Illusions

When you have eyes to see
and yet are blind,
you see the illusions
of an unseeing mind.

When you have eyes to see
and yet are blind,
you wander fruitlessly
in a wandering mind.

When you have eyes to see,
And are no longer blind,
You wander fruitully
In a wondering mind.

You are not what you appear to be.
You are shining light within
Not just a body,
Nor bone nor mere skin.

In sickness and in health

It's been a long time now,
we struggled with strife.
It's been a long time now,
We've been husband and wife.

Though you speak little now,
your heart still shines an occasional smile,
bringing more joy somehow,
than your oft heard laughter before this trial.

Though there's so little now,
you can do as in the past,
as we were, so we are now,
living the life for us cast.

It's been many years now,
And like birds of a feather,
in sickness and health,
We've remained together.

Parkinson's cruel struck you down,
taking it's toll, so plain to see,
but always this unwanted crown,
You have borne with dignity.

It's been a long time now,
you've been my life.
It's been a long time now,
my darling wife.

Cascade of Wisteria

Sometimes words are not enough to describe the wondour that is Nature!

Mum - My Inspiration

A year ago the flowers lost their bloom
And my sun went out far too soon.
I tried to be strong like the trees so high,
I saw you in every floating butterfly

Soon, I felt your spirit free in the breeze
Gentle, calm and quietly at peace
I felt your love keeping me safe and warm
My guardian angel to a new life born.


Dearest Mum
My deepest love is with you always
Your loving daughter.

This was written by my sister to commemorate the 1st anniversary of our mother's passing.

Mother

When we came into this World, you were there,

To kiss our cheeks, hold our hands and stroke our hair.

Throughout our lives you were there to pick us up when we fell,

But one thing you couldn’t do, was teach us how to spell.

When newly wed you left old England’s shore,

In a single engine Auster just after the war,

Kenya bound and your future uncertain,

Upon your life you lifted another curtain.

And with you we did share this great adventure,

Always never less than loved or ever insecure,

From fertile highlands to the Mara River and Indian Ocean,

Our life moved fluidly forwards in perpetual motion.

You our loving mother and to father faithful wife,

Took us on the oft happy journey of your life.

It was not always easy for you it’s true to say,

But you bravely battled all the way.

Mother, teacher, such as you a Mara buffalo had never seen,

Bloodied, bruised you walked away, forever known as Buffalo Queen.

In sickness and in health and every trial or tribulation,

Your courage filled us always with loving admiration.

Every day of our lives we were blessed that you were here,

With us your compassion and wisdom you did gently share,

And when finally you left this World, we were there,

To kiss your cheeks, hold your hands and stroke your hair.

Osama And The Blackbird

Now here’s a story, I have to tell.
Pray excuse me, If I do not tell it well.
It was a warm spring day,
Not long ago,
I happened to gaze, through a window,
And in the garden,
A murderous scene was set,
One I saw and shall not forget.

I saw a blackbird trapped upon the ground,
From his open, orange beak, came not a sound,
Over him talons upon his throat,
A Sparrow Hawk stood,
Wings spread like a hood,
Hiding his dark deed,
From the neighbourhood.

Deadly claws held firm the prey,
Remorseless, almost sanguine,
Was he in his way.
His stranglehold tightened,
Upon the blackbird, frightened.
Its small feathered body,
Struggled and fought,
Though it seemed, all for nought.
With every sinew, it struggled and strived,
Fighting for life and the strength to survive.

It flittered and fluttered,
Gasping for air,
Afraid to die, in the Hawks lair,
Fighting for time,
For time was life,
Worth the pain and all the strife,
Till the blackbird,
Could fight no more,
And death upon him,
Closed the door.

Whilst feathered friends looked on alarmed,
The Hawk, feeling its prey becalmed,
Winged effortless into the cloudless sky,
One last time, the blackbird to fly.

Then Osama,
Your words came to me once more,
The words I have heard, many times before.
We prefer life but you prefer death,
You said.
The blackbird was gone,
The blackbird was dead.

No longer do we hear his song.
Nor see him fly among the hedgerows,
Nor over fields where the thistle and the nettle grows,
No longer does he scamper on my lawn,
Picking up breadcrumbs in the early morn.
Ah! death, I’ve seen it clear.
Is the end of life, God holds dear.

You see Osama,
Nature’s laws are unbending,
The struggle for life, is unending.
It is not death the Blackbird seeks,
Though he live for years,
Or merely weeks.
It’s life, the Blackbird cherishes,
Not death by which he perishes.

Osama, if it is death you prefer,
Then why this life do you suffer?
If death Osama, is so glorious,
Why is Allah’s work so laborious?
If it is in death we are living,
Why is Allah in life so giving?

If death is God's true light,
What need we of miraculous sight?
If death is glorious sensation,
What needs God of wondrous creation?

So why Osama, would you flee,
The deathly talons of the Sparrow Hawk,
Swooping down from the tree?
Without life Osama, there is no God,
And without God, there is no life,
That’s why the blackbird struggles and strives,
And why humming bees toil in their hives.

It is not for death, they suffer strife,
It is for time, for time is life.
And every time, has rhyme and season.
If blackbird lives, he lives for reason.
Blackbird is born of God’s creation,
Wondrous, beyond our imagination.
Our soul to God we give,
Not to wastefully die,
But rather that we might in glory live.

In life we hear the blackbird’s song,
But in death, his music is forever gone.
The mournful silence of death, cannot be heard.
Unlike the song of a singing blackbird.
So who, Osama, chooses to die?
Not the Blackbird, not the Sparrow Hawk, nor I.

If death is so glorious Osama,
Then please tell me why,
Why the great Allah, made you and I?
And why Osama, would you flee,
The deathly talons of the Sparrow Hawk,
Swooping down from the tree?

Postscript:

In May 2011 the Sparrow Hawk swept down from the tree and struck. Like the Blackbird, Osama has gone.

Drumbeat of Africa

Cercle Nautique Bujumbura

painted

by

Gina Archer

Pulsing through my heart is the drumbeat of Africa,
It calls me back to the shores of Lake Tanganyika.
My eyes yearn to see the bourganvilliia blossom and the mango tree,
My senses seek the sweet fruit of the papaya and Burundi tea.

I recall the rythm of those reggae songs we heard,
Drinking through the night at Half London with our senses blurred,
Never to be forgotten nights when the music never ends,
In Kampala with like-minded strangers and other close friends.

Oh my mysterious Africa, how will I ever forget,
The crickets clicking at night or your crimson sunset,
Your verdant hillside forests, the thorn bush on your grassy plains,
Your rusty red dust in my eyes or your tropical rains?

Oh Africa! Land of the lion, the leopard and the elephant,
No other land entices me with such enchanted scent,
No lover is more seductive nor captivating in her charms,
As you Africa, when you enfold me in your arms.

The gorillas in the mist, I would not have missed,
Nor the aroma of your coffee or the girls I kissed,
Nor the Eland grazing, the Oryx, or the Fish Eagle's screech,
Nor your palm fringed beaches, shining stars, beyond my reach.

Masai drummers

Frustrations Of A Golfer

                                                      

He awakes and bleary eyed,

Looks not at his wife by his side.
He cares not today for morning cuddles,
Only that the greens should be free of puddles.

Please God, he hopes it’s not raining.
All week on the carpet he’s been training,
Sinking putts by the score,
And chipping balls through the door.

No trouble today leaping out of bed,
Or clearing cobwebs from his head,
For today starts the week-end,
And the golf swing is surely on the mend.

No hoovering or washing dishes,
Just driving balls with elegant swishes,
Down manicured fairways far out of sight,
Scaring rabbits with his might!

Up and washed and ready to go,
A new set of clubs he’s anxious to show.
A confidant swing on the first tee,
But the effing ball goes straight up a tree.

His second ball finds a ruddy ditch,
Lost ball, a bit of a hitch.
Upon the green in six at last,
His handicap is disappearing fast.

The wind gets up and begins to howl,
Upon his face an evil scowl,
As swing and game fall apart,
He moves on with sinking heart.

When at last he hands in his score,
The shout goes up, a hundred and four!
What went wrong, me old sunshine?
I lost six balls on number nine.

Drinks all round I think old chap,
That really was a load of old crap!
Go on take the micky, many or few,
But next week, I’ll be laughing at you!

http://speakeezie.blogspot.com/

The Rock

This poem is dedicated to my aunt Barbara whom we loved and revered. My mother who is Barbara's sister called her the rock of the family.

Lighthouse on the rock

The Rock

The seas may rage and the winds may blow,
The seasons may come and the seasons may go,
But the rock stands steadfast, in the wind and the rain and the snow,
While ages to history pass, in untimely flow.

Upon the rock the lighthouse stands, with its beacon flashing light,
Guiding storm tossed ships to sanctuary, in the dead of angry night,
Lifting the hearts of despairing souls, who had lost all hope,
At the end of their tether, unable to cope.

Though the sands may shift and the tides may ebb and flow,
The rock stands steadfast in the wind and the rain and the snow,
Watching as ships sail upon prevailing tides of fashion,
Drifting rudderless, in empty oceans of shallow passion.

Oh I thank God, for the lighthouse that stands upon the rock,
Ageless, timeless, unaware of the clock.
Calling back lost souls from the sea’s deafening roar,
To the sweet sound of footsteps, upon the pebbled shore.

------------------------

We thank God for Barbara, who in foul weather or fair, was always there, for all of us. May the lighthouse beacon, now beckon her, to rest in peace upon a tranquil shore.

True Love

True love sees through outer skin,
To inner depths, hidden within.
Below earth like precious coal,
Is love buried deep in the soul.

True love lights a darkened soul,
Like flickering flames upon the coal,
Shinning light on buried treasure,
Giving warmth without measure.

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!

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.

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.