Tag Archives: mind

Finding Fruit

I stopped by your poems

Hugged them line by line

Our heartbeats fell as silken petals

This long lost love made Courtney Pine

Silence eavesdropped on mystic kisses

Eager vibrations rekindled the affair

Your swirling prose meditative.

My unchained cadences cohesive

Perceptive curtains arrange our winds though

Love isn’t lost if the heart’s still beating

Is this mine or our evocative secret?

A final kiss on our achievements?

The silence still eavesdrops

The longing lusts evermore.

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Clockwatching

clock-watching

They say time is a healer but…

Time has no hands, no feet, and no voice to speak.

With no needs to meet,

You and I create time

Time doesn’t have feelings

It doesn’t have love or hate to deal with

It can’t discern the fantasist from the realist.

It can’t read your reactions

Nor does it have a face to face the consequences

You and I create time

You and I decide between dark and light

You and I decide when we’re ready to walk into the deep

We weep until the drought is fierce

We survive on the fruits of our faith in the reflections we find

You and I create time

Will time test and tell or do you and I indulge in the canonisation of self-preservation

Creating tall tales with foundations for generations

Do we tell many times so that time can tell.

If time talked, we could have a conversation

If time healed, maybe I’d have regular vaccinations because shoulda, woulda, coulda, never turns time’s tables.

Now if time can be bought, how do you loot it, can it be taken?

They say there’s time for everything, but all I see is man’s arrangement.

Like learning English as a foreign language, the context is a maze in

the fact that we are but choices of creation

If eternity is really time, a paradise that we’re awaiting

What materials are you building with if life is simply time that we’re creating?

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5 day Poetry Challenge Day 5 – The Uniqueness of Being Unique

Written circa November 2006, this is the last post for the challenge. It feels good to look back at where I’ve come from as a writer. Thank you for reading,

Every word spoken on this earth is a ritual

Unless it’s inspired by the divine at the time, it cannot be defined as truly individual

Uniqueness is the relative of beauty desired by all

If true love is unconditional

Are the partakers truly unique individuals?

Experience is definitions fly on the wall in the documentaries of our lives

But we find uniqueness essence cannot be repeated

Humans are fruit smoothies – mixture of common features

We try to emphasise unique things, a lot of our plus points

From our personal couture to our cultural standpoints

Pointing skywards

Common concepts are the paternal subtexts that drive us

Culture is our car

Exquisitely designed without a need for eyes

For unique defines not I but who we are

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5 day poetry challenge Day 3 – The Dawn

White sands fell between them

The morning tide kissed their foreheads

New palms bowed and curtsey in turn

Clouds yawned for the first time as the sky opened its eyes

The wind smiled like a new-born after its first feed

Time had walked the shortest distance from their wrist to their hands

Steady as the drizzle of summer rain, they breathed

Whispers tiptoed from their lips into the oxygen

Like hydrogen they ignited as understanding embraced

Good Morning,

Good morning to love said the flame

Finding their soul frequency retinas roared

Detonated heart beats battling soon soothed to an echo

Atlas had become compass in a blink

Yet this was Eden and it would be human to think

So they admired

The apple of their eye was a fruit of their spirit

They’d given lives to acquire the rights to the orchard

Merely breathing was deemed eating of the moment and

Building a city of roses required appetite so apple blossom became staple diet

Welcome,

Welcome to life said the Middle Tree

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5 day Poetry Challenge – Day 1: E.O.W

I was nominated by another poet via Facebook to post a poem each day for 5 days. This poem could be freshly written or something that hadn’t been posted before. I’ve opted for faith in the poems I’ve had less contact with since they’ve been written.

Fighting in the ring of denial

Boxed in

Boxing truth

Looking for that knockout blow

Jabbing

Moving in white lies

Lines

But I can never avoid the speed of reason

The power of logic comes home to roost on my chin

If truth can set you free

Then my mind is housed in glass doomed to crack and shatter

What is the purpose of fighting truth when revelation is a redeeming knowledge served on a platter for you to add to your arsenal

Wisdom is an acquaintance of knowledge

An acquisition that will not arrive horse drawn.

Wisdom and knowledge are the bridge with railings we deploy to ensure we cross through situations safely

Without these tools we crash into trouble at breakneck speed

Just as your five fruit a day

We need these

To begin

At the end of the weak

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Tulips

tulips

They stare down from the bridge like a speed trap

Ill-fated like candles on a heat map

Two face that six deep till their eaves drop

Speak war ‘til they detox

The air they’re breeding? I need that

Photo finishes lose their gloss, so forward thinking I read back.

Embracing these ventilations with open windows

We can christen or crescendo until the wind has lost our taste

If giving is charity, does a casket rest the case?

Is time well spent when interest cools?

Does time erase? Does time even have tools?

Are unheard sentiments simply sediment.

If pretty flowers must die, are they worth your remembrance?

Will you choose to bury them?

If principles are the rule, is perception the real measurement?

Our bouquet pendulums have greater range than a peregrine

What’s your addendum?

Is it the copy of your recipe or the flavour of your beef?

Every decision we make writes our story

Is yours a magazine?

Is it live and let die or do we force some to breathe?

It seems some can’t believe that pretty flowers… must die

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Sprung (52/10)

daffodils

She handed me Daffodils
Like acid rain curating a rock face
I crumbled
My eyes like barren barrels filled with fatherly fermentation
Her smile could not smell my in sense
If posession is nine tenths of the law, then holding them I was broken
Sometimes silence is the truth unspoken
Yet when she planted those daffodils, my future exploded
I became a golden goal den
Yearning for the day, when daffodils aren’t the only ting I’m holding

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