Breakfasts are chosen,
and consumed.
We are happy
in our sleepy morning routine.
Sun shines in my windows,
warming my soul,
I pause to feel the light of spring
open the blooms in my heart.
Story time...
Daily dose of virtual reality.
I read, I laugh,
a soap opera!
I read again - realising it is *real*.
I cry.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
I desire
A place where no one needs fear.
A place where violence is unheard of,
And confrontation is between consenting adults.
Where death comes to you when you choose,
A pleasant gateway to the spirit world.
A place where all children are wanted,
And no one must ever be lonely.
A place where no one is punished for their beliefs,
Or the colour of their skin, or the shape of their eyes.
A place where all people can live happily ever after.
Summerland.
The silence of the night deafens me.
Then I hear -
crickets singing
the hum of a furnace
cars on the distant highway
the creak of the gate as I open it in anticipation of my beloved's
arrival
the almost silent rasp of my callused feet against the rough concrete
of the driveway
the ratchet pops of my knees as I climb the stairs
then -
all is silent again as I hold my breath
and listen for the songs of the stars.
hiss - the rustle of wind in the trees
cry - the moan of a train whistle
chatter - the clamor of cheap wind chimes
sight: his body near mine, trembling and ready
smell: the unmistakable saltybittersweet scent of joined bodily fluids
taste: his breath mingling with mine in gasps of love
hear: our breathing, in perfect rhythm
touch: the smooth skin of his shoulder, the roughness of his hands
I feel: Love
Lightning strobes the sky,
and each flash reveals
the marching black clouds'
steady advance.
The wind is cold and damp.
The puddles from the day's earlier rains
flash and ripple at my feet.
I must prepare.
Move the plants against the house.
Stack the chairs neatly in their corner.
The windsock comes down to rest carefully against the wall.
The wind tugs at my clothes,
and lashes my hair against my face.
The dogs pace nervously.
I am ready.
So I sit, and I wait.
And I watch.
(Part 2)
I've waited.
I've watched.
I've watched as the great fury of the sky
skittered past above me.
Skittered the way butter skitters across a hot skillet.
I feel disappointment.
A climax interrupted by a baby's cry,
a climb to the summit missed by a single step.
I am out of kilter -
an unresolved chord.
(Part 3)
The cold feet of two frightened children
squirming under my covers wakens me.
Why are you awake before the sun? I inquire.
Before they can reply, the sky provides my answer.
With a bright flash, the booming roar of the storm fills my senses.
The waiting is over -
the chord resolves.
grains of sand and pebbles
atoms in an orange
worlds the size of cherries
atoms made of thought
thoughts drawn from connectedness
all things tied together
systems in a rock
a rock made of emptiness
responsibility to ourselves
to the seventh generation
life is probabilities
seen only with mind's eye
mind the source of us
we are as grains of sand
this small reality
this darkened palette
my workshop of life
without me you are nothing
formless searching
I am a voice in the darkness
waiting for your readiness
awaiting your needy cry
I pause a beat and make you wait
wanting revelation
you are words of wonder
a life with no beginning
and without end
hidden in the draperies of thought
imprisoned in unfinished pine
black book black clothes
I control your world
set against a backdrop
of purest white I make my magic
and set you free
Hark - there be Kittens here!
Dirty icicles hang like rotted teeth
from great towers of slush.
Cars splash by,
each the same mottled grey of winter.
People hurry about their business, shopping, mailing, getting there,
trying to finish before the world freezes again.
All the while, out of the line of sight of the hurried motorists,
untouched fields of pristine snow glisten with the soft colours of
the fading sun.
The rain was falling,
the air started to freeze.
The rain began sticking
to all of the trees.
The rain kept on falling
all night and all day,
'til inside our houses
we all had to stay.
The power went out,
the house started cooling.
The ice kept on building
where water was pooling.
When suddenly sounds
all around we could hear
which sent us all scurrying
to the windows in fear.
Sounds like great gunshots
with thunder behind,
then twisting and tearing
we saw limbs start to grind.
Great limbs, weak as kindling
came tumbling down,
smashing to pieces
upon icy ground.
Man has no recourse
when Gaia sees fit
to do some spring pruning
and trees start to split.
We can only watch
from our windows in awe
and wait by the fire
for our world to thaw.
My Wurst
Paul tells us all
To send in our wurst -
Is he talking sausage
Or is he talking verse?
My verses are heinous
Limp wristed and plain,
But wursts are amazing
Fit for a Dame.
Long, firm, and lean,
Or plump, juicy, and fat.
With a roll and some sauerkraut
There’s nothing like that.
My first day in Vienna,
We found a street fair,
With wursts by the dozens
I soon claimed my share
“One of those big ones!”
I pointed with glee
To the prettiest wursts
That you ever did see.
Content on my bench
With my small wooden fork,
I contemplated my supper
Was it beef? Was it pork?
Or some other critter
You’d find in a zoo,
Like zebra or jackalope
Or red kangaroo?
Which ever it was,
I soon ate it up,
With two kinds of mustard
And some drink in a cup.
That is the story
Of my favorite wurst.
It won’t be my last
And it wasn’t my first.
Wurst, I mean.
Wed, 15 Aug 2001
