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Each morning I rise unto hours,
Wheeling in sun, with wee wild flowers.

An hearty wish, on hills by the sea

Each day I skip about live stones,
In winds I run, deep dancing my bones.

I am made of each, cairn on hillocky

Each sweep of air a breathy kiss,
On skyline by the sea, one mighty bliss.

Dancing my bones, in winds I run

Each hour a new turning of page,
Each heap on hill, of these I am made.

*Wild wee flowers, wheeling in the sun
Gerry Aldridge May 2016
The Rock

Even a rock
Can have a dream.
Even a stone
Can want to be
More than it seems.

Show me love,
Let me feel
I implore you.
Screamed a rock one day.

Even the Gods
Conceded in jest
Rock had shown them
An impossibility-
He just wasn’t made that way.

Tenacious by nature
Rock would not give up,
Until,
Wearily the gods relented.

We shall create seas
To beat upon you
Relentlessly.
Until,
You find heart
And you can feel.

Centuries later
With perhaps more to come
Waves smash inexorably
Down upon rock.
Hopeful one day
It will become
What it is not.

Ironically the duration of hope
Until,
The end of time
Means rock is already more
Than a rock.

Rock has dreams
Therefore it is not
Just a rock.

Life turned me into
The rock I was not.
Love turned me into
The human I forgot.

So then it must be true,
If something can be made
It can be unmade
And remade.

The Gods impressed
By rock’s tenacity
Resolved to never give up.
Rock would always be
A sign of hope.

A young boy chances
Upon rock one day,
Picks him up
Drops him.

Inside him
Is a fossil-
Rock became something this day.
(Gerry Aldridge)
Gerry Aldridge May 2016
Everywhere

I see you everywhere.
Around every corner,
Up every stair
You are there.

I catch a glimpse
Of your hand, your hips, a swaying skirt,
Or a leg, a shoe that belongs to you.
Only to have it snatched from sight.

Was it her?
Was I right?

A familiar gest spotted in a milling crowd
A split second recognition of something I know
So unique it can only be you.

Is my mind going round in circles?
A scratched record of a fleeting second
Recalling a moment
And playing it over and over again in my head
For my eyes to dream of and see.

The next time we meet
I’ll ask- Was it you?
But then again, perhaps I won’t
There is no need to.

(Gerry Aldridge)
Gerry Aldridge May 2016
Joy
Joy
Joy can be a moment
A period of time
Or even a permanent state.
It depends on how much of your heart you follow.

I wonder if I followed all my dreams
How many hearts I would break.
And if I listened to my heart
How many dreams I would take?
(Gerry Aldridge)
Gerry Aldridge May 2016
The Industrial Evolution

I want the rain to wash away the grime
From this filthy living corpse.
Its dross filled pores
And a life cloaked in rust ridden slime.

Dumped grot covers me.
Exhaled from the mephitic breath
Of a thousand septic chimneys refusing to fast.
Spewing out ****
Drowning all us luckless souls in muck.

The inevitable residue of greed
Deposited by those with no belief in the End of time.

A planet of zombies
Wading through a mire of death.
Only waiting for the time
They reach the END.

(Gerry Aldridge)
A collaboration between SG Holter and Elisa Maria Argiro

Hesitating here, silent edge of this dark forest,
I look beyond me, warm in the white fog.
Seeing your heart, now residing deep within
the ancient wood, is to know it is blessed, loved.

Silver tongue resting now in golden silence.
Palms of soul upon moss and brittle bark.
Animal song; scent of beasts approaching unafraid.
Fierce peace. The opposite of a machine.

In the rising sap of silent trees around us,
our deeply beating pulses listen, dance,
smiling kisses at the shining stars, new planets.
Eyes open, anima and animus press tightly
And distance is no more.

"What language is Yours,"
I ask the still growing giants of
Green.
"Silence and its sister tongues
Such as leaves dancing with the
Breeze," they reply within the
Gap between soft sounds and
Softer ones.
So we speak through breaths
Exchanged, of nothing.
Two souls afloat upon the stream
Of Union with All.
What is Cosmos,
But "home"?
Never a visitor.
Never a stranger.
Nowhere has anyone ever been
Lost, or
Away.*

Humming your essence into my veins,
in tune with the wordless languages
of green lives and wind, listening
among delicate flowers, sleeping here
on the forest floor, wakeful and awaiting
the next sound of your voiceless voice,
wind words blowing
through my long, curling hair,
feeling the intention of your
untouched touch,
at home, just being.
Copyrighted by ©SG Holter and ©Elisa Maria Argiro
(as a collaborative poem)
Gerry Aldridge May 2016
What happens to thoughts
That are not said,
Whispered in secret
To the wind instead?

Seagulls catch them
In their famished beaks
And spit them out
When you dare to speak.

(Gerry Aldridge 2016)
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