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When your mind is compulsively distracted,
And your head's full of shoulds, coulds and oughts,
It's best to go walking on familiar ground
So you only get lost in your thoughts.
There’s a small girl inside
There's a small girl inside
those bones and that skin,
she once filled that body
but shrank back within.
With each censure and slant
her soul would recoil,
but still she remained eager
to please, still so loyal,
Until one day that girl
had withered so much,
there was such little left
she could reach out and touch
The world on the outside
couldn't stretch down inside
to the little dark corner
where she'd taken to hide.
She didn't even know
she was there by herself,
the story of her life
had gone back on the shelf.
But gradually friends
tried to reach down and find
that lonely young child
going out of her mind,
And little by little
she started to grow,
some light crept inside
and she felt it's warm glow.
That little young girl
knew she must start anew,
to refill her body
and stick there like glue,
It might take some time
to fix back together,
but she had to keep going
whatever the weather.
Some days now
she's on top of the world
and the difficult times
are getting unfurled.
But some days the girl
just curls up like a bug
and needs someone to notice
she's in need of a hug.
Nutmeg
She is beguiling
A silent ninja
A whining toddler
A killing monster
A gift giver
Demanding and independent
Voracious and expellent.
She moves with grace
And then licks her arsehole.
She sits in the long grass
She hides in the shadows.
She stalks her prey
She is cold and calculated.
But she craves attention.
Needs company.
She's the Queen of rejection
She's curious and fearful
An explorer
She loves home comforts.
A murderer
She keeps herself clean
Does it cleanse her soul?
She's alluring.
She is herself.
An honest lover
Autumn
The sun's aggression has gone away,
The calm of autumn is here,
The fields of gold have made their hay,
And now the evenings draw near.
The trees suck out life for their winter reserves,
From the very same leaves they begat,
Each single leaf does it's part to preserve,
Then retires to form autumn's doormat.
The woodland's carpet of russet and gold,
Sounds the same as the ripe apple's crunch,
A blanket of mist lies on valley and fold,
And mutes nature's foraging scrunch.
Pumpkins and coffee and blankets and books,
Nutcrackers, crumbles and pies.
The palette of autumn paints fiery looks,
It's colours - creation's great prize.
Seasons of time
The seasons of time
Fool us with their tricks
But their temporary changes
Are just like politics
It's all a facade
But the world never changes
It's run by small boys
Shooting guns on their ranges
Each season begins
And brings glimmers of hope
But in a years time
We'll hang from the same rope
We might get the feeling
A new era has started
But we ought to know better -
Ought to be more hardhearted
The raw devastation
That humanity causes
Will not be undone
By momentary pauses
We try to make changes
But they're never long lasting
We return to consuming
After temporary fasting
We may praise those amongst us
Who shout and protest
But we soon change our tune
When it leads to unrest
For starting afresh
Piazolla had reasons
But like sheep, the crowds want
Old Vivaldi's Four Seasons
There is comfort to be had
Secure in your skin
But we should all dare to dream
Dare to reimagine.
