Present cannot set advantage
Over past, that seems like gone
Though it’s always on the verge
Of the memories you prone
To belong to, while intending
To break free from shades of time
Partly loosing understanding
Doesn’t look at all sublime
But it goes like Latin dictum
Drive the nature out of door
Then it flies back home to victim
Through the window, like before.
Never again, never again
Nor an idea, neither a plan
Was it a challenge I had to withstand
Only I wouldn’t, never again
There was a time when I ran out of door
With a happiest smile and a ball
I never questioned the game what it’s for
Throwing a ball to the wall
Sooner or later everything’s changed
I didn’t took much notice
Maybe I should, at the coming of age
Leave it all, join the exodus
I escaped into depth inside but of course
I dried all I could understand
This cup is empty now, so is the source
Never it will flow again.
The romantic hut
Sights holding
As from a bud
Flower blooming
Smell spreading,
For the beauty
Birds are singing,
Butterflies dancing
Saying it is spring,
It is spring,
Come all out of door,
Have a tour,
Sing a tone for life,
Life is nice, rich,
All are wealthy,
No one is poor,
Help one another
To be really happy.
OUT THE WINDOW
October 1st – There’s a tall tree down the block has
gone all red at top
in this green, early autumn
It’s quite an unusual year,
With more rain than summer’s want to yield
There’s been no mid-July burning of lawns,
And the trees, bushes, ground cover gone wild
The whole has tried to produce an out-of-door pinch,
And I often stand looking out a window,
Absently inhaling the chlorophyll
Houses on either side are vacant – the economy to
blame – nor cat, nor dog reside,
But I image some ghostly pair seated on the steps,
pets at their side
I put all this down as a, sort of, flowing jet
companion to solitude,
And I – prisoner of the mind – watch black words
take form,
Knowing there’s a whole, beautiful world with
nature’s abundant warmth out there
Just waiting to be joined by needful company
Dave Austin
The good old days
lost like the ancient
city of artatica,
concealed in growth
of youthful strenght.
Yet fresh like new
mead
it is in my memories.
By day we go sand-
molding
by the eve we go to
the field hunting
hoppers.
By night, stil we are
seen around grandpa
light
hearing tales of
unknown source.
During moony nights,
circles are formed,
playing the game of
the lost child of the
widowed woman.
And at times we
were driven by the
magic of the great
kelekele, running and
enjoy being cheased.
In the morn' we ran
out of door like a
cascading waterfall
with body bare as
adam and yet lacking
nutrents of shame.
The rabits, crikets,
palm cannels,playing
games of the koto
shells, hunting wild
berries in june.
All these are bye so
soon,
covered in the
inreversable change of
physical growth.
Its just once for each
stage, be the best
whatever stage you
are.
(c) copyright faith .u.
Edoja.sun 30 mar.2014
How I love the shorter evenings, fire burning, lamps aglow.
Sunburn and dry sandwiches are seeming long ago.
The leaves already fallen and the trees completely bare,
The snow is pretty on the ground and winter's in the air.
I've had a hearty breakfast, there's a casserole to cook,
I'm watching television and I've finished off my book.
It's feeling like a holiday, I'm seeing all my friends,
The day has no beginning and I hope it never ends ................................
These long dark nights are killing me, they're making me depressed,
I hate my old pyjamas and I really must get dressed.
The fire is spitting sparks at me and burning all in sight,
The lamps remind me of a cave, please just turn on the light.
The snow seems to be daring me to venture out of door,
It's ten feet high, it's freezing cold, it's never gonna thaw.
My friends have eaten all my food and left me on my own,
I've finished every book I have, the television's blown.
I'm yearning for the summertime. I'm longing to be hot,
If ever I say winter's nice. Just shoot me on the spot.
28 January 2013.
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