You may think I look weak!
Old man, less speed.
But each muscle fibre has learned, each muscle fibre has earned.
Knows pain and knows strength.
Experience for the sake of experience.
So before you begin.
Sit still think within.
Because when the Adrenalin flows.
The win will be more than blows.
It will take acts of the mind.
Acts youth may not find.
Yet vigour will always give an edge,
But age has stood upon that ledge.
For the blade that cuts the deepest still
Was sharpened not by strength — but will.
Fields Sun
. Water Time
. Ripen chop
. Harvest crop
. Cereal
. Nibble chew
. Swallow fill
. Fibre Smile
Happy Tummy
Echoes of a peculiar sound fill my rib cage.
A sound escapes my mouth,
And my whole body goes alert,
Trying to determine
Whether there is danger.
It recognises the sound,
But not quite.
It searches through memory,
Turning over forgotten pages,
Trying to remember
What this feeling is.
I stiffen at this familiar,
Yet distant sensation.
I try to read my body language,
Hoping I'll understand.
But it is a foreign language.
Why does every fibre in me
Insist
I should recognise it?
Like it's a language
That once rolled off my tongue
Without needing translation.
But my eardrums puzzle it out.
All I hear
Is a peculiar sound
That feels borrowed.
The room fills
With its echoes.
The longer I listen,
The more I realise
Something is missing.
It sounds...
Hollow.
Like an actor
Who knows every line,
But has forgotten
How to mean them.
And then,
I recognise it.
Not because it became familiar—
But because I remembered
Who it belonged to.
It was my laughter.
So that's why
My body couldn't place it.
It had been so long
Since joy had spoken
In my own voice.
Dreams from retold of
Ancient paths the holy
Walked.
Resist all illusion.
I dance blindly in
Your storm, carried away
By Your phantasm.
Episodes of reincarnation
Entangled Your roots with mine,
Binding me still
To Your resilience.
Soulful melodies enrapture
My heart.
A song bleeding through
Every fibre
Of my possessed being.
I stand here basking in the sun so warm
While ocean sea breeze whips across my skin.
With tranquil thoughts my mind is now at ease
Serenity to enjoy my tranquil thoughts
I gaze upon horizon's running line
Where heaven's sky and sea connect the earth.
Creating shoreline with a perfect edge
The glittering reflection in the surf.
With perfect calmness gentle waves roll in
A quiet hush, while breakers overlap.
My memory bank forever will cement
This beauty seen; that man could not create.
With every fibre deep within my soul
I sip so slowly natures perfect drink
Replenished now my heart sings out with joy
On heaven's shoreline; standing on the brink.
2018 ©
Three months and you're gone.
We keep up to date
Make up time lost to closed windows,
Re-open doors and
Let the light in all
At once blinded and dazed.
Make up time lost to petty fights
Closed off minds that wander, sometimes,
towards each other-
Now unrequited.
Make up time in people
Like roots, expanding,
Respirating, out-with-the-old that never
really dies because water never really runs out, but circulates
Bones. Muscle Fibre. Tendons. Joints.
Talk to that small part of yourself that remembers a piece of her
A tiny thing that never fits quite right,
Made-up time that can teach only
In hindsight
The poison of idle hope.
Pitch colours and throttled laughter.
A pain in the back of your skull that you wish was something more.
Make up time in sensation
Relive the inanimate
The comfort of its permanence.
Wicked little eyes
Considered the path of attack
Always keen for a game
She pounces when the time is right
Stalking and biting
She practices her art
Jumping and leaping about
She is still very young
Tache is the imp I mean
A stray black and white kitten
She even now tries to distract
Pawing at my pen
Sitting on my chest
The purrs of contentment
Rattle her very fibre
Sleep now my temptress.
sometimes you feel like you exist all too much and yet still not quite enough.
you are proud that you feel.
and you are angry that you hurt.
when you love with every fibre of your being, you have to expect to greave it all the same.
your feelings are too big for you to understand in your small body.
you are just one person.
how can just one person hold this many emotions.
how many times must you put yourself back together with glue before you realise maybe,
you need to be rebuilt.
you grew up in a house on fire and now you expect to be burnt.
how long does it take to realise maybe,
it’s not the house, but myself.
how long does it take to realise maybe,
it’s not them, it is me.
i grew up with scars and charred skin,
and now everything i touch seems to be covered in ash.
i leave fragments of myself with everyone i hold close.
how long until they tire of cleaning up the soot i leave behind.
i grew up in a house on fire.
begging for water.
now i am all coal
begging for a match.
-AVD
from the limpid pools
of your eyes, sad streams run down
through your hollowed cheeks —
quivering, shaking, breaking
every fibre of your heart .
when you smile at me
I watch the curve of your lips
as they part to speak-
then I heed the sad whispers
of a torn, grief-stricken heart.
my heart is burning
at the thought of a farewell.
we are just pilgrims~
meeting to part in this world
heading to an unknown spot.
Your love flew wingless with the summer wind,
And left me stranded, hopeless, in a pit.
Alone I became too much for my mind,
With my love jailed by your self-written writ.
I was consumed by the flame of your rage,
Yet from the ashes, I arose anew.
I found a heart whose kindness could assuage,
And clean even a faintest thought of you.
Your cruelty bent me but couldn't break me,
I rode the distance on your stormy wave,
Till real love brave the storm to free me,
And polished my heart, making me feel brave.
Each fibre of my heart now flows with love,
At last, your wickedness has fallen through.
Joy walks with me, hand in hand, hand in glove,
Made whole by love thats's steadfast, strong and true.
The greed of the white man knows no bound
It transcends life, it transcends death
Their eyes gleam with profit
Their mouths salivate at another black death
Prices heightened on a casket
Won't be too long till another black body fills it
Money earned from this purchase
Used to pay their rent
If there is anything left they'll use it to pay for their children's education
They don't see us as human
But they do see us as a money making scheme
They target us and then
Up the prices of our funerals
Their own system to monetize our deaths
Acting is their forte
When they look in our eyes and lie to our faces
Sending condolences our way
But inside brimming with happiness
Not an ounce of sympathy
Not a fibre of empathy
Just pre dug graves and unnecessary funeral bills
To them we are products ready to be exchanged
"mOnce I sat down
With all my frustrations,
With the desperation to murder each inhibition living
nowhere but within me,
It would have been nice if I had a knife
However, weapons weren't lethal enough to put the
inhibitions down.
Sitting there, wanting to cause harm to these demons,
My eyes fell on a thin white sheet of plant fibre,
Along with it was a innocuous object, that’s what I
thought.
Picking these objects with no expectations at all, I
poured all of myself into the sheet through this object
of different shades,
To my surprise, it frightened all the demons or
probably tranquilized them.
That was the time I sat, With all my frustrations
And Found something to control them with,
to frighten them with.
I guess I had a shield now.
Again, I am sitting, With some of my frustrations.
With the desperation to murder the rest of inhibitions,
Perhaps I enjoyed slaughtering these demons with
something so ordinary,
But I wonder if I have over-exploited the only guard I
had.
Or my womb of ideas has gotten barren.
Now, I am as clueless as before. Did it change
anything at all?
I wonder and I wonder and I wonder."
Frightening silence pervaded
Swelling of ground here and there
A tree adjacent the gate with a GHOSTLY stature
Unfurling a dark blanket by its broad canopy
Even birds don’t like to perch in the GODFORSAKEN place.
Except the bulging- eyed owl
A silent witness for GRIEF-STRICKEN hearts
The fibre art of GOSSAMER aglow in the sunlight
Floating gently like sailcloth
On the gates, they’re like murals of pinwheel flowers.
No gusts or downpours can annihilate it.
The gates are half-shut.
When they are fully opened,
Macabre music of GROANING erupts from the coarsened hinges.
Scent of geosmin from a freshly dug GRAVE
The tired soul along with the retired corpse
Comes again through the terminal gate.
A day escaped,
released from the sticky womb of night
held firm in the arms of midwife morning,
listen to its infant cries
the wails of a newborn child unfed
demanding of your bed and sleepy scant attention,
it matters not that you turn your back and try to block your ears
to tears of open-window traffic rage
and screaming gulls that dance on bins with shoes of lead
invade your head and work themselves within
to violate your peace with a surgeons skill,
phone alarm vibrating shrill and shaking
leaking decibels that penetrate each waking fibre of your skin,
you know you must begin, attend that fractious babe
fill its hungry mouth to stop the bawling
lured as ever by the bathroom light
Thursday screams, and you her faithful moth come crawling
The tight fibre of spring
budding out of its buried shell like cove
coming on as battle fatigue camouflage
redirecting us from the throttle of Winter
Liquid green like tomato feed
The Angiosperm of the root structure
teases us all
This vast uniformity of hope
flawless cherried blossoms
forging a challenge by the promenade
creaves to us all
daffodils and tulips together,
resplendent in their perfume
How I love Irises
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