When my eyes gaze on that cross
Oh what love i see
For their God,s son gave his life
A sacrifice for me.
The pain he suffered on that cross
All this for me he took
I'm reminded of the price it cost
When to that cross i look.
God,s love it is not hidden
It's there for all to see
For on that cross long ago
Christ died for you and me.
I translated this from German to English. Which unfortunately makes it less elegant.
To share my love,
nothing more painful can I imagine,
than to tear my heart in two.
To be bound to someone eternally,
but never fully belong to him
There is neither yes nor no,
just endless desire.
To be betrayed, in the
most cruel way, is not
with the body, but
with the heart.
Chaos of emotions, Love and
Suffering have never been closer to
each other.
How will this End, no
solution in sight
With pain and tears?
I don't know
The obligation, to have to make a decision
weighs heavily on my Shoulders
fields cross like gentle paths of thought~
the mountain waiting,
the sky held open
offering its blessing.
Now we're in diffrent postcodes
Lets put our diffrences to bed
Seems we're in diffrent modes
Always have each other missread
Niether of us have fixed abodes
Though not listening to whats said
Whenever the situation explodes
Once again you have now fled
It is another of them episodes
Seems the lights are now on red
Are we at those damm cross roads
With no real clear path ahead
Taken from original version 2014
Choped down a little written 2021
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ the marvel
of your ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ eyes ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ rose of your ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ cheek ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
I ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ regret
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ no flower ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
for ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ my despair.
¦¦¦ you are my hidden treasure
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ my cross my ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ pain
if I am a dog ¦¦¦ you alone my master
¦¦¦¦¦ let me ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ Autumn.
(Blackout of Sonnet of the Sweet Complaint by Federico García Lorca)
Fields Sun
. Water Time
. Ripen chop
. Harvest crop
. Cereal
. Nibble chew
. Swallow fill
. Fibre Smile
Happy Tummy
Don't stay inside dwelling on your misery.
It is a sinking hole of darkness.
Step out into the world of nature.
Its cosmic energy is bountiful and nurturing.
Soon you will be regenerated.
You'll get a new lease on life.
You'll find needed courage to carry on.
AP: 2nd place 2026
When he got her to cross love’s Rubicon,
and they no longer had their clothing on,
she stared at him with dismay in her eyes,
and said, "Is that thing ever gonna rise?
Or is this what you call your big surprise?"
CRISS-CROSS PIVOT -GRAND SLAM
. First Set
. love all
. first serve
. clean ace
. first game
. to love
. I’m inspired
. shot selection
. spot on
. hit line
. each time
WHITEWASH
. second set
. first serve
. double fault
. opponent rallies
. fights back
. tie break
. five seven
. third set
. take tumble
. call physio
. Retire Hurt
you me
brazen shy
lazy adventurous
demeaning lighthearted
opposites attract
Marriage
love's downfall
fighting arguing
hateful scorned
revenge hurt
controlling depressed
lost unloved
farewell divorce
. Quite often
. Inspiring prompts
. Are offered
. Brain waves
. Work up
. A storm
. Crashing towards
. SPONTANEOUS
. Outbursts of
. Creative expression
. In exultation
. You ride
. The crests
. Celebrating your
. Impulsive poetry
You don’t cross my mind
You hardly ever leave
All day long I’ve been thinking of you
Trying desperately to find something worth comparing you to
I thought of comparing you to singing birds
But I don't think I'm as captivated by their chirp as much as I am your laughter
I thought about comparing you to a lake glimmering on a sunny morning
It's beautiful for sure
But not as beautiful as your eyes when you talk about something you love
You make me happy
I'm so glad you're here
I don't know where I'd end up without you this year
You've made such an impact on me
Even if it isn't that obvious or clear to see
The way that I write
The music I listen to
All that and more have changed because of you
It's been a week that I've tried to write this
I can't make it any longer
What have you done to me
When I try to write
You're all I can see
And to be honest
That makes me happy.
I left my heart in Melbourne
A rift in time and space
Before becoming airborne
To go back to my place
I left my heart in Melbourne
In blueness of her eyes
In every club and tavern
In which we spent our times,
In parks, in zoos, in forests
In places where we roamed,
But more important further
I left it in her home:
I left my heart in Melbourne
Inside her warm embrace
As though inside a cabin
Containing all of space
Where sweetness flowed like river
And gentleness like snow
Fell on us, and we shivered,
As her gifts Life bestowed:
I left my heart in Melbourne
And I returned, half-me
And half-impassioned maven
Of the Eternity:
Which we had found together
And by it were transformed -
Two spirits, of one feather,
In sunshine and in storm
Desiring to make heaven
And in its light to burn:
I left my heart in Melbourne;
To Melbourne I'll return.
The button has not worked for three months.
Someone filed the plan.
Someone approved the form.
Someone put up the sign and called it done.
Not done.
We know the ramp.
We know the sky above it
the same sky you called beautiful the day you cut the ribbon,
the day the photographs were taken.
We built our day around the sign's promise.
We got here.
The door did not open.
There is a number to call
we have called it.
A form to fill
we have filled it.
A ticket number rusting in a queue behind things more urgent than a door that will not open.
More urgent than this?
A promise is not a plan.
Not a ribbon,
not a form,
not a ticket number rusting in a queue.
A promise is a door that opens.
Fix it.
Not once, for the photograph.
On the Tuesday no one watches,
with the toolkit,
with the person who comes back,
because someone will be here tomorrow who needs this to work.
Beauty is not the opening day.
It is the maintenance.
The fixing.
Again.
And again.
For as long as people need to cross.
If I had to name the day of the week that I do not write
I would have to lie because there isn’t one
My muse Trixie is pushy, persistent and insistent.
She does not let me rest until I write ten poems a day.
If I tried to double cross her or not meet her deadline for us
there might not be any more words.
No more sentences.
No more poems.
I dare not take that chance.
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