The stream (all workshops)
Is that me behind those plastic eyes
peering out over chrome and glass?
Are those my limbs that are
clinked together in such
permanent positions waiting
for someone to tap that hollow
leg or adjust that aching arm?
Is that me who has no mind to think
no voice to speak, no heart to feel?
Are those parts ready to be
dismantled by rough uncaring hands
hired to do a daily task?
Is that me who is becoming nothing
but neatly tagged pieces of what was
and what might be ?
Is that me Mannequin Man?
We walked together around the moon
hoping we would see our friends
everywhere passing the time.
"Will they be here, do you think?"
“I’m sure of it. They’ve had forever
and a day to jump over it.”
Her journey is long, and her legs are short
She’s burdened, with the weight of baggage
Her pace is slow, but her mind is fast
All she wants, is her journey, to be rapid
Her name is Elaine, which means, shining light
Named, cos the sun’s in her eyes
Her father before her, did the same thing
Carried for others, both lives are dim
Her coat is warm, but her life is cold
To survive as a mule, is to be ever so bold
Her feelings are lasting, she wants them to pass and
Then she can rest when she’s old
Blind fold me love let my hair flow
upon my face bring about a glow
see me as you wish where-ever when ever
let me feel your fingers quiver all over
sending sweet electric shocks down my spine...
lovely and fine
encircle me around my waist let me feel you hard
upon as times advance hold me tight
let me feel a comfort slight as when buds sprout about
my life would be pure bliss without an iota of doubt
All the noise in her brain
clamped to the page
in simple refrains
for the wise old sage
could never be
simply a victim
of her poetry.
Drawn in by loose letters
needing a call to order,
the words rattle forth
before they destroy her.
Mirror image poems
half form in her mind
like books on shelves
in solid singling lines.
In the beginning
was the word
blurred, obscured
theatrically absurd.
And never learned to feel
yet I live beneath this skin
never learned to kneel
and feel the hurt within
To give a helping hand
and grow
to understand
That walls, thick or thin
make rooms for living in.
Upon occasion, upward gaze
Reveals a cotton candy sky
Troubles simply melt away
As do the questions “why?”
If memory serves me well
Then on memories, I will dwell:
The month was December
And from what I remember
All I could see, and all I could smell
Was the snow as it heavily fell
I could smell prospects in the air
As snow landed in my hair
I love the scent of the wintery spell
Snow so deep, that I happily fell
My memory may be frosty though
Cos snow and ice, is all I could see
It’s vague, but it stays with me
It’s my favourite wintry memory
DIVA:
a flower
with tentacles
tingling my heart.
A finger
painting the calendar
on our walls
every 14th February. Speaks words
of geography:
world wide web of love.
SHE
dances in the air, right
beyond it to Galaxy's plains -
far above the rainbow.
I see you
clearly decked in red roses
all over the moon.
SPARKS
of a million kisses
you give;
bubbles of a zillion hugs
let loose,
like flying cannons
in rhythm & bliss; that
Fire in the night,
Night in the water.
I can see.
And even if You could.
I could be with You
I dream about your face.
When I see the light.
I am
With You each together.
I can get through.
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