Old Meg she was a Gipsy,
    And liv'd upon the Moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
    And her house was out of doors.

Her apples were swart blackberries,
    Her currants pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
    Her book a churchyard tomb.

Her Brothers were the craggy hills,
    Her Sisters larchen trees--
Alone with her great family
    She liv'd as she did please.

No breakfast had she many a morn,
    No dinner many a noon,
And 'stead of supper she would stare
    Full hard against the Moon.

But every morn of woodbine fresh
    She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen Yew
    She wove, and she would sing.

And with her fingers old and brown
    She plaited Mats o' Rushes,
And gave them to the Cottagers
    She met among the Bushes.

Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen
    And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore;
    A chip hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere--
    She died full long agone!

In this fleeting existence, we call life
Breaths of air, unlabored, unsought,
We are but specks in an infinite universe
Colliding with another, now and again.
And as time effaces all strides of victory
We hold a part of each other,
Treasured and locked.
Sing anthems to our plight
To how our love, untainted,
Turned into a story.
As we held our hands and looked to the stars
Leaving our woes to burn with the fire,
We were silent that night,
That beautiful night,
Yet we never stopped speaking.
And to the faint glow of ember,
The smell of the ocean,
We sat there gazing at the endless sky.
To what we owe this joy we have,
Finding each other, holding our fragile hearts.
For you heard my song,
And I, yours.
Now living seems less arduous,
Existence is bliss.
Because we found each other
In this infinite universe.

For Allen*

Listen

Listen  oh heart
                           to the mystery, to
the breeze dancing trees, to the
silent ripples that cross the quiet lake

go within where they go, oh heart
go to the shore where wisdom awaits you
tread the circumference
honouring
                  honouring each discovered treasure
when you find them you will know and embrace them oh heart

they will feed you
they will be simple

MChallis @ 2015

Relentless;
like a blinded
late night express,
the wool yarn
soft unravelling,

nothing will
stop it now,

it lands
on the muted
goodness
of mom's
lavender rug,

while her
"dinner's ready"
call travels
through a
crevice
from the room
next door,

two and
a half
decades ago
today.

Thirty different versions
of the same kind of person.
I'm sick of repetitious conversation,
so go on and call me pretentious.
I always find grounds for contention
when it comes to dealing with this thirty-fold type of predictable person.
It's just not worth it!

Now I'm the one who's wrong,
because I've heard your whole life played out
in a four and a half minute long song.
Just let three more foreshadowed words fall from your tongue,
and I swear to god,
I'm gone.

I know when you're young
surviving seems contingent on donning a disguise,
but I've spent the second half of my life learning how to take it off.
Meanwhile, yours has only become more latched on;
to the point where your true face and the fake are one.
All you've got left is that gaudily painted on expression.
I swear to god,
I'm done.

over death we ponder too much
or none at all
but not upon the landmark most difficult to touch

living life well.

am i living my life well?

no, money can't help achieve
nor a good career of success

you know it too well not to believe
they do any better than robbing happiness.

then is it a nice wife and a loving family
kids to hug, comfort you generously?

no, not really, they still aren't enough to ensure
fullness of life as may only briefly endure.

then what is it that makes life lived well

a good sleep to tide the night
a roof over to dwell?

doing just what you like or minding the other's wish
let your desires run wild or hold them under leash?

to me it's a mystery getting answer to which I fail
the parameters of a life, having lived thoroughly well.

but over time I've realized, deep in, its echoes ring,

living life well has a lot to do
with being contented with smallest thing.

This twisted existence is beginning to push my limits.
I've had enough of life I only strive to see it finished.
No matter how I try the timeline won't diminish;
I guess I'm meant to stick around for more than just a minute.

It sickens me to watch as old friends depart the earth,
As I'm left to sit and ponder on life and what it's worth.
It's hard to carry onward with this never ending search,
while other men just wander in apparent ceaseless mirth.