“Fool,” said my Muse to me, “look in thy heart, and write.” – Sir Philip Sidney
Past,
Future;
They all merge into this present moment
I’m a dude on the road –
I dare to disturb the universe
Within these pages
There are snippets and snatches
Of a life lived
“There is delight in singing, tho’ none hear
Beside the singer: and there is delight
In praising, tho’ the praiser sit alone”
– Walter Savage Landor, To Robert Browning
Through the Eyes of the Observer
“Faith” is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see –
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency- Emily Dickinson
Young, silent observer
In social circles he stands reserved
He is part of all, but not
Jotting down notes with his elegant flowing mind script
Always adding to his intelligence supreme
Like a journalist in a war zone he can do nothing
Nothing but record the terrors
Taking note of human errors
Always adding to his heavily guarded vault of infinite intelligence
Observe is all he can do
It is no fault of his
He seems without feeling
Emotionally void
Grey-eyed ghost
Hands stuffed in pockets of faded blue jeans
He scours rodent-inhabited streets
To add to his already extensive library of thought
His presence paradox, phantom but not
His lips dry like the arid Kalahari from the lack of use
In the shroud of city death the grey-eyed phantom stands
Unseen, listening, jotting down and storing in a box
That might one-day spill all the secrets of life under a cranium saw
“Why do you just stand there?” I dare to ask
No reply
Just a penetrating silver glare
Blood begins to fall from a wounded sky
Drops fall like crimson jewels
He stares at the bleeding sky, emotions from the dawn of time finally stirred
Platinum tears hit the blacktop with unheard plops
He falls to the ground on his knees, arms skinny and limp at his sides
“Father, why?”
He asks in a parched tone
"The Lord said, ‘I was ready to answer my people’s prayers, but they did not pray. I was ready for them to find me, but they did not even try. The nation did not pray to me, even though I was always ready to answer ‘Here I am, I will help you’."
Young Man Going West
Within my heart there dwells a perfect kind of sadness
Within my heart, raging, there is also an organised sort of madness
Stealthily (or so they think) they go about their dire business
I can just barely detect their presence
But I’m quite certain they eventually mean to kill me
Together they make up a beast that is without remorse or relent
Whenever I think of my sadness and madness
I’m struck by the notion that a war’s afoot
I suspect that my soul’s the target of titanic opposing forces
The one side means for me to shed my humanity in exchange for flawless godliness
The other side simply means to consume my soul by preying on my ‘weaker’ will
I stand facing two paths
One of them I have to religiously follow
The choice is simply black and white,
Heaven or hell
But wait!
There seems to be something more…
Something more lies within this fragile heart of mine
Simple gladness
With great consideration I’ll choose the path to follow
I’ll pick up my sadness, madness and new-found gladness
And together we’ll walk down that winding path
Singing our tuneless song into the sunset
Young Man Coming Home
With my madness and sadness in tow
I left home
I travelled far and wide
With these two companions by my side
I swam across seas
Seeking a cure for my disease
And I was told:
"there is a cure in the house
And not outside it, no,"
I found myself coming back home,
Madness, sadness and newly acquired gladness in tow
A THOUGHT ABOUT EVE ON SAINT VALANTINE’S DAY
“True love’s the gift which God has given
To man alone beneath the heaven:
It is not fantasy’s hot fire,
Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly;
It liveth not in fierce desire,
With dead desire it doth not die;
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind.”- Sir Walter Scott, True Love
“… a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.” – Genesis 2:24
One day I might be walking down the street…
And all of a sudden there you will be,
As if waiting for me
On that day the sun may or may not shine on our account
Dear God knows, the birds may not even sing
Our meeting may take place in the dead of winter or in the blossom of spring
I would guess the month to be October – things always seem to happen at that time of year
Who is to say it won’t be a dark day of terrible loss and violence
A call to persevere: pure, untainted love founded in a pool of grief and sorrow
The world seemingly passing us by, but from the corner of eyes doubting our little ‘fling’, secretly wishing us ill
You and me, kind of like Fisher’s Lock and Key Hypothesis
No words that I may ever mutter or commit to scraps of paper can do your beauty justice
Your open mind inspiring faith, courage and belief
My love for you, child-like; pure and simple
Because I will give you my all – no more and no less – you may prove to be my fall
I don’t care because I love you
We may be ripped apart by tragedy
And the world may say our ‘doom’ was inevitable, “It was too good to be true”
Stuff the pompous lot with turkey stuffing because I don’t care
I simply and utterly love you
“They sin who tell us Love can die.
Love is undestructible.
Its holy flame for ever burneth,
From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth” – Robert Southey, The Immortality of Love
To the Masters of Old
Great masters of old,
You'd be amazed by twenty-first century machinery
'though you invented time travel
That modern science has yet to match
I find myself spirited away by words
That are ages old
Your thoughts are entwined
With mine
I dwell in an ancient past
That never was
I walked down to the store
With Hamlet on my mind
And I could swear that for a moment
Achilles was by my side,
His animated shield
Telling an enthralling tale
To my God
I thank Thee for the life Thou hast given me
As topsy turvy as it may be
I thank Thee for the ups and downs,
The heavenly moments and even what sometimes seems to be mediocrity
I thank Thee for the charming
View of life in retrospect
And the hope of tomorrow
I thank Thee for it all,
Lessons learned and wisdom that flew right over my head
Stay by my side and show me the way
With Your patience, kindness and Love
Show me the way that leads to the Dark Tower
The Lamb
“That is why I speak to them in parables: ‘Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not understand.’” – The Lamb
You are both the Lion and the Lamb
Your love encompasses things seemingly opposite
And thus our magicians are baffled
By Your mysterious ways
I come to You as I am,
A beggar at Your doorstep
Even if I offer You my all
It amounts to naught
I stand trembling at Your doorstep
Because I know that You are a killer of men
Though I am scared of letting go
I beg that You cut me deep
And remove all traces of I in me
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life & bid thee feed,
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing of wooly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice!
Little Lamb who made thee?
Dost though know who made thee?
Little Lamb I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb I’ll tell thee!
He is calléd by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child & though a lamb,
We are calléd by his name.
Little Lamb God bless thee.
Little Lamb God bless thee. - William Blake, The Lamb
Curious Me
Life!
So complex,
So intricate
Everything's entwined like a vast chain link fence
One thing cannot exist perfectly without another
It's such a fine balance
Even the seemingly simple things are mind-bending
Destinies supposedly linked to ancient prophecies written on tattered Greek tapestries
WHO? WHAT? WHERE? WHEN? WHY? HOW?
These are my journalistic questions
Who do I ask?
Scientists?
Mathematicians?
Or philosophers?
No
They ‘re all just like me
Always searching, digging and trying to unravel the universe's secrets
Unfortunately with answers come only more questions
WHO? WHAT? WHERE? WHEN? WHY? HOW?
Curiosity killed the cat
Why didn't the murdering dirt-bag kill the dog curiously sniffing his own butt?
Shall I ask God to reveal to me His grand design?
I wonder what He would say?
"Certainly not! Patience My child is the key."
Probably not
I wonder, I wonder...
If a fish were a cat
And a cat a tin
What would I have been?
A slit-eyed fiend maybe...?
If I was born a minute later...?
Dear Lord! Would I still be me?
Only goodness knows
Then again it may be that wickedness does too
Do you?
The Pursuit of Joy
What wretched, unhappy creatures we allow ourselves to be!
Created for Joy were we
Who now do not heed our Shepherd’s call;
We’re too busy spreading misery
Happiness is like the sea,
He cannot be caught and contained
For He is not a tame lion
Aslan is on the move
And we must follow,
Leaving everything behind
To the ends of the earth and across the great sea
We must follow
To enter that great country
For whose halls every soul yearns
We must forsake this world
Leave behind all your burdens
And forget your cares
Keep your eyes always on that terrible and fierce Lion
Who gave His life for you and me
Take Me Away
My love, whisk me away
To a place where it’s just you and me
You can sing to me of great beauty
And I’ll recite to thee verses of delight
The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there . . . and still on your feet. – Randall Flagg (in Stephen King’s The Stand)
