On the calender
For the month of June
She had pencilled in for the 17th.
Healthy eating and no alcolol.
There are 29 other days in June.
DARK EYES, FAIR GOLDEN HAIR,
I saw her shyly standing there.
Ignored by all around,
Bewildered by the disco’s sound.
LIKE ME, NOT OUR PLEASURE.
Quieter ways to spend our leisure.
Nervously caught her eye
And then got talking by and by.
CHAT DELIGHT, EACH FELT GOOD,
Exactly as I’d known we would.
Talked non-stop until late
And pencilled in another date.
JUST KNEW; LONG MARRIED NOW,
Always meant to be somehow.
Gold hair I saw that night,
Just as beautiful now it’s white.
Pale daughters
don't follow their familial duties
or wash behind their ears
laved in white light,
they sport a smile, when necessary,
compelled by an accidental mischief
pencilled in exclusion,
rendered in the shade
we wouldn't go dancing on the almost air.
They were in her mind,
She pencilled them in her heart,
They came forth from her,
Asimov’s children,
She bore them,
One after other came forth,
Generation after generation,
They were transformed,
There was a transition,
Artificial intelligence hit the
the crescendo of the technology world,
It has held bound in the corners of the world,
It infiltrated the realms of space,
Agile robots and androids
interface with humans,
Humans are overly
dependent on them,
The laws of robotics
have their shortcomings,
So also robots are flawed beings.
They are no match for humans,
Despite their pitfalls and stumblings.
March 29, 2022.
Read the room,
Its paintings and inscriptions,
Read the room,
The volume of its expressions,
Read the room,
The doors to many unspoken words,
Read the room,
The thoughts veiled in the
minds of its craftsmen,
Read the room,
The scenes pencilled in the
hearts of the draughtsmen,
Modern art,
Variation from the norm,
Journey into the complexities of an evolving world,
Sojourn into an overstretched empire.
May 6, 2022.
I read about a mom and son
Who chose to mark the days
Since Covid struck by making cranes
In most creative ways.
One paper crane a day displayed
And posted as amassed
Allowed them to acknowledge
The uncommon year that passed.
I love a daily noting
Of the march of Father Time,
Whether origami-folded
Or some pencilled words in rhyme.
Try leave behind "Book Of The Week"
And head upstairs where floorboards creak.
Where people tilt their heads to look
At every spine on every book.
Where murderers and secret lovers
Plot and scheme between the covers.
Where transport from another age
Transports you to another page.
Where old detective books reside
Each with their price pencilled inside.
Where books based on geometry
Share space with trigonometry.
Where childhood annuals stand in line
With memories of a simpler time.
Where silent thoughts pervade the air
And words speak volumes everywhere.
Tan leather boots with fancy stitching
Butterscotch vest with pencilled fringe
Polished black Stetson size eight and three quarters
Faded denim shirt with copper snaps
Silver oversized belt buckle that shouts rodeo
Deep gravelly voice with cigar precision
A pronounced limp unnoticed for years
Shoulder soreness no longer felt
Calloused hands scruffy with purpose
Symmetrical Unadorned hatband
Chiseled well mapped chin
Blue eyes faded by hundreds of suns
Hawkish nose with brownish patch
Saturday night cowboys stare in awe
Trying so hard to look the part
He wears with ease, unaware
He is being studied, real cowboy
Doing his own stuff, no agenda
Unconsciously perfect
In his maleness
Heart beats in rhythm to snowflakes
Cascading in tune to my reality
Like a train travelling through time with no track
Overwelmed by it's vivid fertile surroundings
Colours pencilled in my mind
As a reminder of life and it's many shades
Guided by the brightly lit angels from above
Resolve in my faith remains steadfast
This was inspired by an amazing drawing by Suzie
I thought I had drawn a pattern
From the image in my mind
But with no shape or form
Or reason I could find
But then it started moving
With a breath that was its own
And before I had blinked once
I noticed it had grown
And from the spirals wings came
Pencilled flames rolled off its tongue
And its roar was so loud and mighty
Like the loudest bell it rung
The celtic knotwork dragon
And the haunted way that he could sing
Caused him to come to life and
He left the page and took to wing
To walk in dreams
upon this vale of illusion.
Each footstep of your being
crossing the labyrinth
of a shy but guilty soul.
Sleep can be your witness
As Galaxies collide creating life
for we all belong to infinity.
That place beyond our imagination
where the darkness hides
a beauty not meant for human eyes.
Reality is the myth
for you now walk with gods.
This world is a reflection of you
where water and mirror are one.
The shimmer of a distorted face
lies on the see saw of humanity.
The light you inherit
the darkness you manufacture.
But in death at least
your priest will lie for you.
Life is but a feather
It glides through the winds of time.
Sometimes rising to your endeavour
more often it is a passenger
falling on a broken wing.
But no matter
your feather is immortal.
For it caresses the meanings
of such wonderful things
and you beat the odds to be you.
Morning brings a pencilled rubber
the mind will leave this page.
and somewhere in the universe
another being will dream,
of things beyond this human race.
The broken egg shows alas its golden heart
And crumbled shell too thin for glory
But perfect still for passion's pencilled art
The magician tells you the dream's story
Young boys twisted by the aroma of desire
And fledgling girls flapping dreams for joy
This, whole dusty worlds rake and inspire
Making out of liquid lust flesh in flesh's alloy
I was born for more that death or vacant dream
Of love, something in the hope of lovers' heart
Yet lost in the illusion of our gospelled theme
They thought he was a harmless fool.
His hair dyed black
And eyebrows pencilled in,
The silver outfits -
Shoulders huge -
And platform shoes.
His lyrics less than lyrical,
Chanted, shouted
At his concerts;
His hits always played at parties.
A has-bean humoured,
Perhaps patronised,
His antics tolerated.
But Gary Glitter had a dark secret…
Jack Horne for Nette's Glitter contest
Standing up the easel and putting on a scrap piece of paper,
the person with grey eyes and olive skin blinked
aimlessly at the new found lay out of the untouched page.
A smile was not apparent on the cracked lips of the mouth.
Above, the stars did their thing and twinkled.
A single petal of blossom floated into disappearance
amongst the nightfalls navies.
The hand pencilled a staggering drunken man,
covered head to toe in an alcoholic quiver; he was
slowly killing his own liver.
Then the hand smudged a river under a delightful starry sky;
the man in the picture too bewildered in mind to feel
the piercing coldness from the rivers wind.
The drawing a work of amateur art that nobody had not yet seen.
To hell harbinger, niggling winsome words,
has grasped the devil's share, for menhir size
Has pencilled in his own and crossing swords-
It errant's change which seeks the high rewards.
As such they'd yammer the athiest priest
Prepare to skewer faith that's what we've done
With raffish grin, the template from the East,
Has built ferocious men to form this Beast.
Defy, that would no penitence be claimed,
To bask in carmine etchings, someone's blood
Somewhere, where an idle worth is blamed,
Adapts these xeric rituals therefore tamed.
To vilify each state, the wordsmiths curse,
Has first to reach the west, a destination
Jitter free from consort, ends his verse
While kohl can camouflage as matters worse.
Before the tinsel shrinks the bask shall glow,
A zephyr hailed along, with fan to blaze
Contained as one explorer, which we know-
Oblivion, auras mentor steals the show.
The umbra can indeed produce some shade
While gullet quenches low, as food shall be,
Where evil grows the size that man has made
He brings the lions share for masquerade.
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