Reverie

Whispered deeds in dark corridors.

Living ears turn cold.

A portrait moves.

A piano plays.

Wicked tales hitherto untold.

Ivory clicks as digits dance

Upon the yellowed keys, 

Which find the tones of discordant hearts;

A beat under animated bones.

Mirror

How far could the light reach down,

If each of our mirrors shone?

How much would the darkness shrink,

If each reflection were a fiery sun?

What would be uncovered,

When the rays dig through the deep?

Where no light has yet set foot.

Where all hope is fast asleep.

Some mirrors may seem too broken;

Damaged beyond repair.

But who are we to judge?

Any light can cut the air.

We ask. We plead. We ponder. 

For we'd desperately love to know.

But wisdom says, be patient.

To keep the light,

We let it go.

Paper castles

Drunk on a splash of power, 

The puppeteers will play, 

Petting their grand delusions, 

Dreaming they can stay.

Yet Time is undefeated.

Just ask a pile of bones.

There is no redemption

For a cabal of callous clones.

So build your paper castles.

Pretend they're made of stone.

The shifting sand will swallow.

The Reaper works alone.

Eluvielle

The rushing river slows

To a smooth, respectful stride

As the Forest's Daughter nears

With her loping and graceful glide.

She sits astride a stone

With her feet above the water.

Her roots reach down to drink;

An honour to nourish the Daughter.

Birds alight to bathe

In the presence of her calm, 

Chirping as they splash; 

Flowers in her palm.

The Grey (pt. 2)

A malevolent mingling of fetid fumes

Conspires beneath the surface,

Peeking out to meet the mist;

An inkling of slithering purpose.

A spirit which grows 

In the damp, 

In the dark,

Finds sentience by an unforeseen spark.

Lusting, it hunts for a physical form...

In the city's bowels, 

New evil is born. 

The Grey (pt.1)

Fog rolls in to fill the street, 

A cool and quiet veil, 

Beyond which unknown movers meet

For whispers in the pale.

Shadow men with foul intent

Shuffle through the grey, 

Hissing threats;

The dead lament.

A city in decay.

Syben Sillo

Between wrinkled brow and smiling cheek

His eyes are deep and bright.

Perched upon the coastal cliffs

He waits until the night.

When moon and star will change the light

To play amongst the waves, 

Which rush to shore, as though in haste, 

To hide inside the caves.

The rhythmic crash of sea on stone;

This sacred ebb and flow, 

Thickens the delicate tether's pulse

As resonance begins to grow.

The wizened monk knows the signs, 

And feels the familiar vibration, 

As the tether roots itself; 

A moment of fear and elation.

In the depths, of his curious mind, 

Seeds begin to sprout. 

Visions bloom on the ocean green;

Spirits of hope and doubt.

A thousand years.

A single night.

The visions flicker and fade.

The stars blink out.

The sky turns pink. 

Birth beyond ocean glade.

Maravindra

Red sand swirls about her feet. 

The desert knows her name. 

Swift and lithe as a falcon's wing.

Perception is her game. 

Her eyes see through the storm of sand.

Her heart can sense the presence

Of the lost adventurer's mind.

A manifestation of nature's essence.

Story faded to legend, 

As legend grew into myth.

The primordial spirit watches, 

Waits.

The wind begins to shift.

Oh whistling wanderer heed the sign, 

As the red moon creeps

Above the peak, towards the zenith, 

Beyond the mountain's teeth.

When eyes can see her shadow form, 

It's too late to change your tune.

Ravenous, her ancient spirit pulls

At the crest of her mighty dune. 

Kernel

Pride is not a virtue.

Denial is not a creed.

Truth exists without you.

Desire taints the need.

The Grizzled Poet

Who knows when he first appeared?

The wizard's only son.

He's the one the blank page feared.

His pen's a loaded gun.

Rhythmic and rapid -

Mellifluous flow ~

Colour meets canvas.

Watch the scene grow.

With inky curves

New lines are wrought.

Pull'em from the ether.

Dip'em in thought.

Callous and cruel.

Loving and sweet.

Come take a ride

Down the grizzled poet's street.

Grateful Ears

The cool refreshing morning air

Whispers past to move your hair.

The sunlit Sunday warms your skin

And the hearts of gentle kin.

A smile forms on a stranger's lips.

Notice as your worry slips.

A kind word seeks out grateful ears,

Chipping away at stubborn fears.

As the man upon the hill attests,

These small things are the very best. 

A New Sun

Never mind the burning,

For the dead wood must be fed

To the fire of transformation.

The old skin must be shed.

Never mind the pain,

Or the years of fear and doubt,

For the point of maximal suffering

Lifts the best within without.

When the wood has turned to ash

And the smoke rides on the breeze, 

There you'll stand - a sapling, 

Small among the trees.

Never mind the Darkness

Of the road which led astray, 

For the Light will shine the brighter.

A new sun rose today.

Winterskou

'n Winterstappie in die goue uur...

Hoor die voetval ritme.

Ruik die kaggelvuur.

Gewaar die kunswerk,

Geverf met lig.

Verkyk myself.

Oë laat my swig.

In my kop sal ek die prent bewaar.

Natuurskoon het geen eienaar.

Klop

'n Meganiese gesprek

Met ratte wat draai voor oë

Wat nie meer kan onderskei

Tussen wat hul sien en wat hul glo.

êrens onder die koue staal

staan mensdom uitgeteer en kaal,

met 'n hart wat steeds wil klop

met warm bloed

en 'n smaak vir God.

Thought

        And so the future bends...

With every decision we make amends 

With the blissful ignorance of our past.

Our mind's eye down the road we cast.

Deep within our unconscious mind

We create the avatars which will find

The end of every conceivable road.

Our adventurers carry our existential load.

Most will meet a tragic demise,

And curse their creator for giving them eyes.

Yet some survivors will return

With experience rich in wisdom to earn.

Armed with insight, we choose our form - 

        To become The One, 

                    Until we're reborn.

Oogwink

In die donker oggend staan Helderberg

Uitgeknip teen die wit branderwolk.

Die sterre verbeel hul dis middernag

En skitter vir die maan wat so glimlag.

Bluegum Gossip

Whispered secrets play among the leaves

Of the bluegum gently swaying in the breeze.

An aircraft cuts the clear blue sky;

A soothing purr - the day walks by.

The dispassionate observer seeing all.

A peripheral eye - the landscape crawl.

Watching ephemeral sunlit scenes

Until the golden light recedes

Beyond the endless emerald sea.

Did the bluegum hear about you and me?

Another one (written 4th]

Life is strange and ironic sometimes.

I laugh at it often.

Often I laugh at others' expense (teehee).

A lilypad scene turns me on some.

Though you may find this quite quaint, 

A lilypad you ain't.

Skittleglad - Skipplesad.

skuttlepug. skiddelme.

Subtle lack.

Saunter back.

Awesome.

Sleepy Doodle

Hug the verse.

Embrace the deignja.

Saturn smiles,

And Sally saves ya.

Drowning in the depths of meaning...

A spider jumps!

Dave hits the ceiling.

Don't you read between the lines.

The Detail's where the Devil dines.

Mostly truth, but some surmise.

I wonder if it rhymes with scythe. 

Sleepy Doodle was written by Ulysses the Untrained Poodle, 

and performed once by an unwitting do-gooder 

who volunteered to translate the frantic barking into English. 

Many years later, the volunteer described the life-bending experience as "excruciating".

Cinnamon Summerbee

Her name is Cinnamon Summerbee.

She lives in Biscuit Barrow;

Around the bend from Market Square, 

Where Mr. Butterworth sells his tallow.

With bouncing curls of golden hair, 

Smiling at everyone she meets, 

She skips along without a care, 

With glowing face and dimpled cheeks.

In her woven basket she carries

All the fancy treats:

Chocolates, cakes, and caramel magick;

Endless candied sweets.

At Mr. Butterworth's tallow stall, 

He met her with a frown.

But Cinnamon Summerbee knew the cure:

A marshmallow shaped like a clown.

Butterworth's brow unfurrowed, 

as he beamed into a smile.

All thanks to Cinnamon Summerbee, 

Who lives in Biscuit Barrow.

Lemon Rind

Prescient Pragmatists pump the brakes.

Wanton Wanderers raise the stakes.

Meet yourself in the middle,

(Hi - How am I?)

To discuss the content of this riddle.

The wisdom you will need and find

Is somewhere in that jumbled mind.

Fine, I'll save you the existential dread. (I'm kind)

Balance is a lemon rind.

 - Meticulously extracted from the seminal poetry collection; 

Circuitous Citrus-based Satire and other Zesty Circumstances. -

By the River

The liquid mirror ripples and flows.

Between the muddy banks it goes.

Shallow and deep, over sand and stone;

Dimpled and bubbling - copper and foam.

Water may shape the stones in time, 

But presently it's the stones that shine;

Giving the water its current form.

It's in the depths where beauty is born.

This ever-changing play with light, 

In every moment, unique insight

Into the workings of the natural state.

Go sit by the river, and clean your slate.

Spark

With open eyes and open ears, 
To the wise the truth appears.
In all its grim and dark despair, 
In all its glory - bold and fair.

Deceit may shroud the far green land, 
But not for long, the truth will stand.
A forgotten beacon set ablaze, 
Fuelled by courage at the end of days.

To burn the thickening fog of lies, 
And focus the gaze of watchful eyes
Upon the fiery light of hope, 
Away from tendrils that slither and grope.

Under the beacon's broadening light, 
Fear will falter, fail, take flight, 
To reveal a world for all to see.
A single spark could set us free.

Wilgerlied

Woedend sal sy wortel skiet.

Die Wilger grawe uiters diep.

Weinig sal die ou siel faal.

Duister kennis - Moedertaal.

Bas en blaar; grond en sand.

Koue water byderhand.

Op die oewer - langs die riet.

In die stilte sing die Wilgerlied.

Herfstoneel

'n Buiterand van somergroen
Skets 'n blaar van die herfs seisoen.

'n Sonnige geel - heuning en hooi,
Kneusings van pers, oranje en rooi.

Die wind wil byt en die bome bloei, 

'n Hele reënboog;

Die landskap verhoog.

Tot die laaste druppel kleur;

'n Roesbruin blaar 

Breek, val neer.

Hoor hoe kraak hy onder voet.

Die herfs seisoen is bitter-soet.

Eternity

There does not come a time,
For that time is ever here.

Unnoticed, it stalks in plain sight.
A candle in the sun.
The faintest of light.
A shadow trailing darkness
In the blackest of night.

An impossible future floats,
Seducing the wandering eye;
Tempting our credulity.
A mirage in the empty sky.

Once you stop to glean, 
Not what would be or what has been,
You will find that time and comprehend.
You will grip that moment and finally see

The trappings of eternity.

Bound

My bonds are broken.
My spirit flies,
Through love and loss,
Beneath the skies.

My ropes are cut.
My blood runs free,
Through rivers and veins,
To colour the sea.

With newfound freedom,
My body soars
Through clouds above
To distant shores.

Though bonds are broken
My mind does question;
Is this reality,
Or merely suggestion?

Maloja

Nestled amidst the mountains cold
beneath an ageless sky, 
where rolling hills meet ancient woods, 
where darkness goes swiftly by.

There you'll find an eternal spring, 
the well which won't run dry,
fed by waters pure and true, 
where sunlight lifts the morning dew.

In these sacred lands of old
our spirit finds the way,
to lift our gaze to the mountain top. 
To see this place anew.

Weskus Asem

Langgras klou aan geroeste doringdraad,

langs 'n vetplant see van seepgroen en staal. 

Op die klipstoep bak die oggend son, 

waar die tawwe rottangstoel verweer,

terwyl die Weskus branders roep, 

en die skoon wind ruik aan fynbos soet.