Assembling Poems

Ways of Providence

Did I ever know that I would be born?
Did I decide my psyche and physique?
Why is a rose shielded by a sharp thorn?
Providence creates each creature unique.

I think of building a castle for me.
I end up assembling a thatched hut.
When I, like a sparrow, wish to be free
An unknown force, from within, keeps me shut.

Untimely rain signs on the summer breeze
Floods and droughts play tragedies unannounced.
Earthquakes shake the inmost shrines of the seas.
Divine verdict is wordlessly pronounced.

Events, like gift foils, wrap my existence.
Existence, in turn, is wrapped by Providence.

Fire

order growing   complexity flowing 
interlacing   bonds creating 
sl o o o w w w ly assembling
mother nature's love

a seed establishes r
                            o
                             o
                           t
                            s

                       
shyly extends tendrils ~~~

ignition TEMPERature   flashes, nothing left but

ashes
.
.
.
a seed
establishes roots
shyly extends tendrils

The Artist in You

A vein in me narrows a little bit every day,
I have tethered myself to shallow promises;
strengthened my organs of clay,
and deceived them to believe 
Forever is either momentary bliss or death.

But then I heard a call in the blinding dust, echoing;
I saw you assembling pieces of my skin,
meaningless, disintegrated, ignored-

And sewing them up considerately;
A new form generating in creases of cordial hands;
a miracle stitched up all together,
by an artist devoted to life.

KINGDOM COME

KINGDOM COME

The blood runs hot through royal veins
Ready for the throne, and to finally rule
But it has now to be a battle, not a duel
What one pretender loses, another gains

In muddy fields, many lives shall be lost
To raise the standard and claim the prize
Yet it is still kingship but in another guise
It’s a pity the common folk bear the cost

I’ll take the crown and hold up the mace
Assembling all nobles who are true to me
Pledging their loyalty as was meant to be
But some might see suspicion in my face

Ancestral claims should have the final say
This powerful army makes it more certain
Yet I’ll always check behind every curtain
But it first depends on who wins this day

The Person I want to be

Swirling my eyes around and ‘round 
Into a pile of leaves, 
I see my assemblage point swirl, too.
I'm looking back at me in a tornado of thoughts
Assembling the ground around below me, 
My support system slips 
And my conscience falters. 
It looks as if the worlds on fire 
In this pile of autism Nal autumnal artistry. 
The mystical mandala of my mind, 
Snatches up my spirit then takes me for a ride 
Into the higher levels of consciousness 
And some lowers too. I’m dizzy from the delusion. 
Illusions on the exclusion of always being present. 
And wander aimlessly into some dreamy delirium of nothingness. 
I slip into something more comfortable. 
Something more manageable. 
Something, more me.

LETS TANGO

LETS TANGO

Nobody said, Let’s go to war
But an invasion, well I never
An Atlantic territory, remote
Who’d respond, they thought
Or perhaps get overwrought
Eight thousand miles by boat
Surely a link one could sever
As we’d not bothered before

For Argentina, a big mistake
The UK was much offended
Assembling ships and troops
Going to recover our islands
Even if it took some violence
To conquer, the Lady stoops
A few months later, it ended
Falklands never theirs to take

Ever beating heart

Stones in motion
A valley trembling
I see the notion
An ever ending
Has there been rest
It is still pending
When it arrived
I stopped pretending

I take a breath
The sun is shining
The sum of all fears was
My ever lightning
We are just
A lightyear apart
And I feel in my heart
That tomorrow
Brings a new twist
That the old days
No longer endure

I've been there before
This is nothing new
Was there a cure
That we barely knew
The signs they were true
The echos start trembling
The thoughts are assembling
So when we are through
There is a new morning
The ever after
There is wisdom
And there is laughter

So much still hidden
So much we barely know
And what was forbidden
Is now there to show

We have to be patient
A change comes in time
The older they knew
From hard work came grime

I take a breath
The sum of all fears was
A lightyear apart
Now I caress
My ever beating heart

Her Art

Her mind accumulates
the mechanics of metaphysics.

Pieces of something she is sculpting or
assembling - word-pictures
too intricate to be entirely recalled
upon a whole canvas.

She discovers these figments
on the leeched rim of vision,
where shapes are nameless.
Part of her mind
burns with the light of a kerosene lamp,
the other blazes as bright as a solar flare.

She has been building images,
that can only be truly perceived just once,
then after that,
they are just her writings.

Her Art

Her mind accumulates
the mechanics of metaphysics.

Pieces of something she is sculpting or
assembling - word-pictures
too intricate to be entirely recalled
upon a whole canvas.

She discovers these figments
on the leeched rim of vision,
where shapes are nameless.
Part of her mind
burns with the light of a kerosene lamp,
the other blazes as bright as a solar flare.

She has been building images,
that can only be truly perceived just once,
then after that,
they are just her writings.

Anacreontic Verse

 My last wet tears 
stain the starlit sky 
in cold frosted shades
As tangible fears
awaken  sleeping    
 distant memories 
of aged hidden pain
 These mortified eyes  
don't recall the tales 
 my children now tell  
of my past sad sins
In my dire defence 
 lasting episodes 
of assembling joy 
never did escape 
parent's cutting lips
A pale memory
fades in present days 
I don't remember 
teen tornado years
My acts of dark hate
left deep open scars 
ones that never healed
I long to rewind  
 grains of quicksand time
learn the art of love
perhaps forgiveness 
will thrive when I’m gone.

Winter Slumber

Winter whirling anxiety upon silent, shadows light sleeping from dawn to dusk.
Sky smudged in a raven haze, 
mist lining paths with a silver shade.
The emerald sea freezes like a pastel ice ring reflecting intimate lies. 

Feathered snowflakes tumble into glistening grief,  
palls waving  goodbye to soothing sentimental zeal.
Rays of serenity sailing into slate sooty showering puddles,
As the chilly wind swirls smiles into frosted hazardous glares. 

Birds singing of hope in the bitter crispy darkness; 
chirping melodies till the sunrise awakens from its slumber.
Melodies reflect  on the familiarity of childhood dreams, 
Endeavouring to glow their light upon sorrowful eyes, 
striving to colour an ebony horizon with copper clouds. 

Children assembling polar alien figures, 
snowmen sink strife with whispers of secret sunrise.
Superficial ensembles stir up veiled laughter,  
Horror of trauma rest’s it’s weary tears as hands throw ice in delight. 
Windows alighted with reviving  candlelight flames of jubilant joy.

Waves Role

The awake awakened with wide eyes wide-opened.
Calls of the screaming sea, calling calls ceaselessly.
Pound-pounding ears attend, weakening abandon,
wend sea claps yonder, and then only beyond then,
toasting impacts extend hosting eyes to pretend.
Gestures the forgiving, bestirs the towering,
ceaseless battering and charging colliding send,
the onslaught incursion shape equal dispersion.
Sea cliffs under pressure free stiffed asunder sever,
cast in watery graves caused by tottery waves.
Assembling forethoughts resembling onslaughts,
the battered is scattered about,
and the shattered, splattering doubts.
New roles, the lesser deep as guardians o'er a wet scrapheap,
shorn from tempestuous holds ...
fragmented carnage neath ruling waves rolled.

The Heretical

Good at assembling spiritual mishmash,
High expectations raising for big cash
In the open for Despair full fury:
The demons behind them for his jury…

Chooser of the Language of Pentecost
He may have acquired at a great cost:
Body movements take on the pugilist’s 
For all Contrary Spirits’ flying fists!
No vows made he wouldn’t try kung-fu kicks,
His smarter left leg foes one by one picks…

The events in the Bible come alive
Clever links with the current trends survive;
Sometimes seems he would afterwards vanish,
One recalls words: he did nothing varnish.
More and more hearers of the Word-Life swarm
And this as a development - Uh! – warm…

“Now, I want to the Devil embarrass
But as I cast him out might some harass.
Therefore, you vacate where I now point to: 
It’ll mean I won’t afresh to God cry to…”

“Next, sands under your feet take a handful;
Then, at the sky look with a face thankful.
Despair is done for as you repeat these:
I come against you Despair; right now, freeze”

Home of the Illusions

Is full of concealment,
form, and void. A
plane of darkness
where immortals
descended from grace,
as their flames lay
buried under their temples
and forgotten by.

Intertwining within the
heart of matter lies
the key to hidden wisdom
hidden in darkness,
opaqued by the initiates.

Man's own unreality makes
him subject to the illusions,
as if he is a prey
of his own web.
He relies deeply upon
his faculties and go
against his own will as
he repositions his
chronological orders by
impeding upon the inevitability
as he becomes the cause
of his own effect.

Once the man soul
has ripened with knowledge
and wisdom, he is then
pluck like an apple,
ready to be harvested, then
assembling back to
the lake of fire,
from which he cometh.

Written Instructions

It's eight o'clock on a monday morning,
I'm wrestling with a tissue box - it a mystery,
the guys who make these must have macabre humour,
no machine, standing, grinning, funny hat, easy to her.

My wife knows how to open, must be from a former life,
if it's difficult, it must be the Chinese, trouble and strife;
a flat-pack arrives at the door, oh no - not that again,
anyway it's done but wife says: 'shelves not right,' pain.

Upstairs is assembling a bed - from eight o'clock in morning,
until afternoon, when they disassemble - the same, boring;
the shaving foam button is stiff - there should be no fuss,
the wife looks, I press firmly and it then covers both of us.

Don't use the sat-nav if you're taking a trip to heaven, well 
because there's an outside chance you may end up in hell.

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