Wednesday, 25 October 2017

Some more poetry 25/10/2017

Some tantalising poetry from my selection.

A Five Course Meal

Starter

Like a bowl of soup,
warmth to my lips,
embraces my throat in a dish
of pure awakening.

Entree

A delicacy of nature's best,
She melts in my mouth
and settles like a caress from heaven.

Side

A concoction of life’s platter,
immeasurably enhanced
by time and living, and sits beside me,
a true accomplishment.

Main

What a sizzler,
flowing juices to my touch,
hot sensual exquisiteness,
a rarity dancing circles around my plate.

Dessert

She loves me,
And I her, forever it seems,
her ice cream to my maple syrup,
and left untouched we melt
in each others nearness.




Captain, My Father

The gentleman sailor,
strong as oak,
tough as teak,
finds it hard in this hour,
to speak.

The sailor's daughter,
strong but weak,
butterflies speak,
whispers of hope,
give him some rope.

The sailor poet,
feels the pain,
of his fellow mariner,
pass the wind
back to the storm again.

In her hour of need,
the angels fly,
are the butterflies,
swimming on tears,
carrying his fears.

The time for friends,
to lend a back,
carry some slack,
take the weight,
from her father's fate.

Whatever we think,
the sailor won't sink,
but gracefully sail,
like the mighty whale,
out to his home, the sea.

Have hope, hold tight,
take hold of your might,
your power
to love the sailor dad,
in his sailing hour.


Zhao Buddhist Spirit Retrieval 101

What am I?
He who suddenly places objects
in midair
for some martial arts practice.

Who am I?
He who lies on a sparse bed,
allows Geronimo
and Quinn the Eskimo
to pass through
and talk in tongues.

Who am I?
He who obeys the Chinese masters
Wu Tung and Wu Chang
follows the mantra of scarcity, power
the sanguine grace of Madame Butterfly.

Who am I?
When in the next instant
I am Jack the Rippers gloved hand,
Doyle's IRA clenched fist
Mayan Inchachyuanana's teaching mind.

Who am I?
That walks the street aged,
yet dresses and acts like a 19 year old rapper,
that stops and bows to strangers knowingly.

Who am I?
That now delves into the supernatural
not as a writer, nor reader
but as a participating entity
passing ghosts on from their resting place
to who knows where.

Who am I?
That used to be me
is now more,
and less
the outer shell says Thane
the inner says "channeller".

Who I am,
is down to you,
not me
and whoever gives the gifts
to allow my new existence to flourish.


Ka uta omganuana te anughana te purie.

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