Immersed in waves…

A cliff side vigil, full off contemplation
my companion the sea, otherwise alone
I feel and see the power in the foaming swells
hypnotised: deafened by the waves breaking.

Finally drawn in by the gravitational pull;
waves wash over me, cleansing my being
no more drowning in fresh air
as now I drown in the sea of souls.

Taken by the tides, stroked by soft hands
whispering lips brush against my ears
soft voices calming: deeply pervading
feelings of elation: a climax of passage.

Souls, lifting as one, return me to land
singing a farewell chorus: a sweet murmur.
Feeling cleansed, I remain still: spellbound
listening to the sea caress the root of the cliff.

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Mind over matter….

My bones are tired,
muscles ache,
The mind is fresh,
eager for information.
We share the same birthday;
not able to celebrate together,
the body, unwilling to join in;
an overbearing mind left
dancing to its own tunes.

The mind has no limitations:
excepting its body.
The body has many limitations.
including the mind.
Neither prepared to give way.

There are many yesterdays
of working together:
in harmony,
how many tomorrows,
will be full of conflicts.
not willing to co-exist.

A fork in the road
choosing different paths;
a body unable
to keep in step
with the mind;
grieving for what
cannot be.

With age comes
a lifetime of wisdom:
use it. Work together,
accept each others
restrictions.
We entered this life as one,
live as one; leave as one.

My Ode To Twitter…..

Oh Twitter just how hard can that be
It must be as easy as one, two, three.

choosing a handle that seemed to fit
poised for banter: to show my wit.

Being aware that things weren’t quite right
if nothing happened I was going to take flight.

A light bulb lit as I was about to flee
I had spent six months talking to me.

I started to follow and tweeted like mad
a couple of mentions, this wasn’t so bad.

I simply must get my head round the lingo
my brain now hurts so I’m off to the bingo.

The first ever retweet I thought I would cry
I did a lap of honour, then tried to fly.

The visit to casualty wasn’t so bad
apart from being officially recorded asĀ  mad.

Minding my manners so not to offend
looking slightly simple: round the bend.

Gathering followers, I was getting ahead
ok, I know one of them was a garden shed.

Commenting on politics is fair game
giving my opinion of who is to blame.

Watching videos can be a blast
of deranged cats stuck up a mast.

Some dodgy followers were giving me flack
oh, I never knew you could do that on your back.

Wonderful followers: interesting folk
apart from the boring tooth fairy bloke.

I’m not obsessed, I can walk away
as I now take tablets, three times a day.

This simple ode is just about ending
I load up Twitter and see whats trending!

And they called it puppy love…

I never thought I was a “dog person” until the day this puppy arrived into the house.

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Now this gorgeous animal was named Skye and from the moment she laid eyes on me: I became adopted.
Two weeks later our bond was cemented, as due to illness, I became her career. This was a very peculiar arrangement on two counts;
1) I was ill
2) I knew nothing about puppies.
My first peculiarity was an art or an obsession, I’m not sure which, and that was house training her.
My vast experience told me; if she squats: take her outside. This I did every time she sat down.
Now bearing in mind,
Point 1) illness! I ran around after her like a woman possessed and I spent more time outside than I did in.
The month was February and it was freezing; I must have looked a right clip, hanging around in my dressing gown, waiting for the damn dog to decide what blade of grass had the sweetest smell.
Eventually, I was reliably informed, that puppies do not have a bladder the size of Lake Geneva and only needed to spend a few seconds at a time having a wee.
From this moment we were a lean mean, well oiled peeing machine, more often than not; we were back, settled, with a cup of tea: before we had actually left the house.
The second peculiarity was an obsession: Skye had to learn tricks. Point 1) also had a bearing; as moving about on all fours trying to get the damn dog to a high-five, was not conducive to my well-being.
Nobody in this household has forgiven me for teaching the dog to chase the ball, go get it and chuck it back to you.

Please note: no animals were hurt during this house training lark: traumatised yes, but hurt: no.
Skye is very active (mental) and she can high-five (for food or a cup of tea)
She is obsessed with ball throwing.

A heart full of…

I feel my heart is empty; void of love
wondering why it bothers to beat at all.
Time stands still; my heart actually breaks
was it pining for lost love; or not chanced.
Feeling weak, unable to even lift my head
my heart starts a lecture of life: I listen.

I am full of life: it flows in your veins,
sharing that life with all that is within.
I am never empty as I am filled with
wonders every beating movement.
As you watch the day, I feel the joy
in what you see: I thrive on life,
whether it be a scene of beauty
or just observing the world go by.
When you read a book: so do I,
the prose dances to my beat.
Even in sadness I remain full,
look inside yourself: see what
remains to lift your spirits,
You are my life, as I am yours
accept the true joys in life.
I don’t control the mind: we beat
as one: we replenish each other.
The only state of emptiness occurs
when I beat no more, until that day:
I am full to bursting.

The beauty of rain…..

I stand alone in the middle of nowhere
hopping the rain can wash away my troubles,
as each drop falls I can feel them enter my mind.
A process begins as the storm intensifies,
I watch the lightning dance across the sky
embracing its power; I feel in contrast, calmness.
Magic rain renders me into a trance as it falls
I start to dream, as each drop burns my eyes
blinded; still able see beyond the storm.
I feel no cold as an invisible barrier protects
wrapping me up in a warmth that never ends
basking in the peace that the rain delivers.
An empty mind, cleansed, rejuvenated
I turn away leaving nowhere behind
heading somewhere; accompanied by the rain.

It doesn’t rhyme….

To my friend, who is still my friend; she inferred that poems are supposed to rhyme.

My dear friend there is no crime
if my poems do not rhyme.
Amazed that I am able to write
most is done to the dead of night.
I sit and think as words do flow
deep within; inside my soul.
The lessons of life I will share
my poems show how much I care.
All sorts of subjects I will try
they can be sad and make you cry.
This rhyming ditty is at an end
beforeĀ  it drives me round the bend.
Just one more thing: a final thought
a fitting ending I have sought.
We both know what rhymes with rhyme
there is but one possibility: yes its wine.