We waded the creek,
Sang with the leaves,
Dozed on the moss
Beneath tall pine trees.
We talked to the wind,
Felt cool, summer rain,
And forgot for a moment
How to feel pain.
We painted gold sunsets,
Whispered to the stars,
Felt awe and wonder
At how small we are.
We were wild children,
Untouched and untamed,
Seeing the beauty in all life
Before we knew it's name.
Now they call me witch,
Wicked, wild, rude,
Because I speak with spirits
And find their actions crude.
I walk the paths of olde,
Each footstep sure and true,
Since I can find no reasoning
In anything they do.
They dream of a home in the sky,
A man to make their wishes true,
I know my mother is the Earth
Whose voice still calls to you.
She created all beings equal,
Without division or spite,
Yet they insist on bringing it
And claiming it is light.
So I will walk my witchy way,
Hold my head up high,
Calling out injustice
And singing to the sky.
waded in waters waiting out the storm
weighted thoughts try to wait me out
weightless while wading in waiting waters.
waters waiting in wading while weightless.
paradoxal
the wait of the water becoming weightless while wading through it.
The weighted thoughts wade in the shallows
waiting for me to just float away
Alone it dreams
The inner bay where the water is shallow
I rolled up my trousers leg and waded out to see
the small polished stones
With sunlight and the clear sea, the stones had
The appearance of diamonds to kill for.
I took up a few, but in my hands, they quickly lost their
lustre; threw them back, my feet were cold, it was not
Yet summer, when the inner bay would be full of bathers
who wished the beach were sandy.
Drenched in pouring rain
With no parasol, but just a frilled hat
To cover her head,
With a bouquet of delicate golden blooms
Clasped firmly in hands, in the dusk
She waded through the rain swept avenue,
Her heart thumping in anticipation.
But he brushed past her, indifferent.
The moon stood behind,
Teasing her on her squashed romance.
Surrender
I have fought battles in my mind
Such destruction the world has ever known
I have slain thousands attacking
Me in my dreams
I have waded through trenches
Of fire burning in my soul
I have endured the pain and
Suffering in my heart
It’s been to long my spirits been at war
I lay down the sword
Take off the armor
I FIGHT NO MORE
My parents they did take me
when but a child
to the shores of Lake Victoria
where, after a while,
with not much more to do
but admire the view,
my Mother noticed,
patience wearing thin,
bubbles rising...
yes, you guessed,
always causing trouble, I had waded in.
“Oh, for heaven's sake,
you may want to save your son,”
was the comment she did make.
“What!” my Father he replied,
“Me, jump in the lake?”
“Afraid of Nile crocodiles?
Mum smiled and queried him.
“No, nothing of the sort,
it's just that... I can't swim!”
Dad sternly did retort.
What more can I say, words they fail,
other than,
“Mother rescued me that day
and here am I to tell the tale.”
The Burden of Youth
She was seventeen, and her boyfriend had left her
Life is more intense when you are young, she wanted to commit
Suicide so he could see how much he loved her.
Filled her rucksack with stones and waded into the bay, but
The water was low only to her chest when she reached the other side
Besides, she was glad to be alive.
She met a young man also unlucky in love, who took her rucksack
Filled more stones into it and waded into the sea, but now there was
High tide and the young man disappeared under the sea.
A few seagulls shrieked in the otherwise silent area as the girl waited for the bus.
To take her back to town, block out unpleasant thoughts, she said aloud.
My father is a communist, the bus driver who was a fascist stopped
Pulled out his gun and shot her dead, and the women on an outing clapped.
This was her father letting the red flag fly in the street of Utopia.
When logic fails,
something within me undeniably stirs,
something that was always there,
in the silent void,
waiting for me to veer off,
and let go.
To stop thinking,
start feeling,
and open up.
I shed my incumbent clothes,
waded in,
felt the tug of the tide,
tasted the salty water on my lips,
and went with the flow.
To be carried to places
reason could,
or would never, lead me to.
To things I've never tried,
things that can't be denied
when taken by the off ramp.
A soul's etched cartography
compasses spins a needle frantic
above a parchment of skin.
A map…
Each line a river I've drowned in,
blood I waded and divide
each faded scar
a language scarlet, unfound!
My soul no longer shapes
foreign land of waste annihilates
behind my eyes...!
I see nothing
deserts exhale silent sacred sands…
Hearts pulse with unheard drums
an archway to oblivion
weathered eons I haven't lived.
I drift towards a courtyard,
run riot in green eternally…
Where faces blur like old cars
my mind whispers, doom from afar
on winds that don't remember me.
Trace the contours of my lost continents
in this cartography of bone and shadow.
Forgotten by the wraiths of the moon…
that echo within my chambered heart.
A tarnished key lies heavy in my mind,
unlocking doors behind infinite walls… sublime!
Beach Music, Pat Conroy’s voice in flavors
Of raspberry ice and chocolate paradise
Mists blowing across the waters, soundless
Yet aching so that every heart felt blessed
By his melancholic treasure, the history of a sea
Who restored peace and awakened the night
Blowing winds who waved to the shores
Silencing the darkness and flooding the heart
With a flowing light, a flutter of grace, healing
Hesitant as the passions, poured from pages
Written on the beach…
Where light remembers, a happy
That cannot be spoken, never broken
Glowing on the edges of summer
And revealing to the heart
What it is to love with a love beyond reason
Love that is the reason – the way
Forever and a day…
Beach Music replayed on the silent edges
Of waters who I’ve waded in,
Wading through tears, fears – so many years
Necessity caressing the heart of a memory
Words echoing through a soul who is gentle
And knows the love that is more than sentimental
It is God’s voice, touching on the senses
God’s love… erasing all the fearful, replacing
It with contentment, love that is so intimate
Love that can’t be written...
Echoes on the silent shore of contentment
A merger of holidays was proposed
Young hearts for it
The elderly opposed
Fiercely debated
Bitter grew the divide
Neither young nor old
Could speak peaceably
to the other side…
The holy spirit waded
into the fray
its magical mix infused
love and brotherhood...
Alas and alack
~ Humankind refused
Just ‘round the corner,
A carpet of gold,
From the branches of ginkgos,
Was there to behold.
The lovely-shaped leaves
Also covered some cars,
So you couldn’t tell Hondas
From sleek Jag-u-ars.
I waded through piles,
Their yellow so bright
That all who walked by
Got a dose of delight.
In a matter of days,
Nature’s vacuum will sweep
All that carpet away,
Likely while we’re asleep.
My car was flying in the air upside down
Off the freeway, headed toward trees
I had never heard of black ice, had no idea about it
I was only twenty-eight-years old
But I knew I was going to die
I thought of my three young daughters
Yelled out “Jesus, please save me!”
the car flipped right side up
and landed with a whomp in deep snow.
A man waded fifty feet in snow to check on me.
He was amazed
Said he had worked in a pit crew of the Indianapolis 500
Said “I never saw a car do that before. How did you do it?”
I said it was like a giant hand reached out and flipped me.
I told him I had yelled out to God for help.
He took me to work, but that was the end of the conversation.
I think miracles are too much for some people to comprehend.
Today the boy, wanting to stay tuned, grabbed the VR
Sweating profusely, needed a washcloth bathing
Boys don’t enjoy Sundays but they do after all
The class in awe of Revelation, wanting more
fruit, casserole, sweets and godly treats
We were at the movies when the sermon broke in
and we wept as the sinners waded into the baptismal
Back home, the grabster and the friend on other end
A friend, who knows not him
Sitting with my wine in a boot, or something like that
Watching Martha, feeling sorry for her but elated
for she related to the prisoners
It is dark now and rain’s now in my boot
I take a sip and fall asleep
or rather
write a poem, from the hip*
*from the hip - to act impulsively, like drawing a gun from the holster.
Tucked in the past
Revealed in time
The unseen deck
Shuffling between phases
Waded by fate
Chaperon with audacious dexterity
Whipping the blackness
With strings of grief
Shredding the light
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