Indignant in her confidence
she is a crutch for many,
but now time to drop the penny.
That there are two ends to a rope,
in all her strengthened binding,
the power to haul sails aloft
where life’s canvas can only
be seen in her, as steady.
As she goes, now needs secure knots,
a chain splice might be the tight.
http://www.animatedknots.com/chainsplice/index.php?
dwk
I must have said the words a hundred times that night
close to mother’s ear , in hushed voice with shushes,
‘sleep mam, sleep,
try to find your sleep’.
to an ear that had heard my first ever cry,
and the first sounds uttered by three others.
A shell that had heard the lap or crash of many sea tides.
pinned back for orders in service as a Wren.
A vessel generously lent, often bent,
but thrilled by a husband’s laughter.
An organ that balanced her true singing voice
given in celebratory song for her belief,
that absorbed a bible and Salvationist’s songbook.
Open to aid all others, never deaf to need
this was now the phone for my repeating
‘mam,
try to find your sleep’.
Living in lies by the railway line
Pushing the hair from my eyes
Elvis is English and climbs the hills
Can’t tell the bullshit from the liesScreaming along in South London
Vicious but ready to learn
Sometimes I fear that the whole world is queer
Sometimes but always in vainSo I’ll wait until we’re sane
Wait until we’re blessed and all the same
Full of blood, loving life and all it’s got to give
Englishmen going insaneDown on my knees in Suburbia
Down on myself in every wayWith great expectations I change all my clothes
Mustn’t grumble at silver and gold
Screaming above Central London
Never bored, so I’ll never get oldSo I’ll wait until we’re sane
Wait until we’re blessed and all the same
Full of blood, loving life and all it’s got to give
Englishmen going insaneDown on my knees in suburbia
Down on myself in every wayDay after, day after day, day after
Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le chien
Day after day, day after
Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le chien
Day after
Songwriters
DAVID BOWIEPublished by
Lyrics © TINTORETTO MUSIC
you cannot see
beyond the screen
you cannot see
pixel defined horizon lines.
You CANNOT see
beyond qwertyuiop keys,
life IS unfair
when eyes are impaired
but if you reach for Ray Ban
for the blind man’s cool stare?
Make sure you see
those sunshine times
when eyes light up for you and me . . . . .
dwk
like a canyon’s span
the space between us
is now immense.
that speck of light & shadow
over there,
was once our planet,
was our delight of tactile warmth.
the prism of touch that brings bliss
beyond lips and hands.
the rock over there, where she stands
is her life sphere, her family and friends
that’s not my place,
over there.
but laid out like a drill sample
for inspection on electronic pages
it churns emotion like the blade
that pulled this strata cylinder
out of the background.
separated by existence itself
life has slipped through fingers
to make our places, there and here
and lost, infinite possibilities,
had I not leapt from the rig
over there.
© dwk
We all of us cling to the truth as we construct it, and we resist alternatives that challenge the construction.”
Daniel Finklestein
Published in The Times 12.01am July 9 2014
http://www.thetimes.co.uk/tto/opinion/columnists/article4142361.ece
was it ever quiet? were we ever still?
every day a struggle to master the storm? gusts of passion drove us from youth and innocence. love was tempestuous and softness and fragility became hardened. deep scars healed, taught and changed us. left us clinging to rocks in a sea of fears.
was it ever quiet? as we made our passage from ignorance to knowledge. were we ever still enough to find the stars, to feel tide flow, to plot our course? we hurled ourselves against the breakers, blind in passion within the foam and clasping hands, struggling for balance, for a foothold on the slipping, shifting shinglestone.
were we ever still? as bitter brine washed wounds with wet and cold reality, cooling the ecstasy of experience and now here, aloft in the safe arms of the rigging, over a green grey sea I search horizons for that elusive point of light and persist in hope,
a moment of peace in the skyline of your deep eyes and the sun of your smile.
for V
©dwk
At the village fete
While people starve
Pointed noses
Welcome with polite applause
Freak delphiniums and
Their permed executor victorious
Ignore society beyond
The lawn and
Strawberry patch
The world can go hang
As long as articulateds
Steer clear and peasants evicted
“It’s good real estate”
Forever green their cornered england.
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
we dust in England
now that winter’s here
with thoughts of Caribbean shore
where the water’s clear,
while fighting with the furniture
cleaning clogs her mind
with the sand of golden places
and how to make time rhyme.
The bang and clatter of the chairs
drums of the swinging dance,
of carnival, now greyed away
in spots of rain and mirror spray
the kaleidoscope and spectrum play
upon her greatest fear.
Only to clean once a week
and not find courage for release
from such slavery to visit
such a glorious beach!
dwk
egos so huge
they often fall
without counterweight
of humility or respect
an undesireable trait.
its OK though
we carry them
over rock, soil, sea & sand
to where they belong
parliament, team or band.
throw rocks of knowledge,
not pebbles of cursing.
dwk
......over the edge 