Posts Tagged ‘fate’


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


…. 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.

Phoenix1

dwk ‘86


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, Poems
Tags: , ,

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