Saturday, January 31, 2015

Shoe Shocked



Shoe Shocked

Sun shining bright what a beautiful day,
such fine weather for a stroll by the bay.

I pick up my shoes and pick up my socks,
then gasp in horror, my eyes are in shock.

My right shoe tattered with holes on one side,
“to be seen in these? I still have my pride!”

I look to the rack at old runners there,
with heals lop sided, long rip and a tear.

Looking modest, I go shopping for shoes,
these dirty old runners will have to do.

arriving there to a frenzy and sale,
the showroom’s crowded, I cannot fail.

I’ll have to hurry and get to the racks,
before they’re all gone, they’re not charging the tax.

There’s so many shoes that I do not like,
the worst were the blues with pink and red stripes.

I found a pair but they’re not in my size,
smooth black loafers, cushioned soles n’ ties.

I searched all the racks from top to bottom,
where my size should be they haven’t got-em.

Looking down at my shoes, I’m not happy,
holes now bigger, my shoes look so crappy.

I swallowed my pride asked for assistance,
bowing head to vanity’s insistence.

The salesperson smiles and asks what I need,
I point to the rack where my shoes should be.

“I’m so sorry sir, we’re all out of stock,”
“Let me check in the back, check at the dock.”

But below stores counter are shoes in my size,
the sales clerk smiles, “You’ve got good eyes!”

I try one on, my elation discrete,
the shoe fits perfect, I feel so complete.

I pay for the shoes and make for the door,
thank the salesman and depart from the store.

Now arriving home content with my day,
I make my plans for a stroll by the bay.

I take out new loafers, gosh they look neat,
but the shoes that I bought, have two left feet.
------------------------------
2nd Edit March 17, 2020

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

If I Had Wings



If I Had Wings

Standing in my expensive flat,
of moldy walls and empty vat,
the landlord’s rent I cannot pay,
when strangers knock, I hush away.

My breathing’s short and nose is froze,
while body’s numb from head to toes,
the power’s out, extension ends,
there’s no one left, that I call friends.

Packed up and left, some have died,
while their faces fade on the slide,
and families gone, if they were that,
I’m ostracized by autocrat.

Glancing out from my window pane,
see neighbors reeling under strain,
they’re gathered round a barrel fire,
with faces blank and looking dire.

The town decays as sorrows go,
all unemployed long time ago,
we share the strife the banks have brought,
the trades we knew are now untaught.

Yet fluttering wings catch my eyes,
as sullen thoughts divert to skies,
where starling murmurs grace the air,
in sync their flight without a care.

So lucky are the birds I see,
to and FRO they fly as they please,
as natures thrill, they chase the clouds,
above despondent saddened crowds.

Content and happy, birds do seem,
now huddled around chimney’s beam,
no taxes, rent or bills to pay,
they’re free to roam the Earth today.

Yet here inside my thoughts go blank,
the birds don’t seem to need a bank,
they can fly away and be free,
if only I had wings on me.
------------------------------

About this Poem: “If I Had Wings” is about the realities of economic hardship that more and more people are experiencing today.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

A Sage in Song and Silence



A Sage in Song and Silence

The summer skies were doleful,
on morning walk today,
the breeze was brisk and biting,
with clouds all made of clay.

Not all was sad and gloomy,
as rays of light crept through,
its warmth gave me some comfort,
against the greyish hue.

I walk to bring reflection,
convention fills my needs,
that ponders life’s connection,
its nature and its deeds.

Glancing up across the green,
old tree was in my sight,
its presence like a beacon,
that called me to its light.

Drawn towards this ancient sage,
I quickened pace with cane,
made my way to wooden bench,
across the grassy plane.

Closing in on sanctum’s space,
melody touched my ears,
made me feel so young again,
it shed my growing years.

I searched the grounds in wonder,
to find this voice so fair.
its flow so captivating,
it danced upon the air.

And there she was under oak,
in arms a child she cuddled,
her soothing words so peaceful,
voice so very subtle.

Content for rest, I sat me down,
and listened to her sing,
in every note, every word,
enchantment she did bring.

“Come back to me little one,
come back to mother so”,
and then a coo would follow,
by her baby all a glow.

She paused for just a moment,
smiling back with her son,
such vision and such aura,
that touched them both as one.

But heavy sleep did follow,
as baby’s eyes soon closed,
mother continued singing,
as if slumber was opposed.

The tree that they were under,
seemed advanced for winters sleep,
with leaves so full of color,
and drained by something deep.

Autumn was not too distant,
as leaves began to fall,
disturbing apparition,
on ancient tree so tall.

Absorbed in graceful presence,
I saw she began to weep,
her eyes were red and swollen,
and baby fast asleep.

Breathing deep she drew the light,
from tree they were under,
as more leaves fell upon them,
I stared at her in wonder.

Newly soothing smile appeared,
that ceased the woman’s tears,
baby’s laugh emerged so bright,
appeasing mother’s fears.

And then I felt the shadow,
hovering above the tree,
a form so dark and crooked,
that reeked with malady.

Staring down with demon eyes,
its glance as cold as steel,
darkness cloaked on raven wings,
that came for souls to steal.

Shadows drank up all the light,
a chill before the storm,
sent a spike down through the tree,
its bark no longer warm.

The baby’s smile disappeared,
as demon’s eyes inflamed,
mother battled all her strength,
to save the soul it claimed.

Singing broke the shadow’s spell,
her whispers like a sage,
the demons howl grew louder,
its hearth now full of rage.

I moved myself between them,
and cursed the shadows gall,
daring beast to strike me down,
I pledged that it would fall.

I called upon the might within,
for power and connection,
to shield them both from darkness,
providing them protection.

I raised my cane to the air,
with crystal it concealed,
waves of light emerged from it,
extending like a shield.

The demon turned towards me,
its glare did pierce my heart,
and then the beast descended,
to rip my soul apart.

Light met shadow, rift appeared,
the crash unleashed a storm,
a thundering existence,
that swallowed shadows form.

Just as quick, the sun then shone,
the air was warm and still,
and sagely oak that clung to life,
the tree no longer ill.

I moved towards the woman,
her strength and face were bare,
but underneath the blanket, 
a waiting smile was there.
 ----------------------
Edited: Apr 23rd, 2021

Friday, January 23, 2015

One Heart One Soul


A Poem about Soul Mates.

One Heart One Soul

Made before the break of dawn, one soul is split apart,
but never fully separate, is the rhythm of the heart.

Born in different places, are these cast away spirit twins,
as distance captures ages, their loneliness builds within,

Searching for each other, the missing part of them,
heartbeats ever glowing, will search until the end.

Empathy flow directed, weaving thoughts now caught together,
pulling each other closer, distance wanes by unseen tether.

Two lonely souls searching, refusing to be alone,
destiny plays its part, as they make their way home.

First meeting is recognition, two souls who seek each other,
empathic beings now bonded, and dedicated to one another.

Souls re-merge forthwith, embraced by timeless light,
come to rest a moment, before the day is night.

Long have they journeyed, and long have they to go,
for forever is the mystery, of two empathic souls.

Discussion never questioned, together they are one,
bound to passions guiding them, never to be shunned.

From looks an understanding, conversations without a word,
thoughts agreed in whispers, never by others heard.

Reflections in the water, pooled in mirrored eyes,
unbreakable connection, that paints their sunlit skies.

Rest now my spirit’s flower, rest before the night,
on tomorrow’s new horizon, our wings they do take flight.


Sunday, January 18, 2015

The Spiral of life


A Poem that expresses life

The Spiral of life

Life is truly a budding flower,
from moments first form,
to blossom and bloom,
retreating only once,
to wither and bow graciously,
returning to, from which it came.

Time repeats a garden of flowers,
in meadows, a symphony.
They dance with sun and moonlit skies,
and crest beneath the stars,
for the spiral repeats in everything

Life is truly a baby born,
from moments taken by eyes engaged,
to blossom and bloom,
retreating, only once,
to grow old and bow graciously,
returning to, from which it came.

Time repeats the budding soul,
in family trees, a symphony.
They dance with sun and moonlit skies,
and crest beneath the stars,
for the spiral repeats in everything…


Thursday, January 15, 2015

The Minstrel



The Minstrel

Nestled close to Ironwood forest,
illuminated by candle light,
the Puffin Inn was warm but dreary,
on the coldest and darkest of nights.

Howling winds put a nip in the air,
hearth fires from the Inn could be seen,
while the snows of the north were blowing,
the wendigo played in between.

Suddenly then, at the tavern door,
a dark shadow came into the light,
his winter cloths spoke of his lore,
as he requested a room for the night.

The stranger drew all eyes attention,
as they followed him across the room,
he made for the furthest most table,
away from the murmuring gloom.

With sobering Calm and Caburus smile,
the bard threw off his lute and cloak,
the candle flickered at his table,
as he motioned for drink and smoke.

He sat down there on a wooden stool,
a tobacco pipe in his left hand,
the maid approached with jug of ale,
crop of leaf from a box on the stand.

“Will you sing us some of your tales,
and tell us of your travel’s good sir,
we’ll gladly pay for all of your time,
and the food is whatever preferred.”

The Minstrel looked up, then smiled back,
through the smoke and embers of his pipe,
he then swung his lute across his chest,
and gave the old frets a wipe.

Silver coins appeared in front of him,
as townsfolk gathered at his table,
for tonight they’d hear a few stories,
a little news if he was able.

He put the coins in a leather pouch,
nodded and began strumming a tune,
a hush was heard, the Inn fell quiet,
save his lute in an attentive room.

“Have you ever heard, the tyrant king,
the tax collector of lower land?
the famine, the food, the missing coins,
and their punishment for sleight of hand?”

The excitement built around the room,
as the bard described the ancient king,
his words flowed true and rhythmically,
and with a smile, he began to sing.

“A town rebellion was in the air,
from the heavy burden on them all,
when the people rose, and spoke as one,
their sly king and guard did fall.”

“For who could claim to be so thoughtless,
of the domination one does hold,
and you must be ever attentive,
to those you entrusted with your gold.”

The tavern burst out in merriment,
very happy with the traveler’s song,
their faces brimming acknowledgement,
all agreeing that the king was wrong.

Of news and runes of fallen empires,
wild songs of laughter unfold,
he played well into the early hours,
until all of his songs were retold.

For five long nights, he stayed at the Inn,
but now it was time to go,
he packed up his things, gathered his gifts,
and slung his fine lute in tow.

“I’m much obliged for your service sir,
with smiling nod, the innkeeper said,
they were the best nights we’ve ever had,
there’ll be no charge for the room and bed.”

The Minstrel smiled and nodded his head,
tipped his hat in reply to his host,
he then made his way outside the Inn,
where the wind swept away with his ghost.
-------------------------------------------

*Notes:

Caburus (Gaius Valerius Caburus) was the leader of the “Helvii” who were a small Celtic polity west of the Rhône river on the northern border of Gallia Narbonensis.

The Wendigo is a mythological creature or evil spirit which originates from the folklore of First Nations based in and around the East Coast forests of Canada.

The Minstrel (Bard) in this poem is “Wisakedjak” (Wee-sa-ked-jak) a Native American Spirit who is usually portrayed as a staunch friend of humankind, and never has a dangerous or destructive being.

Also: The Minstrel was a medieval musician who traveled across Europe performing story filled songs and tales that often brought news from distant places. People of the town would gather at an Inn where the Minstrel stayed and would take care of his stay in exchange for his craft. In the days before the printing press, they would often relay news from parts of the world that they traveled, and of course it was to the enthusiasm of many an ear…

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

You Have Awakened


 You Have Awakened

If one is truly able to awaken from the illusions of their modern day captivity, they will automatically see both the beauty and the ugliness of the World and will choose to live out the rest of their time here on this planet in spiritual harmony before travelling onto the next realm of consciousness.

 

Friday, January 9, 2015

The Empires Shadow




The Empires Shadow

Imperial Empires of heinous renown,
all twisted greedy, with larcenous crown,
France, and Britain, and the USA too,
supremacist banks controlled by the few.

So, who does profit, and what does linger,
while gold disappears with middle finger,
open the windows, and pull back the screens,
let us all see who makes up these memes.

The banks in control, they hold all the thrones,
divide the world up in tractable zones,
while histories accountants scribble in books,
to blot out the page and hide all the crooks.

They’ve planned it all through elaborate schemes,
governments created, fascist regimes,
all in place right down to your minister,
the deeper you look the more sinister.

Research for yourself, don’t trust in the news,
every topic, has been twisted and skewed,
truth you’ll discover when taking the lead,
the more you research, and more that you read.

The answers are there, in front of your face,
follow the money, to pickup their trace,
they’ll put you in jail if you pursue,
those you can’t criticize...leaves you a clue.
-------------------------------------------
The Activist Poet
2nd Edit Mar 05th, 2021



Thursday, January 8, 2015

Foundations Cracked and Broken



Foundations Cracked and Broken

When the trees bleed, and logic is wrath,
be wary of the crooked path,
feel the intent, the signs will linger,
death comes from the pointed finger.

Established shadows behind closed doors,
plan false flags to deceive the poor,
raging political wind up toys,
talking nonsense, truth destroyed.

Cartel medias capture the mind,
schools of thought for the blind,
twisted stories paint the lies,
hidden agendas in disguise.

A testament to Foundations Cracked and Broken,
your authority figures have all spoken,
lead not in their temptation,
but seek in truth for your salvation.
-------------

When civilization and the way of life depend on a system of exponential growth that destroys the community, environment, human rights, and its people; when poverty, division and corruption are legislated into law by iron fisted corrupt lawmakers bent on filling their pockets with corporate bribes to usher in wars of aggression while claiming God is on their side, then we are part of a civilization built on foundations cracked and broken and doomed to die.

Friday, January 2, 2015

In the Calm Before the Storm



In the Calm Before the Storm

Conscious light absorbs the dawn,
releasing premonitions,
destiny, and what’s to come,
to help fulfill our missions.

Thoughts diverge as truth descends,
the negatives crash and fade,
then turn to ash in the dark,
as answers are conveyed.

Ready yourself in spirit,
prepare to strengthen your mind,
thunder will test your armor,
in the battle you will find.

Silence is the air we breathe,
in the peace before the storm,
awakens spirit pure of root,
to rise and take on form.
-------------------------
Edit Date 20240208

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