10 Minutes MorePlease God, May I have ten minutes more?Ten minutes more with mum.Ten minutes to tell her I love herTell her I hate her.Talk of babies, and birthdays and surprises and thingsTalk of times we had, stories, recipes, theories of string.Time to laugh and remember hugs and funGrateful she was there to wipe this baby’s bum.Grateful for food and tea-laced sage adviceGrateful for caring and magic hands making it better in a trice.Please God, May I have ten minutes more?To thank her for the simple and sillyTo thank her for protection, comfort and dignityShe showed me what a person should beShe showed me how to act despite adversityHolding me close cause that’s all could be done.Holding me close when all I wanted, was to run.Helping me understand I must stand and faceHelping me understand defeat with grace.Please God, May I have ten minutes more?I’ll use it very well, not waste it all.I promise I’ll not ask for anymoreI need to say thank you and good
What stops me but myself?What stops me but myselfMy bleeding heart, my critical claimTo the precipice of shameThe whip held firmWithin sight of final stageThe self-flagellation of doubt and rageWhat stops me but myselfLove and cake cosseted in tastyDistractions on my plateThe clutter of an empty lifeErrands of a mother-typeWaste and excess competeGluttony of empty featsWhat stops me but myselfRecalcitrant bravadoStealthy to hide its eyesSteady intellect afraidOf the patient stare of ridiculeTentative and distantReturning to the cold shellWhat stops me but myselfPrevaricating endlesslyOn an icy, musing clockTick then tockTick then tockDistracted by the dancing handsAs life drips slowly awaySteam against the burning sandNothing done another daySatan’s playground in unsubtle grayWhat stops me but myselfI wish the key would find meNot alone not freeAnother deadline passes meRelief presses down lovinglyMyself emancipatedNot stopped but waited!
I Am a HemitI am a hermit, and that’s how I’ll stay,You can try to make me come out all day,But whatever you do and whatever you say,My opinion will never sway,I’ll just stay inside and wither away,Until my beard is long and grey,Because I am a hermit, and a hermit I’ll stay.
Hugging ShadowsHugging shadowsGentle bosom nestled closeSightless painless momentsAlone the shadow doth not shareAlone the shadow doth not speakOffers the momentBefore light sears fleshBefore light brings memoryBefore light brings knowledgeHugging shadows
Time BleedsTime doesn’t count, it bleedsIt runs and skips and dawdlesIt flies and imprints upon the psycheTimes canonises the lostBrings heroes from mediocrityForgets the pain and accentuates the yum.Yet through the mists, truth hidesDelicate as a sledge hammer.Time will not wait for understandingNor yield for revenge or compassionIt tastes of grandma’s cookingSmells like musty old sandshoesFilled with the sands of lives eternal.Time flies through life’s albumIn short focusObjective yet missing substanceMyopic, not blurry, concise not insightfulMorphing the detail snapshot rememberedA kaleidoscope of colour and movement and soundSoftening pain and focusing joyDeception its sweet preserveTime holds my handPatiently awaiting acceptancePlacidly absorbing useless strugglesCoaxing compliance, envy and lustIt bleeds skin, water and paper.Time outwaits the starsSlipping slowly it quickensTaking a journey of soliceTaking air and light and breathEons and mil
Ballet of the KnifeDancing on the edge of a knifeShiny it reflects a fractured imageDrowning in the borderless despairThere are no safe listening postsMy few coins would buy meFreedom … Free spirit … Space, Peace – Air – not enoughI have been here in this dungeon for so many yearsI built these wallsStone by stone I push further intoRock fleeing from fleshFlesh of obligation, Blood of ritual, Bone of societyAll holding me in place.It is darker now the last ritual is doneThe last spell cast, the convenant is endedNaked cavern cradles my mind in stone.No chains of moss of forgotten tearsThe last is here, I might be forgivenI will be free and silentSlipping into white, gone, alone, rest.Ephemeral threads of all cubed andCharged and empty and safe.The knife is broke, I see it in true sightNot shiny but broken, angry, jagged, alluring, rustedThe music interupted
The Wheel TurnsThe Wheel Turns ...Am I condemned to repeating my progenitor's mistakesWhen made were they mistakesAm I there nowAt the stone nexusTurning the corner The Wheel Turns …Chains bind me to the chalice stoneEntrenched in my mind like a dragonfly in amberFlying in dreams borne on exhaustionMy demons haunt me and sear my unguarded flesh The Wheel Turns …Slowly grinding the resistance and exacting the tollThe bells toll counting down the seconds of my soulRandom kernels of sillinessWithin an impotent rage coursing though my journey The Wheel TurnsDirections spin against chaosExpectation is my easy path to whereLies the solace of societial acceptanceThe fullness of grinning despair The Wheel Turns …Shadows conceal what light would hideWithin me the choiceOnward or my sacred prideOnward and condemned again The Wheel Turned.
Little Green ShipThe little green ship did slip away from its mooringsStar destroyers bragged of great galactic adventureSo the little green ship gave its captain the slipIt zoomed with joyous abandon, flipping and whirling, turning and twirlingIt passed by moon and planets it had never hoped to touchIt performed forbidden manoeuvres which would damage its passengers shellsSpiralling and tumbling in and out of a gravity wellOrbiting a little green asteroid the colour of its hullLooking much like an ion circling an attractive electronSo it travelled further but stopped to say helloTo the deep space refueller, for a rest and a drink and a story thoughThe little green ship spoke to a poet in the shape of a dull brown cargoThe cargo waxed lyrical as cargos are prone to doFor what can you to do when are unwieldy and slowCargo spoke of nebulas blooming 12 light years awayAnd there in the refueller juice bar and idea did growA beautiful nebula garden and adventure or at least a showWith direc
Circles of my MindIn the circle of my mindI remember yesterday and tomorrowAs one has come againCircumnavigating the truthDeception a sweet preserveThe flood of life rememberedShatters the instant of perfectionInured into my soulA concubine freed of velvet bondsRunning the verdant skiesCaressing each memory as if a mislaid childReturned, loved, despite painA staccato review of emotionLayered in context and textureI live here, a laboured breath of passionWith each is a feeling of longingAn old album of photosMy lifeIn short focus, objective yet missingMyopic, not misty, concise not insightful.This tapestry is my creationUnfinished but nearing a completionI fear the dimming imageWill it be incomplete?The circle of mind must close.
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