We project our own shadows onto suitable screens
and rage at the images and cry at the scenes
it's everything I'm not, It's unfair and untrue
whereas the shadow contains the un owned bits of you
To honestly face whats projected outside
and own it as ours, means nothing to hide
we take back our power and then can begin
to realise the truth, the controls are within
We don't see our shadow but others often do
and though hard to face up to, many times it is true
that often we're guilty of the behaviour we hate
our 'unconscious' projected, we take up as bait
Copyright © SB 2009
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
The Past . . .
the past has thrown its net at me
and caught me in its thread
memories of a far off time
go whirling round my head
I do not find it comfortable
in that long forgotten place
with markers of a former life
in another time and space
drag my attention back to now
and remembering what is real
I return to my peaceful place
at the centre of the wheel
Copyright © SB 2008
and caught me in its thread
memories of a far off time
go whirling round my head
I do not find it comfortable
in that long forgotten place
with markers of a former life
in another time and space
drag my attention back to now
and remembering what is real
I return to my peaceful place
at the centre of the wheel
Copyright © SB 2008
When There's Only Darkness
Sometimes when there's only darkness
and you can't seem to grasp the light
when the night time goes on forever
and nothing can make it right
when you feel that heavy feeling
of the storm there in your heart
and all the words of advice you hear
doesn't take the emptiness apart
Just know that there are anchors
who will hold a place for you
burning with a clear bright light
until you make it through
and though there may be tunnels
that are dark and twist and bend
remember without fail
theres always light there at the end
(To a special friend - you know who you are x)
and you can't seem to grasp the light
when the night time goes on forever
and nothing can make it right
when you feel that heavy feeling
of the storm there in your heart
and all the words of advice you hear
doesn't take the emptiness apart
Just know that there are anchors
who will hold a place for you
burning with a clear bright light
until you make it through
and though there may be tunnels
that are dark and twist and bend
remember without fail
theres always light there at the end
(To a special friend - you know who you are x)
Multidimensional
What we are, can not be described in clear and concise form
for it would be a one dimensional understanding
of the interplay of all that can not be completely
grasped by the intellect alone.
We exist simultaneously on myriad levels
we are indeed multidimensional beings
alive in a multidimensional universe.
Copyright © SB 2008
for it would be a one dimensional understanding
of the interplay of all that can not be completely
grasped by the intellect alone.
We exist simultaneously on myriad levels
we are indeed multidimensional beings
alive in a multidimensional universe.
Copyright © SB 2008
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Cyberspace
I am a god in cyberspace
I create with pixels
I move mountains with my mouse
If I do not like that wall just there
I do not scratch my head and stare
I can "drag and drop" it wherever I choose
It's like we are standing in gods shoes
In cyberspace.
I wonder
Is this how our universe came about
one day the gods were heard to shout
I've animated this spinning ball
Could this have been the start of it all?
Pixels and atoms
are they all the same
Just called by another name
Do we have to "believe" its true
Could this be our "on stage" cue
Is it time we took our place
Alongside the gods
In cyberspace.
Copyright © SB 2008
I create with pixels
I move mountains with my mouse
If I do not like that wall just there
I do not scratch my head and stare
I can "drag and drop" it wherever I choose
It's like we are standing in gods shoes
In cyberspace.
I wonder
Is this how our universe came about
one day the gods were heard to shout
I've animated this spinning ball
Could this have been the start of it all?
Pixels and atoms
are they all the same
Just called by another name
Do we have to "believe" its true
Could this be our "on stage" cue
Is it time we took our place
Alongside the gods
In cyberspace.
Copyright © SB 2008
I Will Not...
I will not step into the cage of my past
defining myself by what has gone
By the marks on my canvas
made in another time and place
For I am an ongoing work in process
each stroke valuable to
the whole of the picture
I will not become trapped in
the grooves of the past
repeating like a record needle stuck
but remain fluid, ever evolving
moving onward, constantly
recreating myself anew
Copyright © SB 2008
defining myself by what has gone
By the marks on my canvas
made in another time and place
For I am an ongoing work in process
each stroke valuable to
the whole of the picture
I will not become trapped in
the grooves of the past
repeating like a record needle stuck
but remain fluid, ever evolving
moving onward, constantly
recreating myself anew
Copyright © SB 2008
The Mask Cutter
Carefully, bit by bit
I will dismantle the armour
you did not know you wore.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.
I will be your light in the darkness
Your port in the storm
Your mirror of all you do not yet
recognise in yourself.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.
Lean on me as you discover
the courage to seek the essence of you
Your own shining light
The gold under the armour
you did not know you wore.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.
Copyright © SB 2008
I will dismantle the armour
you did not know you wore.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.
I will be your light in the darkness
Your port in the storm
Your mirror of all you do not yet
recognise in yourself.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.
Lean on me as you discover
the courage to seek the essence of you
Your own shining light
The gold under the armour
you did not know you wore.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.
Copyright © SB 2008
Winter Sun...
Winter sun burnishes my world.
Late afternoon glow.
Golden lights pick out natures shadows.
The world is alive beneath my feet.
The air dances with energy.
The giant fireball in the heavens
bathes me in liquid yellow streaks,
as it tumbles lazily onto the horizon.
And as I honour my journey,
as a living breathing piece
of a universal jigsaw.
The power of life,
overwhelms me.
Copyright © SB 2008
Late afternoon glow.
Golden lights pick out natures shadows.
The world is alive beneath my feet.
The air dances with energy.
The giant fireball in the heavens
bathes me in liquid yellow streaks,
as it tumbles lazily onto the horizon.
And as I honour my journey,
as a living breathing piece
of a universal jigsaw.
The power of life,
overwhelms me.
Copyright © SB 2008
Is a Tree.....
Is a tree any less beautiful in autumn,
when the springtime blossom has passed.
The fruits of summer, now gathered,
the harvest, long since passed.
Or is that when the richness of colour,
that is lit by the afternoon sun,
makes the leaves, all shimmer like firelight.
With a beauty, that’s second to none.
Copyright © SB 2008
when the springtime blossom has passed.
The fruits of summer, now gathered,
the harvest, long since passed.
Or is that when the richness of colour,
that is lit by the afternoon sun,
makes the leaves, all shimmer like firelight.
With a beauty, that’s second to none.
Copyright © SB 2008
Art is Everywhere
I see beauty in things.
The peeling paint, of an old garage door
moved me with its artistic splendour.
A work of art, created by the wind, the sun, the rain.
The scuffs and knocks of passing life,
had created wonderful delicate colours and forms.
Beautiful contrasts, as layers of paint
had bubbled and peeled back,
to show long forgotten layers beneath.
Human hands could not have reproduced this masterpiece.
For this was a canvas, on which
time had signed its name.
Copyright © SB 2008
The peeling paint, of an old garage door
moved me with its artistic splendour.
A work of art, created by the wind, the sun, the rain.
The scuffs and knocks of passing life,
had created wonderful delicate colours and forms.
Beautiful contrasts, as layers of paint
had bubbled and peeled back,
to show long forgotten layers beneath.
Human hands could not have reproduced this masterpiece.
For this was a canvas, on which
time had signed its name.
Copyright © SB 2008
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