If swallows scissor scarlet skies
and gather summer on their wings;
then seasons shift to autumn tones
as gnats retune the evening's song.
If apples swell with ozzing juice
that slowly drips on wooden floors
then purpled fruit release their stench
in time that slowly stretches hours.
If stubbled fields are stacked and stooked
with hay in gilded packs that sway
then harvest yields beneath the moon
reflecting fallen bronzen leaves.
A sharpened odour fills the air
as bonfires smoulder vacant lands
People believe what they see
People believe what they want to believe,
If you do not let them truly see.
People need to believe what they truly believe,
Because the real truth would seem like trickery.
If you allow them to judge you, then judge you they will.
They will point the finger at you and you will be left still.
Silent in your real responses.
Afraid of ever taking chances.
They are unable to recite your recital.
It’s not that important, it’s just vital.
Their interpretation of your real-life events,
Will always be different to your self-evidence.
People cannot handle the truth,
Unless they have time to attune and retune,
To your mathematician mind, leading the blind,
Showing them a universe, they alone could never find.
People like stories about love,
For true stories are never boring.
A tale of romance will always be good,
Until you reach the ending.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The DJ shuts the fader by mistake,
yet speaks his words in slick and practised tones,
but doesn’t hear them coming through his ’phones,
berates himself: That’s quite a gaffe to make.
That’s five whole seconds, nothing but dead air.
I’ve dropped a clanger. This is just not done!
The programme’s live, it’s not a trial run.
The punters might retune and go elsewhere.
But more important is that what we give
distracts, amuses, offers light, bright, trite.
Dead air is not an option. Get it right!
They need our pap: it tells them how to live.
Although this little lapse is but a blink,
it might just give the punters time to think.
My wings of eye,disturb my I
as tears form to fill the sky
eventually fall on such unrest
while manys effort try their best
Calamity's enmity
difficult for most foresee
wounded sparrows fractured wing
altered flight in awkward lisping
Where songs are sung now off key
tuning forks remind the BE
from deep within' the musics felt
to blend and melt,in time it shalt
Harmonize to recognize
inner peace our inner prize
coordinate how relate
love will vanquish growing hate....