the edge of the bed
where hearts bled
help proffered, even comfort given
but the stain remains.
where vanity released,
partners pleased
and even time given
but the shame remains.
where time slows
and frames per second bend and bow
relief from weights given
but the life span remains.
where sunlight stripes
where smiles touch
looks and contact given
but the pain is sustained
and hours passed, time taken
on the edge of the bed
where this was written.
©dwk
Posts Tagged ‘fate’
. . . . and even time given
Posted: November 2, 2013 in Brain Health, Health and wellness, love, People, PoemsTags: destiny, fate, Health, Love, Memory, Mindset, people, Poems, Poetry
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. . . . or the cutting adrift
Posted: March 27, 2013 in Health and wellness, love, People, Poems, relationshipsTags: Boats, destiny, fate, Health, Life, Poems, Sailing
…. here I am at 12am
using boating metaphors again
writing to another darling
that isn’t exactly plain sailing.
Boats are good for describing fate
and in my poem, writing late:
the tossing of a craft in a storm
or the cutting adrift, seconds
after we’re born !
Describe perfectly the voyage of life.
Adrift?
Waiting for some coming strife?
Winds blown by providence
with great effect for some.
Partners in life can be as sails
allowing us to pursue our trails
some big and billowing
allowing much tack or
others are for smaller ships
and sagging in ambition lack.
Becalmed, without choice
we wait for any movement
as in life we wait for improvement.
Currents can push us off set course
despite our mad paddling,
as if we could deter such force.
But, phrases such as: marooned,
castaway and high & dry
seem most used and appropriate
when there is no rope to tie.
No safe harbour, no protection
as the storm swirls and rages,
just loneliness, awaiting the next entry
in the log of destiny’s pages.
dwk ‘86
. . . . . . only chest high harvests
Posted: January 30, 2013 in Brain Health, Health and wellness, People, personalities, RamblingsTags: Assisting, Character, community, fate, Friends & Neighbours, Gregariousness, Health, Helping, interaction, Mindset, nightmare, people, Personality, relationships, Togetherness
In this field of positivity, there is a stone. It cannot be moved by the plough of knowledge, it cannot be moved by the pneumatic drill of progress, and on it letters have faded to braille or have sharply chiselled serifs. Not Buddha, Jesus or Mohammed’s words, but text only understood by who finds it. The greatest obstacle to this throne stone?
Singularity.
There are many productive meadows, in which to create, re-model, re-design the future, but there are no roads to this fertile grassland and there are no paths on the range , only chest high harvests of realisation. Drifting so far from belief, logic or reason means many miles of life walking and if we find the field the best one can do is cling to the perimeter fence.
Some do not have fences as natural clustering or gathering together helps in the climbing search. Assists in the struggles with daytime movement and fights off the nightmare with mutual security. Civility is draining away, helping without gain is not fashionable. If you are not in the now you are no one. Rather group in a dark pool of street corner limelight, in the new team, the new faith, the new circle, as natural gregariousness will persist. These will never find the field, their feet never leave, in all its irony, street stone.
Difficult enough to find in a swaying harvest, one’s stone has to be uncovered, is cracked granite, or perhaps polished marble, but heavily compressed needs no test and will always be a cornerstone. That is our conscience or the still small voice.
dwk
No 3rd verse
Posted: April 13, 2012 in Brain Health, Health and wellness, PoemsTags: destiny, fate, Poetry
The diagnosis may be for long life
or to be on a shorter tether
and the dynamic of such restraint
are circles decreasing in diameter
less range, each turn
more decrepitude each cycle.
But,
the prognosis surmises lesser strife
you could have hit me with a feather
in fact, a portrait of oil paint
raising hope for ever after.
More an image of pink pattern
less the reality of life’s pickle.
And,
A third verse? No,
misuse of sayings, simile or metaphor
should end, caught in tangled tackle.
dwk
