Shrivelled Poems

Dweller of our heart

The essence of the sun is deep within my heart and soul.
It brings me warmth when I am cold to brighten up my mood.
To see the sun high in the sky on a cloudless day
Is my therapy, I feel replenished, and surrounded with happiness. 

For if I am sun replenished, then I can replenish those around me.
Bringing warmth to others when they may feel down and out.
And by radiating a joyful demeanour and staying positive, 
I see the sun rise in them as they begin to shine.

Without the sun, we would wither and fail to thrive.
All creatures on earth would disappear.
Leaving a desolate, cold, shrivelled up, space.
This is not a place I would ever choose to be.

Therefore, the sun must reside within our very being.
Although, at times as it hides behind cloudy skies,
Knowing it will come out again, bringing warmth, to everything.
Continuing our survival, is why I love the sun.

Bzou

Tell me, Bzou dearest Bzou 
Have you found a treat for us today?
I am hungry for a heart,
for mine is dry and shrivelled.

    Grandmother dear grandmother
    Have I ever let you down?
    I have one on a tether
    and it is dressed in crimson red.

Is she innocent and pure,
this girl in crimson red?
For only vestal blood
will smooth my aged skin.

    She is as white as virgin snow
    and walks the woods
    With picnic in her arms;
    to give to you, I so believe.

Will you be you or you be he
to capture her for me, Bzou?
The woodsman with your charm
or creature that you are?

    You know the truth of what you ask
    Do not deceive yourself or me.
    Your snout is long
    your teeth as sharp as mine.

Bring her to me, use your lure
We both desire her in our bed
Our hunger is but one.
Stray her from her path.

    Then what remains of her and us
    will you be youthful, I replete?
    Will we just  burn what’s left of her,
    then wait awhile, repeat?

Serenity

Unperturbed by prevailing circumstances,  
Untroubled by gnawing situations,  
The tempest does not hinder the ship's voyage;  
There is something to understand about the sea's rage.  

Darkness does not shut the door to the day;  
The eyes see the approaching ray.  
Even when the walls are falling apart,  
Every day offers a new start.  

The dark clouds signify an approaching rain,  
That’s what the mind tells itself amid the pain.  
Even though the treasure is taken by the night,  
The despondent soul still seeks the light.  

Inside the chamber lies a seething cauldron;  
It's a journey across a shrivelled meadow,
Though the unknown ravages the inside,  
Glow and grace envelop the outside.


July 28, 2025.

Teeny Weeny - Bawdy

There lives a gentleman from Luff
Who walks everywhere in the buff
His weeny is teeny
He calls it his winky
A stump that can't fill a cream puff.

Ladies would be left in despair
But he didn't really care
He got what he wanted
Frustrated, they taunted
And decided give him a scare.

They tied him to an 'lectric chair
Placed electrodes on you know where
They pulled down on the switch
His stump started to twitch
It stood bright like a giant flare

You'd think he would very happy
Making a stump long and snazzy
The women were smiling
The man was now crying
Wink shrivelled, weirdly and badly 

From that day he always wore clothes
With women he instantly froze
He's fearful of leccy
Winky is now Becky
And parades in yearly freak shows.

    25.07.25

Summer smashes Spring

Summer smashes into Spring with violent heat that leaves the air in a hazy daze.  All of the tender, green rain-draped brilliance of young foliage giving way to the drab, sunbaked drowsy green that swelters and gasps for rain all through Earth's yearly simmering.  Boiling and drying in invisible and malicious rays, all green tends to brown and lush tends to shrivelled.  And so shall oppressive the weight of this season be.  Yet, Autumn comes.

The Woman She Has Become

She speaks of a white horse,  
Its rider clad in majesty, riding toward her,
He suddenly disappears as he approaches,  
Her face glows whenever she talks about it.  

She describes a bright light,  
Claiming it comes to her room in the tranquil midnight,
Suddenly, white birds fly out of the light,  
And in an instant, everything is gone.  

She talks about walking through a beautiful, colourful, and lush garden, 
She says she hears birds singing, yet none are around.  
Suddenly, beautiful young maidens run across in front of her,  
One of them stops waves at her, and joins the others.  

She describes standing by a stream,  
Its water is pure and radiant,
She leans down to take a drink,  
And suddenly, she feels strengthened and well.  

She mentions standing in a shrivelled meadow,  
Claiming she sees walking shadows,
She is frightened to the core,  
But suddenly, she transcends.  

She reflects on the mystery of ageing,  
Saying it has turned her into an enigma,  
A vessel of changing lights,
My mama is a gem of inspiration.


March 8, 2025.

The flowers have died

The flowers died on Monday,
The ones that lay next to her bed

They pulled the plug on Monday,
The roses shrivelled up and dead.

They Came To Steal Our Thoughts

they came to steal our thoughts
consciousness an ocean realm
where drops drip into us in dream and day
and they such thirst and drink do they
an empty vessel will we become
upon their syphoning, drained and gone
harvested, thy human fruit
of beautiful light, wilted, shrivelled
of profound loot, now bodied us
a living dead, left they who stole our thoughts

Days in Motion

Time eases the turbulent days,  
And with it comes a deeper understanding of all that life brings,  
For every journey through a shrivelled meadow, there is an invigorating hope, 
For every darkness in a chamber, there is a rising light.  

Monsters staring through the window no longer disturb the mind,
The ominous things that the day brings do not evoke fear,
The strange encounters in slumber do not intrude on the day's goodwill,
The morning light serves as a doorway to a bouquet of hope.  

Nothing tosses out of equilibrium,
The mind can discern the seasons and the reasons behind them,
It has learned how to summon the elements to do its bidding,
It has discovered the entrance to the cosmos' room.  

My mother journeys and thrives in the light of these truths,
Her wisdom stems from this stream of knowledge,
She flourishes in its vitality,  
And she encourages me to draw from it well.


February 11, 2025.

The Tendrils in Me

I fall into darkness,  
This reveals my weakness.  
A door opens within me,  
And I encounter a turbulent sea.  

I’m alone in my room,  
There’s a pervasive gloom.  
A displeasure of the heart,  
An ominous start.  

I tell them not to come close,  
For they might see a shrivelled rose.  
I hide in the night,  
Even as I pray for redemption light.

I hear songs,  
Melodious yet unfamiliar tongues.  
I wonder if I’m near Zion’s gate,  
Or if I’m still on the wait.


January 30, 2025.

The Ebbtide

And now the ebb tide flows,
The end of all intentions,
Hopes and energies
Exhausted in submission to a greater power.
Terms are struck
And life relinquished
To subside in age
And reminiscence
Of what might have been
So many fine and fragile hopes
Remembered with regret,
Time seen for what it is,
The grand opposer of all dreams.
Long since potential fades 
In undistinguished shadows
Of a passing scene
With nothing left
To serve
An interest in life itself.

Is emptiness
The only aspect of this view
To falter slow
In meaningless events
And shrivelled dreams of youth?

The world seemed good
Those years ago,
Seemed full and generous
In its possibilities,
Yet dabbled in half-heartedly
It turned
And snuffed the candle-glow
Of proud intent.

The image fades
To trace but faintly
On the clouds of time
The whims of youth.

Mama's Songs

She sings from the river of her soul,  
She sings from the depths of her heart.  
She has seen the strange,  
She has walked the path of the night.  

Oh, those songs summon the light, 
They open the door to a fresh world,
They convey rain to shrivelled meadows,  
They disperse gloomy shadows.  

My mama has sojourned on turbulent seas, 
Hope has been her bridge of belonging, 
My mama has wrestled the unseen,
Courage has been her sword of conquest.  

Oh, mama, don’t ease into the night just yet,
Still, sing those songs of redemption,  
You have taught me to embrace nature, 
Don’t leave my hand yet.


December 29, 2024.

Haunted Woods

A crisp brown leaf from the sycamore tree
Silently fell to the ground
It gently lay down amidst more of its kind
Having landed with no hint of sound

How could it know of the silence required
To survive through the night in these woods
I’d crunched one such leaf underfoot in my haste
And fell prey to the people in hoods

The moon though dim, waxing gibbous, I think
Throws monochrome shades in the night
Against this old oak I am helpless and tied
There’s no escape, try as I might

What did they mean, “That’s her gluttony sated”?
No woman I see hereabout
My knees feel weak as shrivelled leaves crunch
And they fail as that dull moon…… goes out

An Elegy for Innocence

It winged away into the dark,
It’s gone into the night,
It’s dwelling is no more with us,
It has left our chambers.

When did it let go of its hands from ours?
When did it walk through our doors?
Time has sculpted our desires,
The cosmos has stirred the waters. 

We desire your embrace,
We seek your return,
Come out of the deep where you have made your abode,
Awaken and be no more taken.

Divine is your presence,
The shrivelled meadow eventually blossoms,
Our feet find redemption lane,
You show us the path to perpetual light.


October 13, 2024.

The Poetry of Death

The fleeting epitaph,
The changing song,
The changing tide,
The bus disembarks its passengers.

The fleeting epitaph,
We go through the final door,
The night comes for us,
We no longer have a seat on dawn’s bus.

The fleeting epitaph,
The shrivelled meadows,
The looming darkness,
The unseen carriage.

The fleeting epitaph,
The sadness it brings,
The grief that hides in us,
The separation that is harbingered.

The living sing a dirge,
They converge and diverge,
The carriage is duty-bound,
Unseen and tenacious in its duty.

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