Memories of a Glass Window

A stream of light through a window of glass
Took my mind flashing back
Breaking all barriers of the fourth dimension
Rushing back to memories where-

Streams of light through glass windows
Fell upon white desks; a blackboard
Glinting off black braids and ponytails
Reflecting merry smiles and gales of laughter
Mingling blank faces and looks of wisdom
The serenity of Enlightenment

A drone on the podium, the monotony
Then broken by the welcome bell...
The familiar sounds of recess

Waking many from a trance
From a futile attempt to fight of the oncoming stupor

Still others, adrenaline pumping, as the Hawk Eye of the teacher turned
In all its wrath; upon form after motionless, breathless form
Lost books and homework not done, the occasional serious misdeed...
A collage of emotions and actions, faces and names
Pranks and punishment, all rolled into one

Sailing on the Wind-- that transcender of Time...
From that so very distant past, now lingering
As memories through my window of glass

The Petunia Experiment

On a young green stalk,
Widening smartly, fresh in the air;
Its ethereal whiteness, the epitome of purity
Swaying in the currents of air...
Air so strong, but gentle around it
As though loath to touch & harm

Beauty that reduces the strongest to bow
The never ending equation nature provokes

The sensitive flower feels the ground tremble
Tremors louder by the moment

A hand stretches out, fingers closing - a vicelike grip
Wrenched from the stalk, its sources of life...
Carried away in a hurry

Yet head up, injured not dead
Whither cometh this source of pride?

Hours later, drained of water, its pretty head droops
Placed on a tile, white mirroring white

Cold unfeeling steel dragged through its petals...
White gown mutilated... privacy violated
The downy fibre rent neatly

Thin green lines along the inside
Radiating rays of the sun... moving outward

Green: the colour of leaves & cash
The ultimate symbols of Life
Against white, all about doves & clouds
For peace & hope

Spread lifeless on the lab table
Senseless to the drops of water
Hydration for the sake of exhibition

Too late to save
they serve to preserve
For the gaze of the teacher... for marks on a card

Thrills & Spills

on Monday, April 28, 2008 at 5:32pm

 

The open window, a sky stretching out
Beyond the limit of the eye, going whether it needs
The birds, so happy, winging far, where they want

The newspapers and mags, all the daily rags
Carry tales of thrills & spills
What draws these men & women
To the rush of adrenaline; to them the mountains & the deep beckon
Heedless of the Time of Reckon

Xtreme sports, surf n snow
Safaris thru forests afar
Sailing through the air, life on a line
Trippin a rope 'cross the Grand Canyon
Running with scissors, wrestling bears
Throwing rocks at the neightbourhood grouch
Dragging crocs around by their tails
Playing footie with a pride of lions

The more adventurous of these, those cavaliers
Marching, unthinking, into marital un-bliss

These all I admire, their adventurous lives
and sit beside my window plotting;
Planning my days, my own adventures
Fuelling my imagination with vivid pictures
Travel guides line my bookshelves, postcards my walls
I dream of frostbite & broken ribs

The Lord hath saith- keep awake & watch
& so too, I say to you
watch for the Day when my name's on the Net
When the feats of the little kid in the wheelchair,-
Sitting by his window; dreaming great dreams
- are known the world over, & till then, adios!

Photograph

A sunlit playground, the tiny forms clad
in brown & white, their shrieks of joy;
'njoying a free moment
The sounds float up to my window, a welcome distraction
To the endless monotony within

The windowsill forming a natural frame
Freezing the moment in the passage of time
As though by some heavenly camera

Since the beginnings of man, a scene oft repeated
Children playing, poets writing
Penning their feelings, on teh children playing

As yet a subject forever untiring
Undrying in its well of emotions & precociousness
The efforts to recapture an innocence
Lost by the writer aeons ago

Every generation must have
A poet & a poem on the Joy of Youth
The only change in this bookmark scene of life
Or it so seemeth to me-

As time passes, the children, and the shouts-
Remain the same...
But the poets..

Hell! They grow younger every time!!!!

The Evil Queen

Deep in the sanctuary of privacy...
Hidden away from prying eyes
Closing the doors to public eyes

Once again I curl up in my bed of needles...
Close to the darts that pierce my heart...
Those that have nothing to do with the ones on my skin
Tired of Destiny's little dance of misery...
Seeking sleep and solace

But none would come....

The tears roll down my cheeks
Sobbing silently, hidden away behind barriers and blockades
Trapped in my own silent bubble.... only the shadows to keep me company

I feel Them hit the walls, scrabbling to find a way in
A way to wake my sorrow... make it a matter of public scorn

They call me a witch n hurl abuse
They cut off my supplies, i'm all alone
They take courage in their multitude... a crowd against a lone woman

Behind my barred windows, i pretend not to hear; I curl up in my bed and cry some more

I'm stone hearted and insensitive
For not responding to their jeers... or giving in to my fears

But behind the pale blue muslin, the snowy exterior
Behind the unrelenting eyes...
Hidden in the dark, restrained by trembling lips and teary eyes
Afraid to open up, afraid to trust
Too afraid to move or speak, afraid to sleep, afraid to do anything
A quivering wreck of nervous grief; a mass of jumbled thoughts
Emotions running too deep

A target I've become, complete with rings
White and blue and red... bang on come your arrows
Piercing the tender golden flesh
Reduced to mere victory points

And yet again, and again, as I wear this mask
Carved features set in gemstone
Rich robes and expression of scorn;
Covering up the diseased flesh

Tears hidden beneath layers of fakeness
Rejecting abuse and never letting it show
What the strain has reduced me to...

Queen of my country I remain, till the walls do fall
Queen of my country I will be... long after the winds have changed..
Long after the sun would bend gently its gaze
On the ruins of this turret.. my last safe haven.. my last retreat

Locked in, for my own safety... I look out with longing
Bidding goodbye.... breathing in for the last time the fresh air...
High above the commotion... on a plane away from the misery
This little window... my only reach to freedom... only claim to happiness

The swallows take my last words... whispered notes of Bittersweet
Never forget me, I say... Thanks for the memories

The Mosquito's Candle

The little room; its darkness overstifling
The sounds of night creeping in through the open window
The messengers of nature swooping through the air
Towards the lone sources of light… flickering in the gloom

Those silly creatures singlemindedly racing
Towards their perceived rays of hope
Zooming in; tiny hearts full… with all the promise of a new life

They fly through the flame… antics remnant
Of some eastern Fire Walker
What false belief lead them to believe in their imperviousness to the heat?

Fairy wings dissolved by the fury of the flame
In the throes of death… spindly feet in spasms

One that lately moved like the breath of the wind
Trapped in useless struggles to live

The hour is out… and light returns
The deceitful flame is put out
Relief accompanies the lightness flooding the house
Showing up the colours on the wall… and familiar faces

But far too late it is for a tiny form
Lying crumpled by the foot of the stand
A pinprick in a sea of lives… here one minute… not the next

The same light bringing life and death
Relief and a Close for All Things

Golden Boy

Jack Roy was a Golden Boy
All sparkling teeth and dashing smile 
Fancy clothes and shiny boots 
A horse and four to call his own

He romped his nights away
At the delightful town of Row-dee-doo-ray
He charmed the socks off the gentlemen
& the ladies scarce knew where their garters lay

Oh what a charming dude he was,
the Golden Boy called Jack Roy

A stately mansion of Grecian art
Crowded with the desires of the human heart
Where finest champagne from toilet bowls
Of the finest ceramic flowed.

Hunting, Hounding, Haunting, Hustling
Reality TV, Shopping and Cuisine
A whole room devoted to channel surfing
At the house of the Golden Roy

In Jack Roy's house was room for all
From the whore to the White House crew

Golden Boy was a household name
With a movie, show, and an album to boot.
A brand new language and a Toyota car
All in his Golden name

Lifestyle guru and Party King
The nation worshiped his Golden feet
Jack Roy was a Golden Boy
What more could he need??

But one day he met a quirky gal
Her heart was harder than stone
Emerald eyes and ruby red hair
Mayletta Lou, and was she fair?

She made all the gentlemen look
And personally flirted with the cook
But for all his campaigning & champagning
Blood, sweat and tears
That petticoat, she wasn't one to kneel...
For poor dear darling Golden Boy

He wandered the paths of his Grecian garden
Golden Boy, his Golden Heart broke
All his dreams did she invade
That quirky lil gal, Mayletta Lou

The parties in the big white house, never quite as loud, never quite as gay
The karaoke shows and discos all, they just seemed to fade away
The Master pined away in grief
The skies grew darker, of light not a single ray

Jack Roy called for his horse
Put up in the class'fieds his lovely house
Told his help he was going away
Whither he knew not, to seek that girl May

He set off on his lastest hunt
The Hunt for Love, I wished him luck
He bowed his head, his jaw was set
The carriage he'd sold and the horses were rent

An unmade man, that Jack Roy
The last I heard, in a chalet by the sea
Governed night and day by Lady Lou
The Golden Boy, so full of joy

I wished him luck, that Jack Roy

Running

Sandals slapping on the sidewalk
The chill wind whipping at my face
I’m running away from another day
Running towards the night

I stare out the window
Stare at the clock
I’m checking my watch out
And the cell phone clock

The teacher’s a- droning
I frown at my page
There’s lines of poetry
And patterns curving up the margin

Surely that can’t be right
Surely she’s talking sums
Surely there’s something somewhere
I’m required to listen to

But the window’s open
The chill winds a- beckoning
And I’m wondering what I’m doing inside
On such a lovely grey evening

The hall clock ticks on
I turn another page
And my pen’s a- doodling
In a hundred different colours
And a hundred different pens
On a page covered with sums

The hall clock strikes
The door opens
The chill wind is in the room
Teasing my hair
Asking me out

Sorry guys, gotta go
Maybe another day, this will go better
Maybe another day I’ll do
What I was supposed to do in the first place
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll leave
With a coupla dozen sums in my head
Rather than a coupla poems in my book

And I’m running down again
Down a familiar walk
Away from something I don’t remember
Running away from yet another day
Running towards the night

I turn the corner
I turn around for one last look
But the fog just rolled in
It’s all gone already
Just like it never was

I run to the bookstore
Can’t really stop to stay and talk
Maybe just for a little bit, though
Just me and the books
Locked in our own little world

A world where sums cease to be important
A world where success is in the mind
A world where I’m never alone...
A world where the run stops

The store clock is a- ticking
My little watch is beeping
I’m half way through the book
And outside the wind calls out to me

I’m running out the door
I’m running away from life
Away from another day
Running towards the night

I get to church on time
I pull my jacket off and smile
At everyone else on the choir
I sing my heart out tonight coz
Who knows how long this will last

I smile at the girl in the front pew
She’s here with her dad
I wonder what her story is
And whether she knows what its like

Coz it ain’t easy running
Running out on a chill night like this
It ain’t easy running on heels
Running back home

The chill wind’s a- biting
My jacket ain’t helping
Why am I running down this road
Again and again, like some one
Just hit the replay button

I arrive home panting
And run up the stairs for show
Mum asked me where I’d been
I told her I’d gone running
Running for my life

I pull off my jacket
Sink into the tub
I close my eyes and dream
Of running down the road
Running into the fog

Double Edged Scimitar

A cold hand grips
Where my heart ought to be
It comes up empty
I laugh my evil laugh and turn
Away from the chaos
That plays out around me
A flames form a background
Red and gold frame a warrior's smile

Little left
To be said
The horses are run away
In fear...
The silence weighs
Upon the field
Where of late men cut their brother down

Little hope is left
In a world that shrugs
In sympathy that just
Isn't enough
And yet greed refuses to fade away
Hypocrisy is wielded
A double edged sword
For the evil righteous sovereigns

Where one word suffices
For one, another for another
I let my horse run loose
Continue my lonely quest on foot
It isn't fair
To ask him to share
In the losing battle
Fought for a lost kingdom

Contempt bubbles over
The brim of the glass goblet
Yet hypocrisy leans back
A self satisfied burp
Content in selfish beliefs
And an ignorance I pity

The night is yet dark
And the heavy hand of fear
Lies upon my shoulder
And yet I see the dawn rising
Perhaps to find my answers
Floating down the river
All coming to find me
And maybe set me free

Fear likes to hold my hand

 

My path is dark...
Where I come from is dark...
Where I'm going is dark...
Dark with fear all around...
That lurks in the bushes...
...Like villains in the valley
My candle stays my only light...
That I hold in my hand...
Away from my face...
That passers by do not see the tears...
I hide with my other, empty hand.