Upon these Wallooon fields
Of wheat, cabbage and barley
Where the sweet morning breeze
Brushes all thoughts aside.
They may be of loves past
Of loves in the future
Of self-reflection
Or the entire human experience.
It matters not;
They are all blown away
Far, into the distant clouds
By the sweet morning breeze.
We’re a babbling bumbling band of baboons
doing nothing but complaining from our cosy cocoons.
It would be wonderful to whack our wretched worries
and the terrifyingly terrible atrocities of terror
us humble humans have hence held to hold
instead of crazy conflicts and crooked cops,
we really need ninety nice notes
from gallant gods gloating gloriously from the Garden;
then those torrid tortuous (un)tranquilities would suddenly stop starting.
It was naïve beyond belief
I thought our love was to stay;
Nor could I imagine the relief
When you finally went away.
Now, looking upon new horizons:
with unknown places left to explore.
I will avoid drawing comparisons:
it will be a new start, nothing more.
On this final day
where a journey falls away;
a journey of many years
of both tears and fears.
And it wasn’t so cool:
it was only school.
But on this final day
when goodbyes we get not to say
all I am asking for,
a favour, nothing more;
a big, warm hug
something for my heart to tug.
A loving embrace
and then a glance upon each other’s face…
But I guess even such a simple task
Is simply too much to ask.
Many months ago,
a large bonfire was lit
upon the dust and ashes
of events that preceded it.
A loving, tender warmth
radiating from within;
but the erratic, flying sparks
distracted; instead of a grin
there was confusion, worry
a fear, perhaps, of not knowing when and where to begin.
Or when to end.
Over time, this bonfire coughed and wheezed,
the months took their toll;
transformed from luminous explosions
to almost being extinguished whole.
Yet it endured.
Its embers, glowing in the shadows,
that warmth from them radiated.
Until, one day
be it today,
it has been rekindled.
It has come out of the corners
to once again take centre stage
as I try to turn a life’s page,
it has taken on many colours.
Alas, help it, I will, to grow.
For there is something she ought to know.
Although even myself, I am not sure
whether this uncertainty has a cure.
Only time will tell
whether this sentiment upon which I dwell
should be shared
or as it was until now,
be left as an unattended bonfire:
source of much internal ire.
Sitting here thinking
about a feeling that’s sinking
sinking deep, out of reach
its return, you cannot beseech.
To arrive at it, if at all,
you must dive into the darkest depths
past the frozen thoughts and dead sentiments
further beyond the night passions
the colour, from bright cyans
into the deep, dark marine abyss
holding your breath, anticipating what is to come
as you reach Neptune’s cave
barred with personal lore, away you gave.
Gasping, gulping for breath—
for those precious, dear feelings
to impede their passing
stop the cranial proceedings!
Alas, the ocean of the mind is ever vast
not one, not you nor above ones
can open many things past
experiences into memory passed
who, who are you
to have the keys to my thoughts of blue?
It is of a seductive simplicity
this sentiment that spends eternity
slyly hiding in the shadows
till the song of sparrows beckons.
A full orchestra and symphony
no, nothing to do with money
in tandem with reggae and metal
life finally reveals its petals.
Be-bop-a-doodle-ing down the street
greeting all you meet
with that gorgeous full-toothed smile
your joyous promenade can continue for many a mile.
As the saxophones and tubas reach their overtures
you think of organising local tours
for this stunning land you live in
so gobsmackingly beautiful, blimmin’!
For once, the sun glimmers in all its might
the awesome local landscape, a sight
everyone ought to behold
to see things in this way of old.
With us from our very cradles
from places of which sing angels
of glorious, golden, honey-like dreams,
that life’s gloominess redeems.
But this celestial drink will not last
as all things, it shall too come to pass.
That is, however, not to fear
for many moments like these are near
all one needs to do
is breathe in anew
and feel the heavenly bliss:
the feeling of true happiness.
Do you ever sit here
and gaze upon the stars
burning so bright
casting these heavenly sears
in a cloth of the deepest blue.
Cotton wool wafts by,
choking, strangling as it floats nearby
the light of countless faraway suns
celestial fathers and sons.
Their might cannot be fathomed
by any tools we here possess
nor can the secrets be revealed
of their heavenly address:
no gods will of them confess!
But you, my friends, I urge you,
Go!—Go, before all else takes you
before earthly life breaks you
for it is you who we will remember
and call you leader, captain—O Discoverer!
A howling whirlwind
just as you open the door
“what’s wrong” is not a good question
nor was it the best decision
to ask what’s going on
behind the door.
Upon it, wheels and locks
like on castles, or in clocks;
intricate machinery, thick iron
making your stomach churn.
Lest we forget
no tools are needed yet
it is with simple words,
(human musical chords)
the bars fall loose
slowly shattering
with a shrill shriek.
You’ve opened Pandora’s box:
what on earth do you seek?
Couldn’t you have left her alone,
left her troubles her own?
Safely stored away
kept deep within
kept deep at bay.
On second thought
except those moments when she sought
seclusion, running away from her fears,
in a corner, unable to stop the tears.
When the world crumbles,
its supporting pillars tumble.
Halt!—
A ray of light
stops the rubble falling
a new hope is calling
a rushing spirit
a light glowing bright neon
for you’ve asked
“what’s going on?”
Be aware of a likely torrent
muddy, stained memories
bloody, pained—no longer secretive
like a nostalgic fugitive.
Fill your soul with empathy before
and she will be grateful for evermore.
This one fight will be won
For you’ve asked what’s going on,
you’ve had to implore,
what’s going on behind the door?
Stepping onto the stage
the applause grows
grows louder
now a roar,
a standing ovation.
Curtains wide open
spotlights like stars
only much closer.
Showing perspiration
as the victory chords
ring out in glorious succession
across the auditorium
reverberating, echoing
dancing—in tandem
with the cheers and claps
a victorious couple,
entwined, a cosine and sine,
soaking up the crowd
the atmosphere,
the joy.
Suddenly—a snap.
And silence.
Stadium, gone.
No yelling,
no standing,
no longer.
Back to reality
reality of real life.
Maybe one day, says father,
hand on my shoulder.