Life’s eternal flame glows bright
As past and present concludes to futures light
The centre of the flame burns deep
Everlasting times towards us will creep
The flame, a symbol of peace and love
Rises high into the sky above
Its tips climbing to heaven gate
Bringing with it the desire not to be late
As life goes on and we sit and wonder still
What is our destiny, our forever will
As our flame burns brightly with age
And we star on our worlds centre stage
It takes us through to the end of time
As it burns forever in eternal prime
Life like the flame life will never cease to end
Someone else will carry it forward, it will forever transcend
He’s seen all the hopefuls reach for the sky
walks down aisles and anniversaries, how they pass by, as he fills every crowd with a presence so empty, minces his words and questions each syllable.
He’ll attempt a joke like his life’s on the line
(he gets it wrong, most every time)
The air is so thick, unmoved by the silence that falls when speaks, like he’s crafting a science but with everything that he’s seen, and every person he’s been, how has he not perfected the act?
That mask never sticks, it slips and they see it, and that’s when they start to step back. A life on the sidelines, that’s the life that he owns. A life not so giving, a life of stunted growth. He’s tried to escape it, more than once or twice, but he ends up just watching the world pass by.
As the children grow up and leave birthright towns, or when teenage lovers adorn wedding gowns, his place will not change- to all that is clear. He’s a seat filler through time for all the years that he’s here.
A spectator does not take centre stage.
A spectator, he’ll be, in every age.
CHARLES MADILANA MOOKWA
“AKA” THE DANCING MAD MAN
Who is this mad dancing man?
If you knew his story, you’d be shocked to the core.
Charles graduated cum laude in Arts — the highest honour.
The wonderful Charles. The magnificent Charles.
He studied abroad, interned abroad, played the lead in a theatre series.
The centre stage was what he was born for.
Then came December.
He went home for the holidays and bought his mother a car.
That car took her life.
After that, Charles was never the same.
He never went back abroad.
The director tried to reach him. No luck.
He fell into a web of mental problems, roaming the streets he once performed on.
They call him the Dancing Mad Man now.
But 4 weeks felt like 4 years of misfortune.
One December trip home left him scarred for life.
The wonderful Charles.
The magnificent Charles.
A man without wings, who fell to the ground he came from.
My family, not grand but warm and bright,
Bathed in faith, trust, love and long lasting light
With my spouse the linchpin, the centre stage,
A shining grand-daughter, eight years of age,
The apple of eye of the family,
A daughter-in-law, teaching happily,
Elder son dipped in programming passion,
A young one, with management attraction,
With all under my soft supervision,
Making four walls a home free from tension.
Sometimes the blotter goes dry,
Before you splash the swirls...
And sometimes the shadows softly call,
And you follow
Sometimes life takes centre stage
Leaving you questioning it all...
And sometimes the only thing left...
Is to suspend it all..
Just remember, your words...
Were never pixelated fatigue.
But bright lights, blazing streaks...
Defying the darkest of cores
I have been in the shadows as well...
I know that dark very well...
Keep that spark and only know,
The seat is always warm for you all
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
....To many whose pens have gone inexplicably quiet somehow...
My old four paw boy is a senior
Although older he has a nice demeanour
He is strong, loyal and portly
Turned from centre stage to mr grumpy
His eyes still shine bright
His mind and tummy are still right
Brings so much joy to the family
And enjoys his days lazily
He is the dog version of Goldilocks
Everything to be just right with no shocks
No fireworks or loud noises
Not too hot or too cold, only wants specific voices
He is a wonderful boy, kind and compassionate
Always listens while sat up straight
Friendly with children
He is one on a trillion
The best friend anyone could ever have
Just have a treat close to hand
When we sleep the world disappears
On waking up it reappears
Bringing our ego centre stage
Along with dark desires and fears
In our mind fire of thought does rage
So if we would turn a new page
In staid silence turning inward
We go beyond the space-time cage
as pure consciousness we navigate dreams
reacting therein as of our instinct
the fire of desire in heart shape shifts themes
as a game we so play, ego extinct
upon waking up, ego manifests
caging consciousness in organic form
light of our true Self in the background rests
having nothing to do with mind’s thought storm
poised in the bardo, on waking from sleep
before the wayward ego takes control
we may therein take a consciousness leap
Self centre stage fulfilling its life role
sans illusionary thought ego dies ~
whence each life breath we take, feels like sunrise
Consider the man in the street if you will
what's he doing there standing stock-still
maybe like the chicken he's crossing the road
and half-way over with nothing better to do
only slowed to admire the view
perhaps he's pushing his luck
for remaining stationary no doubt about it
he'll be hit by a van car lorry or truck
let's hope it's not so as hearing them coming
the man in the street beats a hasty retreat
making hay he hits the ground running
and his narrow escape's a clean getaway
to dawdle or dilly-dally down all his days
One,
Two,
Three,
Four...
Shadows crawl in hope of escape.
Five,
Six—
Interrupting thoughts and fear demand attention.
“Hello, I'm here.”
The mind cowardly answers the call.
Life unhinges — unlocking the greed of depression.
The door opens, welcoming the darkness into the house with no lights.
Allowing the destruction to flood centre stage.
No spotlight needed.
He's strong, surrounded by the blackness.
He's seen. He's heard. He's felt—
He's home.
His cravings satisfied as he feeds on the vulnerability,
The instability that’s nested in these walls for so long.
Laughing at the echoes of loneliness,
He unleashes the pain that was suffocating behind a smile-shaped mask.
The pain that was locked away for a reason.
The pain he knew would not say no.
His easy target.
His prey.
Hugging one another, depression smirks and leads the way,
Knowing he’s conquered the land of the house with no lights.
He settles in. It’s his house now.
There is no more counting.
There are no more shadows.
It’s quiet,
Dark,
Finally home.
having recognised light of Self
renewing itself in itself
truth of being takes centre stage
flame without smoke in heart does rage
breath by breath embodied in form
as we remain poised in the storm
Sung to the tune of "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem"
Our infant school nativity,
Directed by Mrs. Page,
Was my first opportunity
To act upon the stage.
I always was an extrovert;
So that appealed to me.
My hopes and dreams of all the years,
An actor I would be.
I wanted to play Joseph,
‘Cos Mary was played by Joyce.
And, of all the little girls in the class,
She was my first choice.
And if I couldn’t be Joseph
And ride along with her.
I’d be a king with golden crown
And frankincense or myrrh
I practised every morning,
And every evening.
Imagining the audience applause
For Joseph or a king.
But when it came to casting,
It didn’t come to pass.
The part that Mrs Page gave to me
Was the back half of the ass.
But one day I’ll be famous,
And then I’ll marry Joyce.
The latest toast of theatreland
And all will know my voice.
I’ll invite all my friends to attend,
As I take centre stage.
They’ll be there in the front row.
But I won’t ask Mrs Page.
body-mind purified
earth vessel magnetised
ego identity recedes
that the will of God
be enacted by spirit
the mirror is shattered
dispelling delusion
whence light of Self
occupies centre stage
entwined with the universe
I am trying to grow old gracefully
Doing my best
Knowing both the pros and cons
Cons, that certainly put me to the test
I try to focus on the positives
Appreciate the gift and beauty of age
Though the ‘con’ l struggle with the most
The aches and pains that take centre stage!
With photography
figurative art did flee
defeated by ego 'selfie'
Impressions took centre stage
'til 20th century abstract
became the rage
This expressive genre
still ruled the roost
until digital facility was introduced
& by AI was traduced
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