Many paths lead away from home
but only one leads back
as the years sit salted upon the rack
you find the path home has narrowed and
turned from gates of iridescence
to mirrors opaque and black-
you arrive with exhaustion on your boots
a feast of favorites on a favorite plate
go upstairs to your yellow crib
have those unreachable dreams again\
things are slightly slanted the faces changed
some are missing all together
some are fresh but you don't know their names
to soon it's time leave and spar with devils again.
Home is where you lick your wounds
stay in tune with yesterday
then one day that nest
has completely blown away
nobody knows your name
you are a graying orphan
a gasoline splashed stray
and the whole world plays the jester
holding a piece of ancient flint.
I’ve never dined on caviar,
The finest instead, a Mars bar.
No palace key for this housing Czar
Sip water alone, not at a gilded bar.
The challenge must be taken on the chin
And not merely with audacious spin
A moratorium won’t fix the cause
Of that usurious interest clause
And gestures from the righteous
To address this crisis
Have long past worn thin
Though life is well-equipped with knocks
Nonetheless, the misery clocks
And platitudes from a soapbox
Won’t outfox a notice
Sliding through the letterbox
There’s no bright light from the corporate sphere,
Shining down on hardship, here
Though those with good jobs try to spread cheer
Their lives are not as good as they appear
With some sleeping in a car
Obtaining meals from Spar, just near.
On the way back from the Spar
A familiar ring I’ve heard
But you must be very far
So it could have been a thought
Just a casual thought that came
Like a butterfly that flies
Out of chrysalis to gain
Freedom of the open skies
It wasn’t real like it seemed
What that was, I can’t define
There’s no moral in the dreams
And illusions never lie
They just put you in the world
Of the very special kind
Where your calls now can be heard
Those I’ve missed, they ring through time..
The strongest flour
The oil, the yeast
Combined in love
Before the feast
Salt
From Celtic shores afar
With waters warmed
The ideal spar
For microbes'
Fertive final frenzy
The rising feeds
Much foodstuff envy
More patience
As to final hours
The mixture blooms
While hope devours
The prospect of
Eternal life
Once oven baked
With heat and strife
To crusty beauty
Rich and soft
The father proud
To hold aloft
Before
Serrated sacrifice
To eager lips
From buttered knife
A gift from God
This golden leaven
Food for the soul
A slice of heaven
It’s a lovely winter’s day, isn’t it
Gotta spend it the same way as I did
Yesterday and days before, what a thrill
Hope to find today some more time to kill
Off I go, with some money to burn
To the Spar and back again to my home
Got a little celebration to throw
Put some music now I don’t feel alone
Honegger’s 4th, why not, just for fun
Then I may incline to Band on the Run
Then it can be Free, or Bad Company
Something that is much admired by me
Wine and music, watchers films on youtube
Seaside towns, with narration on mute
That’s my day, and yours might be quite the same
Play it loud, before the night ends the game.
The Lord has got me this far,
So, why do I with Him spar,
Even when the weather is fair,
With no need to despair.
I thank Him every day for the flowers,
And the grapes on the vines,
Unconditional Love and Loyalty from friends,
The saving graces,
That again and again and yet again remove doubts.
I pray I can become more Grateful,
More hopeful,
More cheerful,
More blissful,
More thoughtful,
More remorseful,
More merciful,
More helpful,
More delightful,
More beautiful,
More care full.
With only kindness full,
With more understanding full,
With more pity full,
With more loyalty full,
With a heart that is longing to be with Love full,
With more fun full,
And with more sense of wonder full.
I pray I can become less spiteful,
Less revengeful,
Less hateful,
Less doubtful,
Less mournful,
Less of a handful,
Less distasteful,
Less Harmful,
Less stressful,
Less sinful.
With less of a temper full,
With less arguments full,
With less judgement full.
,
I fought with Jack,
He hit me back,
We both went home crying,
Mom asked me why,
I did not lie,
Jack started denying;
He broke my toy,
Total destroy,
And my car went flying,
He was uncouth,
I punched his mouth,
It was satisfying;
Jack said my punch
Was why he lunged,
'twas so horrifying,
I cried some more,
Mom did ignore,
"Let's find out who's lying";
My sis she called,
Who saw it all,
(That was terrifying)
"Jim broke his car,
With Jack did spar,"
On us, she was spying!
There was no doubt,
I got time out,
It was mortifying,
Jack was let go,
Just so you know,
We're still friends undying;
Three sides, you see
To each story,
There's some falsifying,
Dig deep to find
The truth unfeigned,
It's called verifying.
I dream of you in shadows deep,
In quiet moments where I weep,
For all the love we could have known,
Had life not claimed my heart as stone.
I loved you then, I love you still,
But duty bound my wandering will.
I walked the path I could not flee, And left our dreams beneath the sea.
Your voice, it echoes in my mind,
A distant song I cannot find.
I feel your touch in empty air, A ghost of love that isn’t there.
The weight of family pressed me down, To wear another kind of crown.
I chose the road I had to take, And broke my heart for others’ sake.
Yet in the quiet of the night, I long to hold you, hold you tight.
To whisper words we never said, And breathe the life we left for dead.
I see your face in every star, A light I chased but couldn’t spar.
The ties that held me kept us wide, Two worlds apart, two souls denied.
Forgive the man I couldn’t be,Who loved you more than you could see.
For in my heart, you’ll always stay, A love too deep to fade away.
In Rhythms & Silence- Rajit
Robert Sherriff - Australian - Poet -Author - Singer - Actor - American Historian – Photographer- Dedicated TO Jarryd Health Peter Les Sherriff
Golf Humor Story
As I sauntered along the lush, green golf course fairways, the player ahead slowed to meet me. With a grin, I inquired, "How's your game shaping up today?"
Turning back, he met my gaze with a hint of exhaustion and replied, "A piece of advice - never spar with your spouse before hitting the greens." He smiled wryly, "Especially if she's a better golfer than you! I'm still trying to recover from the 'hole' situation."
He chuckled softly, "Believe me, my game is not reflecting its true potential out there."
Feel free to share this humorous tale with your golfing friends or on social platforms! It's a story that all golfers, from beginners to pros, can relate to. Sometimes, a touch of fun is all it takes to navigate those challenging rounds with a smile.
When young, stay in the heat of the foam
where strange things -pyrite and miracles roll
Old age is for picking out supple blue pools
counting blessings and mincing what's left of the fool-
The foam is where gift and opportunity collide
a pants pissing reddened-eyed carnival ride
the pools can be an offbeat and queasy reflection
when harpy and angel spar over the ghost of regret-
Stay in the foam as long as the fragile dream holds
until bones collapse or you strike a thin vein of gold.
You'll find quiet pools at the end of life's rapids
where black scythes swing 'round collecting black taxes
Until then, stay in the heat of the foam.
It was a hot day, I was on my way back from Spar, carrying a bag of groceries. I walked past the lilac bushes in bloom, past the annex to the medical centre with its small car park, rounding my house. From the side of the old red-brick typography building I heard an incomprehensible sound, like a tuba from underwater, the sound was muffled, even and deep. I immediately identified a C minor chord. Prolonged, devoid of modulation, the sound lingered in space as I walked across the ramp past the lilac bushes. It was impossible to make out exactly what it sounded like. As if from behind, there was some tenor sound in the background, but it was so faint that I could barely hear it. No one sat on the benches at the entrance to the house. The sun-drenched ramp area, the faded walls of the house, the bright blue sky. I went up to my flat, and went out onto the balcony. From the balcony I could hear nothing, there was the dead silence of a summer day. It's evening now, I'm writing this worthless story, but I can't get over the fact that I couldn't identify the source of the sound or its purpose. The only thing I could make out was an evenly sustained, deep C minor chord.
On this majestic month of May,
The clouds have conspired with the sun in a mist of golden gray,
Like a toxic forbidden love that fights to stay,
Wishing to birth magic yet creating an agonizing flurry of disarray,
Burnt barks that run under my raven slippers,
To great distances drenched in distressed heavens,
Turning hazel hardwood to grow weary and wet,
To a tender, dull mossy carpet.
Now under the violet visions, with the waters amongst the sand,
Lay the silent infestation of invisible insects on a holiday land,
Blazing on our skin,
Making us itch like a physical sin,
Leaving a searing within.
The alchemist too can’t tell where to begin,
Why does such love have to be a battling pain that wins?
Either pour a flood or flash luminosity,
Dangling doors standing against the raining in summer days,
A hopeless spar, but I am tempted to jump in for a swim,
Nature’s gym.
….. My thoughts have derailed,
But the empress of the sea prevailed,
With oils that bind to her heart,
And clarity that shall never depart.
So what more do I need on the logs that stand in this prickly cave?
The day comes to an end and night draws near
Where the shadows are cast but vision is clear
The sun fights back with a vibrant show
With colors on the horizon that don't want to go
The beautiful death that is the light
In an ever ending circle there is a constant fight
Where light and shadow try to win
If only they would see they are truly kin
Light and dark like a canvas in the sky
Beautiful art without having to try
Together they spar creating elegance in their wake
I am forever grateful for the beauty my eyes take
How may we stop movement of thought,
borne of deep desires our heart brought?
Desires diminish zest of soul,
that here and now feels not quite whole.
Let us then examine the cause,
to put our restlessness on pause,
for which we must know who we are,
that our head and heart, cease to spar.
To this end, if our will we bend,
melding with silence, we ascend,
in as shift, from the pulse dual,
soul’s eye single, love our fuel.
Thought then thus instrumentalised,
truth of being is realised,
immediate and intimate,
taking us straight, to heaven’s gate.
My goodness
what a mess
to assess
A world at war
Attack and spar
Scar after scar
It's gone too far
There's lives to defend
Fighting to suspend
It should be condemned
So, peace can ascend
And wounds start to mend
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