Saturday, 29 November 2008


the randomness
the senselessness
you strive to make life count
and then it comes to this
and in the end
you're left with pain
and someone writes a song
and it just seems inane

there is no way to justify
find meaning in your loss, you know
but still we try
there are no words
you need to hear
you only want the comfort
and it seems so clear

it's in our hearts
we want to take
your misery,
to share your grief
and ease the ache
well-meaning words
it's just the thought
and sinking down
too weak to stand
with arms you're caught

held up and loved
in silence there
is something more
than words can say
to show we care...

...just being there.

Sunday, 16 November 2008

Sangwen de Lamanel

Snuggled in Downey, five-hundred thread county, creating,
in brushed cotton flannel she's sewn his panels, he's waiting
when down in the subway he sits on a nail
and jumping up, empties his cup on the rail
the coppers subdue him, and drag him to jail, parading.

Stripped to the drawers for a search they discovered the flannel
when asked of the man who had frozen his can in the English
he gave them the name of his seamstress and then
discovered that inside the panel was penned,
a note from the woman who goes by Sangwen de Lemanel:

"If you find this it means you have bust loose the seams of your winsulation
come back to my shack, I'll be happy to tack without hintsulation
of course, if by chance, you'd be wanting some scones
while I fix up your pants, you can warm up your bones
and I'll double the thickness and strength for your own consolation".

Though the note in the pants, at a glance, hardly worth the debating
somewhat cryptic in places, suggested the seamstress was dating
could it be that this maiden with needle and thread
was hiding an inmate who'd recently fled
it was suspect, her stitch-work, a cover: abetting and aiding.

Intent upon solving the case of the note in the panel
Sherlock Dannel rode down to the seamstress and brought her some flannel
"I've sewn quilts, without guilt, for the queen, rest her soul,
and the king wore my hats, though his head had a hole
but the rest of my work will attest to my innocence, Dannel".

And Sherlock, so taken with Sangwen, whose voice was sedating
missed the gist of her kiss, but the point of this pistol elating
"See I'm really quite good with a needle and thread
but in cases left traces of blood on the dead
when my needles were shed from drawers of the bores who were waiting."

The man was immersed, but well versed in the curse of the smitten
he saw that this seamstress was shrewd and her verses well written
and hiding her needles and notes could avail
in busting loose criminals down at the jail
and if he had his way, on this day, in the pen she'd be knittin'.

darn it...

Friday, 14 November 2008

Misery Loves Company

I took a walk with Misery
we've been walking for a while
sometimes he says I go too slow
but I'll go that extra mile.

We don't say much and that's okay,
I'm not much one for talking
Silence makes good company
though some may find this shocking.

Well Misery's been up and down
these old familiar roads
prefers to walk with strangers now
who'll kick against the goads.

He's seen his share of Trouble
it invites him in for tea;
he walks the sullen pathway home
alongside Sympathy.

They take the train quite often
and meet up at the bars
Self Pity's always waiting
with her bottle, wounds and scars.

They buy a round and toast the clown
whose always got one-liners
to keep the crowd distracted
from the sad-sack whining piners.

Adversity can test your will
and take away your smile
you might meet up with Misery
and settle for a while,

to dwell upon the negative
will limit where you go~
and stuck inside, you'll just abide,
and surely miss the show.

Reflecting on old Misery,
I've often let him lead
through disappointments,
and my own uncertain need.

I slow my pace and let him pass,
and turning up the sound
I bid farewell to Misery,
it's time to turn around!

Wednesday, 12 November 2008


It started with a couplet
quite easy to direct
but blossomed into something else
beyond my intellect.

I am only one,
I ask you, what can one girl can do?
You fed thousands fish and loaves
though you only had a few.

You healed the sick and dying
saying "Greater shall you do"
But I am only human, Jesus,
how can that be true?

And then You say you are 'I AM',
I AM alive in you.
And I say "OK, Good enough~
The Truth will have to do".

So how 'bout we just keep in touch
if You're that close, sweet Lord
It won't take long to reach You
and that's a call I can afford.

Very clever little G
you're starting out just fine
and when the need is there
just speak the water into wine.

Heal sick and broken hearted
lead a soul out of the flame
It's not your job to worry how
just do it in my Name.

Do not worry how you'll look
or what you're gonna say
just be yourself and let Me
be The Light that shines The Way.

Jesus was a real man
the books will verify
at 33 they nailed him
to a chunk of wood to die.

And to be sure that he was dead
hanging naked on a cross
they speared him though, and left him there
my Jewish carpenter boss.

And not a word was written
that He would not fulfill
the scene was painted well before
the making of the hill.

All men can be redeemed
that is,
bought back with His own blood
we cannot pay the price for sin
He freed us by His Love.

Written long before his birth
their KING would rise day three
and so it was, and so it is
that I AM lives in me.

And to many, it may seem absurd
but this is not a game
I am aware of the price He paid
and the power of His Name.

I've no stake in religion
there's nothing there for me
but I will follow Christ alone
His Love has set me free.

And though I am just one girl
and crazy into rhyming
In prayer I find my comfort
and I trust him with the timing.

Friday, 7 November 2008

the bottom of the bay

Staring into hazy eyes
I slowly start to realize
that you are several leagues away,
and now I understand~
Tried to solve the mystery
went looking for some history
I'd dive back down if just to see
and stir the sleeping sand.

We drown out all the pain we feel
far-away things seem not as real
but there's a ton of brokenness
on the bottom of the bay
weighted well to keep it down
in hopes that time would surely drown
the misery which hangs around
to cloud the dreary day.

I didn't know just what you felt
the searing fire, the burning welt
the scars of life, of loss and such
which numbed your spirit, hurt so much
and wounds so deep, they should have bled
attended to, would heal~ instead
they linger painlessly, you've said
in places way too deep to touch.

I feel the tug upon my fin
and draw a breath of water in
and surface here to find I've been
caught up in love's allusion.
you nearly dried me in the sun
and here I'm thinking 'so much fun'
but like all fish, I've come undone
awakened, our delusion.

I'll never truly understand
for I'm a fish and you're a man
I swim in garbage, not my plan
it's only your pollution.
there's no way a fish will drown
I'll let the current take me down
one more gem in Neptune's crown
and that is my solution.

I make my bed there in the deep
and on my watch, I rarely sleep
the nets they drag for memories,
I keep them all from catching~
the one's you've drowned there in a heep
the painful one's I'd rather keep
and as I swim this sea of *bleep*
none will be for snatching.

Tuesday, 4 November 2008


in the filtered
blue glow
of your favorite late show
with the light
from the bathroom
left on~
I can make out
your face
and it's hard
to erase
from my memory,
although you
are gone.

In our silence
a sweetness,
a comfort, it's true
needing less
to be said
meant much more~
we lived well
in our day
and had so much
to say
but your smile,
it just cut
to my core.

And we sat side by side
on the sofa
twas your hand
on my ankle
which said~
I am here,
you are there,
theres no distance
I swear,
you still whisper
sweet nothings
in bed.

So forgive me
for getting
all sappy
but the late show
is on
and you're there~
in the blue
of the den,
I can't hear
he's been muted,
so music can blare.