All ways
are returning
back to the comfy chair
with a coffee, cat and a book
to read
To read
of roads ahead—
following that one star
a glamour hiding frozen wastes
—return!
Return
to opposite—
the pendulum swings down
here is another hell waiting
—return!
Return
Hollywood shines—
the hills hide the horrors
Barbie demons with plastic smiles
—return!
Go then
towards morning
letting the sunshine in
I will remain at this compass
always.
Long ere the smoking pyre the soul has left,
A rain of starlight seeking heavy clay,
To sail the cosmic stream with newborn craft,
‘Pon washing mundane memories away.
Haply ensconced within a narrow room,
It keeps vigil in vault of pulse and blood,
A mere witness as if within a womb,
Inured to rushing of a crimson flood.
The phantom seal begins to stir and wake,
The sleeping seeds of old desires bloom,
A brand new mask the ancient ghost will take,
To walk the stage of cradle, birth, and tomb.
The infant cries, forgetting all the past,
Yet bound by chains it forged when living last.
________________________________
Spiritual | 02.10.2007, revised Sept 2026| birth, life, memories, soul, Sonnet
He took all that was legally his to inherit
And never to lay claim on any deed again.
Yet, having spent all, now in lack and want,
Living in abject penury, he returned home;
He returned not as a son any more but.....
Positioning himself as a servant legally
speaking.
But grace located him and restored him;
Instead of shame and reproach he found;
Grace and the father's embrace saying..
Welcome home, this is your home both
now and forever.
(Written 6th December, 2015.)
He talks to the void and it often listens
But it feels like there is nobody there.
So he flew to the sky and tried to say hello
Except the sky never even welcomed him home.
The road to school, obscured, clouded
by something new, eerie but fun -
bright voices shone through the thick fog.
Oh, how we laughed at feeling lost.
Now, another fog, descended,
an elder now, those days are done,
and one last time, before they fade,
I play those voices once again.
Cab door slams.
Midnight bleeds.
Keys jingle like broken dreams.
“The night rider is back,” she sighs.
Beer breath fills that one room.
“Who?” she asks the ceiling.
“Useless woman,” he spits low.
Single bulb shows a man unmade.
Hand rises. Her eyes don’t move,
Fixed like a viper before its prey.
“I won’t back down, John.”
Pot hits floor.
Emptiness reverberates.
Days numbered, he growls.
She stands, it's sure.
Door turns to flag.
When the light returns...
A lighthouse never takes you home
its beam circles, then vanishes,
spins, returns, and vanishes again;
reminding the lost, stray, stranded
that light beamed out there can awaken
the lamp readied for your return
moored to the pier within your ribs,
with a heavy hauser belayed to ride
the surging pulse of choppy seas
prowling the wharf, inside a safe harbour,
behind the rocks of an old sea wall,
where the tide ebbs and flows, in and out,
rocking the kerosene ship lantern,
swinging on a wooden ship's beam
waiting for the message in the bottle
to return to sender, assured.
Gray returns
The world turns
The door closes
If pain could turn into smoke
The sky would go out
The sun would lose its charm
With no light to guide us
If pain could turn into smoke
The blue would fade
All life would turn to embers
In this thirst to cry
No wise person on the path
Running from end to end
Better to walk alone
Than to pay this price
If pain could turn into smoke
The sky would go out
The sun would lose its charm
With no light to guide us
If pain could turn into smoke
The blue would fade
All life would turn to embers
In this thirst to cry
I’m starting to believe
something strange is happening.
Not reality shifting.
Not timelines colliding.
No it is so much Worse.
People are discovering
their memory
might be held together
with chewing gum
and confidence.
Someone swears
the bear was Berenstein.
Another person would testify
under oath
that a movie quote
said something else.
Suddenly we have got
amateur dimension detectives
solving crimes
against human recollection.
Because admitting
“I remembered wrong”
was apparently
too unrealistic.
Yeh, right, mate.
So much is spoken
by this scene of the world,
a king's stubborn hatred,
a disaster upon my home from God.
Someone please tell me
the state of that battlefield -
is this a sight of a school
or graveyard of children.
They fall from the open sky
and merged into the earth,
the home of my dreams
turned back into a dream again.
BOMB THE POWER PLANT
THEN AGAIN, MAYBE I SHANT
JUST A TACO RANT
JOHN BARRON, MY NAME
TRUMP ALTER EGO MY GAME
C-SPAN MY NEW FAME
Bond does not just be,
Sometimes we mirror to see-
We return as two.
Different eyes see us
How two hearts put up a plus-
We return as two.
Anger clouds the sight,
Learning waits beyond the light-
We return as two.
Angel masked in skin,
Words fall gentle, strengthen kin-
We return as two.
Brother's rough attack,
Still your love keeps coming back-
We return as two.
Bullying left scars,
Care survives the childish years-
We return as two.
Sorry learns to speak,
Thoughts shared soften hardened streak-
We return as two.
Difference makes our strength,
An awesome pair still we stand length -
We return as two.
The cat flap snaps back and Bagheera appears,
swishing her tail and pointing her ears.
She tears up the stairs and mounts the beam,
to perform her athletics like an Olympic scene.
This bird has flown
when all else failed
if only we'd known
that ship has sailed
and the plane's left the gate
but wait it's not too late
to radio the pilot
once twice or even thrice
while on the ground
ask him nice
if he'll turn around
in a trice and name the price
to retrace his track
as it won't be the first
unplanned taxi back
for whom the fuel burns
happenstance
of many happy returns
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