The only image we cling to
Should be the one in the mirror.
Of that I could not be surer.
Your idols will let you down in the end.
Jesus, Elvis, Lennon, and John Paul the Second,
Even Ghandi, Theresa, Keller, and MLK.
They're all built up into superheroes.
While the true color of their character,
Behind closed doors, may decay.
Look to yourself.
Go Emersonian.
Ego-less Egoism.
Resurrect the flag of
Transcendentalism.
You are the bling.
Cling to what you sing.
Never stop your song.
Your truth is never wrong.
I am but one now, and not another prior
Never before have I trodden this path
Never before have I lived this hour
I need not do the history or the math
If my history consisted of endless days
If my distant past revealed a different me
I'd be, not human, but divine and amazed
I would not need a savior to set me free
My purpose, built-in with destiny; set with attention
My future status will be far more than 'An also ran'
My origin was formed with precision and intention
Moreover, my past was not happenstance but planned
To a past that never was will I not CLING
My existence is not a multiple-choice test
Never upon a fantasy will I place my being
But upon much surer promises, I will rest
So, with certainty, I CLING to the image-maker
I am neither puzzled by fate nor by the lottery
I was created by one who is a promise keeper
I am nestled in the bosom of the Almighty
Known for 'selfies' was Albrecht Durer
in his day none were more surer
Painted 'photos' were his sure thing
fame then&now to him thay did bring
I evoke the yearning desire,
Temptation expressing such fire,
Passions rising from the dark night,
Like feelings the poets will write
Owning the splendor of the storm,
Ardors this strong… never lukewarm,
Stirring the soul’s thirst to excite
Like feelings the poets will write
Blazing on skies in hues of wonder,
Sweet melodies, wild as thunder,
Burning hunger, the heart’s delight,
Like feelings the poets will write
Dreaming of him, love I implore
Pleading for more…, him I adore
This romance is more than alright
Like feelings the poets will write
Love him like a child loves its fun
Passionate kisses just begun
Beneath dark skies, lit with starlight
Like feelings the poets will write
I conjure handsome dreams, rousing
Joy surer than his carousing
Warming our hearts by candlelight
Like feelings the poets will write
Not just passions, but real love
Bringing more hope than I’d think of
Ever shining beneath moonlight
Like feelings the poets will write
God rest ye merry gentleman
Thank the Lord that you are able
By devious manipulation to
Keep the turkey on the table;
All praise to those good bankers
Who in spite of committed fraud
Maintained the Status Quo
For which we thank thee Lord;
All hail to the Establishment
Who in spite of envious stricture
Have made it more possible
For the rich to get much richer;
Our blessing on the poor
At this blessed time of Yule
Long delayed may be the time
They cease being so easy to fool.
In humble display of
How sincere are our thanks
We’ll donate our table scraps
To a couple of food banks;
All hail the Brexit process
For nothing is more surer
The rich may not get much richer
But the poor will sure get poorer;
God Rest ye Merry Businessman
Vast profits may you display
All hail the secularisation
Of this Modern Christmas Day.
Amen
To love me is to show your deepness of soul...
each feeling that soothes the endless uncertainty
I've traded in for hope, giving more thought to fidelity,
making me sail on windless seas bluest than any sky above;
how wonderful is closeness, away from the places I rove,
and fall into the loving arms of the woman who is willing
to go to the extremes and suddenly tame my urges of a fool:
I should be more thankful than anyone who lacks feeling!
To stay closer and listen to your tone of forgiveness
confirms your devotion to me, although I'm too undeserving;
is there a better way to make up for lost moments
and forget they were passing clouds over our silly heads?
Hugging you is embracing heaven and its wonders,
feeling you is caressing a skin that's softer than roses...
let this embrace be our promise to a bond that's never-ending!
To love me is to show your deepness of soul,
and the deeper you search, the surer I become...
that we can be inseparable in unimaginable ways;
have we ever thought that being together is our goal?
Have I ever thought that two words can rhyme
and still, be as meaningless as two undevoted lovers?
(for Bryan)
Still now, she lies there gently,
as the dawn begins to rise;
and dares to men forsake her,
for some surer, safer climb.
She whispers, in the evening,
when the quiet holds the night;
and beckons to them gently,
in the wake of hellish fight:
"Oh, turn your gaze to land then--oh,
give up your precious dreams,
and "...remember when..." the days"...back then..."
you tried to tame the seas.
But oh, if courage bind you,
and an endless treasure seek,
then press your will 'gainst wind and tide,
and spend a while with me!
You'll stand against the raging storm,
you'll master every sea,
and when, come time,
to land again: “A Captain you shall be!"
Memory kills time,
as time kills life…
Faster than a paid assassin,
colder than a dream that’s stolen
—surer than the tax man knows
(Dreamsleep: March, 2022)
The Out-Going Treasurer had me briefed
But through the released records I still leafed,
Just in case a thing was tightly overlooked
And I some tomorrow hatefully booked
Over some books I had barefacedly cooked
And some missing one million or thereabouts
I should kindly explain its whereabouts…
The one hitting about The Handed Over
And one lousily taking them over:
Before a week’s swiveling of the chair, A Police Land Rover,
If one had happened to be lucky with Army Range Rover;
For unsmiling cops that shall in your office hover…
Always, while taking over from A Treasurer,
Try to be about one or two things surer.
It's time to pay the piper and to realise no one wins,
As you face the consequences for your many mortal sins,
As you stand to face your judgement, and the scales of justice weighed,
As you rise to hear the verdict, I'm quite sure that you're afraid,
But it's time to pay the piper and there's nothing you can do,
If you're wondering how I know so much, I paid the piper too,
For my many self indulgences I frequently embraced,
And the payment it was high when consequences they were faced,
But there's nothing that is surer for his rules must be obeyed,
And eternal's his damnation if the piper goes unpaid.
Why would one ask,
If the carving of a mask
Is, indeed, a task
When to simply this question ask
Is itself a task?
Mask carvers in their job bask,
Their wine glasses beside a cask,
Their African salad in their flask,
Their own faces a beatific Mask…
Sweet styles of reducing the heat
From a long sitting on a seat,
A surer method of catching ones breath
Man’s enacting of the lion’s stealth.
To another woman he shall surely switch,
The present one definitely ditch,
His voice at its most embarrassing pitch,
Now naming her ‘White Witch,’
Soon renaming her ‘Black ,’
Curious passersby to never know “which? “
Nor why his nostrils flare and twitch,
A bit believing that this might be flesh and its itch
And a great deal surer that he’s stinking rich:
The level of Affluence judged a down-dragging hitch,
Worse than Tyson’s landed punch on Green Mitch!
As wide as wide could ever be
I searched the majesty of the sea
I lingered long at the rocky shore
and listened to the ocean’s score.
My heart my heart was racing fast
for love had found me at long last
and surer never could I be
that our love was love for eternity.
I looked I looked upon the docks
boats all idle with windless socks
and calling for me and calling for me
was my sweet angel from yonder tree.
I glanced my glance it was so brief
and the seagulls drifted above the reef
sitting with her and kissing her there
my love was my love and I hadn’t a care.
(click the pic for a preview of my upcoming book!)
The older I get
the more I know,
everything starts as a prayer
The older I get
the more I’m indebted
to a voice that I can share
The older I get
the surer I am
that life begins and ends
The older I get
the richer the words
—that spoken live again
(The Book Of Prayers: September, 2020)
Bluebeard’s promises lure our unwary natures
on to the shaky bridge which we need only cross
to reach that which we dream.
We convince ourselves that if we tread carelessly,
the rotten planks, unnoticed at first glance will hold
long enough to claim our bliss.
We believe the fabricated fictions we’ve been told;
If only we love long enough, desperately enough,
and persevere against all obstacles,
the bear, the frog, the tattered beggar,
will show his true self:
A dragon slayer
A knight of the realm
The prince of our dreams.
Barefoot, in our torn and tattered dress;
The best we have left of our time torn youth
We query the stars in our indecision.
A tentative step at first, changing to a surer gait,
then flying, as a dancer would, across the broken boards
as confidence and hope overtake
the reasoned caution of experience.
Dashing that last few steps….
Under our weight the rotten wood breaks behind us
It leaves no way to return to where we were.
Yet laughing with the exuberance of all possibilities
We stay a step ahead!
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