Friday, 31 October 2008

Rise Above

There was a time
I was a child
and I could clmb
the wooded wild
and see out over treetops
way beyond this place called home
Now I am grown
can barely climb
but give me time
and I will find
another way to rise above
and see beyond this poem

The paths I loved
when I was nine
are overgrown
with thorny vine
and streams beside
which I would sit
polluted now
and hardly fit
but give me time
and I will find
another path a sparkling stream
which winds around and satisfies
a quiet place
where I can dream.

Where there's a will
there is a way
there is a path
that's yours today
and if you come upon
a place that somehow seems impassable,
the answer still
the same today
That if you ask
and if you pray
the things you hope for
come what may
will rarely seem impossible.

Bad Hair Nightmare ( AKA The Barber)

I asked for the color I had as a child
"I don't think so", he said, and that's putting it mild~

I went to get up from the chair but soon found
the weight of that bib thing was weighing me down~

the eyes of the stylist, so cold and unkind
were narrowing as he approached from behind~

and in his hand something we both recognized
'twas the braid from my worst childhood fears realized!

The one he'd cut off right here at the neck
and left me there wearing a 'shag'... what the heck!

"You don't want this color, it's way too outdated
and what could be duller, than the one God created~

What you need now is product I'LL mix
a light honey blond with some purple, to fix

the damage you did with your cheap color tricks,
and the thing I hate MOST about all of you chicks!"

"Barberian justice would snip off your locks,
but you've suffered far worse when you turned to the box~

and then to add 'insult', you pulled through the cap
and expecting great highlights, got dried out straw crap.

Next time we'll just give you a "shorty", it's called,
don't mess with my color or you may wind up bald!

Monday, 20 October 2008

5 Minute Oats

Pacing the floor
in the middle of this
watching the kettle
'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination
we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us
but one heated kiss

Beneath an umbrella
I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform
for the 6 O'clock train
well you never quite hold me
and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration
I walk home again.

We bid for each other
in some Chinese auction
and you got the booby
one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes
at a much closer range
what were we thinking
and can we exchange?

And without any memories
to dry up the tears
we long for the fire
and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson,
a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better
and we're less often burned.

And then as I ponder
you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes
and looking for more
I stir up the pot
and you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make
you some 5-Minute Oats.

"I made em already"~
to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart
and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain
would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch
and rekindled the fire."

And in spite of my rambling
it seems rather clear
that 5-Minute oats
can mean something more dear
to that person who waits
in your kitchen above
stirring 5 Minute oats
into passionate love.

noel devine

breathing room

She turned her mind toward thoughts of God
and pondered on this thing called 'Love'
and how it felt was rather odd
to have the thing you're dreaming of.

and not to say that much had changed
from all of what she'd felt before
but just her movement towards the thing
that gently rapped upon her door

and opening, the air was clean and drifted
into darkened mess
and brought with it the scent of spring
and promise that would lead to rest

the angry pride from early age
and pain she'd buried in the deep
once heated into molten rage
had turned to steel in her sleep

and stirring up the settled dust
the softest breeze swirled room to room,
the filtered light fell on the crust
the window sill, the broken loom

the cool fresh air, she breathed it in
which fanned the flames of hope again
but woke the sleeping child within
the bitter pill, the urge to sin

where were you when love was lost
and dreams were killed and hope was tossed
and where were you when I was nine
and lost my way and... one last time

I need to know where Love was when
the waves rushed in, and buildings fell
when kids were shot and parents grieved
and everything had gone to hell.

She could have slammed the door right then
He would have left, that's just His way,
she had to have it out with Him
and screamed and cried, but let Him stay.

I just don't get your kind of sense
which lets a man do what he will
to take away the innocence
to mock your name, and steal and kill.

And then the air stirred in her face
and quiet came to sandy shoal
he spoke of Love's abiding grace
and water flowed into her soul

For what is better for your strife
and what is Love, to pull the reign
to force a man to choose the life
or nudge a man to use his brain?

And what is love to steal the bride
and drag her right outside the gait?
I set you free, you run inside
I chose you then, you chose to wait.

I hear you well, I understand
the breath you breathe, this rotting tomb
I died for you and every man
to give to you back your breathing room.

Monday, 6 October 2008

Grounds for Sculpture

"You really think this is sweetening the deal? Swings and Peacocks? I'm not some French dandy here." SK on the Grounds for Sculpture

Torso Bob

"I like to think that it is my job or vocation or whatever, to dress and/or accessorize Bob any way I see fit."
SK on the care of Torso Bob