No buttressed vaulted ceilings here,
or monkish men in robes of cloth,
a space where things are sold and bought
and yet, there is an atmosphere:

A cloistered hush outside of time,
etched in rows of words, wooden,
the self’s restrained demarcation
seeds this scene for the sublime.

“In the beginning was the word”,
nothing before that differentiation,
in the assemblage of imagination,
a whispered restless breath is heard, as

marks on paper command the motion
of eyes and thoughts across a texture
in which silence is a rapture,
the echo of yearning and union.


Copyright © 2003 Gary Brocks

If world's are ending,
and minds bending,
as darkness comes,
is slow descending,

Upon a people,
still contending,
as light is fading,
& fast ascending,

Doom is coming,
while some pretending,
all for naught,
and not impending,
hiding fear,
so not attending,

Wise spirits,
they are transcending,
stay quiet,
try not offending,
if you need,
will be defending,

A needing hand,
we will be lending,
a broken way,
we tried the mending,
a time for pause,
we stop the pending,
in bad choices,
time your spending,

In a world,
without the blending,
brace as troops,
no longer fending,
broken down,
no longer bending,
lies are told,
a message sending,

If EVERYTHING is really over,
when we kiss the final clover,
strike my flint,
out on the lonely cliff's of Dover
a wheated germ,
a very poison stover,
I hear that sound,
over and over,
a cracking a whip,
Australian drover,

If all the walls are crashing in,
if atmospheres are wearing thin,
if everyone is living "sin"
caught up in an endless spin,
a deep and dark recycle bin,

It's not a war,
that we can win,
take a blow,
to the chin,
tricking us,
a nasty jinn,
lacerated,
our bleeding skin,
liberated,
so wear a grin,
a voodoo doll,
just stick a pin,
yang is lost,
without the yin,

If we cannot just begin,
If only we,
were all akin,

I'm gonna live the last long hour,
the last long minute & give it power,
I raise a hand & never cower,
shout it out from the tallest tower,
taste the sweet and then the sour,

The last fraction of a second,
like I always shoulda,
I don't wanna say I woulda, coulda,
do what you must,

If there are no more tomorrows,
live like there are none,
as no more days with to drown your sorrows,
or any time at all to borrow,

Just tamper sad & past regrets,
to clean from life the sins & sweat,
to swim inside the glistening wet,
live your life,
& do not forget,
to play your chip and place a bet,
if its as good as it can get,
release the need be free to let,
let it go and do not forget,

Live your life,
be ever present,
in the gift,
take a little global turn,
a conscious shift,
a way to learn,
no way to fix
a faulty rift,
winds of change,
are in the drift,
seeking hands,
in ashes sift,
justice served,
& coming swift,

Blink before it's all gone,
a moth to flame,
is truly drawn,
not naïve,
a baby faun,
darkness comes,
before the dawn,
angry angels,
showing brawn,
saving hearts,
we've laid & sawn,
down the beast,
a stupid pawn,
weary ones,
just can't go on,
religious way,
another con,

Live your life in here in the now,
love your life,
get it out some how,
then whipe away a sweaty brow,
& take again a blessed vow,
do it all,
what they allow,

So go,
go ahead,
and live your life,

Poetically.

How do I love you?

I love you like the moon,
must be in love with the stars,

The light that brings me home,
& comforts my weary heart,
it stimulates my mind,
& gives me a needed start,

Energizes my tired spirit,
while illuminating my soul...
it's a hot & burning ember,
not..
just a lonely coal,
loving you my darling to me,
a noble goal,

It's like how a poet,
simply loves his empty page,
& how an out of control fire,
just loves to rage & rage,

It's like that lovely combination,
of rosemary,
thyme and sage,
it's like a well beaten bird,
freed from,
a long and binding cage,

It's every single memory,
handed down,
throughout the winding age,
imparting the needed knowledge,
from a wise imparting sage,
as I check again,
my trusty weather gauge,

I set a course directly home,
  to your,

               S
                 k
                    y
                        .
                       .
                     .
                      .
                    .
                     .
                         .

Cherie Nolan © 2016