Poem: Alone

Yesterday

Alone

I stood

At the Edge.

Alone, I stood at the edge of the cliff top at Kimmeridge

Foot shod

And I looked down.

I knew that to dive off this cliff

Head first

Would be to end

This curse of consciousness.

Today

Alone

I paddled

At the Edge.

Alone, I paddled at the edge of the surf at Boscombe

Barefoot

And I looked down.

I knew that to dive into this ocean

Heart first

Would be to celebrate

This gift of consciousness.

I loved Kimmeridge

But Boscombe was better.

And Tomorrow…

In my moment of need you gave me your gift of words

In my moment of need, you gave me your gift of words.

As I lay at the wayside,

Bleeding

Scarred

Scared

And

You told me how much our moments together meant to you.

In my hour of need, you covered me with clichés.

As I stood before you naked

Exposed

Shivering

Terrified

And

You shared with me how our friendship gave you such a lovely warm feeling.

In the time I needed you most, you poured out your wisdom.

I had no money for food

No funds for fuel

Nor hope for the future

And

You told me how much you valued the time we spent together.

.

..

Then she came.

She saw me bleeding at the wayside

And

She said nothing.

Then

She cleansed my wounds

Then

She sewed the torn flesh

Then

She bandaged my broken body

Then

She clothed me in her own robe

Then

She fed me…

No message was upon her lips

Save for the warmth of her smile

Reflecting the fire of compassion in her eyes

She held me safe ’til I slept in peace

Forever

In her arms

Embraced

A child again

In silence

Poem: The Slayer of Daisies

Daisies of Optimism (Moku Hanga GP)

Yesterday,

I was an Author,

I was a Film Maker,

I was an Artist.

Today,

I am merely a Slayer of Daisies

Their heads falling beneath my relentless blade.

No longer does their positive individuality

Punctuate my lawn.

They have all fallen

With not even a poppy to bow and nod its head in grief.

 

Now there is the monotonous regularity

Of a unified, green singularity.

All is decent

And in order.

There are no dissenters here,

No conscientious objectors,

No rugged individualists.

 

But I slew them

In the hope

That when I am gone

They will come again;

They will resurrect and remain

But I will pass away.

 

For unless there is individual

Radiance in the quest for light

All will be uniform green

And then all will turn to night.

 

Viva la resistance!

Viva Daisy!