Surreal Dream

Surreal




I dreamed the strangest dream,
A surreal dream.
I dreamt that time had all but run it’s course.
With pitiless intent and bewildering pace,
Time closed in upon people and space.
In swirling mists of receding light,
People disappeared without trace.
No sound or protest could I hear,
Nor stars or galaxies see,
I stood and watched in dreadful fear,
As time and space closed in on me,
And all that was left was a small dim light,
Like a torch beam shinning,
Faintly, on a cold foggy night.

As the last few souls melted into darkness,
A few shadowy figures, still I could see,
Floating in the void of zero gravity.
And in the starkness of this reality,
I knew my family and me,
Were destined soon to disappear,
Without trace,
Without grace,
As though we were never here,
Had never been,
Never loved,
Never seen,
Never known anything,
No time past or present,
No future to await,
No line curved nor line straight,
No beginning,
No end,
No time in between.
No eternity,
Nothing before,
Nothing anymore!

And in my dream,
In terror struck,
I searched the labyrinths of my mind,
Racing against receding time,
Desperate to find the elusive key,
A bargain with God to make
That he would not us forsake
But bring back temporarily,
Fading time,
In space and harmony.
Then came strangely an answer,
Though not one I understood.
A price we must pay,
God seemed to say.
For every new tomorrow,
We must give one yesterday,
Till all our yesterdays are no more.
And when that day has come at last,
The chimes of time,
Will come to pass.

What choice was there to make?
This bargain I did quickly take.
Suddenly,
The closing darkness began to recede,
The past to the present returned,
The future to present,
Destined history to become.
Everything in its place,
Everything in its time,
Then came the dawn,
Thank God,
And the light of early morn.
We are!
We were!
And still shall be,
Temporarily!


Postscript:

Then tonight, a learned man,
On television said,
The sun is halfway through its life.
In five billion years,
The sun will be dead.
A thought cut me like a knife,
One new day,
For every yesterday!
One new year,
For every yesteryear,

The Butterfly

Butterfly

A butterfly flutters its wings,
A hurricane stirs.
In the deep blue yonder,
Clouds churn in menacing swirls.
The sleeping winds howl,
At being disturbed,
From peaceful slumber,
By an emperor perturbed,
The darkening storm opens a solitary eye,
Better to see the path of havoc from the sky,
As upon the land,
Its revenge it takes,
And in tempestuous anger,
All pity forsakes.

Beware my friends,
It is not there the story ends.
When you stir a grain of sand,
You alter forever, the lie of the land,
As when a butterfly, flutters its wings,
And the fluted air whistles and sings,
In rising concerto far beyond,
The rippling water of a little pond.

Postscript:
Would that my breath could stir the wind and blow away the clouds!

Future Been

The future has been!
Tell me what have you seen?
Have you seen the beginning as well as the end?
Were you once my enemy, are you now my friend?
Did we fight a thousand wars just to live in peace?
Did you fly with an eagle, did you dance with the geese?
Have you seen the beginning and the journey's end?
Do you know what awaits you around the next bend?
If it is not the future then where have we been?
If it is not the future what have we seen?


Time

Circle of Water

Victoria Falls

Seas blue to waters grey,
Skies clear to rainy day.

On a starry night glowing,
With a gentle breeze blowing,
Wispy trails of cirrus, materialise,
And invade the clear transluscent skies.

From gentle stirrings in a cup of tea,
And calm trade winds on a quiet blue sea,
Frail cirrus to meancing cumulus gives way,
Hiding the sunshine in tumultuous clouds of grey.

From snow capped mountains to the distant sea,
The rivers of life evaporate silently,
And return their muddy waters perpetually,
To timeless oceans and the churning sea.

Seas blue to waters grey,
Skies clear to rainy day.

Jehova'a Map

Home

In Jehova’s map each road is signed
You should study it well,
Otherwise t'is the Devil's Den you'll find,
On the roads to Hell.
There are many roads to many places,
In Jehova's map you'll find,
Many familiar faces,
Upon Satan's roads entwined.

Avoid the road to Purgatory,
Via Avarice and Greed,
Through to Bigotry
A road you should heed.
Beyond lies Lust,
Through the Valley of Sin,
Home of the unjust,
Don't go in.

Better you take the highway,
That leads through the Valley Of Peace,
Than the low way,
To the gambling dens of Fleece
Follow the signs to Happiness,
And the City of Love,
Not the road to Emptiness,
Choose the road above.

I have travelled to Satan’s cave,
But found no meaning there,
No feeling I should save,
That I would want to share,
To touch my heart and mind,
Or answer heartfelt prayer.
Be not misled by the Devil’s kind.
Stay away from Satan’s lair.

Avoid the motorways to Hate,
And the Fields of Destruction.
Take the road to Pearly Gate,
Where Hope is under construction.
Remember if you happen to stray,
By Satan’s roads you are not bound.
You can always turn and walk away,
And Evil walk around.

Pass the junction to Temptation,
For no sake but your own.
Choose carefully your destination,
On Jehova’s map all shown.
Make the wrong connection,
And you’ll miss the Pearly Gates,
That lead to Resurrection,
And who knows what other fates.

Postscript:

Every possible destiny is laid out for us on the great celestial map of life. The first path we travel is that which our parents are already on when we are born and on which we remain until such time as we are mentally and physically able to make independent choices.

However, control over our own destiny is as much subject to the direction being taken by others, over whom we have little or no control, as the choices we make for ourselves. If a burglar chooses to rob my house, his destiny crosses mine through no choice of my own.

Thus the choices the burglar makes affects my journey as well as his. Our personal destiny is therefore tied to that of every other being and every other living thing. We are as dependant on each other as we are on ourselves. If we look after each other and of course our environment, our destiny will take us to a brighter future. If we abuse each other and destroy our environment, destiny will lead us all, to a darker place.

Thus to believe that individuals have absolute control or no control over their own fate is a complete misnomer. Our individual destinies are self evidently, inextricably linked to the collective journey of life.

Politicians in Israel and Palestine and all over the world where nations and cultures are in conflict, would do well to remember that the destiny of nations as well as individuals are inseperable. No man or nation is an island unto himself or itself. Understanding this will help us navigate Jehovah's map of life more effectively and rewardingly.

Cycles of life

Seeds

As seed turns to flower and blooms in the spring
Aromas waft scented upon the wing,
Of bees and birds and butterflies,
Till the petals fall and the flower dies.

Seeds fall upon the mulch of autumn.
Trees bend in the whistling winds that court them,
And the leaves blush in hews of red,
As they tumble lightly to their dewy bed.

The leaves lie sleeping in gentle decay,
Harvested by mould turning them to chalk and clay,
While seeds lie trapped in the frosted earth,
Awaiting the spring of a new a born birth.

Cycles Of Life

A Baby Is Born



A baby was born this day, in a Bethlehem manger.
Three wise men following a star journeyed to see the stranger.
From heaven he came, to this humble earth,
When the virgin Mary, gave him birth.

And Leaves His Mark

Seeds of wisdom he did sow,
On barren ground they did flourish and grow.
His words were harvested by the twelve apostles,
And guarded for posterity, like ancient fossils.

And Dies And Is Reborn

Upon a heathen’s cross he died.
Why have you forsaken me Lord, he cried.
But he rose again from the dead,
Or so at least, the disciples said.

From Dust To Dust

From ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
We metamorphose as all life must,
From state to state in mysterious form,
Does all life itself transform.

The Beginning And The End

African sunset 

Cry Africa

Tracers red, orange, white
Racing across the sky at night,
Rat-a--tat-tat,
What are they firing at?

Boom, boom, boom
Shaking walls, trembling room
Thud, thud, thud
Splattering walls, feeble mud

Oh no, Here they go again!
Oh my God, it’s so insane.
Rat-a-tat, boom,
Soothsayers of doom.

Who, what, why,
Must these people die?
Splat, splat, splat,
Bullets and bones in deadly chat.

Evil afoot, stalks the night,
Dark brooding, primeval fright.
Hutu hatred , Tutsi might
How long still, must they fight?

Others forgive, better to live.
Than die, their blood to give,
Cannon fodder, human manure,
Flesh and dust, insecure.

Rat-a-tat-tat.
Splat, splat. splat,
Boom, boom, boom,
Soothsayers of doom.

Be gone to your hovel,
Squirm and grovel,
Let daylight break,
Oh Saviour awake.

Uneasy Air

There’s an uneasy eerie foreboding in the air,
The scent of treachery and hatred, everywhere.
Talk of war, in papers and on the radio,
On television, in cafes, wherever you go.
Between the White House and United Nations,
Sounds of discord and soured relations.

Twin towers of freedom and wealth,
Brought crashing down by evil stealth,
While forces stand at action stations,
The air is black with recriminations.
The French and Germans play childish games,
Driving wedges through America’s aims.

Cowardly Bin Laden, hiding in his lair,
On an Afghan mountain, somewhere,
Hatching plots of hideous construction,
Teaching the arts of mass destruction.
Britain and America all ready for war,
France and Germany closing the door.

There’s a stench of death, hanging in the air,
As into the abyss, once more we stare,
Pondering the atrocities of zealots and fools,
Who have no time for books and schools,
No interest have they, in thoughtful debate
So wracked their minds, in rabid hate.

There’s a sense of hopelessness in the air.
Death surrounds us everywhere.
What price our follies past,
To haunt us, come at last?
How will we another day,
Make these nightmares, go away.


Post 9/11

In My name

My thoughts before Gulf War II as I sat at my desk late at night having watched the media building themselves and everyone else into a frenzy over the prospect of war. For me it is not nor ever was a question of WMD or oil but a question of right and wrong. We cannot claim to live in a civilised world whilst we turn a blind eye to the suffering of innocent people wherever and whomever they may be. Whilst the international community tolerates the intolerable, we are all barbarians.

___________________


In My Name

Fresh dawn colours brush pale the night,
Weary thoughts themselves debate.
A gathering storm looms large in sight,
The dictator’s decision, we await.

Weapons of mass destruction,
Diplomatic discussion,
Words of long construction,
Fears of repercussion,
Engage the conversation,
The mind of every nation,
Who in freedom talk,
And can in freedom walk.

We hear the commentators speak,
The politicians our attentions seek,
Commentators, expressing their views,
On chat shows and nightly news.
Some saying this and some saying that,
Many nonsense talking, out of their hat.

No! say many, we shall not fight,
For those who have no right.
Better we make another resolution,
And take his weapons away,
That seems by far the best solution,
The wise men, unwisely say.
As long as he complies
And does not tell us lies
We care not if he stays,
Nor fights on other days.

But the weapons are not the problem, you see.
The finger on the trigger, is what threatens liberty.

In those dark dungeons do they not hear,
The chilling screams of fear,
That pierce the dark filled night,
In torture chambers, hid from sight,
In places unheard and places unseen,
Even places, we may have been.

My imagination is filled with fright ,
The fearful thought, that as I write,
On begging knees, dread voices cry,
For pity’s sake, have mercy please!
In God’s name, rescue me,
Or I am done, for eternity.

In prison cells, behind closed doors,
Bodies twisted on blood stained floors.
Electrodes are spitting unbearable pain,
On sweat drenched bodies, driven insane,
And where now those who freedom preach,
Where now those who would us morals teach?

The hairs stand up, on the back of my neck.
My mind floats down like a shattered wreck.
The shivers run up and down my spine.
Anger wells up in this heart of mine.
Till my spirit can stand no more.
Till my spirit can stand no more.

Is this pitiful, all we should speak,
For the oppressed, by dictators made meek,
Who thirst and hunger to the bone,
Crying unheard and dying alone.
Are we who are free, not impressed.
That they who are poor, are oppressed?

My eyes are heavy now,
My thoughts are dark though heaven knows,
Light upon me dimly glows,
The village sleeps, the night is old
My body’s tired, my heart is cold.
Yet, my mind conjoins the universe,
And drums my restless thoughts perverse,
Till again, the screams rise within
Numb throbbing temples, tired of din.

Were these but simple dreams?
But as day breaks alas, the screams,
They have not gone,
They linger on.
Then the jarring bolt,
The red hot searing pain,
Surges through his sinews, once again.
It cannot long go on,
Before another man, is gone,


So while wise men in councils chatter,
Themselves to elevate and flatter,
Like cuckolding lovers in a Broadway farce,
Hurling their rocks in houses of glass,
The innocent are crying, their cries unheard.
Of them they speak not a meaningful word.

Who will save them from living hells
Tortured and dying, in miserable cells?

Those who protest, pretend they care,
But war is wicked their banners declare.
We cannot fight and freedom give,
To those who do not in freedom live.
Not in my name, not in my name,
Their banners proclaim,
Shall you carry the keys that open the cells,
Of those who die, in living hells.

If not them, who, who will it be,
While we stay at home and drink our tea?

If not them, then in my name,
And all those whose screams, we never hear,
Who live in terror,
Who live in pain,
Who live in fear.
In my name then fight the fight,
For those who die, out of sight.
Fight the battle that must be won
Or by the Devil, be undone.

Stone

Unwitting man did knives and spears fashion,
From cold grey rock, bereft of passion.
On battlefields throughout the ages,
As told in history's pages,
Did metal turned from stone,
Spill crimson blood from crushing bone.
T’is not easy to comprehend
Nor know, where it will end?
But all this, from simple stone
We foolish beings, must atone.

Sound

The rhythmic crashing, of ocean waves upon the sand,
Speak of mysteries, mortals cannot understand.
The whisper of chattering palms in the breeze,
Speak a language known only to the trees.
Crackling sparks on a burning wood fire,
Kindle in us some ancient desire.
The trickle of water, in winding streams,
Rock us gently in hypnotic dreams.

The murderous sound of whistling shells,
Of anguished cries, a thousand hells,
The last breath of a child dying,
A heartbroken mother, left crying.
In thunderous crash, God’s anger sound.
In tumbling rain, his tears abound.
Oh! sounds of men do bring us fear.
T'is the sound of God, we need to hear.