Category Archives: Read

Dark Healer

Everybody wants a piece of her,
A smile, a glance, a word, a touch.
But in reserve she doesn’t hold that much.
An absence of darkness, transformed by her light,
This is her gift, so precious tonight.

To know her is to love her,
Because we are not all that blessed,
With truly knowing what lies in her chest.
A heart full of gold… a soul surely old?
An innocent luminance… glitters of fairy dust?

Lost on the way to finding oneself,
Pulled piece by piece by claimants of help,
But she is hers, not no-one else’s.
Try to own her and you’re surely senseless.
What are you seeking to hold?

A flickering candle in the darkest of nights,
Has a warmth and a brightness,
But it’s not to be held nor swallowed up,
It is what it is, enjoy it as such.

Don’t try to chain her,
Don’t try to blame her,
She is the light,
Holds off the night,
Eyes are so bright,
Love of my life.

Time melts away,
In the warmth of an embrace,
Epic journeys mere stepping stones,
When your hand finds it’s place
In the palm of a beautiful being.

She’s finding her way,
A new way for a new day,
Her right and her privilege.
Life’s now a game we both lust to play.

Don’t try to chain her,
Don’t try to blame her,
She is the light,
Holds off the night,
Eyes are so bright,
Lost love of my life.

Harmony

The passion and power of poetry,
Placing my pain on a page,
There it can live outside of me,
Relinquishing inner anxieties.

Thoughts ramble through the maze of mind.
Spoken out loud,
Resounding through time,
Sparking revelations
A new understanding.

Nothing is static
We are all reverberating.
Feelings are frequencies
Tuned to our biological receivers.
White noise…
The echoes of negative thoughts
On the emergency broadcast system.

Harmony is homeostasis in our hearts.

Take me back to Turimetta

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Oh take me back to Turimetta
To the sanctuary of sea and stone.
Let’s play together at Turimetta,
Unlock those secrets yet unknown.

Take me back to Turimetta
To marvel at the moon and stars.
Let’s return again to Turimetta
For a hot stone massage.

I miss our time at Turimetta
In sunshine, rain or stormy weather.
When troubles fade away
And the song of life fills our day.
As we play.

So take me back to Turimetta
To gaze at the rocks of ambiguity.
Let’s go together to Turimetta,
We’ll drift on down the magic river out to sea.

We forget the future at Turimetta,
Where imagination roams free.
The moment is ours to keep forever,
Remember that day at Turimetta?

Oh take me back to Turimetta
To that sanctuary of sea and stone.
Let’s bathe together at Turimetta
And feel the pure love between us show.
As we grow.

Now I Know

I dropped the penny
And I broke the glass,
I guess I never really listened in class.
I spent my time breaking all the rules,
I didn’t want it to come true,
I didn’t want to be just like you.

I spent my time breaking all the rules,
I was not a fool, I was just afraid.
But no one knew, they could not see me,
I was not OK,
I couldn’t take the madness of it all,
I was scared to fall.

***********************************************

Confusion and chaos was the name of the game,
I didn’t want to be just the same.
I slowed it down, I hurried up,
It was not enough.
I tried to be something outside of me,
I didn’t know, it wasn’t clear,
I had the fear.

Just to be,
It was not enough,
Over time,
The conditioning had changed my mind.
I forgot what it was all about,
This crazy world had me turned inside out.

I thought if I could just meet a sage,
Who could teach me how to save me from myself.
If I could change, my maze-like mind, negative rhymes,
Everything feeling so out of time.

So I slowed it down,
I took a step back,
I slowly learned how to take a look
At the craziness of my world,
There was a way that I could have it all.

To save myself, from myself,
Life wasn’t really the mess I thought it was.
All I had to do was look inside.
Realise, I am my Child.

I can Feel,
I am anew.
I can Feel,
And that is True.
I can Feel,
It is all I need.
I can Feel,
I know the Truth.

The Earth Is A Pod

The Earth is a pod
And we are its pea-ple,
Like grains of sand
In a vast desert land.
Different colours, shapes and sizes
Each one unique in quality and character.

When aligned hand in hand
A grander scene transpires,
Shifting and flowing on a fair wind,
Alight under stars, the moon and our kind sun.
Mere specks in a universe of possibility
On a journey towards an oasis of Truth.

Me and You

I like you.
You are my best friend.
We’ve known each other since time began.

No-one knows
What we’ve been through,
You are Me
And I am You.

When the darkness calls
And the light fades,
Don’t you fret dear
It’ll be OK.

Take my hand,
Let’s walk tall together,
On sunny days
Or in stormy weather.

When the darkness calls
And the light fades,
Don’t you fret dear
It’ll be OK.

No-one knows
What we’ve been through,
You are Me
And I am You.

You are Me
And I am You…

Re-Mind

If difficulty reigns
In quieting the brain,
Keep standing back
Until clarity is gained.
Many miles I may travel
In stepping back past the muddle,
Until laughter is felt and heard within.

The Love That Time Forgot

Under the twisted, knot-riddled arms of this hundred year old cypress, two young lovers used to convene everyday for lunch, a habitual pastime that lasted about ten years. During this glorious decade they became as much a part of life in the park as the great tree itself. They were in tune with the rhythm of that small, square oasis of green, and when they sat together on the shiny wood panelled bench, enjoying cool relief in the shade from the dazzling sub-tropical sun, it was as if the encroaching noise and hubbub from the undulating streets of Lisbon evaporated. Príncipe Real became their personal garden of Eden where everything was just as it should be.

Ancient Cypress at Principe Real

While Maria knitted blankets and weaved garments for long, hot hours in the co-op at the bottom of the hill, José worked as a pastry chef at a small café on the corner by the park, and each morning he would prepare something new and enticing for their lunch date. José was a gifted baker to say the least, but the food he prepared for Maria was created with an unparalleled level of passion that brought his talent to new heights.

A new masterpiece was conceived at the dawn of each new day – such as folded petals of pastry formed into a natural looking rose as delicate as Maria’s elegant hands, or a saucy filling of candied berries that oozed with gloss once the crisp shell was broken – so many marvels, never to be repeated, a unique art inspired wholly by and dedicated to his one true love and muse, Maria.

On the other hand, Maria thought of her work as a bore, a neverending repetition of the same stitches, the same patterns and the same styles, year in, year out, effortlessly dictated by tradition, something the old donas at the co-op just couldn’t seem to see beyond. She envied the free expression that José could enjoy from his work.

“But Maria”, he would remind, “I still have to bake ten dozen of each and every pastry in the shop, piles and piles of croissants and custard tarts, before I can even practice making something new, which I can only do for you”.

Maria wouldn’t feed his foolishness though, for she too loved him with every fibre of her being, even if he were to become deaf and mute and couldn’t manage to break an egg let alone concoct some intricate work of culinary art. She loved his person, not his performance. “You shouldn’t do it just for me José, you must bake for yourself, simply because it’s your passion”.

In José’s mind though, Maria was the singular catalyst of his artistic expression and as his love for her grew and grew, so did the ferocity with which he applied himself to his baking, expecting more and more from himself until his customers became quite astounded at his unrivalled workmanship, doubtful that one man could produce so much in just a few short hours.

But José had a magic secret that nobody knew, a special talent he had discovered only when he first fell in love with Maria. In a small kitchen at the back of the pastelaria where he worked, he suddenly found that he was able to slow down time, simply by wishing it so, and once he had finished his work in time for the café to open, he could easily whip up a compact triage of sponge cakes, arranged in three tiers and topped with a different flavoured cream and an assortment of exotic fruit, in a matter of mere seconds.

It wasn’t until Maria and José’s ten year anniversary, when they were to meet, as they usually did, under that old cypress at Príncipe Real Garden that time actually ceased to exist for José, but on this occasion without the effect of his mysterious mental influence.

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The Tale of Lost Canyon

There once was a town high up in the mountains and in it lived a thousand people. The people were decent, hard-working folk who lived entirely by the clock, ever watchful and mindful of what they should be doing at certain hours of the day in accordance with the town’s strict customs. One of these prescribed that children, teenagers and even young adults were to be seen and heard at all times. This was to safeguard against them venturing up the treacherous peaks surrounding Lost Canyon, which was strictly prohibited because everyone who had done so vanished when they reached the other side, never to be seen or heard from again.

Lost Canyon terrified the locals. Mothers, fathers and grandparents in particular were constantly filled with dread, and each had their own negative expectations and wild imaginings of what terrors might await their children, who were very curious to know the truth about it all.

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The Weaving Spider

Weaving, weaving all the time
This sticky web of mine.
Catching flies, catching spies
In a silky world of fragile wires.
Always without remorse
From an inexplicable source.

Like a flame that never flickers,
Unseen, unheard, unspoken.
Or a synchronous show that softly whispers,
“Spidey, come find ME”.

Weaving, weaving all the links
To this broken web of mine.
Spinning away time, an intuitive rhyme
Unlearned, yet all-knowing.
Always without remorse
For the unsullied cause.