Let the snow roll over in my dreams,
Let the shore be cast away in my sea,
Let the stage take my fall away,
Let the path take me walking along the way.
The last dawn does not wait for the final dusk,
The last walk for the unknown stride,
The least is the unknown slavery,
The feast is for this tidy courage.
Where I step, I step twice,
Once for myself and another for the Silence.
I worship my Silence along the sidewalk,
I never truly believe in the communion.
Let me clear my voice,
Sleeping is the unseen lavishness,
Running towards the maze is my labyrinth,
Going to be heard in silence and not to be unseen.
Ignore the path that is not yours,
Align with the thought that causes you to walk alone,
Aloneness is the road that diverged in the wood,
The two-forked road that mends my decisions.
O, cute cat couple in the house, one white and one black,
our lovely darlings, you’re fair Kite and you, dark Jack.
Wherever we go our close company you always keep,
on bed by our cozy side every night you like to sleep.
Jack, you climb up and roll over my sagged shoulder,
Kite, you lie on my paining thighs, for I’m getting older.
Knitting a sweater my wife sits on the sofa with you,
fur and wool strands intertwine to make unique hue.
In separate bowls we give food to you at day and night,
for we need peace, don’t like to see you both fight.
In the closed room when sounds subside, I sit in the dark,
listen happily to the rhythm of your hushed walk.
We don’t let anyone touch or caress you with gentle pats,
nor do we like you to be called animal pets chasing rats,
for you both are like our beloved children we fancy,
we don’t care a bit if people call us a feline couple crazy.
I wish I could shape shift into a dog.
With you, I would daily jog.
I would wag my tail and be your lapdog.
I would tilt my head and pout,
Run around with my wet snout,
Lie down, and roll over on my back and snub,
For no bubble scrub in the tub.
I would bark and say it is time to play;
Gayfully run to the doorway.
You would throw the ball halfway;
I would race and chase,
Catch, bring it back, and place
Dropping it at your feet, a treat. I am fed.
You would pat the top of my head
And scratch behind my ear and be led.
I would kiss your face and turn you bead red.
You let me sleep beside you as you read.
My big droopy eyes and waggy tail tell you,
No one can love you
As much as I do.
If I could change into a pet
I’d be my little dog.
Because my life would be quite set
there’d be much analogue.
I’d look up with my puppy eyes
then picked up I would be.
Patted, stroked, and idolized
this life’s the one for me.
Three meals a day, a yummy treat
I’d always be well fed.
For trips I’d have my own car seat
at night tucked into bed.
I know I would be very loved
have free range of my home.
Roll over have my belly rubbed
this place, my pleasure dome.
Outside I’d run and play all day
Explore, and things I’d find.
She is so cute, hear owners say
they are so very kind.
Therefore, if I could have a choice
my puppy it would be.
These luxuries of life rejoice
I’m sure you would agree.
I venture to say
That most people,
Against all odds,
Have found their way.
Against all odds, they believed.
They lived the nightmare,
But kept their dream alive.
Against all odds, they kept the faith
And were able to survive.
They experienced a living hell,
But Against all odds, they thrived.
Against all odds, rejecting the lie,
They refused to roll over and die.
Although over many years, their eyes
Wept bitter tears, like windshield
Wipers, they wiped away their fears.
Their bodies, although beaten, brused,
And pained, little by little, they gained,
Because their spirits refused to be ruled
By their sighs.
There’s potential for anything in the hospital.
Anyone could drift into a hospital gown.
Dawning on them at dawn, then again at noon.
They have enough hospital gowns for all of us and more.
And they all have a couple holes in them.
So do our stories which combine into one giant skeleton.
Got built by us over years,
We don’t know if he’s real or fake but looks a little paler than most types of bone.
Our stories may not always align.
But we chortle and pick at our wounds in front of the tv.
Pretend to be ghosts.
Under our beds, we roll over.
My eyes.
As my mouth almost moves, which in here?
Can’t do anything- harm, good, howling.
None.
In the hospital.
Things move like a slow motion swamp.
Guilt us.
I’ve been here three days.
As we interconnect like chalk lines around a body.
The hospital.
How can you call it that?
This is a plot of land in space and no time at all.
How can you call it that?
Just how…
You know that song, ‘Roll Over, Beethoven?’
I adapted it to the groove of my Fido
I don't know why or when this happened to me.
Juggling with chores and learning to do it yourself.
Stranded alone with nowhere to go for help.
Somehow, I guess I knowingly did this to myself.
It was time to learn and accept maybe the hard way.
Life is not hanky dory and a comfy bed of roses always.
Finally, I got to learn that it is never too late.
A better opportunity might come over to any day.
Sometimes it is better to leave everything scattered all over.
Lost in thoughts and wandering in the dream land.
Let it go easy always and without complaints.
But when the door knocks, pull up your socks and roll over.
Entry for the MORE THAN A SOFT TOY Contest
More Than A Soft Toy
More than a toy--
This poly-cotton blend,
A plushy bear,
My bestest friend.
His name? Chuckles Beary--
And boy can he rock!
Kept his guitar
In an old woolen sock.
When I was down,
All alone with the blues,
He’d “Roll over Beethoven
and tell Tchaikovsky the news.”
Chuckles played his guitar
“just like ringing a bell.”
His hugs and music
Made everything well.
Even today, grown up
And turning gray,
I can still hear Chuckles
Tune up and say:
“Let me hear that rock and roll music,
any old way you choose it.
Got a backbeat--
you can’t lose it.”
And I’m young again
With Chuckles Beary,
When Rock and Roll was young
And the world a lot less scary
“Go, Johnny, go! Go!”
“Go, Johnny, go! Go!”
“Go, Johnny, go! Go!”
Miss you C.B.
It began at midnight...a slow, steady, drip!
Taunting me, haunting me, testing my patience.
A constant, rhythmic, drip, Drip, DRIP!
Gah! Do I get up and deal with it, or roll over and bury my head in the pillow?
Eventually, those little drips started to crescendo into an evil percussionist!
An Ogre playing timpani drums in my head!
COME ON! I've gotta get up for work in the A.M.!
But now, the drip, drip, drip, is going, Boom!...Boom!...Boom!
Who knew that something as small as a few water drops,
could have such a deep voice and could bark baritone all night!
One pillow deep...Nada!
Two pillows deep...AAH!, I Hate You!...SHUT...UP!!!
Just as I was about to start breaking things...
Something curious happened, the timpani drums slowed tempo slightly,
and began to lull, hypnotize, and then serenade.
I felt myself sinking into the void, like being sucked under in quicksand.
The rhythm rocked me to sleep, like I was back in the cradle,
gently pushing me further into the further, until...Aah!, finally...Dreamland!
You know what?...screw calling the plumber!
Cute cat couple in the house, one white and one black,
our lovely pets, we call one Kite and the other Jack.
Wherever we go our close company they always keep,
on bed by our cozy side every night they like to sleep.
Jack would climb and roll over my sagged shoulder,
Kite would lie on paining thighs, for I’m getting older.
Knitting a sweater my wife sits on the sofa with the pet,
fur and wool strands intertwine to make it a unique set.
In separate bowls we give daily food to Jack and Kite,
for we’re in need of peace, don’t like to see them fight.
In the closed room when sounds subside, I sit in the dark,
listen happily to the rhythm of our pet cats’ silent walk.
We won’t let anyone touch or caress our charming cats,
nor would like them called our animal pets chasing rats,
for Jack and Kite are like our beloved children we fancy,
we don’t care a bit if people call us a feline couple crazy.
I found myself in Japan,
somewhere on a highwire-bridge,
balancing two feet in a haze.
More than two feet above the solid ground, way up high.
My eyes dart to and fro. Where I started from, I don’t know.
In a country, not my own. Travelling with eyes shut.
I’m with someone - my spouse?
In a dream with forgotten baggage,
it seems - do I remember this clearly?
Clearly not, as I’m told to roll over,
and by the way I pressed the snooze
button half an hour ago, or
I’d not progressed over that bridge without rails and eyes.
Somewhere in Japan - having no idea where I am.
I woke up thirty minutes later, back at home.
I roll out of bed, instead of onto my side,
pushing the sheets, pillows, my spouse
aside for the coffee cup, wondering why
I remember this dream where I left my feet and my eyes.
Is there really a bridge of this sort - how can I find it?
Where did I leave my baggage? Back at home with all my clothes?
Who needs more clothes when you are who knows where?
My mind seems topsy-turvy, as if I’m three sheets to the wind.
It is not a puzzle worth solving; stirring cream in coffee. The end.
Peter came at half-past three,
Tapping sharply from an apple tree.
“Wendy, Michael, and John, too—
Come and fly; the stars want you.”
Out of the window, hand in hand,
The trio swept above the land.
Their mother's sobs fell away behind.
Another bedtime story she can't unwind.
In Neverland, the sky can't change.
The moon is weird, the sun is strange.
No one grows, and no one there cries—
Every ache for going home soon dies.
Boys and girls forget their names.
Their socks, friends and favorite games.
A mother’s hug, a father’s last song—
Memories dim when you stay too long.
Peter laughs and flies high in midair,
But something empty lingers there.
He doesn’t know what he has lost—
Never growing up, comes at a cost.
Wendy whispered, “We must go!".
"For I've lost my shadow.”
Peter waved and turned away—
Still chasing ghosts of yesterday.
So if you hear a tap-tap one night,
Find your window bathed in light,
Roll over, hide, and stay in bed—
Forget Neverland, sleep on instead.
Slowly
I walk along old path
Miles and miles up the hill
Until the sunset wraps the sky
In red flames
The river beneath
Flows peacefully
Its tranquil embraces my being
Into a shy silence
My anxious mind wants to rest
Birds around sing about life
So detached is the soul
From the body
As if you are eternal
Timeless moment
Beyond toxic reality
Longing for something
I am missing -
Your tender kiss
Your velvet whisper
Your reflection in the candle light
Without it all
It’s hollow
The nest in that dead tree is empty
I feel your presence
Burning tears roll over my face
I do not wipe them off
Let them flow
I am lost in my own solitude
The memory of you
Is my only solace
Life is a solitary journey
Even when not alone
It’s getting dark
Time to go down the hill
And join my predestined route
Of everyday life trivialities
We are ruled by mediocrity
And stillness of emotions
Until the scent of love
Touches your heart deep
I think of those who left their home.' To fight on battlefields
Unknown.' In mud and blight against Gallipolis heights
At Beer Sheba and on Tobruks deadly plains.' Where they
Lay low; and let those tanks, roll over them front and flanks'
Then arose to put to shame.their foe' These Men
Of the the flats..Of wheatfields and cane.' From harbours
And citys made forever a name.' Reknown for igenuity for
Resilience wordwide.' Steadfast our bronzed battlers who
Took all in stride.' As the bugle notes ring out today in the
Dawn.' I remember.. I remember.' In gratitude mixed with awe.! So today as i face the struggles that come I shall
Draw strength, and inspiration at the rising of each sun.'
And it will remind me.' That whatever is to come? the
ANZAC spirit is my mentor, i vow to hold it to my memory all
My days on earth, until my final hours beneath the setting sun'
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