Songs (mostly) without music
POEMS '93, '96, '97, '98, '99, '02
( jim eccleston )
"There's less in this than meets the eye." she said, then laid her down to die
Upon the cold stone marble floors that poured from underneath those doors
Of polished ebonies and teaks that ancient carpenters for weeks
And months, and maybe even years, had rubbed and polished, with their tears
To mirror finish, brightly shining, suns reflected 'pon the lining
Of soft silk and satin drapes with filigrees, and ancient shapes,
Whose shadows cast themselves up far to ceilings' alabastered bar,
All plastered the most ornate, while, with golden leaf applied in style
To grapes and cherubs - Oh, so real! You'd almost hear their little squeal
Of pleasure when they finally knew this silly poem was for you!
Ah, les bons vieux temps ou nous �tions si malheureux!
Fibre-glass angels in disguise, dusty feathers, sanded thighs,
Hid behind an age-old font, ( of radical T.L.C. in want )
Found an angel of their own, complete with beard and quite full-grown
Who saw their needs immediately. " I'll see what I can do, " said he.
Much vigorous rubbing, all by hand, combined with wiping clear, showed grand
Improvement in their holy stature, by this large gent of gentle nature.
He cloaked them next in bronze and gold with highlights you could see blindfold
Their silken raiment, once dull white, now full illuminates the night.
They were returned, I understand, as choristers practiced on the stand
When many a voice short sounded higher, as if part of a greater choir.
How such great oaks from acorns grow is what most people wish to know
The trick is that we all have power with love our fellow man to shower.
Any BodyCan Discover Empty Futures,Golden Highs.
I JustKnow Love Means No Others, Posits Questions, Renders Sighs.
Trenchant UnderstandingVies
With XmasYielding Zeniths.
Birthdays are always such a bore. Is it because that one year more
Now brings us closer to our maker? Repent, perhaps become a Quaker?
Or is it that our mirror shows bright reds now merely dusky rose?
Reflections are become much dimmer, I'm sure I used to be much thinner.
We scarce note times soft subtle changes but those we do note, self deranges
And heads us into depths, despair. Just what has happened to my hair?
It used to be so thick and bright, now shows up on my brush at night
In quantities that are disturbing. There has to be a way of curbing
Headlong descent through times' tunnel. Until that happens I hope fun'll
Fill your life a goodly span. Have a great day. Happy Birthday, Anne.
I find I have no thoughts today. Have ones I had been boxed away?
Each one assigned a different part, this one for work, that one for heart?
A large one here for deep, deep feeling, a tiny one for thoughts appealing?
( I'd dare not store a lot of those in case they leaked onto my clothes!)
It certain would make life much easier, though deep inside I'd feel much queasier
Sensing in gut that it's not right to box emotions out of sight.
It seems to do the trick for some, for me I fear I'd needs be numb.
They haven't found box strong enough to store, of heart and soul, my stuff.
So I'll continue on my way and wonder what remains in day
For lessons to me to be taught. My goodness! Well now! There's a thought.
They're on the windows, on the floors, they're even on the kitchen doors.
They're on the ceilings, on the walls they're even in the entrance halls.
They're in the bathroom, in the tub, they're on my bike ( they're in the hub! )
They're in my closet and my drawers, ( the wooden ones - close up your jaws! )
They're on my bed, they're in the den, I thought we'd cleaned them up - but then:
They're in my shoes, they're in my socks, I've even found them in a box.
They're on the carpet, on my dress, they're making me ( I must confess )
A nervous ninny needing hugs and all because I DON'T LIKE BUGS!!!
( Holly's Poem! )
Cracks
Sometimes we wonder, as we build and gild our edifice
And shade each tiny layer's laquered line,
If all our cares and wonderments and ornaments and gloss
Will strengthen it to stand the tests of time.
It matters not our qualities, or whence we seize our dreams
As life goes rolling by with both eyes closed
And in her wondrous way our hopes and wishes blows away
To teach yet one more lesson, self-imposed.
At least there are no builders fees, as all the work's our own
And we, and we alone, must bear the cost.
We must not hope for others who might underwrite our dreams
Consider such investments truly lost.
Hopes, dreams and aspirations, any wishes you might have
Are subject all to lifes capricious ways.
Learn to avoid attachments is the best advice I have
If you would search for peace in all your days.
Has the lioness been bearded in her den, he dared to ask,
Have we brought into the open yet this unaccomplished task?
Is the skeleton still hiding in the closet as it should,
Is the needle in the haystack, are the trees still in the wood?
Is the worm still in the apple, are you merrier if more,
Are the birds still in the bushes and the wolf yet at the door?
Is the blot still on the landscape, are you bloody but unbowed,
Were you born under a lucky star, and stand out in a crowd?
Is the ice as yet unbroken, or wait you with baited breath,
Is grist now all inside the mill, are you at doors of Death?
Is butterfly broken on the wheel, are candles both ends burned,
And is the pig still in the poke, and was the lesson learned?
Are the flies still in the ointment and the froth still on the beer,
Are the bees still in your bonnet and the fleas inside your ear?
Did you bite off more than chewable, did you blindly lead the blind,
Did you unscrew the unscrewable, all your P's and Q's true mind?
Did you bless your lucky star last night, build castles in the air,
See sights for sore eyes, realize in love and war all's fair?
Is the dog still in the manger, are the goats up on the crag,
Is there milk inside the coconut, is cat still in the bag?
Did you buckle up, put on your pads to face that final inning,
Become the mistress of your fate, anticipate spurs winning?
Did you on waters cast your bread, put cart before the horse,
Remove those coals heaped on your head, a better way endorse?
Start with clean sheets, cock of the walk, not at the end of tether,
Cool, calm, collected is your cry, far bigger storms to weather?
You might have guessed by now, I feel that cliches, just like crises,
Are always in your life; deal with 'em. Give no compromises.
I bear no gifts of chocolate rare, no sweet orchids exotic.
No jewels or gold, rare paintings old, just love plain and erotic.
I have no castles hid in Spain, no gold mines in the tropics,
But have a soul, integral, whole, and all a hearts sweet topics.
I seek no items in return for what I have and proffer,
The more I give the more I get, I find, from such an offer.
To such degree I have, I see, a never-empty coffer
Though there are those, I do suppose, whom you could call a scoffer.
I'm glad to say, hip-hip-hooray, that causes me no grief,
For all the things I value in my life hold strong belief.
While those who choose to disbelieve will seldom find relief
From what in life sore troubles them and makes their joy so brief.
The thing with love I fear you'll find, the more away you give
That tenfold is it soon returned to fill the life you live.
While those who try to keep it back, or sift out with a sieve
Discover only in their loneliness - they can't forgive.
So walk the walk, not talk the talk. Its action demonstrates
That though love may be blind you'll find it much elucidates.
Avoid the void externally, let heart and soul dictate
The rightness of your being, then each moment celebrate.
In those days, I would thee know in every way that there was there, from first.
Of early summers golden days whose scents so deep, far in a daze
Would place me. Seeming to stretch time
Out for ever, onward into sunglow
With larks high in their unseen heavens,
Singing with their small hearts fit to burst
Such incandescent joy as was us all around.
In all ways, in those days.
In those days, deep in clover, pollens constant shower
In sunbeams everywhere each hour
More seemed like an enchanted sun with endless days into each other run
And foxgloves white and green and purple
Picked for popping. Never stopping
Wondering why this well of endless treasure
Ne'er ran dry. At least as I recall through many a fulsome summer.
In all ways, in those days.
In those days, what would I not have given to know you then,
As I thee know now.
Knowing what I know, inside times travelling machine I'd flow
Through space and peoples feelings,
Touching hearts and whispering
Never give up hope!
Sell not your dreams cheaply!
In all ways, in those days.
In those days, also today, it seems,
My love's traded gold for one my dreams.
Not a true giving, just the wearing, so she can be fully sharing
Of our breath and common feeling.
Compounded twill send us reeling
Back to summers yesterday,
Where all of our true hearts doth play.
In all ways, in these days.
I never ever planned to join the circus.
A clown for me I'd never dreamed as part.
But now in baggy pants, with red wig for second glance,
I find I'm walking highwire through your heart.
I'd rather far I were a lion tamer.
With whip and stool to keep the beasts apart,
But now with giant shoes, and scarce a talent to amuse,
I find I'm walking highwire through your heart.
As lithe equestrian I might have fancied,
Silk open shirt, on horseback, brash braggart,
Holding back a stallion wild to the gasps of a small child
I find I'm walking highwire through your heart.
One day soon they're going to train me for the highbar
With mid-air twists so totally apart
Where I must trust my oppo' not to miss and let me droppo.
I find I'm walking highwire through your heart.
Today the human cannon ball exploded,
In clouds of smoke I watched him swift depart.
Then what is even odder - volunteered as cannon fodder
I find I'm walking highwire through your heart.
If that Ring Masters job should ever open,
That bulwark of the circus artists art.
I'll be first in the queue, dreaming dreamy dreams of you.
I find I'm walking highwire through your heart.
I'm Back - Sliding down the mountain
In younger years, when fears, to me, were scarce acknowledged real
Mohammed sent his worst, and I attacked them with such zeal.
Proclaiming far and wide just how I'd beat the beaten path
But now, foolish old fart I am, who constant earns your wrath.
I recall springs, and recollect tough trails and tighter corners,
When one false step could mean my death and that I'd need my mourners.
Today somehow, I don't know why, the paths aren't so receptive,
The trails I knew were constant, these uncharted are deceptive.
In spite of of that, I must confess, from here the view's unique.
Unviewable from elsewhere, quite regardless ones' physique.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as some bright oaf once offered
Not taking loss, or chance thereof, into accounting proffered.
'Tis true, such view, like Kubla Khans, fast vanishes in mist,
Faint memories of fair Princess, who I swear I had kissed.
Exotic songs from birds in flight all vanish in a second
As place I full my step down upon where I had not reckoned.
It only takes a moment, and your heart skips several beats
Your head's severely battered as the world around it beats.
When you come to from your state of shock, you bind up breaks with lath
Then try to get back back where you were by a much safer path.
It seems to take forever as you force your weary bones
In ruts put there by others, scattered as if by cyclones.
You swear there'll never be a next time for this foolishness
And then your heart pulls back a part of that magic Princess.
I guess if cursed you have to be, there's ways far worse to go.
I could have been with Nanook mushing madly through the snow,
Or been impaled like Moby Dick out sounding in the sound
But here I am with much to give thanks for, and homeward bound.
I need to pay attention more if bleeding I'd like less .
The facts solicit when I've doubts, imagine not, or guess.
Who knows? In time, could be sublime, another even made for.
A final ending, blending, that's devoutly to be prayed for.
You remind me of somebody, a someone I've never met,
And of places that aren't even on the map.
You make me think of things that haven't been invented yet
And all because you may my heart entrap.
I ponder wonders of the heart, the mind, the soul, the flesh,
And life's glue holding all these things together.
Singing songs that linger longer, thinking themes that are much stronger,
Overtones of things to come, not 'Stormy Weather'.
Will I know you when I see you, as conditioned as we are,
Could I pass you on the street, not realize?
Could one swift glance from a stranger put my status quo in danger,
Conjure images that promise Paradise?
Tell me please what are the signs to be interpreted and read,
Is the message there enciphered or in plain text?
Could I hope for sweet and lightness in a summer without end,
Or will't be a brief respite with yet more rain next?
I feel it's time to finish with conjecture and continue.
Just sense that tigress, grab her by the tail.
Hope she won't bite too severely, love to wrestle, not to kill.
Feel that sense of rightness, and the Tao, prevail.
As know we all, from past, what we put out is what's returned.
To failure is doomed any futures forecast.
So if it's in the cards, or in the leaves or hexagrams
Enjoy the sunshine, but remember o'ercast.
How brave thou art, sweet pint-sized Leila, now you're flying solo.
Might I assume the trios' trap was 'Contendere Nolo'?
Welcome, from those of us who sail, alone, uncharted waters.
We wish you well in kayaks' shell, in finding life supporters.
So pack your bag with classic tales and cheap pulp fiction too,
Crank up the volume on your Bach, or jazz lowdown and blue.
Seek out those good times with the one that I feel sure you'll find.
Remember planets orbit sun, but forms orbit the mind.
( Call 2 )
Ah, sweet Leila, are you run down yet, all wound up as you were?
Who is it that winds up your key, or what 'tis makes you whirr?
If choose you had to living well, oft laughing, or much love.
Which one of these activities would your list place above?
What secret passions do you harbour for that deep blue sea?
Are Freudian interpretations there? - Confide in me!
As former suitor to D'Artagnanette and both her friends
I feel some explanations due, in terms of dividends.
I'm sorry you're the one I've chosen to pay off these debts,
But you've the nicest sounding voice. Please accept my regrets.
Which bridge to cross, which bridge to burn, at fork in road which way to turn?
Someone said from time you're born life's licking honey off a thorn.
For most part sweet, and good, and fine, and often shows wisdom divine.
But also when expected least it fills your lap with ugly feast
That's bitter, sour, and in poor taste. The trick is don't dismiss in haste,
But view all reasons presence there. Learn lessons all life has to share.
Embrace and hold it, hug it tight, give thanks for its' illumined light.
But you're the teacher, you decide what's wisdom and stays on for ride.
There's no one else can journey for us, be you a Leo, or a Taurus.
Life is adventure or it's nought, security should not be sought
In preference to loves and labours. Seek not for favour, enjoy flavours.
Search out refinement not a fashion, let love for life become your passion.
Find elegance, not luxury. Respectable - No, but be worthy.
Think quietly, talking gently's part, and list to all with open heart.
All this, and bravely, and be frank, be cheerful, and your life you'll thank.
If Viz.
The abbreviation is
Of Videlicet.
One would suppose
Liz
would metamorphose
Into Lidelicet.
Be that as it may
( And though such supposition might elicit
Strange thoughts of my wide mental deficit
About such things I will not be explicit
It is not something that I wish solicit. )
Anyway
Gee Whiz!
Or Whidelicet!
It's none of my Biz.
Or Bidelicet.
Liz.
Did I tell you how I want to hold you always,
Feel your warm and slender body close to mine?
Tell you just how much it means
When you let me share your dreams
And to know that loving you is just divine?
Did you know how much it means for me to know you,
Or to hear your voice and sometimes share your fear?
Could you guess how much I owe you
Or how much I plan to show you?
If you do, you know how much I hold you dear.
Do you know how much I miss you when you're absent,
Or the joy that fills my heart when you return?
Then you know I'll always be
Your sole Constant company
While I'm waiting for your calls, for which I yearn!
Sing me a song so the love in it lingers
Long after the singers are far, far away.
Hum me a tune that my children can croon
From the first blush of dawn till the set of the day.
Weave out your lyrics in cambrics and satins
For Anglos and Latins to soothe the hurt heart.
Structure the phrases to capture the phases
Of old moons and new moons and lovers apart.
Murmur your melodies soft in the night times
Finding the right times to stir up your soul.
Inside your head hear that incessant thread
Of the magic of music that makes us all whole.
Dance me a dance where the soul becomes fluid,
A luminous liquid as right as the light.
Dancers all feeling their force in divinity
Moving infinity, springing delight.
Offer your motion to life's flowing ocean
Of body's sweet knowing of coming and gone.
Ebbings and flowings of entries and leavings
The turnings and twistings all second to none.
Throw out your powers in bodily showers
Of movement for hours with lightness of soul.
Mending the madness of daily ungladness
With manifest motion that makes us all whole
Tell me those tales where the author meanders
Teaching me wonders and making me grow.
Plots till I'm crazy, my mind growing hazy,
Learning those lessons we all need to know.
Spin me a spell I can read in a dell,
Surrounded by flowers enchantingly blessed.
Strengthen my soul with a spellbinding role,
Give me chapter and verse, the odd curse, then I'll rest.
Paint pictures verbal, evoking scents herbal
And fragrances floral from legends cajole.
Steer me to stairways of your ways and their ways
Increasing the knowledge that makes us all whole.
For soulmates needing flowers we first needs must plant the seed,
And for this, the spring of a new year's a real good time indeed.
First all old growth is mulched down fine to make a fresh new base,
With nothing left out - as we wish for garden with true grace.
We next decide the nature of this dual floral child,
Be roses there or daisies, all high cultured plants or wild?
Are we planting then for fragrance or the colours or the fruit?
Hapaxanthics are not welcome, we'll perennials recruit.
Is plot hardy, or needs sunshine, rain and plenty T.L.C.
Or is it self-sufficient as applies to me and thee?
If much care is thereon needed do our hearts grow with the task?
Is this done from our true nature or is there a need to ask?
How much caring then is too much, and just how much is too little?
If the growth is far too rapid do we cut it back or whittle?
Would it grow, if unattended, in new ways that are attractive,
Sprouting many wondrous hybrids ? If cloned please not radioactive!
Would fruits thereon soon nourish all, and hunger satisfy,
And colours range found sure to please our somewhat jaundiced eye,
And odours, tastes, aromas, scents around us all carouse?
Play on our mutual senses 'til our selves were felt to rouse?
As always, seems the plot to show, in matters of the heart
It's tragically easy such sweet garden plots to start.
What is not quite so well observed and truly understood
Is in endeavours such as these we're all babes in the wood.
Ou sont les nostalgies d'antan
I'm incurably romantic, more than just a jot depressed
As the thought came to me yesterday that old songs are the best.
They just don't write them anymore the way they used to do
When men were men and women, women - in the hitherto.
We've lost already 'gay', I fear. I shudder for the next
Poor unprotected adjective debased with no pretext.
I don't object to equal opportunities for ladies,
But where's a Galahad look for work these days, except in Hades.
I know just what you're thinking, that I'm quite behind the times
And songs today need no such themes, and furthermore no rhymes.
Well, ponder on this, long and strong and give me your conclusions.
Do you really think that life's much fun without those sweet illusions?
How better to express your heartfelt feelings for another
Than with a song that does no wrong but sad emotions smother.
That lifts you up and quick recalls with strains rich and melodic
Those times in life so sweet and soft, and briefly episodic.
A song for summer, even little children's lullabies.
Our souls reach out for soothing words, like aural dragon-flies,
That flit and flutter, glint and glitter, hum and hold and dart
To wash away the hurt and tears that elsewise soil the heart.
You quote me Rap, I say thank God I know the 'C' is silent
Sing me no songs of sex or scenes where all I hear is violent.
Rather, by far, sing songs of love and sweetest competition
For lovers heart and all that's part of natures true tradition.
Yes, then was then, and now is now, but that does not explain
From where in our time one will come to save songwriters reign.
Who e're 'twill be, they'll ne'er regret continuing the craft,
That Mooned with June, or sang Loves Tune, though others think they're daft.
Out there, however, are sad souls who cannot lend an ear
Or will not listen when they have the chance. Perhaps it's fear
That solid truths expressed so clear, in words so ineluctant,
Would fain convert from their wrong paths those stubborn and reluctant.
Beyond the shadows of my dreams I sense a misty hazing
As if, just only out of reach, something's truly amazing.
Deep in the forests of my mind are tiny mindland creatures
Each one a mirror of my soul with all its salient features.
Look! Over there's a mindland bear whose forte's being sweet
And look at yonder anaconda - squeeze and hugs replete.
There's even mindland insects too, all similarly endowed.
Just see that mindland butterfly, so colourful and proud.
Under that rock's a roach, the cock kind, natural survivor.
Include too fish if that's your wish, they're all a natural diver.
What a menagerie I've here, if you could feel th'emotions
Like swimming upstream in the dark through deep and murky oceans.
I guess maybe I'm waking up the light seems slightly more now
Ah yes, that's what it is indeed. I've fallen on the floor. Owww!
Whenever the past pops its' head up to haunt you
Remember it's only a ghost, nothing real.
Don't donate your days to the shadows. "Avaunt you!"
Cry out, and continue your life with full zeal.
It's easy at times to let phantoms, illusions,
And other phenomena cloud up your life.
Refuse to accept them, search out clear conclusions.
Let others know you will have none of their strife.
Dissolve all your worries in love and compassion.
Help others, walk on, burdens left on the ground.
With love, as you know, there's no limiting ration,
A feature of life that won't cease to astound.
So throw out those memories ancient and bitter
Replace them with amethyst ornaments sweet.
Your memories then will blind you with their glitter
And even for vegans that's so much more meet.
The number of the petals round a rose are known to few.
It takes consuming interest such divine things to discover.
We all have seen the image whereon lies a drop of dew
But inner beauty, and the count, are known only to lover.
What 'tis that makes such counting hard's avoiding all the thorns,
Those spikes from which the devil hangs his cloak in wee small hours
While pet' by petal you remove, while watched by unicorns
Those softened outer wrappers that, composite, make the flowers.
She loves me, not, or was it, What? How many now's the count?
Like beauty's score, or tracking time, in mind of the beholder
The values given to these velvet leaves is tantamount
To ashes from scorched fingers holding burning heart in smolder.
In dreams I met a traveller from a very ancient land:
Si bene commemini, sunt causae quinque bibendi:'
Which took me back - in vino veritas - you'll understand,
Unto the origins of such a question, dear Effendi.
The Sphinx just thinks, he never drinks, that's why he wears a smile.
He knows the rose, like flowers all, has petals in such number
( Inscrutable he's not, it's just his lot is near the Nile. )
Like counting sheep, when count's knee-deep, it makes the adder slumber.
Sweet Morpheus, I of thee beg take pity on my plight.
Pray tell me what the number is, the answer to my question.
Then softly lift me up to face the day and its new light.
Not a command, you understand, but merely a suggestion.
She's an early morning rider, in the dark, upon the bus.
Just a couple of weeks ago she joined the cast.
In the bitter mornings dawning she seemed shivered to her bones
And to tell the truth I never thought she'd last.
A brief black coat that hardly seemed enough to keep her warm,
I'd thought to offer mine, then thought again.
'Twould seem a gesture odd and strange, and somewhat out of place,
Perhaps perceived as insult, and cause pain.
She's an early morning rider, in the dark, upon the bus.
Two days later sported she a coat more fitting
And I noticed in her eyes signs both of sadness and of pride
As she placed quite close to me where I was sitting.
I had noticed that the structure of her facial bones was such
That has oft been sought by artists through the ages.
Though to tell a stranger of her beauty hardly seems to be
A way to reach one's oneness with the sages!
She's an early morning rider, in the dark, upon the bus.
When she showed up wearing glasses, I was fractured.
For there showed upon her visage now a hidden intellect
Which made me even all the more enraptured.
Ponder I the reasons, mine I know, for such an early starting,
Is the interest, or necessity the drive?
Has she children home to feed, others in her life with need?
Does she do it out of her need to survive?
She's an early morning rider, in the dark, upon the bus.
With a laugh that tinkles like a silver bell.
Eyes that watch and see, all-knowing, all-consuming,
And a heart enriched by soul that casts a spell.
Does the work she sails to satisfy the longings of her life?
Do her fellow workers all care for her plight?
Is she storing up her dreams and wishes, even aspirations
To sit and ponder in the eve's soft light?
She's an early morning rider, in the dark, upon the bus.
I don't even know her name, yet her life calls me.
Whence she comes, and where she goes, in her to's and in her fro's
That I'll probably ne'er know simply appalls me.
She's been on for two weeks now, 'So is it permanent? ' I think.
Will she travel on the old Sea Bus for ever?
As an early morning rider, in the dark, upon the bus,
Let me welcome you with these few words, Whoever.
Words are but the shadows of your actions,
All can hold the helm when sea is calm.
Manifest the truth of your transactions,
Let display emotions 'pon your arm.
When planting thorns don't look to gather roses.
Use others as you would like to be used.
A necessary evil, one supposes
When you are clear of head with heart confused.
Your inner feelings can't be shared with others.
E'en you, yourself, are scarce aware they're there.
It's only in the 'real world' that your interest does awake.
( Emotions mean you really have to care! )
In consequence, I am inconsequential
Within your life, I do not play a part.
When you have others there to entertain you
I'm missed not even slightly in your heart.
Such barren stance, with ne'er a thought to seek me
Suffices well for one with feelings lacking.
I blame you not for what you never ever had to miss
But sore am I from all this useless tacking.
Whether pain in past, or 'tied to mast' of others,
Regardless what, it's time my life doth move.
So leave you to your sterile bland behaviour,
Return to quest for who knows how to love.
Some tears are for misfortunes, some for lovers.
The road to Hell is paved with broken dreams.
The heart you break repeated scarce recovers,
Its' songs of love forever drowned by screams.
Before you cast me out you should have guessed
( From time I spent admiring your body )
I gave you all the beauty you possessed,
And all you finally hold's this sad threnody.
Outgrowth epidermal, with vascular core,
On skin of a sky high and blue.
That high flying feather so white there did soar,
I saw it and soon so saw you.
I wondered if one of Ma Carey's white hens
Was blasted too low by a jet?
Though being in summer we didn't get snow
But pinions pulled out of her pet?
Is life just a feathered thing, perched in the soul,
That sings wordless songs without end?
And are we just feathers for each wind that blows
Awaiting our turn to ascend?
Awake on the deck in a spring-like midnight
I watched all the stars go and come.
My heart filled with joy like a small little boy
Who'd understood 'pax vobiscum'.
A feather shields us from the rain that down pours,
And keeps us quite cool in the sun.
Together they let us rise into the sky
To where heavens webs are soft spun.
The sky's a place beautiful, on without end.
Don't waste your life waiting for luck,
But form all your plumes into plumage for flight.
Sail into the future awestruck.
When first in school a trip we took to our local museum,
Where were preserved all sorts of beasts so kids like us could see 'em.
I saw what had, for sure, at one time been a raging lion,
With blazing eyes and sinewy thighs whose roars were heard in Zion.
But now it hardly held its shape, it stood with glassy eyes,
A mane of moths and tattered cloths, no thing to lionize.
In wartime once, a young mans grunts of anger and displeasure,
One quiet night, when moon was bright with stars that shone forever,
Attracted us to ask with all God's beauty why he's gloomy.
He said, 'What care I if God's good, if he be not good to me?"
A question none of us could answer, despite best intentions.
What's part of him is part of us despite severe objections.
We start our lives, wide open eyes, sixth sense - imagination.
By which I mean things vivid seen, more deep, of broader station.
We never should e'er cease to feel that we're but at the start
Of learning and discovery, of science and of art.
I knew a maid of ninety-two who taught herself Italian
She had to do it in the eves, as daytime rode her stallion!
Where does creations mystery arise? Is it act rational?
In Chapter One we get our life, no rules, eems super natural
But after that it harder gets to fine define the chapters
And we discover as we travel that we're great adapters.
The things of mind, we find, are only truly learned by mind
But things of spirit need your full attention, quite a grind.
Unless you have that spirit full you're only half yourself.
With it you'll find that all you have becomes much greater wealth.
Your view of life and learning's love but signs along the way
Unto the aspirations for which all our churches pray.
'In la sua volantade e nostre pace', shows
'Thy will is our peace', of lifes' bouquet surely is the rose.
In language notice how confused is fluency with substance,
Where things well said seem naturally true.
And likewise something poorly phrased, and clumsily imparted
However right - "It's incorrect" 's the view.
Thus fluency of style masks less integrity of thought
A matter worthy of some small attention.
As is the truth that your fair minds 'description' of the fact
Is spaced quite far from that of my 'perception'.
No matter just how honest we enforce ourselves to be
We can't monitor all qualities and detail.
We tend to choose those truths which sole our cases' side support
T'would never do to use a truth that we'd fail.
The partial truth can be as bad as many a damning lie
Although most times it really never seems so.
But that's the strength that comes from loaded sentences and words
And is tarred with that same brush and only means woe.
Those adjectives are all to blame, they hook to any item
Although they have no base, in fact, to do so.
Like 'self-appointed', 'so-called', yes, and even 'domineering'
They become like a Man Fridays' Robby Crusoe.
If you would really like to know whatevers' thought 'content',
The quickest way that this you can achieve
Is take out all those adjectives, especially those emotional.
What's left, perhaps, you maybe can believe.
How long did it take you to get here? How long will it take you to leave?
Could you stay until May or is very next day
The best we could hope to achieve?
Better yet, could you stay till December or even the year after that?
As by then we'll have noted how much we're devoted.
Could even consider a cat!
Would you linger a little bit longer while I wish for a larger tomorrow?
Could you least contemplate that you might just stay late?
Or again leave me early in sorrow?
Could you spare me another five minutes? I think that my watch must have stopped.
Gol durn and confound it I thought that I'd wound it.
I guess not. I'll your time co-opt.
If we, say, put back clocks every hour? For an hour - no more and no less.
Then we'd both be here yet. We could aid and abet
Those 'spring forwards', 'fall backs' in a mess.
Could I coax you to rest till forever, or at least till the ending of time?
When the hours turn to dust and the minutes to rust.
Heaven help us. That can't be a crime!
Okay, I'll be reasonable finally. Let you head off and catch the last bus.
Bear in mind, if you miss it I won't feel remiss if
You come straight back here, me to cuss.
Most of life's Turning Points, I've found are soft and gentle, warm and round.
Other people seem to feel that theirs are sharp and made of steel.
The trick is that you realise it matters not the T.P.'s size.
The thing that matters in life's clime is, rather, where it is in time.
Like closing doors on empty stables or reading morally wise fables
Before you're wise enough to know no matter size - that All Things Go.
Exceptions are there, sure, to this. For me - the magic of your kiss;
Your bodys' warmth and hearts' sweet light that give sweet dreams throughout the night.
How so rewarding is the truth, you never ever need a sleuth
There are no understandings missed, t he inner you is always blissed.
How sweet when all are reconciled then life becomes so meek and mild,
Which ain't at all so unfulfilling I'm so fulfilled I think I'm spilling.
I now so much anticipate my future lifetime with a mate
Who's more than lover, teacher, pal. I hope that it's reciprocal.
Once upon a while, it seems, small disasters repair dreams.
Yes, life never works the way you think it will.
Lessons taught by it are painful, but the learning's really gainful.
Swings and roundabouts and Yin and Yang all fill.
You may have the greatest treasure, but it really has no measure
When you look at all the other stuff life offers.
I've been there so I should know, just a short, short while ago
Had a chance to fill my heart up from its coffers.
True reality feels so good, just like walking in a wood,
Or counting falling stars in late September.
If you think that you could bear it, find someone you love to share it.
And with them develop diamonds to remember.
If you're storing up true treasure, there's no stress and it's at leisure
For the time involved is part and parcel on't.
And when you do your accounting, see how fast the magic's mounting
You'll quick realise you'll never have to want.
So. There's them as scores by gold, daily count it in the hold
And there's those that run their tabs on love and laughter.
Well now, just between we two, I'll not mind be telling you
There's no contest - if it's contest that you're after.
I was walking along, singing winters sad song
Wondering just how long it would be,
Then You,
Out of the blue,
Stirred up the old springtime feeling in me.
Should I accept the chance of a breakfast romance?
Split the cheque, what the heck could I lose?
For You,
Totally new,
Might turn out to cure me of the blues.
How'll I know you're the one to add to my life fun,
Love and nourishment, nurture and care.
I guess I'll make the journey, suit up for the tourney ,
Waltz you at least once round the floor,
And who,
Ever knows true
Just how much more there could be at the core.
( Music by Freddie Hubboard )
With, not for, as less is more
Someone to sleep with, Someone to wake with
Someone to give with, Someone to take with
Someone to dream with, Someone to think with
Someone to swim with, Someone to sink with
Someone to push with, Someone to shove with
Someone to rush with, Someone to love with
Someone to take with, Someone to be with
Someone to make with, Someone to see with
Someone to fold with, Someone to feel with
Someone to hold with, Someone to heal with
Someone to read with, Someone to write with
Someone to feed with, Someone to fight with
Someone to hug with, Someone to tense with
Someone to shrug with, Someone to sense with
Someone to prance with, Someone to string with
Someone to dance with, Someone to sing with
Someone to laugh with, Someone to cry with
Someone to chaff with, Someone to try with
Someone to work with, Someone to play with
Someone to lurk with, Someone to stay with
Someone to care with, Someone to mate with
Someone to share with, Someone to date with
Someone to learn with, Someone to grow with
Someone to yearn with, Someone to show with
Someone to lure with, Someone to seek with
Someone to cure with, Someone to cheek with
Someone to die with, Someone to miss with
Someone to sigh with, Someone to kiss with
Heads and toes and knees and nose and smooth and soft, below, aloft,
Behind, above and tug and shove and stroke as glove, feel paths of love,
And to and fro and fast and slow and round and firm and squeeze and squirm,
And warm and dry and cool and My! and soft and moist and sounds unvoiced,
And throbs and thrills, crescendo trills and touch and taste and ease and haste,
And warm and dark and subtle, stark, and give, accept, receive, erect,
And hug and kiss and find and miss and enter, leave, and hold and heave,
And rub and wriggle, bounce and jiggle, pant and sigh, Oh me! Oh my!
And flood and fill and bud fulfill, and spend and spend, no end, no end,
And that's the lot.
See - there's the spot!
You're my fireworks display. You're my finest sunny day.
You're my dreams I thought had fallen through the crack.
You're my dreams, my hopes, my wishes. You're indeed my loaf and fishes.
You're my winning entry at the local track.
You're the bright star in my darkest night, my omnipresent beacon.
You're my guiding light down every darkened street.
You're an inspiration to me every time I think I'll weaken.
You're much more than I deserve, my angel, sweet.
You're the humour in my daily grind, the laughter in my smile.
You're the finest dish in every meal I eat.
You're the bouquet in my wine, everything that makes me fine.
You're the discrete that is in my indiscrete.
You're the song that lasts forever. You're the love I'll never sever.
You're the flowers that bloom upon a winters day.
You're the scent of garden posies, honeysuckle, and red roses
You're my sweet 'Nulli Secundus', Hip Hooray!
Shadows of eagles on the clouds, whispers heard on distant breezes,
Scent of rose, aromas flowing, growing slowly, softly teases
Memories of years to come, of future dreams, tomorrows passions,
Reaching heights of love unknown, nothing transient here, no fashions.
Rhythmic racing of the pulses, hearts athrob with natures beats.
Minds that kindle, never dwindle, and two souls with no retreats.
Building up and onward ever, on foundations sure and true
To the oneness of our twoness is sweet love the constant clue.
I feel strangeness, quite derangeness, at our intersections timing.
Almost if our past existences are just rewards, subliming
What's to come as love continues, and our amour grows sans cesse
In all ways, in all our days, in its' sweet ubiquitousness.
Just what is that quoi that je ne sais somehow, I sit and wonder?
Having found it, even now, can't contemplate our lives asunder.
More and more, we'll less and less be absent from each others lives
As our love doth bad diminish and our goodness full revives.
Above
poems are copyright �
By the author, 1993.
Prior written consent
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Web Pages created by Jim
Eccleston. All poems, BLOXWORD materials, copyright 1993 - 2002 by Jim Eccleston
Last update March 6, 2002
