Today

Today
Was a day,
What a day,
Just A Day,
And my life
Rolled away,
Rolled away
In a day.

Believe

Believe in the

Red, the red of blood,

Believe in the

Heart, the heart of love.

Believe in the

Lunacy of tingling bones,

Believe in the

Truth, that you are not alone.

It fades

The red, yellow

Flickers blue,

The beat is

Slow and weak,

I'd gladly

Stoke the fires

Of hell

If you would

Only

Speak.

The Bus Stop

Crawling round the inside of my mind behind my eyes,

A new, unusual idea formed, the shape of which belied,

The empty place it came from, the enormous wave of change;

An idea quite distinct within the chattering of my brain,

That started at the moment when I saw you in the rain.

The moment when that grey, dull street became my street of dreams,

I know it now, I knew it then, peculiar as it seems;

The place where all my senses did that day, in you, collide,

Where through the morning cold and damp you stood before my eyes.

Be still, be strong, be real, be true, the mantra in my mind,

Was all that I could think before your beauty struck me blind.

It’s strange to feel such longing, like a lunatic obsessed,

To feel the touch of primal urges, pounding in my breast.

Adrift, confused and petrified, left staring through the rain,

And then you gave that perfect smile that said you felt the same.

But why, how could I love you, like a mills & boon cliche,

In that fleeting touch of seconds, there was nothing left to say.

It was just a glance, a chance connection straight into my heart,

To see you standing at the bus stop like a living piece of art.

Oh, be still, be strong, be brave, be true, that mantra still remains,

Despite that it was long ago, that street now years away.

All this time you’ve been beside me, dark and handsome, tall and strong,

Yet still the moment of our meeting sounds it’s memory like a song.

And in that memory;

In that place where my best fantasies reside,

I know that all reveals itself when hope and love collide.

Treading Water

Are we really just

Treading water,

Killing time

Until we die?

Propelled forward

by an inveterate

Purposelessness,

Possessed of nothing more than a

Vague hope

That there

Must be something more;

Something more to come,

Something more feel,

Something more to explain it.

Why most there?

Isn't having a life to live wonderful enough?

The NOW is all you have.

Live in it,

And BE that something more.

Crabby Old Woman

A good friend of mine sent this across to me the other day. Please read it all the way through.

When an old woman died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meagre possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were
made and distributed to every nurse in hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem.  

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you're looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food
 and makes no reply
when you say in a loud voice,
'I do wish you'd try!'

Who seems not to notice
the things that you do,
A stocking or shoe?
Who, resisting or not,
Lets you do as you will,
with bathing and feeding,
The long day to fill?

Is that what you are thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
You are not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am
As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.

I am a small child of ten
 with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen
with wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now
 a lover she will meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows
that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide
and a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty,
my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other
with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons
have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me
To see I don't mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me,
my husband is dead,
I look at the future,
and I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing
Young of their own,
And I think of the years
And the love that I have known.

I am now an old woman
And nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age
Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigour depart,
There is now a stone
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again,
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I am loving and living
Life over again.

I think of the years
 all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact
 that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
Look closer. . SEE ME!

What if.....

If pixie dust was outlawed
And the mushroom circles tolled,
If garden gnomes were banished
And the fairies gardens sold.

If unicorns were bridled
And the hidden doorways barred,
If men like you could have your way
What else would you discard?

If banshees all were silenced
And the vampires laid on ice,
If the Werewolves claws were clipped down
Would you really pay the price?

If all the magics of our land,
Could truly be confined,
If all the mysteries were lost
I'll tell all you'll find.

An empty place inside yourself
With nothing left to give
So just you think on something else,
And let the wild things live.