Observing silence isn’t easy when it’s quiet,
When the spectating stops.
When life sucks your soul back in,
and your mind has regained its license,
and it whispers memories so sweetly.
So its hands are delicate
and the realisation presses itself inwards
and the wipers clear again
and it checks the mirrors
And the wipers clear again
and it swerves off once more for the night,
phone in one hand,
drink in the other.
The dent in your mind never leaves,
but the brain amalgamated to cover it up and grow and absorb.
The flesh will always sink back in.
The shattered remains of what I once had,
The hollow dreams still quite tall,
My mind of chaos driving me mad,
All behind a huge, transparent wall.
I hung my head low, slumped down.
I searched aimlessly in the darkness.
A picture lay there; on my face a frown,
But what was left of them all, they called it silence.
I caressed the picture,
My thoughts haywire,
The world is sinister,
Burning me up like fire.
Who am I? A meek peasant.
Knew no more than hardened violence,
A burdened past, a tortured present,
And what lay beyond, they called it silence.
Sorrow gripped me on the inside,
Lifeless and shriveled from within,
Merely spectating the secrets, they still hide,
Hoping that once again I could begin.
Sacked of my people, my life,
All while hiding under a veil of pretense,
Blaming me for the start of a strife,
And what they didn't need, they called it silence.
I let it calm down,
The whirlwind in my mind.
The warmth and laughter, I had them drown,
No place for joy will I ever find.
I ripped the photograph, my elixir.
The fire crackled in the distance,
All gone, I was forced to surrender,
And all that was mine, they called it silence.
In twilight, riding the soft winds so slight
Above peaks, about to cradle the stars,
Two avian are flights' whispers of light
Flowing gentle, where the horizon bars
Tracing the lovers; a "V" shape crescent,
Her wingman steadfast, bright and bold his grace,
With feathers aglow, in a hush unbent,
A dance of the heart, in love's warm embrace
Spectating flowers in awe grow below,
Shadows long, they extend to each their wing,
They glide on breezes, where soft rivers flow,
Not fall birds of prey, but the songs of spring
With each graceful turn, they map out the skies,
In harmony's notes, upon sun-lights beams,
A journey unfolds, where their wild hope lies,
Elegant like silk, within looming dreams
In twilight, riding the soft winds so slight
Flowing gentle, where the horizon bars
Trumpets of purity, dressed in all white,
Two swans in flight are the whispers of light
Rich and unrelenting are you
You who has captured me so
Always changing never ending
The water to my kindling.
Tall and blue are you
You who has enraptured me so
Never changing always ending
Any doubts I've been having.
This is joy this is strife
This pier of empty existence
You caress with insistence
That you are easier than life.
To you my ocean i give all
Consume me make me thrall
Take my air its your call
To throw me back on shore.
Your brilliance never waving
Is all I've been craving
I despise the earth beneath
You'd never force me to breathe.
Throw me out I jump back in
To my favourite seat in this theater
Away from all I suffer
Is spectating such a sin?
Keep me Keep me let me stay
Be nothing in your bluest ray
Please i beg why wont you
Take the body i threw
Wash it ashore
Keep me instead
Just my head
Let all else be dead.
cold frozen chairs
frigid chilled air nipping ears
hockey fans warm cheer
Dear Patient, Welcome to the asylum of your mind.
Let’s get rid of the boundaries to which you’re confined.
Let’s sit down and discuss your medical record:
Schizophrenic disorders, Anxiety, hemorrhages,
all documented in one-hundred-and-forty-nine pages.
There are some treatments we haven’t explored.
Do you feel like you’re in constant company?
People told me about your constant soliloquy.
A feeling that someone’s around you, spectating?
The voices: are they advising or debating?
Is it more like a monologue or is it a dialogue?
To who is it that you constantly talk?
Son, Why won’t you leave the dead behind?
Within the asylum of your mind?
Dancing in the rain,
Just like Fred Astaire,
And Ginger Rogers,
Fuchsia flowers,
Delightful moves,
With sequence steps,
Awakening romance,
Into dream worlds
With blossoming love,
Silky skirts twirl,
Gliding from branches,
High into the air,
Excitement and suspense,
Practicing their routine,
Sparkling in the sun,
Watched by the garden,
Spectating cheer.
A great performance.
Wendy Jae
Sat, leg muscles tense, arms relaxed,
Balancing on toes which effect:
Small area, the wooden chair lends itself,
To the pride of the body, physical ability;
Toes only small, but easily take the weight,
Mind silent, spectating the view.
1st March 2016
Rain Is For Others
The village green
And its linen fellows
Bask in summer's
Dappled yellows,
Bowling leather
Onto linseed willows
Beneath the fluffy
Cotton pillows.
Children playing
Shooting peas,
Stinging faces
And grazing knees,
Gran and grandad
Sip their teas
On chequered blankets
Under trees.
Upon a sudden
Skies grow dark,
People shelter
And dogs bark,
The darting sparrow,
The silent lark
Scatter raindrops
On a sodden park.
Ominous rumbles
A flash of light,
The tempest's fury
With all its might,
Causes lovers
To cuss and fight,
To part as strangers
Before the night.
Spectating sisters
Watch fielding brothers,
As doting fathers
Kiss expectant mothers,
Folding neatly
Their mackintosh covers
And all agreeing
That rain is for others.
We run in haste, one with the other
in reaching our goal of no-where.
As a driver in racing covers the same road
again and again
going no-where except to win.
So, oblivious of the jeers or cheers
of the spectating world.
This track we run together,
the prize we seek already won
before the race is run.
My view from the clouds are quite amazing,
Off in the fields I can see the guns blazing.
I visited this place once before,
I leaned off the edge of the 15th floor,
They just weren't ready to open the door,
And so I had to wait, a year and no more.
My view from the clouds are a site to see,
Time has passed and its since been year three.
I've punched my ticket many many times,
Failed attempts, and not my time combine to decline.
Waiting for it to finally happen, I'm last in line.
Halo over my head, I can once again shine.
My view from the clouds are breathtaking,
Here because I chose to start spectating.
It might not have necessarily been fair for you,
But for me, it was much long overdue,
I just wanted to be there so I could pursue,
This beautiful view.
I longed for you
you're coming
finally
I wait as you wash over
my being
totally
submersing in your presence
taking me away from them
those people
around
spectating
I longed for you
for years
tearing at my own soul
I would cry inside myself
My mind was a mass of vines
Now you're coming
You wash over me
I'm going somewhere
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