,
Murmured memories of the past;
Pale and soft the white sky broke,
A vision on its wings -
That this will be the dawn of time,
The age that knowledge brings.
Upon the waves and over the sand,
A bright light grew to shine;
Under shadows, through the trees,
Awakening the land;
And where below creation dwelled,
Its message entered minds,
We have to change and be reborn,
A new tomorrow we must find.
The anguish of a mindless ground,
Trodden by fools, incensed by clowns.
Held down by the vernacular,
Ever missing the point,
Pursuing the spectacular.
Hate chastened by the thought,
Emotion a fool, and pride here caught.
Troubled by tomorrow,
Ever wishing a purpose,
Ever hoping to be followed.
A love of rhythm, a love of force,
A love of beauty, disdain of recourse.
In abeyance by necessity,
But wanting much more,
More than this idle precocity.
Look out to the Sun
And feel its heat
Lookout to the sky beneath
Where their are roads
There are not streets
Each moves in its way
(1983-1987) Except where noted