one** simple man, the
two of us against the world
three perfect children, or
four if you count our dog
five minutes was more than enough for
six of our friends to say that
seven days a week we'd spend with each other
but that's not enough
eight days is what we want,
cause we float on cloud
nine when we're together, for
ten times our lifetimes combined, or forever
which ever comes first

chase the wind
from yesterday to tomorrow
for the ones who took their final breath
and the ones who's breath is borrowed

chase the wind
from the east to the west
for the lonely children crying
and the single moms who try their best

chase the wind
from the earth to the sky
for the fat cats getting richer
and the ones just scraping by

chase the wind
from the beginning to the end
for all those freedom fighters
who bury their best friends

chase the wind
with every step you take
for the ones who give their all
without a single break

chase the wind
with everything you've got
for everyone else who chases the wind
and for the ones who cannot.

As I walk down these streets, I'm smiling
the streets aren't slippery,
they aren't riddled with puddles,
the sky sits like a blanket,
just resting on the top of the city
As I draw in a deep breath
of cold, crisp air
I'm slapped in the face
as it all comes crashing back
with every click clack and scuff of my shoes on the street top
it's as though my feet aren't mine
they walk, and I have no say
in where they go
or how fast they move,
or where they stop
I know they think they're going to the market
I know they think they'll walk the isles
and I know they think they'll carry me to the checkout
but unfortunately I know
that although they are amazing feet
and they've gotten me where I am today
they will not pay the bill at the grocery store
and their full time job as my carriers
leaves no precious time for moonlighting
so it's been left up to my soul
it's will to survive is much stronger than the feet
it knows that though I've done somethings
somethings that hurt too much to allow them to turn into memories in my mind
that scar, and brand and torment the soul
injury after self inflicted injury
that us two, we belong together
that even though I may have sold you,
dear soul
to someone else
for just enough money to pay the checkout clerk
to fill my stomach, if only for one day
to feed my demons, and steady my crutch
you forgive me, for my survival is yours
you know this pain I feel, for it's your pain too
so when, dear soul
tomorrow comes, and I always wake up,
with that brief moment just before I allow my eyes to open
where it's like staring at the sky, walking to the beat
of my feet click clacking down the street
as I feel the crisp air move into and fill my lungs
and escape quickly a little warmer
when nothing else in the world is in my mind
you are there.

I awoke
from sleep
nightmares, enforced by you
sweat,
cold,
I turn over and try to fall
fall back
asleep
an impossibility, a futile attempt
there's a full dining room's worth
plates,
spinning plates, in my head
they never stop, always spinning
till one wobbles, balance falters,
and just as you'd expect they fall
one
after another
crashing
another
but there's always one
one left,
still spinning, shakily
waiting for the mess to be cleaned up
where'd that little fairy go?
the one who used to follow you around..
who is gonna clean up this mess
NO!
No, I cleaned up after you long enough!
even a maid receives a paycheck, compensation
I was just a slave
a slave to you, a slave to my mind
the trickery and contortion, you'd think I was a gymnast,
of Olympic Gold proportions!
I was a lap dog, following you around,
eating what ever you gave me,
begging for more
please sir, more?
more abuse,
more deception,
more than just friends
more than just a use,
for a good time
for who?
I worked so hard at trying
trying to make you love me
trying to make you see
obvious oblivion,
I get it!
You're blind!
hopefully
you must be,
Have you even seen some of these women?
those one night roll arounds
you're just so polite
waiting till the morning to push them out
out the door,
and you will, oh how they know you will,
but still you'll call them
those disposable women
you'll call because you know it's free
because you know they want you to
if only you were good enough to have one for every day
of the week -
you know, those ones
the ones you equated me too!
But,
a friend of mine you'll always be
so long as it pays off for you
a few amazing hours
naked
together, alone
a drinking buddy when the regulars are out of town
a gram here, a joint there
an easement of your guilt
for allowing yourself to lie
right through your teeth
to the face of an adoring fan
to use, abuse and get what you can
from your supposed life long friend!
you should have been more careful though
for you smell nothing like a rose
you wreak
your stench so vile
you slop your sludge of a personality
right across my face
before twisting the knife in my back
then pretend like none of it exists
extinct
though that would imply that it once existed
which you've stated
for certain
it does
not.

No need to say a word,
it's morning in the country,
leave the chirping for the birds.

Lay your precious head,
against my caring arm,
be silent now instead,
let me keep you safe from harm.

Each day I get to hear you,
speaking merrily to me,
I treasure all you say and do,
that lends a tender mystery.

So, take your words and tuck them,
deep inside your caring heart,
your eyes say everything they can,
and that's a wonderful way to start.

...sitting here
across from me again
(in my mind's wishful eye),
sipping coffee together,
light talk, some danish,
and an omelette, too
(i made it the way you like it,
just for you),
happy to be here
as the flaming
sunstreak rise lights up
the tender tips of the flowers
outside the window,
i fingertip-kiss your lips,
as the morning bird
breaks into song,
waking up the world,
whilst you and i
carry on
and your eyes
reflect the new day's skies,
it's nice, it's nice
to see you...

I spy,
the morning mist, outside
the window that is not mine,
rising from the river,
sunshine tries to sneak through a sliver,
I, with thoughts only
here and now
for thee,
you
my new and gentle mystery,
who came to me on a silver stream,
made subject for my pen,
my dreams,
and this misty morning,
where I wish to be,
across from you
smiling back at me.

Here I sit amidst the ruin of a white winters' day
Convulsive rain and harsh wind outside, contribute tumult.
And in here, in this small shelter, there is a tension in the air.

We two sit apart, uncommunicative, remote and quite detached.
Not for any reason other than the fact that we are strangers,
We have never met, nor are we ever likely to.
She has an elegance and a stylish angularity whilst I am bald, bearded, unfashionable and somewhat overweight.
She is singularly indifferent to my presence, whilst I am uncomfortable with the circumstance that placed us in this small proximity.
We would, in truth, rather both be elsewhere.

I break the ice in throwing her a small smile and complain about the weather,
Her eyes flick across my face and immediately resume their distant focus on the rain,
She adjusts her seating to face,ever so slightly, askance.
Her choice of course, to assume an air of indifference or superiority...or adopt a measure of defence..or perhaps a combination of a bit all three.  
Regardless... I wipe my backside in exactly the same manner as does she, I  am definitely no less a person for my dumpy demeanour and friendly overture
And I really feel that I don't have to share my space with coldness and impertinance,
Better, I think, to be wet and content with my own company
..So, donning my cap and jacket, I stride out into the deluge to leave the remote and uncommunicative young woman alone and dry with her thoughts.

And then....
Howling rain and shards of wind
Pelt me as I walk
Along the foreshore wild and white
As hovered seagulls squark.
When all at once she's by my side
Walking pace for pace,
Her linen suit a sodden mess
Hair plastered to her face.

"Thought I ought to make it right"
She told me with a smile
I threw my coat upon her back
And walked another mile.
We called into a coffee shop
And sat down by the fire
And sipped a steaming latte
As she told her story dire,

"The cancer's all but killed me
My husband's left the home,
The baby's gone to mother
And I'm facing death alone."
We quietly spoke for ages
I held her hand in mine
Then suddenly she stood to leave
And thanked me for my time.

I sat there in a stupor
Recalling how it played
And felt the guilt impact on me
For judgements I had made.
Those callow, shallow judgements
Made in ignorance, my friend,
Will haunt me as she girds herself
To boldly meet her end.

Marshalg
On a bleak and blustery cold winters day.
Titirangi
5th September 2010

today you took me by surprise,
bright smile, dancing eyes,
loosened the noose on yet another lonely day,
wherein the depths of these shadows I do lay,
again, you came a-light,
golden skin, heart a-flight,
taking the time to share some of your life with me,
the very essence of your softly sweet vitality,
beauty, you breathe the skies,
today you took me by surprise

Is this not what it's all about?
Waiting in the wings,
stretching, turning, churning,
anxious and adrenal,
living for the dream,
wishing for the dream,
being
the dream,
dancing on beams,
beneath the streams
of lights and fans,
arrayed like a bird
in tulle, crinoline, silk, satin and linen
white plumage,
acting only on command,
the music soft and flowing
their frail, slender figures
take to air,
arms and legs,
torsos tender,
slender necks,
wisps of downy hair,
melding colours,
sights and sounds,
the stage a pedestal of fate,
their beauty
captured
in gilded cages
for all to watch and see,
recaptured yet again,
by the artist on the easel'd window
of his canvas,
a maestro of sorts,
tapping his baton-brush,
coating the blankness with sweet
inspiration,
like angels heavenly
brought to earth,
serenaded by strings,
life from the blankness begins,
covers the void,
bejewels the mind's eye
and beckons the ballet
rehearsal to begin,
yet shall in oil paint now
and for all time
never cease to be...

"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see."
Edgar Degas

____
Inspired by the painting by Impressionist artist Edgar Degas,
The Rehearsal.
--to view the painting:
http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/degas/ballet/degas.rehearsal.jpg

the hardest part about
writing a poem about you
is that the words tend to
get into the way
of what i really want to
say to
you