Tear the page from the calender
and throw it away.
Another year gone.
Twelve edible months, consumed by time.
That voracious predator that stalks the living,
while beating out the rhythms of this earthly realm.
The ticking seconds - a metronome.
Life marches onward, minute by racing minute,
it never ceases and we must walk apace.
There is no stopping.
We can only learn to dance with each fleeting moment.
A gentle tango, weaving through the speeding years.
Thursday, 31 December 2009
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
Processing - Composting - Growing.
Vibrating in my throat, the feeling sits, a coiled snake
- a reptile that my mind has spawned.
Yellow and black
foreward and back
its red eyes dart
. . . over my ammunition
. . . in this war of attrition
It wants control of my tongue, it needs my words
to vocalise its hiss and rattle
to bear its venom into battle
it tastes the air
. . . sensing with dissatisfaction
. . . my characteristic lack of action
We wait.
I swallow and gulp and down it goes
eating it, and its imaginary foes
it wriggles and writhes
. . . knowing I have found a cure
. . . tomorrow it will be manure
Knotted in my stomach, my digestion begins.
determined I will not be distracted
as all the nutrients are extracted
it softens and starts to dissolve
. . . slithering down with grunts and growls
. . . it enters the dark cave of my bowels
Its power is lost, it has been re absorbed
a dire situation has been elevated
the mind has lost what it created
I am retaining the power
. . . the waste is now expelled as shit
. . . to fertilise what I plant in it
Processing - Composting - Growing.
.
- a reptile that my mind has spawned.
Yellow and black
foreward and back
its red eyes dart
. . . over my ammunition
. . . in this war of attrition
It wants control of my tongue, it needs my words
to vocalise its hiss and rattle
to bear its venom into battle
it tastes the air
. . . sensing with dissatisfaction
. . . my characteristic lack of action
We wait.
I swallow and gulp and down it goes
eating it, and its imaginary foes
it wriggles and writhes
. . . knowing I have found a cure
. . . tomorrow it will be manure
Knotted in my stomach, my digestion begins.
determined I will not be distracted
as all the nutrients are extracted
it softens and starts to dissolve
. . . slithering down with grunts and growls
. . . it enters the dark cave of my bowels
Its power is lost, it has been re absorbed
a dire situation has been elevated
the mind has lost what it created
I am retaining the power
. . . the waste is now expelled as shit
. . . to fertilise what I plant in it
Processing - Composting - Growing.
.
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Great News - Trust
My Poem TRUST is featured in this years Llewellyn's 2010 Witches' Companion.
TRUST
Navigate the darkness.
Edge your way forward
one sure foot
in front of the other.
Eyes closed
you trust your inner light.
Immersed in feelings,
you have no need of sight.
Your inner navigation
knows the route.
Intuition
the compass
of the soul.
Feel the direction
the magnetic pull
on your primal instincts.
Trust the path
Trust your gut
Trust your self
Keep walking.
*
Navigate the darkness.
Edge your way forward
one sure foot
in front of the other.
Eyes closed
you trust your inner light.
Immersed in feelings,
you have no need of sight.
Your inner navigation
knows the route.
Intuition
the compass
of the soul.
Feel the direction
the magnetic pull
on your primal instincts.
Trust the path
Trust your gut
Trust your self
Keep walking.
*
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