A Nectar

Pain
Is a nectar
Sweet and seductive
Inviting and full of allure
Daring another drink
Another taste
Just one more

Fall
Far into this trap
And find yourself anew
Seeking
Questing for another moment
Another taste
So bittersweet
And deadly

Taste not this drink
For it leads only to madness
A bitter circle
Of unending despair
Of pain

Comes A Time

There comes a time
When even midnight oil runs dry
When the cup that runneth over
Is empty, no matter how you try

There comes a time
When naught remains of the candle
Burnt until all tallow is gone
More than one can handle

And in this time
When spirits flee
And nothing is left
To shelter me

In this dark time
Of pain and sorrow
Not even hope remains
Of a better tomorrow

The question still remains
What is there to do
When there seems no option
But to push on through

Or simply let it go
Let the tide choose
Where and how to travel
What is there to lose

The Pool

A tranquil pool
Water smooth as glass
Reflecting the solitary cloud
Far above

A perfect blue
Sun shining down from afar
Warming gently the cool water
Still and silent

Not a bird calls
Not an insect moves
This moment
Perfect silence
Broken

A small frog croaks
And lands in the pool
Ripples spread and reflect
Sky filled with wonder

The sun shines and glows
The wind moves and blows
Fish swim
Insects swarm
And life carries on

Listen

Listen
Hear the call
As it rings out true
Shaped in gentle melody
And harmonised with bliss

Listen to the music
That takes us by the hand
And leads us far from here
To a world just of our own
Where the soft glow of the moon lights the way

Listen
To every note
To every chord
As they mingle and mix
Creating a sum
Much greater than any of the parts

Listen and rejoice
The music shall lift us high
Above the petty concerns of the world
Above the pains and sour fruit
To where the clouds glow in silver light

Listen
Let your soul be filled
Let your spirit fly free
As the music takes us away
Listen

Coffee the Cat

Coffee, the cat thought
Was a terrible name
Surely one more regal was owed
To a cat of great fame

Yet Coffee the cat she was
Thanks to a fall one fateful day
When little more than a kitten
On a windowsill she lay

Stretching and taking in the sun
Batting at a fly going round
Overbalancing as kittens often do
And landing in coffee freshly ground

Oh, the shame that she felt!
Oh, how her tail did twitch!
And since then the name that is hers
A name she wishes to switch!

Now Coffee the cat lies again sunbathing
Her kittenhood years behind her
But every so often someone will dare to remind
She bites them, really it's kinder!

She is There

There
See her there
In the moment between light and dark
In the space between now and then
She is there

Feel her touch
Gentle on skin
Soft still and lingers
Tracing over your form
With delicate hands
As you ride
Ready to fight
Her lips softly caress your skin
Know that you are blessed

When battle done and wounds are dressed
Resting, not sleeping, in cot or bed
A gentle warmth will fill you
A presence slip beside you
She is there

He Walks

He walks.
The waning moon provides just enough light for him to see. Shadows cast by trees cross his path, masking sharp stones and holes. He continues regardless. Only a small pack weighs his body, but his mind is burdened. He stumbles, corrects himself, and keeps walking.

He walks.
The sun casts little heat as it modestly shows itself above the horizon. His steps are slow and hesitant, yet he continues. A small cloud of dust is raised behind him for a moment, but then falls to the ground unheeded.

He walks.
The sun has passed far overhead and fallen, a reminder that all men must fall. Small blotches of red mar his trail. He steps now are staggered, uneven. A flagon, now empty, glints for the final time in the dying rays of the sun.

He walks.
The sun now below the horizon, moon not yet risen. Nothing can be seen beyond greys and blacks, all colour leached from the world. Each step is a lifetime, yet each step follows the last. His pack wears away at shoulders hunched and weary. Yet he continues.

He walks.
All burdens released, a lightness in his step. The moon shines high ahead, full and glowing with warmth that fills the air. Grass grows freely, cushioning every step. He is, finally, free.

The Unheard Word

For some, language is an art
Approached quickly and smart
Used facilely and discarded
Never to be taken to heart

For some, language is a struggle
Words fall apart and appear as a mumble
A hard field to till
These words that will not spill

Yet there exists a word that finds its place
Not in poet's work or hardy face
Not to be spoken by any tongue of man
Even when the thought demands

Staring into eyes so clear and deep
Holding warmth in arms ready to sleep
A word that comes to tip of tongue
Then falls away before 'tis sung

Then what is this fateful word
That even when never spoken is heard
A word kept trapped as the white dove